by Nora Roberts
Sydney could feel her reserve settling back into place. She couldn’t help it. All the early training, all the years of schooling had drummed into her the proper way to greet strangers. Politely, coolly, giving no more of yourself than a firm handshake and a quiet “how do you do.”
She’d hardly made the adjustment when Mikhail burst into the music room, tugging her with him.
“Ha,” he said, and swooped down on a small, gorgeous woman in a purple sundress. She laughed when he scooped her up, her black mane of curling hair flying out as he swung her in a circle.
“You’re always late,” Natasha said. She kissed her brother on both cheeks then the lips. “What did you bring me?”
“Maybe I have something in my bag for you.” He set her on her feet, then turned to the man at the piano. “You take good care of her?”
“When she lets me.” Spence Kimball rose to clasp hands with Mikhail. “She’s been fretting for you for an hour.”
“I don’t fret,” Natasha corrected, turning to Sydney. She smiled—the warmth was automatic—though what she saw concerned her. This cool, distant woman was the one her family insisted Mikhail was in love with? “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”
“Sydney Hayward.” A little impatient by the way Sydney hung back, he nudged her forward. “My sister, Natasha.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Sydney offered a hand. “I’m sorry about being so late. It’s really my fault.”
“I was only teasing. You’re welcome here. You already know my family.” They were gathering around Mikhail as if it had been years since the last meeting. “And this is my husband, Spence.”
But he was stepping forward, puzzlement and pleasure in his eyes. “Sydney? Sydney Hayward?”
She turned, the practiced smile in place. It turned to surprise and genuine delight. “Spence Kimball. I had no idea.” Offering both hands, she gripped his. “Mother told me you’d moved south and remarried.”
“You’ve met,” Natasha observed, exchanging looks with her own mother as Nadia brought over fresh glasses of wine.
“I’ve known Sydney since she was Freddie’s age,” Spence answered, referring to his eldest daughter. “I haven’t seen her since…” He trailed off, remembering the last time had been at her wedding. Spence may have been out of touch with New York society in recent years, but he was well aware the marriage hadn’t worked out.
“It’s been a long time,” Sydney murmured, understanding perfectly.
“Is small world,” Yuri put in, slapping Spence on the back with fierce affection. “Sydney is owner of building where Mikhail lives. Until she pays attention to him, he sulks.”
“I don’t sulk.” Grumbling a bit, Mikhail took his father’s glass and tossed back the remaining vodka in it. “I convince. Now she is crazy for me.”
“Back up, everyone,” Rachel put in, “his ego’s expanding again.”
Mikhail merely reached over and twisted his sister’s nose. “Tell them you’re crazy for me,” he ordered Sydney, “so this one eats her words.”
Sydney lifted a brow. “How do you manage to speak when your mouth’s so full of arrogance?”
Alex hooted and sprawled onto the couch. “She has your number, Mikhail. Come over here, Sydney, and sit beside me. I’m humble.”
“You tease her enough for tonight.” Nadia shot Alex a daunting look. “You are tired after your drive?” she asked Sydney.
“A little. I—”
“I’m sorry.” Instantly Natasha was at her side. “Of course you’re tired. I’ll show you your room.” She was already leading Sydney out. “If you like you can rest, or come back down. We want you to be at home while you’re here.”
“Thank you,” Sydney replied. Before she could reach for her bag, Natasha had hefted it. “It’s kind of you to have me.”
Natasha merely glanced over her shoulder. “You’re my brother’s friend, so you’re mine.” But she certainly intended to grill Spence before the night was over.
At the end of the hall, she took Sydney into a small room with a narrow four-poster. Faded rugs were tossed over a gleaming oak floor. Snapdragons spiked out of an old milk bottle on a table by the window where gauzy Priscillas fluttered in the breeze.
“I hope you’re comfortable here.” Natasha set the suitcase on a cherrywood trunk at the foot of the bed.
