Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  “Sounds like the same man who was at the store this morning,” Leon told Radley. “He was blond, and there was a red Ferrari on the street.”

  “All right. Let’s go back to the store. This man was a client, wasn't he?” Radley asked.

  Leon nodded. “Yes. Tyra sold him some jewelry. In fact, a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “Well in that case, we'll have his details at the store. Anyone spending that kind of money has to fill out a form stating that the funds used were legal funds and declared to the IRS.”

  Back at the store, Radley went through the paperwork until he found the name Dima Asarov.

  *****

  When Sergey pressed the light switch, nothing happened. No light. It must be the bulb, he thought; she's tied up. He went outside and rummaged around in the garage. He found a bulb and grabbed a flashlight.

  “What the hell!” he shouted when he reached the bottom of the stairs. He dropped the flashlight and bulb and put his hands to his neck.

  Tyra spun the piece of wood in her hand as fast as she could, and the cable on the end of it did what she wanted. It tightened beautifully around his neck. She gritted her teeth and wound the board as hard as she could until there was no more play in the cable. Standing behind him, all she had to do now was hold on until he dropped to the floor, but he wasn't so willing. He bucked and tried to throw her over his shoulder, and when that didn't work, he tried to stamp on her feet. Her strength was running out fast, and he was still struggling. He battered against her, but she held on. In desperation, she gave the wood a third of a turn more. Come on, girl, she muttered, hold on. She let out a cry as she pulled the wood to its breaking point. Suddenly he stopped struggling and began to make a hideous noise. When he slumped to the floor, she told herself to keep the wire tight. He may have been playing dead, but he wasn't.

  When she finally let go, she dropped to her knees and picked up the flashlight. She shone it on Sergey and noted that his face was purple. As she was about to stand up, she heard someone on the stairs. She dropped the light and picked up the piece of wood and stood against the wall. When the man came into the room, he saw Sergey on the floor and a flashlight shining into the far corner of the room. Tyra lunged forward and hit him as hard as she could with the piece of wood. There was a sickening crack and a cry.

  “Dima?” she asked.

  “Yes! Shit, that hurts.”

  Good, she thought. “And this is for being an ass,” she said as she hit him again on the upper arm.

  “Stop, stop! For heaven’s sake, stop!” He grabbed the wood and pulled her to him. She tried to break free, but he held her against him.

  “I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't plan any of this. This was all Sergey's doing.”

  “Then how did you know I was here? It's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it? You turning up like this so suddenly?” She landed a blow to his shin with her shoe, but he still held on to her.

  “Stop struggling. Mr. Samuels called me and told me you hadn't shown up for work. He was worried about you. Somehow he knew we were friendly, and he wondered if I knew where you were.” She tried to break free again. He put his head to her neck and inhaled her scent. “I have missed you so much. I'm sorry. I know I can't ever make up for it, but please believe me when I say I have fallen in love with you.”

  At his words, she relaxed. When she felt liquid dropping onto her face, she put her hand to his head. He was bleeding badly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” she said. “You need help.”

  He bent down and picked up the flashlight. He shone it around, trying to get an idea of what had taken place. He saw a wooden chair with just three legs, and when he shone the light at the ceiling, he noticed the cable from the light had been ripped out. There was a groove of broken plaster in the ceiling where someone had yanked the cable from the light fitting all the way to the wall. Upon further inspection, he saw someone had made a noose out of it with a winding mechanism. Gruesome, he thought.

  *****

  The doctor told Dima that a blow to the head of that intensity warranted a night of observation in the hospital. Dima reluctantly agreed. When they wheeled him out of the treatment room toward a free bed, Tyra stood up walked with them. Once he was in bed, she looked at him. He had a deep gash in his head and a terrifying bruise on his arm.

  “Jesus, I'm so sorry for that,” she said. “That looks really painful.”

  “Don't worry. I deserved it after what I wanted to do. I was being foolish. It was the stupidest plan I've ever thought of.”

