Casimir pressed his fingertips to his temple, still frozen, his feet refusing to move to cross the space to her side. Stupid. Stupid idea. When they conceived of it, both thought it brilliant. A perfect plan. And then the tunnel collapsed and Giacinta was caught in it and Casimir had no idea if she was dead or alive. For hours. Long, terrible hours of absolute terror. The seconds took hours. The minutes did. He was sick with the need to know if she was alive.
He’d tried to use their connection, pressing his thumb time after time into the center of his palm, but that had failed him as well. And that’s when the terror rose to such a level he nearly lost every vestige of control and discipline he’d acquired with his years of training and practice.
He saw them pull her out of the wreckage of the hotel, her body limp, on a stretcher, rushed to the hospital. He couldn’t get near her. She was under heavy guard, an American caught in the collapse of one of their hotels.
Casimir forced his body to move. He knew he didn’t have much time. There were guards outside her door. His credentials had been put together fast. The American Embassy had sent him to check on one of their citizens. He took a breath, forced it through his burning lungs and stepped up to the bed.
She was asleep, her long lashes covering her eyes. One eye was swollen, her face covered in bruises. There was a cast on her arm. Each breath she drew in seemed labored, as if her body hurt. His eyes burned. His throat clogged. He took her hand and stroked the back of it, bending down to brush his mouth over her temple.
Immediately the lashes fluttered. “Casimir.” She whispered his name, her voice drowsy. “I knew you’d come.”
“Shh, moya lyubov, you need to sleep.”
She tried to smile, and then winced when the movement pulled at the cut on her lip. He felt the wince like a punch in his gut. Hard. Painful. Taking his air. “You got these injuries from Uri, not the cave-in.”
“I’m all right now.” Her voice was low. She tried again to open her eyes, the lashes fluttering again, but she didn’t succeed. “You’re free. That’s all that matters.”
It wasn’t all that mattered to him. He pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “You have to know something, malyshka. I would give you the moon, anything you ask me for, I’ll do my best to make it yours, but not this. Never again. I won’t let you do this again. You have to know something about me, Giacinta. You have to learn this right now. My woman doesn’t take this kind of risk again. It’s not going to happen.”
This time her eyes did manage to open. The sight of her one eye so swollen and black and blue made his stomach lurch. He kissed her fingers while her gaze drifted over his face. She was looking at a very distinguished gentleman with graying hair, wearing a suit. His identification hung from a clip off the pocket of his vest.
“I’m not trying to be a dictator, malyshka. It’s in my nature to be one, I won’t lie about that, but I will never go through this again. You’re going to be glued to my side twenty-four hours a day where I can make certain you’re alive.”
“I love you, Casimir,” she whispered, and her lashes drifted down over her eyes.
She was alive. That was all that mattered. But he was dead serious. It didn’t matter if she took him that way or not, his woman would be safe. Hell. She wasn’t going outside her home to rake the leaves off the ground without him.
Casimir hadn’t known it was possible to be terrified. Emotions like fear had been beaten out of him years ago. He always believed that his instructors had done the worst to all of them so anything that happened after that was nothing to them. There was no way to prepare for having someone you loved with every breath you took be in danger. He just knew he couldn’t go through that again. Those minutes and hours where he didn’t know if she was alive or dead. That time when she was out of his sight, in danger, with men who had no respect for life.
He kissed her fingertips again, looking down at her. The woman who held his heart in her hands. He couldn’t stay. But he’d be back. “Not ever again, Giacinta,” he whispered. Meaning it.
Lissa had been prepared for the questions from the police. Someone from the embassy was always close, but truthfully, she wasn’t concerned. No one questioned her story. She really was Lissa Piner from the United States. She really did come to St. Petersburg at the request of Uri and Kostya Sorbacov to talk about chandeliers for their hotel.
They were celebrating their deal with champagne when a bullet came through the window and ended Kostya’s life. Uri and his men had rushed them down into a tunnel and into a room where they were going to stay to be safe while Uri’s men had scattered to get information on the shooter. The tunnel had collapsed with no warning.
Lissa had been fully prepared to answer the questions from the police. She was careful not to repeat her story over and over without changing or adding little details so it didn’t sound rehearsed. She hadn’t been prepared for the reporters. They’d been a nightmare. She told herself it was good for her business to get so much publicity, but the reporters made it difficult to be with Casimir. All she wanted was to be with him.
He’d come to the hospital three times during her stay there. That scared her. He was placing himself in terrible danger, but nothing she said dissuaded him. She had one more night in the hotel the Russian government had put her in before the doctors would sign off on her going home. One more night and she was back with Casimir and they could go home.
The knock came and her heart nearly stopped. He wouldn’t dare. This was a government hotel. Cameras were everywhere. They only had one more night to get through and then they were home free. She hurried across the room to the door, putting her eye to the little peephole. She couldn’t see a thing. She knew, though. She knew by the way her body reacted. The way her heart had gone crazy. It would always go crazy when he was near. Her husband. Casimir Prakenskii. She loved that. Loved that once they left this place, he would be able to reclaim his true birthright. All of his brothers would be able to without fear of consequences.