“It’s charming.” The room smelled of the cedar wardrobe against the wall and the rose petals scattered in a bowl on the nightstand. “I’m very happy to meet Mikhail’s sister, and the wife of an old friend. I’d heard Spence was teaching music at a university.”
“He teaches at Shepherd College. And he composes again.”
“That’s wonderful. He’s tremendously talented.” Feeling awkward, she traced a finger over the wedding ring quilt. “I remember his little girl, Freddie.”
“She is ten now.” Natasha’s smile warmed. “She tried to wait up for Mikhail, but fell asleep on the couch.” Her chin angled. “She took Ivan with her to bed, thinking I would not strangle him there. He dug up my petunias. Tomorrow, I think…”
She trailed off, head cocked.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s Katie, our baby.” Automatically Natasha laid a hand on her breast where her milk waited. “She wakes for a midnight snack. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.”
At the door, Natasha hesitated. She could go with her instincts or her observations. She’d always trusted her instincts. “Would you like to see her?”
After only an instant’s hesitation, Sydney’s lips curved. “Yes, very much.”
Across the hall and three doors down, the sound of the child’s restless crying was louder. The room was softly lit by a nightlight in the shape of a pink sea horse.
“There, sweetheart.” Natasha murmured in two languages as she lifted her baby from the crib. “Mama’s here now.” As the crying turned to a soft whimpering, Natasha turned to see Spence at the doorway. “I have her. She’s wet and hungry, that’s all.”
But he had to come in. He never tired of looking at his youngest child, that perfect and beautiful replica of the woman he’d fallen in love with. Bending close, his cheek brushing his wife’s, he stroked a finger over Katie’s. The whimpering stopped completely, and the gurgling began.
“You’re just showing off for Sydney,” Natasha said with a laugh.
While Sydney watched, they cuddled the baby. There was a look exchanged over the small dark head, a look of such intimacy and love and power that it brought tears burning in her throat. Unbearably moved, she slipped out silently and left them alone.
She was awakened shortly past seven by high, excited barking, maniacal laughter and giggling shouts coming from outside her window. Moaning a bit, she turned over and found the bed empty.
Mikhail had lived up to his promise to sneak into her room, and she doubted either of them found sleep in the narrow bed much before dawn.
But he was gone now.
Rolling over, she put the pillow over her head to smother the sounds from the yard below. Since it also smothered her, she gave it up. Resigned, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. She just managed to find the doorknob and open the door, when Rachel opened the one across the hall.
The two disheveled women gave each other bleary-eyed stares. Rachel yawned first.
“When I have kids,” she began, “they’re not going to be allowed out of bed until ten on Saturday mornings. Noon on Sunday. And only if they’re bringing me breakfast in bed.”
Sydney ran her tongue over her teeth, propping herself on the doorjamb. “Good luck.”
“I wish I wasn’t such a sucker for them.” She yawned again. “Got a quarter?”
Because she was still half-asleep, Sydney automatically searched the pockets of her robe. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Hold on.” Rachel disappeared into her room, then came back out with a coin. “Call it.”
“Excuse me?”
/> “Heads or tails. Winner gets the shower first. Loser has to go down and get the coffee.”
“Oh.” Her first inclination was to be polite and offer to get the coffee, then she thought of a nice hot shower. “Tails.”
Rachel flipped, caught the coin and held it out. “Damn. Cream and sugar?”
“Black.”
“Ten minutes,” Rachel promised, then started down the hall. She stopped, glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Since it’s just you and me, are you really crazy about Mikhail?”
“Since it’s just you and me, yes.”
Rachel’s grin was quick and she rocked back on her heels. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, refreshed by the shower and coffee, Sydney wandered downstairs. Following the sounds of activity, she found most of the family had centered in the kitchen for the morning.
Natasha stood at the stove in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Yuri sat at the table, shoveling in pancakes and making faces at the giggling baby who was strapped into one of those clever swings that rocked and played music. Alex slouched with his head in his hands, barely murmuring when his mother shoved a mug of coffee under his nose.
“Ah, Sydney.”
Alex winced at his father’s booming greeting. “Papa, have some respect for the dying.”