  “Yes, it was, and it will take a long time before I can trust you again.” She scowled.

  “Are you willing to try? If you want me to beg, I will. Tyra, when you were mad at me, and you left me and wouldn't answer my calls, I realized I can't live without you.”

  “I'm carrying your child.”

  He looked at her, stunned.

  She decided to say something, realizing he was temporarily speechless. “Here is what we'll do. I love you as well. When I was in that cellar, I too realized that I didn't want to be without you. But I am mad as hell with you—madder than I have ever been with anyone.” She reached out and took his hand, mindful not to dislodge the IV. “However, I don't want to miss out on the chance of a happy life with you. I will have our baby, and you and I will be together. But if I hear any more BS about stealing things, I'll kick you out, forever. Agreed?”

  He nodded, still speechless. He gestured for her to come closer. When she did, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  *****

  Radley was in the middle of breakfast when the phone rang. “Thank God, Tyra. I was so worried about you. How are you? What happened to you?”

  Several minutes later, when he closed his cell phone, he was fully aware of what had taken place. He knew someone had wanted to steal the Hope Diamond and that Tyra had been kidnapped. He also knew she had said nothing and had been very brave. He didn't know that the father of her baby had in fact intended to steal the diamond. Tyra had kept that from him. All Radley had to know was that a savage man had intended to steal it, and he was now no longer able to.

  “Eliana, get in here,” he shouted at the top of his voice.

  “Radley, how dare you shout at me like that,” she exclaimed as she appeared from the kitchen.

  “I'll shout at you how I like. I've had a bellyful of you. It's my business. My family founded it and I run it. My name is above the door, and the tax man calls me when he wants something, not you.” Eliana stood open mouthed and wide eyed as his verbal attack continued. “We both decided to give it to Tyra. She's a good girl, but you pompously decided to take it all away from her just because she made a mistake. You're a prude, and you always have been.”

  “But...but,” Eliana floundered.

  “No buts. I'm leaving the store to her, and you will just have to get used to the idea.

  *****

  Five years later Radley and Eliana went on a world cruise and Tyra took up her position as manager. She felt comfortable in her role. Radley checked in with her every day from wherever he was in the world. Before he'd gone, he had asked a computer geek how he could connect to the store’s accounting system from afar. That's my girl, he would say every time he logged in and looked at the profits.

  Tyra only had one problem: the glass cabinets in the store. They were awfully susceptible to sticky little fingers. Jimmy was still a baby, but Dima Junior and Alicia weren't, and when their father took them to see Mommy at work, he loved showing them all the priceless things money could buy.

  Dima got the Hope Diamond for his thirty-second birthday. The woman in the picture framing store had wondered why Tyra had wanted such a beautiful frame for a simple photocopy of a downloaded internet picture.

  BWWM MAFIA Romance - The Russian’s Love Child: Nicki’s Story

  The plane from Moscow to JFK was three hours late due to heavy snow in Russia. Nicki had tried to call Nathan from Moscow but hadn't managed to get a hold of him. She just
hoped he'd waited for her. If not, she'd have to get a taxi, and she only had a purse full of worthless rubels.

  When she'd cleared US customs and reclaimed her bag, she walked out into the arrivals lounge. There were a lot of people waiting to pick up family and friends. She didn’t see Nathan. Whenever he'd picked her up at the airport before, he'd stood where he could see her. Today he wasn't in the usual place. She walked off to the side, put her heavy bag on the floor, and reached inside her jacket for her cell phone. She let it ring a few times. No reply. Darn it. Not only would she have to get a taxi, but she also would miss the opportunity to talk to him.

  “Nicki, over here,” Nathan shouted. “I tracked the flight on the net and saw the delay, so I only set off when they gave a landing time. I didn't realize the traffic would be so bad. Sorry.”

  That was Nathan, she thought, always apologizing for something that wasn't his fault. “Hello,” she said as he hugged her. She couldn’t let him hold her for too long; it would be unfair.

