by Cait London
He was silent and she frowned. “I’m sorry that I’m too tired and on edge and that I can’t give Tanya what she needs, a wonderful home like your parents’, or like Jarek and Leigh’s. Not just now. But I will. I thought about it, and it just won’t work here. Hillary is one thing and Paul another, and together they are cruel, selfish people. I can’t risk what they could do to Tanya if you turned us in.”
Mikhail’s dark look took in her hunched shoulders and ripped down her body, heating it oddly, and then back up to her face. “You’re shivering and you’re wet.”
She laughed unsteadily, resenting the panic that had slipped through her. “Life has been hectic for the last six months. I had to have time to think this morning, Mikhail. Alone. You’re in my personal space, buddy. Shove off.”
“It’s a public beach, and not all that crowded either,” he said slowly, studying her.
He was standing too close and whatever pulsed hot and alive between them hitched up a notch until it burned Ellie’s skin and her senses tingled. “You’re crowding me.”
“There’s always that between us, isn’t there?” he asked quietly as if to himself.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
But she knew exactly. If Mikhail was within striking distance, she had to tear at him, taunt him, anything to shake through that control. “If you weren’t so afraid—”
Now the fog seemed to stop moving, and the world stilled around them. “Of what am I afraid?” he asked very slowly.
The need to lash out at him was too strong. Right now, she was on edge and frightened for Tanya, and regretting that she had stripped her pride for a man who wasn’t likely to help her. Ellie ripped off her jacket’s hood and lifted her face to the damp mist. She didn’t want to let him into her inner thoughts, especially concerning him. “Forget it.”
“I am not afraid of Paul.”
“I know. You’re a match for him. He admires you. That’s why I thought—”
The mist seemed to hover, still and alert between them as Mikhail spoke quietly, “Then, of what am I afraid?”
What did anything matter now that she had bared her fears to him and had asked him for help? She might as well serve him a reality check—her opinion of him as a sensitive man. “Look. Your love life is no concern of mine. I haven’t got time or energy for your problems. But here it is—you got married, you got hurt and now you’ve wrapped yourself up in that resort so you’ll never be touched by life—and love. Oh, you love your family, of course, but you’ve sworn off women. You’re afraid to get involved. Anyone can see that.”
“Can they?” Mikhail asked darkly, studying her with that close, burning intensity that seemed to make the sand shiver beneath her sodden shoes. The waves seemed to slow and stop, the fog still and intimate, and Ellie could only hear the sound of her quickening heartbeat.
Then with a rough, reluctant sigh, he tugged her to him and took her mouth with enough heat to make her forget everything but taking as he was taking….
Mikhail’s lips were hard and open and savage and claiming and hot, so hot and fierce and possessive that Ellie arched up to meet him. Everything that she had sensed hidden beneath Mikhail’s sleek cold exterior was just beneath the surface, hot and real, and it was hers at last. She knew exactly why she had to fight him, to taunt him, to find this man, raw and true and strong within her arms. His passion was enough to burn away everything else.
He was just what she needed, as strong as she was, as fierce in his dark mood, the balance she needed to anchor her. He was big and hard and real and hungry.
Ellie sank into the hunger, the taste, the wild, free need to meet Mikhail, to capture him, to devour him—no gentle, sweet claiming, but a primitive reality of needs and heat. She pushed him away slightly, an instinctive feminine test to see how much the male desired, how much he would take in the game, the hunger, and Mikhail brought her closer.
Mikhail held her tight, just as she wanted, locked against him.
She found his hair with her fingers, gripping hard to hold him, to keep what she wanted close and hers.
Mikhail slanted his kiss, taking it deeper, one hand cupping her head, the other open and possessive on her body. The kiss was glorious, wild and free and strong. It was as if she were being devoured and returning the favor, as if the lid had been torn free from everything she wanted and all she had to do was take and take.
His breath was rough and uneven against her skin, but the amazing heat—
Mikhail’s hand slid up her body, found her breast beneath the light cloth and then his coat was open and she was inside, pressed hard against him, her arms around his waist, her hands reveling in that taut powerful back, clawing at the cloth, wanting the flesh beneath.
