Sergei

by Roxie Rivera

  Certain his brand of help was the very last complication I needed, I reached out and patted his cheek. "I'm a big girl, Sergei. I've got this."

  He covered my hand with his, the heat of his palm searing my skin. I marveled at the way our hands looked together, his tan skin a few shades lighter than mine and his fingers so long and thick and mean-looking. "This isn't a game, Bianca. You could get hurt."

  His gentle warning scared me but I refused to back down. "I won't."

  Tugging my hand free, I rose from my chair and bent down to peck Vivian's cheek. Whispering hotly against her ear, I said, "You are on my list."

  She gave me a hug. "I had to try. Besides, we both know you'll forgive me."

  "We'll see." I caught her husband's amused gaze and touched his shoulder. "Good night, Nikolai."

  "Good night, Bianca. Be safe."

  "I will."

  After bidding farewell to Dimitri and Benny, I skirted the edge of the busy dance floor on my way toward the exit. Ever the glamorous, jet-setting couple, Yuri and Lena happened to whirl by me. Lena stepped away from Yuri and engulfed me in a big hug. The diamonds dripping from her ears and adorning her neck felt so cold against my skin. As of now, her ring finger remained bare, but I had a feeling Yuri would be changing that very soon.

  I visited the valet station and headed outside to wait for my car. Though I had left the reception early to escape the sight of so many canoodling couples, it seemed futile now. Everywhere I looked, couples held hands, laughed, made out and whispered sweetly to one another. By the time my silver sedan rolled up to the curb, I was ready for a glass of wine and a hot shower.

  After tipping the valet, I slid behind the wheel and fastened my seatbelt. Throat tight, I eased on the gas, pulled away from the hotel and tried not to think about the empty house that awaited me—and yet another long night alone.

  * * *

  Sergei leaned back in his chair so he could watch Bianca leave. Despite his frustration at her constant rejection, he had to admit that this view was incredibly nice. The curve-hugging dress she wore highlighted some of her very best assets. Even now, his fingertips burned with the memory of caressing her silky brown skin. He had wanted to do so much more when he slid close to her chair but he hadn't dared to push.

  Every time he saw her, Bianca Bradshaw blew him away. This girl was class all the way. She managed to look so fucking sexy but without ever crossing the line into trashy or cheap. Tonight, she wore a simple and unadorned black dress that she somehow made hotter than the skimpiest lingerie. Did she have any idea how damned beautiful she was?

  He bit his lower lip as he imagined what it would be like to peel that dress from her body and discover all the soft, warm delights beneath the fabric. That sweet, plump ass of hers had been made for a big man like him. Those swinging hips made him ache with desire. He imagined her straddling his lap, his hands cupping that amazing ass while her thick thighs cushioned their coupling.

  He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he could fucking taste it. Since the moment he'd spied her coming into the restaurant that late December night to meet with Vivian, Sergei had been blind to every other woman on the planet.

  But Bianca wanted nothing to do with him.

  Watching her embrace Lena, Sergei wondered what the hell it was going to take to convince Bianca that he was dead serious about her. She wasn't a passing fascination for him. He had played the field enough in his thirty-one years to know that she was different, that what he felt for her was real.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and remembered Vivian's warning a few months back that Bianca wouldn't go for his type. Fully aware that she had lost her brother in a senseless act of violence, he understood why Bianca shied away from men who weren't strictly on the right side of the law. Though he owned part of a successful construction business, Sergei remained firmly in Nikolai's pocket. He did whatever his boss asked of him without question—and that wasn't going to work for Bianca.

  She was unlike any woman he'd ever dated. There was the obvious issue—she didn't want anything to do with him. Grudgingly, he admitted his ego had taken quite a hit over that one. He'd gotten used to women tripping over themselves to go out with him. The right glance, the right smile and a few sweetly spoken words and he was assured of a date with any woman he wanted.

  But none of that worked on Bianca.

  He'd always acknowledged that she was out of his league. Maybe it was time to accept that she was too far out of his league and would never see him as anything other than the big, dumb, mobbed-up bodyguard who watched over her friend.