  “Let me have a look at you,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “Still the same beautiful Nicki: perfectly dressed and not a hair out of place, even after such a long flight.”

  “And you've lost weight. Have you been eating properly?”

  “How can a man eat properly when he is lovesick?” he said as he picked up her bag. “Jesus, what have you got in here, a real elephant?”

  “Just a few small ones to add to my collection.”

  “I've never understood why you collect elephants,” he admitted as they walked toward the parking lot.

  Just as she thought: He never listened to her. “I've told you a few times, because my South African dad always told me the tale about how the little elephant got a long trunk. I have been fascinated by them ever since.” She could see he wasn't listening again. He was looking for the parking ticket. He tutted and put her bag down as he searched every pocket.

  “You haven't bothered to clean out the car then?” she said moments later as she squeezed her long legs between empty Coke cans and pizza boxes. Surely if you were going to collect the woman you loved from the airport after she'd been away for a year, you would make a bit of an effort.

  The Fiat screeched to life, and Nathan reversed out of the parking lot, almost hitting the car next to them. “So how was it really? I mean you told me you enjoyed it, but can someone really enjoy a year in Moscow? It's full of commies for a start.”

  Nicki looked at all the dead flies on the windshield and considered her answer. “I did enjoy it. And it's not full of commies. It was the chance of a lifetime. A lot of people applied for that exchange place to Moscow State University. I was the lucky one who got it, so I decided to make the best of it.”

  She pulled down the sun visor and looked at herself in the vanity mirror. Nathan had been right. Her makeup had withstood the grueling flight. Her lips were still bright red, and her eyes bore no smudges. She'd gotten a new hairdo in Moscow; she was sure Nathan hadn't noticed. She liked it. Natasha, the lovely girl who'd cut it, was fascinated by black people's hair. She'd never had a black woman in her chair before. She’d said it had looked wiry, but she’d quickly changed her mind when she touched it. Now Nicki wore it long and thrown to one side in sweeping curls.

  “Jesus, asshole,” Nathan shouted as he almost ran into a taxi that had stopped to turn left.

  “Nathe,” Nicki murmured, knowing she was going to hate herself, “I want to talk to you.” She looked across at him. He was tall and dark and had a strong-looking face, the kind women trusted. He would soon find some else, someone more suitable. Someone who didn't mind dirty cars and a boyfriend who didn’t listen. “Nathe, thanks for giving me a lift home. It's really nice of you.”

  “Nice? Did you think after a year that I wouldn't come and collect my girlfriend from the airport?”

  They'd been together for four years, ever since Nicki had started her courses in journalism at NYU. It had been the first time she'd been away from her parents, and she'd been nervous. She’d been brought up in a small town in Alabama, and at the time New York had seemed so intimidating. Now she had to admit that when she'd met Nathan, she had clung to him for her own sake. Not because she loved him, but because he was a New Yorker and made her feel at ease with the Big Apple. Now she was going to have to pay for stringing him along all this time. Why had she just let it drift?

  “Well, it is nice of you.” Come on, girl, out with it, she told herself, trying to find the right words. “Nathe, I don't want to be with you anymore. I want to be your friend, but I don't want a sexual relationship with you anymore.”

  “What?” he said as he swerved around another taxi.

  “You never listen to a word I say,” she shouted in frustration.

  “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  She took a deep breath and began again. “Nathe, you're sweet, but I want to finish our relationship.”

  “What?” She was fearful he hadn't heard her again, but he had. “What the hell are you talking about, finish?”

  “I want to be friends with you, but not your girlfriend anymore. I thought a lot about it while I was in Moscow, and we're not compatible. You could find someone much better suited to you. You're only twenty-four, and you've got a great job at the Times. You're bound to find Mrs. Right.”

  “Nicki,” he exclaimed. She closed her eyes, sure he was going to run into the car in front of them. “No, Nicki, you've got it wrong. I don't want anybody else. I want you. Jesus, I love you.”