Lissa flung open the door. Casimir stepped inside, kicked the door closed and swept her into his arms. Lifting her, holding her to his body so close, so tight, she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. She circled his neck with her one good arm, closing her eyes, feeling safe for the first time in more than a week.
Casimir carried her to the bed, sank down onto the mattress and cradled her on his lap. His hands framed her face. He didn’t speak, his eyes staring down into hers. He was wearing contacts. Hazel eyes this time, but she would know him anywhere. It didn’t matter what role he played, to her, he would always be Casimir.
His mouth came down on hers. Gently. So gently it brought tears to her eyes. His tongue flicked along the cut on her mouth. It was nearly completely gone now. The swelling was gone from her face, but she did have a lot of color here and there. His mouth wandered over the bruises, brushing little kisses over every single one of them. She didn’t have to tell him what happened in that room. He knew just by looking at her. She knew if she gave him details it would just make him crazy.
“I should never have let you go into that situation,” he whispered against her lips. His tongue dipped again, ran along the seam of her mouth.
He kissed her again and this time she opened her mouth to him. An invitation. He took her up on it and swept them both away. She could taste passion. There was always that explosive chemistry leaping between them, but this time, there was something so profound, so beautiful, she wanted to weep.
His arms were strong, almost steel surrounding her, yet he was gentle. His mouth was hot, commanding, yet tender. Loving. She felt that in his kiss and the way he held her, treating her like she was made of the most fragile glass in the world. She felt fragile. Sitting in that terrible room with three dead bodies, the air impossible to breathe, her arm excruciatingly painful, especially if she moved it, had been the thing of horror movies.
She had crawled back under the desk, listening to the creaking and groaning of the debris overhead. She t
hought she smelled gas at one point and feared that might kill her before the hotel collapsed in on itself right over top of her. She had had nightmares every single night since they had pulled her out of the rubble. Still, she held on to the fact that the Prakenskii brothers were free for the first time in their lives since Sorbacov had murdered their parents.
“You shouldn’t be here, Casimir,” she reprimanded. Holding him. Grateful he’d come. Knowing it was a terrible risk and yet so happy he was there.
“Did you think I could stay away when I finally have the chance to be alone with you? I know how to slip past a camera. We practiced in these very hotels. I’m very familiar with them.” He tipped her face up to him. “That bastard managed to do a lot of damage in the short time he had you.” Very gently he set her on her feet. “Take your clothes off, Giacinta. I want to look at you.”
She shook her head. Backed away from him. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let’s just be grateful we’re both alive, we got the job done and we’re going home tomorrow.”
He reached out and curled his long fingers around her leg, preventing her from moving. He stood up and closed the distance between them in one long stride, standing in front of her. Close. Both hands went to the buttons of her blouse.
“It’s late. You need to be in bed. We’ve got a long plane ride ahead of us. Before I tuck you in, I want to see what that bastard did to you.”
“Honey, really, I don’t want you to.” Both hands went up to stop his.
He didn’t stop. Lissa sighed. Casimir was always sweet to her, but there was a side to him that was ruthless and dangerous. A side that she usually didn’t see because he never directed it toward her. He was right on the edge of that. Implacable. Letting her know without words she wasn’t getting her way on this, but she had to try.
“You’re already blaming yourself for something we both agreed to. It was our plan together, Casimir. I could tell at the hospital you were upset.”
He frowned, his jaw hard, stony. His eyes glittering with a smoldering fury. “Upset? Is that what you think I was? It was hours, Giacinta, hours before they pulled you out of there. I couldn’t get to you. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
His voice was low, but it made her wince. It was a lash, a whip of sheer anger. She knew his anger was directed at himself. He had her blouse open and he peeled the soft material off one arm and then very gently pulled the other side down over her cast.
“You didn’t see yourself lying so still in that bed, malyshka. Your face so pale you looked like a ghost. Bruises and swelling. Your lip.” He touched the small, already healing cut. His gaze dropped to her chest, her breasts encased in the lacy bra. He closed his eyes and stepped away from her, swearing in his native language over and over.
Lissa watched him pace across the room. The temperature rose alarmingly. The room took on a reddish glow. She felt his anger, a tangible thing, a force of destruction, filling every bit of space around her. She knew what he saw. Uri had gotten in a few punches, as well as a kick or two. She still bore those bruises.
“It’s over,” she reminded.
He swung around, fingers curled into two tight fists. Then he was on her, his hands yanking at her jeans, dragging them down her hips. She was grateful she was barefoot because he all but picked her up, tossed her on the bed and pulled them off her legs. He would have taken her shoes right off had she been wearing any. Lissa tried to curl in on herself but his hand caught at her hip, stilling her.