  "Seryozha."

  Hearing Vivian call him by his childhood nickname made him smile. Over the last few months, they had grown incredibly close. He thought of her as the little sister he had never had and she had admitted to viewing him as an older brother now.

  Tearing his gaze away from Bianca's backside, he glanced at Vivian and asked, "Yes, Mrs. Boss?"

  She grinned at his teasing reply and waved a smartphone at him. "I think Bianca left this behind."

  Nikolai snorted softly and rubbed Vivian's arm. "No, I think my wife means that she stole it out of Bianca's purse while they were hugging."

  Vivian narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Stole is such a harsh word, Kolya. I borrowed it."

  Nikolai swept his fingers along her jaw. "Because?"

  "Because Bianca has some creep peeking in her windows and she's too stubborn to let anyone help her." Vivian slapped the phone down on the table. "Take it, Sergei. Ride to her rescue on your white horse. I mean—SUV."

  Sergei stared at the phone Vivian had taken from Bianca. It was an underhanded trick but he was a man out of options. Before he reached for the phone, he glanced at Nikolai who gave a small nod of encouragement. Feeling a flutter of hope in his chest, he snatched up the device. "Thank you, Vivian."

  She shooed him with her hands. "Well—go on. If I know Bianca, she's going to crack open a bottle of wine about twenty steps inside that front door. If you catch her after that first glass, she'll be in a good mood and might even invite you inside."

  He laughed as Vivian suggestively waggled her eyebrows. "I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'll be lucky if she doesn't slam the door in my face."

  "She won't."

  "I wish I had your confidence."

  A short time later, he drove the streets of the historic neighborhood where Bianca lived and replayed their short conversation. He couldn't believe how blasé she had been about the prowler situation. He refused to even think about this Kevan guy she had asked for help.

  A police officer. Of course. A man who was everything Sergei could never be for her. The very thought of Bianca seeking aid from some other man frustrated him. He wanted to be the one she thought of when she was frightened or needed help. Hell—at this point, he would take being the man who mowed her lawn or fixed a leaky pipe!

  Navigating the old streets, he conceded Bianca might be right about the prowler situation. Maybe it was nothing. It could be a teenager cutting through her yard to sneak into his house late at night or something else equally as innocent.

  Or maybe it wasn't. She was a single woman living alone in a neighborhood known for its spacious homes filled with antiques. Granted, she had purchased her home in a tax sale at a deep discount as a fixer-upper. He doubted she had much in the way of expensive furnishings and knickknacks but a thief might not know that.

  If someone was casing her place, Bianca might be on a short-list of marks for an upcoming robbery run. He'd known enough men who ran in the B&E crowds to know that many of them preferred to hit a string of high-end houses in a night to improve their odds of success and evading the police.

  The thought of Bianca being terrorized by a home invasion soured his stomach. He pressed a little harder on the gas and made up his mind that he would ask around in the morning to see if any of the usual suspects were planning something in this neighborhood. He didn’t care what it cost or how many favors he had to call in or ext
end. He would do anything to protect Bianca—whether she wanted his help or not.

  Pulling up to the sidewalk in front of her large corner lot, Sergei killed the engine and studied her home. The Queen Anne needed a new roof and some paint but it had good bones. He had never been farther than the front door but what he had glimpsed of the interior needed a lot of work. From the conversations he had overhead between Vivian and Bianca, it seemed she was trying to do most of it herself. He had a feeling Bianca was in way over her head.

  He unlatched and pushed open the gate, running his fingers over the iron scrollwork with appreciation. It clanged shut behind him, the sound so very loud in this still, quiet neighborhood, and he winced. Heading up the sidewalk, he noted the pavers that needed replacing and the spotty landscaping. An idea began to form, one that might prove to Bianca that he was worth more as a man than his shady connections.

  At the door, he rang the bell twice and knocked. While he waited for her to answer, he tried to think of something witty. He wouldn’t lie to her about how the phone had come into his possession. Vivian would probably kick him in the shins before their next run for ratting her out, but he'd been on the receiving end of worse. He wanted nothing but the truth with Bianca, even when it was something as small as this.