  It was the first time he'd said that, and it made it all the more difficult. “You think you love me, Nathe, but really you only have time for one person: yourself.”

  “Will you stop talking BS? You're my girl, and that's it.” He looked at her. She looked hotter than ever with her new hair. She had also lost weight, not that she’d needed to. Now she was slender, and it made her look taller than the five eight she always claimed she was. All he wanted to do was get her back to her apartment and go to bed with her. He longed to feel her long legs around him and her soft lips on his. He'd often masturbated to a picture of her when she was away. Not a picture of her in some pornographic pose, but a simple picture of her face, smiling into the camera he'd taken with them on a trip to the beach.

  “No, Nathe. I've made up my mind. Please respect that.”

  “So what happened, Nicki? Have you fallen in love with some heartless communist? They're all communists, you know. Spineless alcoholics, all of them.”

  What he was saying wasn't true. She'd met a lot of nice people in Russia during her exchange year. None of them were communists, and apart from the odd drunken birthday celebration, she'd never seen any of them drinking alcohol. She'd gone there with an open mind. Sure, it was a totally different culture, and it had taken a lot of getting used to, but she'd really enjoyed the experience. “No, I haven't fallen in love with anyone. I just don't think you and I are compatible enough to take it any further than we already have.”

  “Well thanks a lot. Thanks for ruining my day and my life. What a bitch. You know, you've always thought you were better than everybody else.” He glanced across at her with hurt engraved all over his face.

  Surely he'd suspected something, though. She hadn't exactly been nice to him when they'd talked on Skype. And she'd never called him. He'd even complained that he always had to call her. “I'm sorry, Nathe, but that's it. I can't be with you anymore.” Her words sounded so final, she thought. If only, there was a better way, a less cruel way. She'd agonized over it for days, but every time she'd come to the same conclusion. There was no kind way to dump someone.

  “And what the hell are you going to do with your life, Nicki? You’re graduating in four weeks and you still haven't applied for any jobs. It's not easy finding work, so you'd better get on with it.” There was a cold, father-like sound to his voice.

  “I've told you a few times. I'm going to be a freelance journalist.”

  “Yeah, right. As if an editor would buy a story from a roo
kie journalist. You've been told so many times by me, by your professor, and by all your peers that you need to get a job on a newspaper. Learn your craft and then, only then, you might have a chance at being a freelancer.”

  He was right, but only to a certain extent, she told herself. She was graduating from a great school of journalism. Then she had to write some great stories. As a young rookie, she knew it would be difficult, but she was daring, and she intended to get exciting, even dangerous, stories that would sell themselves. Stories of hardship, crime, war, and death were all on her list, and she knew exactly where she was going to start. “But that's what I want to do. It's my life and my business, and nobody else can tell me what to do.”

  “Like I said, you think you are better than everybody else. Everyone's telling you it can't be done successfully, but oh no, madam won't listen. Well, I tell you what, when I drop you off at your apartment, you can darn well go to hell. I don't want to see you anymore either. And I might add, my experience with you has been nothing short of unpleasant. You're self-centered, conceited, arrogant, and a whole lot more.”

  Nicki put the key in the door of her apartment and opened it. She grunted as she put her bag down in the hallway. When she closed the door, she leaned back against it and closed her eyes. Home. Finally home.

  The food on the plane had been exceptionally salty, and she needed water. She turned on the kitchen light and smiled. There was a large “Welcome Home” banner tied along the curtain rail and a bottle of sparkling white wine on the table. Sarah and Lela, her housemates, had intended to drink it with her. Not surprisingly, they had gone to bed. It was 3 a.m.

  *****

  Nicki woke to someone knocking on her bedroom door. She opened her eyes and immediately shut them again as the sharp winter sunlight tore into them. Why did I never shut the curtains properly? she asked herself.

  “I'm awake. You can come in.”

  It was Lela. Lela had started college at the same time as Nicki. They'd found they had a lot in common, not least because they were both black and both starting out in journalism. After six months they'd decided to leave the residence halls and get an apartment together.