by Megan Hart
She knew, somehow, that’s where she’d find Nikolai. The wonky latch on the attic door hung loose as she opened it. She then put a foot on the bare wooden stair and listened. She could warn him that she was coming up, but she didn’t. Her breath caught in her throat as she ascended, her hand on the wooden railing worn smooth by years of palms passing over it. As her head cleared the floor level and she could look into the attic space, she saw him.
He wore a pair of black dress pants and a pale-blue button-down open at the throat to reveal the first few curling dark hairs on his chest. He’d slicked his hair back from his face, the comb marks defined. The style revealed his profile to her—the high forehead and strong black brows, very much like his brother’s. The high cheekbones and full mouth, very different.
He twisted in his place at the end of the bed to look at her as she came all the way up the stairs. He didn’t look surprised, which amused her. He didn’t look annoyed, which relieved her.
“Hey,” Nikolai said.
“Hey.”
“Mom and Ilya are—”
“In the living room. I know. Theresa told me. I heard someone else arriving just after I did, but I’m not sure who it was.” Alicia looked around the space. Same sagging double bed with the brass headboard wedged into the only space that allowed you to stand upright. Same battered dresser and shelves built in against the walls.
How many hours had they spent up here, she thought in a bit of a daze as her feet moved of their own accord. No hesitation in her step, no matter what she might be feeling or thinking. Or not thinking, as the case might be.
There was the stack of board games and puzzles missing pieces. In the back corner, where the ceiling almost met the floor, she’d find the outline of their hands, traced in Magic Marker, if she looked. Memories of things they’d already done.
She was here to make some new ones.
“It’s hard to believe she’s gone.” Nikolai leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His shoulders hunched. He shook his head once, twice, looking at the floor. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long, especially when I knew she wasn’t doing so well.”
“You came back. That’s what matters.” Standing in front of him, Alicia put her fingertips on the top of his head. His thick, dark hair, so much softer than Ilya’s, brushed her knuckles. She tightened her fingers in it, tipping his face up.
“I wasn’t here . . .”
“You were here when it counted,” she told him.
Moments later she was on his lap with her mouth full of the taste of him. His hands clung to her hips while hers cupped his face. Her skirt tangled around her knees, making it difficult to straddle him, and he rolled them both onto the bed in a twist of arms and legs.
“Allie—”
She shut him up with another kiss. She didn’t want to hear him talk about how this was wrong, or how they shouldn’t. Later they could talk this to death, if they had to. Or they could ignore it and live with the guilt. Right now, all she cared about was touching him.
With a low groan, Nikolai opened his mouth to her. At the nip of her teeth on his bottom lip, his moan became a small growl. He opened his eyes to look into hers, his brow furrowed. Deliberately, his gaze never wavering, he pushed his hand between them, beneath her skirt. Up, up, pushing her thighs apart to get his fingers against the front of her panties.
When he rubbed his thumb slowly over the front of the silky fabric, Alicia bit back a moan of her own. Her hand slid from his face to grip his shoulder. Her nails dug deep enough to make him wince but did nothing to deter him from circling his thumb against her again, all without ever looking away from her.
She should’ve known better than to think she could ever be in control of this. With Nikolai, it was always, and would always be, a matter of one-upping the other. Winning had been so important to both of them as kids—but could there be a loser in this? She nudged his chin upward so she could get her teeth at the sensitive flesh of his throat. She nipped him, urging Nikolai to arch and grind against her, as his fingertips skidded a little higher and then dipped inside the waistband of her panties.
He covered her mouth with his hand when she moaned again. The salt taste of his skin sent a shudder of pleasure all through her, even as the urge to bite him so he would take his hand away made her bare her teeth. Instead, she reached between them to yank at his belt buckle and find the zipper beneath. Her hand was in the front of his pants a few seconds after that, her fingers curling over the hot, hard bulge in the front of his briefs.
The headboard squeaked as they rocked the creaking bed frame, shifting and moving against each other. Frantic. Furtive. She couldn’t touch enough of him—she couldn’t open herself to him fast enough.
Yet there was the barrier of clothes and the necessity for silence, even though she doubted anyone would hear them from downstairs unless they started shrieking. Nikolai rolled them again, and her hair came down from the loose knot. His elbow landed on it, pulling hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her low cry of protest was still muffled by his covering hand. It became a different sort of cry when he replaced his palm with his mouth. His tongue swept inside her mouth, and she no longer minded the ache in her neck from the angle it was being bent into by the weight of him on her hair.
They shifted again, this time ending with her on top of him. Her knees gripped his sides. Her hands moved over his belly, pushing his shirt up to reveal the taut muscles beneath. With shaking hands, she traced the line of thick black hair curling below his belly button and disappearing into his briefs. His erection pressed the soft fabric, a hint of his flesh peeking out from the waistband; when she drew her fingertips along it, Nikolai bucked his hips upward and grabbed her wrist to stop her.