He only gave Alex an affectionate punch on the arm. “You come sit beside me,” Yuri instructed Sydney. “And try Tash’s pancakes.”
“Good morning,” Natasha said even as her mother refilled Sydney’s coffee cup. “I apologize for my barbaric children and the mongrel who woke the entire house so early.”
“Children make noise,” Yuri said indulgently. Katie expressed agreement by squealing and slamming a rattle onto the tray of the swing.
“Everyone’s up then?” Sydney took her seat.
“Spence is showing Mikhail the barbecue pit he built,” Natasha told her and set a heaping platter of pancakes on the table. “They’ll stand and study and make men noises. You were comfortable in the night?”
Sydney thought of Mikhail and struggled not to blush. “Yes, thank you. Oh, please,” she started to protest when Yuri piled pancakes on her plate.
“For energy,” he said, and winked.
Before she could think how to respond, a small curly-haired bullet shot through the back door. Yuri caught him on the fly and hauled the wriggling bundle into his arms.
“This is my grandson, Brandon. He is monster. And I eat monsters for breakfast. Chomp, chomp.”
The boy of about three was wiry and tough, squirming and squealing on Yuri’s lap. “Papa, come watch me ride my bike. Come watch me!”
“You have a guest,” Nadia said mildly, “and no manners.”
Resting his head against Yuri’s chest, Brandon gave Sydney a long, owlish stare. “You can come watch me, too,” he invited. “You have pretty hair. Like Lucy.”
“That’s a very high compliment,” Natasha told her. “Lucy is a cat. Miss Hayward can watch you later. She hasn’t finished her breakfast.”
“You watch, Mama.”
Unable to resist, Natasha rubbed a hand over her son’s curls. “Soon. Go tell your daddy he has to go to the store for me.”
“Papa has to come.”
Knowing the game, Yuri huffed and puffed and stuck Brandon on his shoulders. The boy gave a shout of laughter and gripped tight to Yuri’s hair as his grandfather rose to his feet.
“Daddy, look! Look how tall I am,” Brandon was shouting as they slammed out of the screen door.
“Does the kid ever stop yelling?” Alex wanted to know.
“You didn’t stop yelling until you were twelve,” Nadia told him, and added a flick with her dishcloth.
Feeling a little sorry for him, Sydney rose to pour more coffee into his mug herself. He snatched her hand and brought it to his lips for a smacking kiss. “You’re a queen among women, Sydney. Run away with me.”
“Do I have to kill you?” Mikhail asked as he strolled into the kitchen.
Alex only grinned. “We can arm wrestle for her.”
“God, men are such pigs,” Rachel observed as she walked in from the opposite direction.
“Why?” The question came from a pretty, golden-haired girl who popped through the doorway, behind Mikhail.
“Because, Freddie, they think they can solve everything with muscles and sweat instead of their tiny little brains.”
Ignoring his sister, Mikhail pushed plates aside, sat down and braced an elbow on the table. Alex grinned at the muttered Ukrainian challenge. Palms slapped together.
“What are they doing?” Freddie wanted to know.
“Being silly.” Natasha sighed and swung an arm around Freddie’s shoulder. “Sydney, this is my oldest, Freddie. Freddie, this is Miss Hayward, Mikhail’s friend.”
Disconcerted, Sydney smiled at Freddie over Mikhail’s head. “It’s nice to see you again, Freddie. I met you a long time ago when you were just a baby.”
“Really?” Intrigued, Freddie was torn between studying Sydney or watching Mikhail and Alex. They were knee to knee, hands clasped, and the muscles in their arms were bulging.
“Yes, I, ah…” Sydney was having a problem herself. Mikhail’s eyes flicked up and over her before returning to his brother’s. “I knew your father when you lived in New York.”
There were a couple of grunts from the men at the table. Rachel sat at the other end and helped herself to pancakes. “Pass me the syrup.”
With his free hand, Mikhail shoved it at her.
Smothering a grin, Rachel poured lavishly. “Mama, do you want to take a walk into town after I eat?”