  When she didn't answer, he knocked again, louder this time, and started to reach for the doorbell. Just as his fingertip pressed the button, a panicked scream ripped through the house and turned his blood cold. Another shriek of terror followed a second later.

  Gripped by his protective instinct, Sergei tried the door handle but it was locked. Desperate to reach Bianca, he took a step back to examine the solid wood door and its frame. He judged the weakest spot, inhaled a deep breath and planted his foot against the spot just to the side of the lock. A satisfying crunch erupted so he slammed his foot against it twice more. The door flew inward and nearly off its hinges.

  As he raced into Bianca's house, he heard a loud thump upstairs. Rushing toward the stairs, he leapt up them two at a time. "Bianca!"

  Chapter Two

  I shouldn’t have waited to have that glass of wine. The nice buzz from my favorite Shiraz might have softened the blow of just how bad my attempt at renovating this bathroom had really gone. Standing there under the spotty, stuttering spray of tepid water and examining my embarrassing failures as a DIY home remodeler, I just wanted to cry.

  The rainfall showerhead leaked horrendously. I'd clearly missed a step during the installation. Eying the rattling faucet with trepidation, I wondered how many more uses it had before it finally died. The low temp and pitiful amount of pressure snaking through the pipes convinced me a plumbing problem was brewing. I cringed at the thought of how much it would cost.

  Running my fingers along an uneven seam of grout, I reluctantly admitted that the pretty tile I had painstakingly applied earlier in the week would probably have to be ripped out and redone. Not that it would take much work to tear the tile from the wall. Just touching that section now made it wiggle precariously.

  With a sigh, I stepped forward to rinse the soapy lather from my body. When I turned to rinse my back, I accidentally knocked my elbow against the wall—and dislodged that entire strip of tile. I gasped and tried to catch the tiles hooked together by a mesh backing but they landed right on my foot. I shrieked with pain and yanked my foot free.

  Bad move!

  Losing my balance, I flailed wildly for anything to stop my fall. Grabbing the showerhead, I managed to steady myself for a fraction of an instant before the damn thing came right off in my hand. A blast of lukewarm water splattered my face. I lurched back to escape the spray and began to tumble out of the tub.

  Panicked, I screamed and grasped the shower curtain and liner in one final desperate clutch but it wasn't enough to save myself. The plastic rings popped loose, and I was in free fall.

  "Oof!" I hit the floor hard. Thankfully the plush bathmat cushioned my fall but I still winced as pain lanced my bottom and back. "Ow!"

  Over the whirring rush of water spilling into the tub, I thought I heard a crack of thunder. The sound confused me because the skies were clear and there hadn't been even the slightest chance of rain in the forecast. Another loud boom and then another met my ears. What in the hell?

  And then I heard the unmistakable sound of Sergei's voice.

  "Bianca!"

  Still dazed by my fall, I wondered if I was hallucinating. Why would Sergei be yelling for me? Why would he be inside my house?

  "Bianca!" It sounded as if a bull was running up the stairs and barreling down the hallway. Those heavy footsteps echoed in my bedroom. Without warning, the bathroom door flew open and suddenly Sergei appeared. I blinked and tried to reconcile the sight of him in my home.

  His handsome face screwed up with concern, he scanned the scene in front of him before exhaling with what seemed to be relief. "Thank God. I thought someone was trying to attack you, milaya moya."

  "Not someone," I groaned my reply. "Just my shower."

  Too tall to come through the door without ducking, Sergei also had to turn his shoulders because they were too broad to fit through the frame. He crouched down next to me and brushed his scarred knuckles along my cheek. "Are you all right? Do I need to take you to the emergency room? Did you hit your head?"

  "No, only my pride is wounded."

  Sergei gently grasped my upper arms and hauled me into a sitting position. The movement made me cringe with discomfort. "Ow. Okay. My bottom is probably bruised."

  A mischievous smile curved that sinful mouth of his. "I'd be happy to take a look at it for you."