Alicia gave him a challenging stare. She wasn’t strong enough to force him to let her touch him, of course, and she didn’t want to force him, anyway. She kept up the pressure of her grasp just enough that he had to make the effort at keeping her from touching him. It lasted only a moment before Nikolai bit his lower lip, and, brow furrowed, he took her hand and put it on the thick ridge of him. He moved her hand up and down, his briefs sliding between her grip and his bare skin.
He pushed his other hand between them to find the front of her panties again. With a curl of his fingers, he pushed aside the damp, silky fabric and found her heat inside. The tight knot of flesh, the slickness—the angle was wrong for him to push deeply inside her, but it was enough. Oh, it was more than enough.
Alicia pushed herself up just a bit to give him more room. She used the motion to release him from the confines of his briefs—nowhere near enough for her to have full access, but in the heat of the moment, it was working. They moved together as she leaned to kiss him again.
Incredibly, she felt the rise of climax twisting inside her. Sex was something Alicia had always needed to work at, pleasure a goal she’d had to strive for. It had never come easy for her. Yet here, dry humping on this ancient mattress in a chilly attic room with her childhood archenemy, all her body wanted to do was fill itself up with the sweet electricity of ecstasy.
All she could do was let it.
Nikolai was the one who kept her hand moving on him, matching the pace to his own fingers now sliding inside her, then, coated in her arousal, over the place where she most needed him to touch her. Nikolai kept the rhythm. Nikolai was the one now murmuring encouragement into her ear while Alicia rode the waves of desire beginning to consume her.
“C’mon, girl,” he whispered into her ear, his voice thick and rough with need. “I want you to feel good . . .”
She felt better than good. Alicia sat up, arching her back, letting her body move to some inner pulse Nikolai had so skillfully initiated. She moved her hands up her body and beneath the fall of her hair, letting it slide through and tangle between her fingers. Her vision had gone a little hazy, red tinged around the edges.
Pleasure cascaded through her, and she shuddered. Her fingers dug into Nikolai’s bare s
ides below the hem of his shirt. He gasped, thrusting harder into her curled fingers. At the very last second, as she looked into his eyes and gave him the full sight of her climax coursing all through her, his fingers bore down on hers, and he stopped her from moving.
“Someone’s at the door,” he whispered hoarsely. “Get off me.”
They rolled, shifted, moved. Alicia was up and off the bed, standing by the shelving unit laden with old photo albums and board games, with swift fingers twisting her hair back into the semblance of a knot rather than a sex-tangled mess. Her clothes were easy to rearrange, she thought with a horrified laugh she bit back—they’d barely come off. She could do nothing about the slickness between her legs or her still-throbbing center, but fortunately all she had to do was force herself to catch her breath. Nobody could see she’d just come hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“What’s going on?” Ilya spoke from the stairs, only his head visible. “We’re waiting for you.”
She risked turning, half expecting to see Nikolai in a compromising position, but it seemed he’d been as fast as she was at hiding any evidence of what had been going on. She caught his gaze across the room. His eyes flashed. His mouth thinned. He gave her the tiniest shake of his head.
Like she was going to tell Ilya anything, Alicia thought sourly. “I’m looking for some old pictures. Nikolai said there were some here in the dresser.”
“I’m just getting my tie,” Nikolai said. “I know I packed one.”
“You don’t need a tie,” Ilya said. “We’re supposed to be mourning. You think anyone’s going to give a shit if you’re not wearing a tie?”
Nikolai cleared his throat. “People talk.”
“You think I give a shit what people say?” Ilya took another couple of steps higher into the room, his hand on the railing.
“You’re a business owner. You should.” Nikolai flipped open the lid of his suitcase and rifled around inside it, keeping his back to them both.
“You think I—”
“I found some.” Alicia held out a handful of loose photos she’d pulled at random from one of the albums in the top drawer. “Let him wear a tie if he wants to, Ilya. It’s not a big deal.”
Ilya frowned. “It’s a big enough deal when I’m down there with her, and you’re all off doing whatever it is you’re doing and I have to deal with it.”
“Galina? What’s she doing?” Alicia knew she shouldn’t be glad for the distraction her semicrazy ex-mother-in-law provided, but it had already been established she was of the morally gray persuasion by the simple fact she’d just been getting a hand job from her ex-husband’s brother.
“She’s not doing anything. She’s just being herself.”
“Say no more.” Alicia shook her head and glanced at Nikolai, who seemed to have found his tie and was busy putting it on with the help of an age-spotted mirror hung at an angle on the slanted wall. Ilya must have missed that one. Nikolai caught her gaze in the reflection, but she looked away. “I’ll come down.”
“Yeah. Me, too. In a minute.” His back still facing them, Nikolai fussed with his tie.
It was probably wrong for her to hold back a smug grin, because the reason why he had to keep himself turned away was the raging hard-on she’d given him, right? Wrong to feel now that she had somehow one-upped him the way they used to. Alicia did her best to keep her expression neutral as she started down the stairs behind Ilya. Still, at the bottom, she had to hold on tight to the railing and give her weak knees a moment before she could step out into the hallway.