“So now it has begun,” he whispered roughly amid other bitter, rushing words she didn’t understand.
She sensed him easing away, and in the aftermath of the storm could only weakly seek shelter close to him, her face against the warmth of his throat. Instinctively, she bit him lightly, partly because she wanted him to remember this moment, and because she wanted to mark him as her own. She wanted to tear away the woman who had hurt him deeply and yet she had to protect herself, because Mikhail was not an easy man. “Nothing has begun. If you think you can scare me with that, think again.”
She could feel his smile against her cheek. And this time, his kiss came more gently, seeking, asking….
Four
Fadey opened the door to the Stepanov home and grinned widely at Mikhail’s scowl and the squirming, furious woman dressed in his peacoat.
“Here, take her,” Mikhail said roughly as he entered the house. He tossed Ellie into Fadey’s arms and walked toward the kitchen. His mother’s kitchen had always soothed storms, with its blend of solid wood Stepanov cabinets and Texas influence. Right now, Ellie’s temper matched the string of red chili peppers beside his mother’s stove, and his own mood was not far behind.
Mikhail had instinctively wanted to bring her to his parents. That need shocked him, because Jarek had carried Leigh to the Stepanov’s home in just the same way—as if he’d found the woman whom he intended to keep.
Keeping Ellie… He was asking for disaster, Mikhail brooded, and yet the feel of her in his arms had created an ache for more.
Fadey grinned widely and tossed Ellie back into Mikhail’s arms. “No, you take her back. I already have a woman.”
“Augh!” Mikhail found himself snarling.
“How…dare…you….” Ellie was hissing, pushing against his shoulders with her hands.
He wanted to take her to bed—his bed. He wanted to finish what had begun on the beach…he wanted to taste and take and possess and be possessed, because now with her twisting in his arms, he knew that Ellie was his match…his match, his woman…he wanted to—
He denied that thought and tossed her back to Fadey, who was chuckling.
Mikhail turned toward the kitchen again and away from the raging need to sweep Ellie back into his arms. On the beach, he’d wanted to claim her fully, to possess her. The sensual purrs deep in her throat had ignited his senses, his need to caress that long curved body with his hands, to hold her as she quivered, taut against him. He could still feel that storm of silky hair in his hands, the smooth heat of her skin against his face, the rapid pulse in her throat.
She’d responded too honestly for a game and that was unnerving; he’d tasted the sweetness of her open lips, felt her heat rise and—
He stiffened at his father’s chuckle behind him and Ellie’s “Let me go. Let me at him. He’s just showing off that he’s bigger and stronger than I am. But I’m a whole lot smarter. I can take him down anytime.”
Mikhail stopped and turned slowly to see Fadey laughing and restraining Ellie by an arm around her waist. If Mikhail touched her now, felt that slender curved body arching up to him, he’d—
“I kissed her. She liked it, and now she’s mad. I had to carry her here, otherwise she would have run from me and I w
ould have had to chase her. I would have kissed her again, and she would have liked it, and then been more mad. It made everything much simpler to carry her,” Mikhail stated baldly. “She wants me, of course.”
“Of course,” Fadey agreed, his grin widening.
Ellie glared at him, her eyes the color of storm clouds, her lips trembling with unspoken words. Furious, she seemed to shoot off sparks, her hair gleaming and alive as she trembled, her body taut. She shook loose from Fadey’s arm and stood with her legs braced apart, her fists balled at her side. Clearly fighting to restrain herself, Ellie blew back a stand of hair from her forehead. “I’m going to take you down, bud. Your son is too arrogant, Fadey.”
She was glorious, Mikhail thought. His body heated and hummed, the need to feel her lips burn his warring with his cautions….
He sensed that if caution and layers of civilization were torn away, she could devour him sensually, as he could her—In effect, Ellie was a dangerous, exciting, emotional woman who would always test him, verbally or sensually.