  Reminded of my scandalously underdressed state, I tugged the shower curtain that was wrapped around my body a little higher, just to make sure my cleavage was totally covered. Ignoring Sergei's flirtatious offer, I pointed to the door. "Would you please grab my robe?"

  "Later," he said softly and slid his arms under my body. Showing me just how strong he was, Sergei lifted me up off the floor and cradled me to his chest.

  Eyes wide, I stiffened. "Put me down! You're going to break your back."

  "Don't be silly." He actually smirked. Pivoting, he carried me out to the bedroom and carefully placed me on the bed. "Don't move."

  Hugging the shower curtain around my naked body, I watched him return to the bathroom. He disappeared behind the door for a minute, probably to survey the damage in the shower, before returning with my fluffy robe and a folded towel. Chuckling, he held them out to me. "So I guess we've learned a valuable lesson about choosing the proper grout and preparing our surface before tiling."

  Scowling at him, I grumbled, "In my defense, those DIY blogs make it seem so easy."

  "That's their job." He crossed those massive arms of his. "I did warn you that this was too much work to be done alone."

  Trying to forget how good it had felt to have those arms holding me tight, I concentrated on that January morning at my boutique when he had helped me pin the hem on Vivian's wedding gown. "No, you said it was man's work. In a very condescending tone," I added for good measure.

  His smile faded. "That was wrong of me. I shouldn't have been condescending. I'm sorry."

  I shrugged. "It's okay. I mean—I guess in a way you were right." Dropping my gaze with embarrassment, I gestured to my throbbing foot. "Maybe I am in over my head here."

  Sergei stepped closer and knelt down in front of me. He cupped my foot in his big hand and my pulse sprinted. His fingertip traced the swollen splotch there. "You'll have to wear some sensible shoes for a few days, but you'll be fine."

  Swallowing hard, I murmured, "You haven't seen my closet. A sensible shoe cannot be found in there."

  He snorted softly and gently lowered my foot. "I'm not surprised." His thumb drew a circle around my ankle. "But you do make those impractical shoes look so good."

  His compliment took me by surprise. Mouth dry, I tried to think of something to say. Sergei didn't seem to notice how he had affected me. Rising up to his full he
ight, he patted the shower curtain. "You should get into your robe now. Do you have a tool set?"

  I nodded. "It's in the guest room across the hall."

  After he lumbered out of my bedroom, I shook myself from the temporary stupor of being touched by him and quickly unwound the shower curtain. I was tying the robe's sash when he returned. The comical look on his face made me smile. "What?"

  He held up a tool bag and the hot pink hammer. "Pink tools? Really?"

  "They're designed for a woman's hand," I said rather defensively.

  "They feel like toys in mine."

  "Well, you're like a seven foot tall giant. All sorts of normal-sized things probably seem like toys to you."

  Sergei's lips parted but he snuffed out the witty comeback burning the tip of his tongue. I couldn't help but wonder what it was that he hadn’t said—and why.

  He inclined his head toward the bathroom. "I'll get your shower fixed and then we'll talk."

  "About?"

  Sergei's burning gaze swept over me. "Us."

  Not giving me a chance to pipe up with my usual rejection of the very thought of there being an us, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Feeling totally off-kilter with that big sexy beast of a Russian puttering around in my house, I dabbed at my wet skin with the towel. What did I do now?

  There had to be an easy way to get him out the front door without making it too weird. As I rubbed on some lotion and tried to figure out what to say to him next, a terrible clatter erupted from the bathroom. Sergei swore roughly in Russian and English—and was that Spanish too?

  Curious, I approached the door and caught him stripping out of his soaking wet shirt and toeing off his shoes. My breath arrested in my throat. My God—I had no idea a man could look that fine.

  He was all lean, smooth muscle without even a hint of fat. I counted the rippling ridges of his abdomen and wondered what it would feel like to run my hands over his powerful body. Oh, I would definitely take my time tracing those tattoos he kept carefully hidden under his clothes. The small gold medallion dangling from a thin chain around his neck interested me.