“Don’t you fucking move, Giacinta,” he snapped, harsh this time.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax under his furious glare. There were more bruises on her body. Suffice to say, the beast wasn’t tamed. Scrapes on her knees and legs from being dragged across the rough pavers. A large bruise where Uri had kicked her hard.
“Turn over.”
“Casimir.” He would detest what he saw.
“Turn the fuck over.”
She winced. He rarely swore in English. It was almost always in Russian, but he was so close to tipping over the edge into a place she didn’t want to ever see him go. Reluctantly she turned onto her stomach, careful of her arm. She put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes.
Lissa heard his sharply indrawn breath. He sank onto the bed beside her. His hand moved down her back, settled into the curve of her spine. He hesitated a moment and then his fingertips brushed along the terrible bruise on her hip and left cheek of her buttocks where Uri’s shoe had landed, driving her forward.
“Giacinta.” He breathed her name.
Oh God. He sounded like he was weeping. Her heart thudded. Wept with him. She tried to turn, but he kept one hand pressed between her shoulder blades, preventing her from turning over or really lifting her head high enough to see him. She felt his breath, warm and soothing over the bruise. His lips touched her. So gently, like a whisper against her skin.
He stayed like that for a long time, his head resting in the small of her back, one hand between her shoulder blades, one arm wrapped around her rib cage, palm cupping her breast. She didn’t talk. What was there to say? She loved him.
She would have given anything to take away those terrible hours when he didn’t know if she was dead or alive. She would have protected and spared him anything she could, because she loved him more than life itself. She couldn’t be sorry for their choice. She had known the risks going into it, and those risks were well worth the outcome. Her husband, the love of her life, was free.
“I don’t want you to sleep with clothes tonight. I know I can’t make love to you, but I don’t want anything between us.”
“Honey,” she murmured, “I’m not so battered that we can’t make love.”
He stood up and she was able to turn over. She watched as he took off his shirt. He shook his head. “No, I’m selfish, malyshka, but not that selfish.”
His hands dropped to the zipper of his slacks and her mouth watered. He might not be that selfish, but she wasn’t so certain she could say the same. Naked, all those wonderful muscles flowing enticingly, he slid next to her and drew up the covers. Turning, he circled her waist and pulled her in close to him, the way he always did. He liked close. Very close. Lissa was happy to oblige.
She had missed him. Missed the feel of his warmth. His hot skin. The way his body was so hard and solid, making her feel safe. She needed safe after enduring all those hours in that horrible room, praying the rescuers would find her soon. She’d never tell him. He was already angry, blaming himself. But she still needed him real and solid wrapped around her.
Lissa didn’t think she’d drift off to sleep so fast, but truthfully, she was still exhausted physically from the beating and the pain in her arm. With Casimir’s body tight against hers, his heat melding with hers, she felt cocooned in warmth.
She jerked awake two hours later, her heart pounding, his name on her lips, in her mouth. She’d used him as her talisman a hundred times under the desk while the rocks creaked and dirt kept falling. She lifted her head and looked at him.
She’d left the lamp across the room on low because she didn’t want to be in the dark, not after spending so many hours in the dark of that sadistic interrogation room. She could see Casimir’s face. He was on his back again, like usual. He always started on his side, but then, once fully asleep, he turned on his back, taking her with him. The way he slept was very familiar to her now. She liked that he was sprawled out on the bed, taking up space. A lot of space. He liked to pull her body over his so she was on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest. One arm was slung across her back. His other hand was on her butt.
He was beautiful. Masculine. She studied his face a long time. Watching him breathe. His lashes were far too long for a man’s but didn’t detract in the least from his hard, male features. She liked the little bit of shadow on his jaw, shivering a little when she remembered how it felt rasping against her inner thighs.
They were supposed to meet on the plane. Not even in
the airport, but the plane itself. Their seats together. Two strangers meeting. She should have known he would come to her. She missed him every moment they were apart, and he certainly didn’t love her any less. She loved him all the more for being there, even though he was a little crazy for taking the risk.
She ran her hand over his chest, letting the pads of her fingers absorb the feel of his muscles. She loved that she lay over top of him sleeping and he’d put her there. She especially loved waking up with his body under hers. She shifted just a few inches and she was straddling him, her legs on either side of his hips. That felt – amazing. Wanton. Definitely erotic.
He had said he couldn’t make love to her. Nothing had been said about her making love to him. She would just have to be careful that she didn’t bonk him with her klutzy cast. She took her time, moving slowly, lazily, savoring every moment she had, committing his body to memory, burning it into her mind through her fingertips and lips. Tasting his skin with her mouth. With her tongue. Tracing her name into his muscles. His rib cage. His impressive six-pack that was more like an eighteen-pack. She scooted down his body, one slow inch at a time. Every inch of him was worshiped, because that’s what she did – she worshiped him, and he needed to know that. She wanted him to feel the overwhelming intense love she had for him.
Fire Bound (Sea Haven Sisters Page 38