Those kisses on the beach had shown more passion and tender excitement than intimacy with his ex-wife, and now that he’d had a taste he hungered for more. The stark need to fit her body to his, without the restrictions of clothing, to run his hands over those curves, to taste her, riveted him as they stared at each other.
From across the room, he could feel her passion—and her shimmering fury, like a high ocean storm enveloping him.
Ellie jolted him back to his body’s hunger, whether he liked it or not.
Retreat? Yes, but then he would never know how it would feel to claim her, to take and be taken, because Ellie would be a fierce, wild lover—or more devastatingly, a sweet, tender one. And he had to follow the path set on the beach….
“I apologize for Mikhail. I am afraid he is a little like his brother and his father,” Fadey said when he stopped chuckling. Then to Mikhail, he said quietly, “So it has begun. The storm and the woman.”
Mikhail inhaled roughly. He nodded curtly, admitting the truth his father had recognized instantly. “She isn’t what I want.”
Fadey shrugged lightly, an acceptance that life brought as it chose.
“If you think I would actually want someone like him,” Ellie shot back, as her hair shimmered and glowed, almost alive around her face. “Think again. He—he picked me up and carried me. He was just showing that he’s the superior male, he’s stronger, that he…”
“You want me, and you know it,” Mikhail stated, because there was nothing to hide from his father now. Ellie bore the look of a woman who had been well kissed, and for whatever perversity lurked in Mikhail now, he was pleased that she bore his touch.
He wasn’t a possessive man, or an emotional, passionate one, and now he didn’t understand himself. How perfectly Ellie.
“I would not have you served on a platter!” Ellie’s furious retort followed Mikhail into his mother’s kitchen.
Locked in his frustrating desire for Ellie and the past moment of fighting, carrying her to his parents’ home, while he heard exactly how she was going to bring him down, he wasn’t prepared for the scene that met him. The sprawling dinner table was filled with family and Leigh’s parents, Bliss and Ed. Mary Jo’s blueberry pancakes were on the plates and seated on Jarek’s lap, Tanya was all soft little girl, dressed in her blue-striped flannel pajamas and clutching her doll.
Mikhail stood still, trapped by the knowledge that his family had probably heard everything. He struggled for an explanation and decided there was none; silence was his best defense; they had heard him complain about Ellie often enough. I would not have you served on a platter!
The silence swelled and pressed and finally Mikhail felt obliged to say, “I have not seen platters big enough to accommodate me. Therefore, that is not possible.”
Jarek exploded in laughter. “Then we’d better make one.”
Fadey came behind Mikhail, and hugged him roughly, playfully. “So now the family is together. Ellie will be here in a minute. She is—ah, refreshing herself.”
Mikhail fought the impulse to go to Ellie, to hold her once more against him, to feel her breath on his cheek. He reached down for Tanya, who had squirmed down to run to him. She squealed as Mikhail hefted her into the air and then enclosed her with a warm hug and a nuzzle. She leaned back in his arms, her gray eyes wide and serious, as she patted his cheek with her small hand. Mikhail’s frustration with himself and Ellie instantly turned to so much petals in the wind. Ellie was right; this little girl needed to be protected from Hillary and Paul’s coldness. She shouldn’t be used as a pawn.
When he placed Tanya on her feet, she ran to Fadey, whose laughter ricocheted around the Mexican tile and brown glazed pots in the spacious kitchen. Fadey eased into a big Stepanov chair with the girl on his lap. “Feed me, woman,” he ordered his wife with a big grin.
“Now, darlin’,” Mary Jo said easily in her Texas drawl as she added another two plates to the breakfast table. A leggy former beauty queen, she wore a cotton shirt tucked into light denim jeans, her blond and gray chignon perfectly elegant and in place. She stood on tiptoe to kiss her son’s cheek. There was just that narrowing of her eyes that warned him not to let his dark mood spoil a family breakfast.
Then her smile said she understood; she knew that any time Ellie was mentioned or in the vicinity, Mikhail usually had reason to brood. “There’s the pancakes, Fadey, and you’ve been feeding yourself for years. Sit down, Mikhail. You’re just in time.”