“That would be nice.” Ignoring her sons, Nadia began to load the dishwasher. She preferred the arm wrestling to the rolling and kicking they’d treated each other to as boys. “We can take Katie in the stroller if you like, Natasha.”
“I’ll walk in with you, and check on the shop.” Natasha washed her hands. “I own a toy store in town,” she told Sydney.
“Oh.” Sydney couldn’t take her eyes off the two men. Natasha could very well have told her she owned a missile site. “That’s nice.”
The three Stanislaski women grinned at each other. Sentimental, Nadia began to imagine a fall wedding. “Would you like more coffee?” she asked Sydney.
“Oh, I—”
Mikhail gave a grunt of triumph as he slapped his brother’s arm on the table. Dishes jumped. Caught up in the moment, Freddie clapped and had her baby sister mimicking the gesture.
Grinning, Alex flexed his numbed fingers. “Two out of three.”
“Get your own woman.” Before Sydney could react, Mikhail scooped her up, planted a hard kiss on her mouth that tasted faintly and erotically of sweat, then carried her out the door.
CHAPTER TEN
“You might have lost, you know.”
Amused by the lingering annoyance in her voice, Mikhail slid an arm around Sydney’s waist and continued to walk down the sloping sidewalk. “I didn’t.”
“The point—” She sucked in her breath. She’d been trying to get the point through that thick Slavic skull off and on for more than an hour. “The point is that you and Alex arm wrestled for me as if I were a six-pack of beer.”
His grin only widened, a six-pack would make him a little drunk, but that was nothing to what he’d felt when he’d looked up and seen the fascination in her eyes as she’d stared at his biceps. He flexed them a little, believing a man had a right to vanity.
“And then,” she continued, making sure her voice was low, as his family was wandering along in front and behind them. “You manhandled me—in front of your mother.”
“You liked it.”
“I certainly—”
“Did,” he finished, remembering the hot, helpless way she’d responded to the kiss he’d given her on his sister’s back porch. “So did I.”
She would not smile. She would not admit for a moment to the spin
ning excitement she’d felt when he’d scooped her up like some sweaty barbarian carrying off the spoils of war.
“Maybe I was rooting for Alex. It seems to me he got the lion’s share of your father’s charm.”
“All the Stanislaskis have charm,” he said, unoffended. He stopped and, bending down, plucked a painted daisy from the slope of the lawn they passed. “See?”
“Hmm.” Sydney twirled the flower under her nose. Perhaps it was time to change the subject before she was tempted to try to carry him off. “It’s good seeing Spence again. When I was fifteen or so, I had a terrible crush on him.”
Narrow eyed, Mikhail studied his brother-in-law’s back. “Yes?”
“Yes. Your sister’s a lucky woman.”
Family pride came first. “He’s lucky to have her.”
This time she did smile. “I think we’re both right.”
Brandon, tired of holding his mother’s hand, bolted back toward them. “You have to carry me,” he told his uncle.
“Have to?”
With an enthusiastic nod, Brandon began to shimmy up Mikhail’s leg like a monkey up a tree. “Like Papa does.”
Mikhail hauled him up, then to the boy’s delight, carried him for a while upside down.
“He’ll lose his breakfast,” Nadia called out.
“Then we fill him up again.” But Mikhail flipped him over so Brandon could cling to his back. Pink cheeked, the boy grinned over at Sydney.
“I’m three years old,” he told her loftily. “And I can dress my own self.”
“And very well, too.” Amused, she tapped his sneakered foot. “Are you going to be a famous composer like your father?”
“Nah. I’m going to be a water tower. They’re the biggest.”
“I see.” It was the first time she’d heard quite so grand an ambition.
“Do you live with Uncle Mikhail?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“Not yet,” Mikhail said simultaneously, and grinned at her.
“You were kissing him,” Brandon pointed out. “How come you don’t have any kids?”
“That’s enough questions.” Natasha came to the rescue, plucking her son from Mikhail’s back as her brother roared with laughter.