“What’s wrong with you?” Another man might’ve asked it suspiciously, or maybe solicitously. Concerned for her well-being. But Ilya, being Ilya, barely waited for an answer before he pulled her into an embrace she didn’t fend off only because he’d taken her by surprise. “Shit, Allie, all of this feels like shit.”
What could she do but put her arms around him and squeeze him? To rub his back as he buried his face against the side of her neck? All she could do was pray he didn’t smell his brother on her skin. Alicia sighed as Ilya clung to her.
“I know, honey. It’s all terrible and sad,” she said.
He grunted against her and pulled away. No tears, but red eyes. He hadn’t shaven, nor showered, by the smell of it. Not for days. “How could you know? You have no idea how I feel.”
Alicia blinked. “I guess nobody else can ever really know, but—”
“You have no clue,” Ilya muttered, and stabbed a finger directly at her. “You couldn’t possibly begin to imagine what this is like for me. She wasn’t your grandmother.”
“She wasn’t . . . ?” Stunned, Alicia cut herself off midsentence.
Ilya had always been capable of using words to slice and tear, just like he’d been able to use them to seduce and charm and woo. If you loved him, you learned to forgive him, and Alicia had loved him, in several different ways, for a very long time. But this cut deep. Cruelly so.
“I loved her, too, Ilya.” From behind her, the attic door creaked, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t want to look at Nikolai right now.
“It’s not the same,” Ilya said, then delivered the final, burning wound. “You have no idea what it’s really like, to lose someone so close.”
“You’re drunk, right? You have to be. Because surely you did not just accuse me of being incapable of compassion and empathy, and certainly,” she spat out, “that I don’t understand. Did you?”
“Shit. Allie.” Nikolai stepped through the doorway, but she shrugged off his touch.
“You did not just tell me,” she repeated softly as she advanced on Ilya, stabbing him in the chest with her fingertip, “that I’ve never lost someone close to me.”
“I—” he began, but she poked him again, and wisely, for maybe the first time in his life, Ilya was smart enough to shut up.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She was too angry even to cry. “Don’t you ever try to tell me I don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone. Don’t you ever fucking dare.”
He might have said more to her after that, but she was already pushing past him and heading down the back stairs. Her breath came fast and hard, burning in her throat as she fought against the urge to scream. Dodging the junk lining the stairs, she made a misstep at the last moment and tripped. She fell against the door at the bottom, which wasn’t locked. It flew open so hard it banged against the wall with a hollow thud. Alicia stumbled down the final two steps, certain she was going to face-plant on the kitchen’s faded linoleum.
A strong hand caught her. Held her up. Struggling to get herself settled, Alicia didn’t at first see who’d saved her from falling.
“Jenni . . . Jennilynn?”
The big hands gripped Alicia’s arms harder, then released so she could stand on her own. She pushed her hair out of her face. The man who stood in front of her looking so stunned wore a dark-gray suit and the shadow of a beard. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of decades.
“No, Mr. Malone, I’m Alicia.”
“Jenni’s sister. My God.” Barry wiped a hand over his mouth, clearly shaken. “You looked so much like her for a second there . . .”
She’d heard that before, although not for years. She supposed it was meant as a compliment. She stepped away from him.
“I guess I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Barry gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry. How are you, Allie?”
She wasn’t much in the mood for small talk, but she managed to force her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Under the circumstances, I’m as good as I can be, I guess.”
“Right. Of course.” He cleared his throat and shifted on the balls of his feet, looking uncomfortable. “I’m here to sit shiva. Umm . . . Galina invited me. I hope that’s okay.”
“She’s allowed to ask whoever she wants,” Alicia said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She left the kitchen without waiting for him to answer her, not caring whether it was rude. Only once she was across the street aga
in, safe behind her own locked door, did she allow herself to let out the strangled breaths she’d been holding. But then, no matter how hard she tried to scream, all she could do was whisper.
“Don’t you ever tell me that I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“No matter what I do, I always screw it up.” Ilya waved a hand toward the back stairs, down which Alicia had disappeared, then grimaced. “Shit.”
Niko rubbed his forehead, where a faint, throbbing ache was rising, with the back of his hand. “Yeah, man. What the hell was that all about?”
“I don’t know. Shit,” his brother repeated, then looked over at Niko. “I didn’t think.”
It wasn’t the time to point out that not thinking about other people’s feelings was one of Ilya’s bad habits. “It’s a tough time for everyone, Ilya. She’s upset, too.”
“She’ll get over it.” Ilya’s confident dismissal set Niko’s jaw on edge, but what could he do, argue? Ilya knew Allie better than Niko did.
Niko didn’t want to think about that.
Ilya shrugged. “We should get downstairs.”
“We could stay up here,” Niko said with a small, tight grin. “Until they all go.”
Ilya didn’t return the smile. His red eyes and disheveled appearance hinted at another bender, but Niko didn’t think his brother was drunk. He would’ve been more charming if he was.
“You avoid it however you want. I’m going downstairs,” Ilya said.