Mikhail was sensually on edge, badly needing to complete the sizzling kiss with Ellie. He scowled at Jarek’s big grin.
“Ohhh,” Bliss crooned sympathetically and rose from the table. Bliss and Ed were overage flower children, loving and gentle, and settling in for their first grandchild. Bliss was particularly astute about feelings—“auras,” she called them—and Mikhail could feel her prowling around his mood as she came to study him, patting his cheek gently. “You’re bristling, Mikhail. Goodness, I can just feel those hot little vibes spearing from you. You’re upset, and—”
Bliss frowned slightly. “Dear, it is more than upset. You’re positively humming with something else that has just been brought to the surface somehow. My goodness—”
Just then Ellie breezed into the kitchen, shot him a furious look and started to walk around him, her head held high. “Good morning, everyone. This smells delicious.”
Already sensitized, Mikhail’s body responded to her immediately. Only a man who had kissed her thoroughly, wrapped her against him and breathed the scent of her body would feel pleasure in the slight swell of her lips, the flush of her cheeks, the flashing heat of her eyes.
He couldn’t resist a downward look at her body, curved within her red chunky sweater and worn jeans. Almost unnoticeable, the peaks of her breasts were still hardened, and it gave him immense pleasure to know that she reacted as he had, that she still carried that passion within her, not easily forgotten.
They were in tune with each other, at least physically.
The rest would be open warfare.
Bliss slowly studied Ellie and then turned to Mikhail, and he groaned inwardly. Under Bliss’s inspection, he felt like a sulky little boy, and he knew what to expect.
“Group hug,” Bliss said softly but firmly as she wrapped one arm around Mikhail and the other around Ellie. Each refused to budge, to come closer. Ellie stared furiously at Mikhail. He grimly returned the favor.
Bliss’s gaze went from one to another. “Goodness. She’s just absolutely quivering. Can you feel it, Mikhail?”
Mikhail banked the groan inside him. He’d felt Ellie quiver, all right, hot and sweet and hungry. And in the Stepanov home, there were few secrets, especially with Bliss’s “vibration” and “aura” revelations.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he stated grimly. He was a veteran of Bliss’s group hugs to solve arguments.
“What if I don’t want to?” Ellie taunted, and stepped back to fold her arm
s over her chest.
Bliss looked sympathetically at her. “Now, dear. You know it isn’t good to—”
Mikhail reached past Bliss, tugged Ellie into his arms and kissed her. Surprised, she came sweetly against him, and he luxuriated in the softness he wanted, the scent. When he heard a purr deep in her throat that shot heat into his blood, he struggled for control. He set her back from him, a bit roughly, because his fingers wanted to dig in and take.
She looked up at him blankly, her mouth slightly parted as her hands latched onto the countertop behind her. She looked flushed and sweet and stunned and—“There,” Mikhail said quietly, disturbed by the gentleness within him, the need to comfort her. “I guess that about says it. Let’s eat.”
“‘About says it. Let’s eat,”’ Ellie repeated as though in a trance as he eased her into a chair beside his at the table.
“She’s cute like that, don’t you think?” Mikhail asked Jarek, who was grinning, though his wife’s nudging elbow had just reminded him of his manners.
“Now, Precious,” Jarek said to tease his wife, formerly known as Bliss and Ed’s “Precious Blossom.” When Leigh opened her mouth to protest the nickname, Jarek kissed her. “Mother of my child, my love and my life,” he said softly.
Leigh reacted with a delighted blush, her coppery curls dancing. “Keep looking at me like that, big boy, and I’ll let you share my sardines,” she offered.
“Mmm. You can have my share,” Jarek returned with a grin.
“Now, Ellie-darlin’,” Mary Jo soothed in her drawl. “Don’t think too badly of my boys, will you? It’s their father’s influence, not mine. In Texas, we’re a lot calmer and we get there just the same. And, Mikhail, you mind your manners.”
Mikhail was thirty-nine, a successful businessman, and still his mother could make him feel as if he were ten.
Fadey looked as blissful as an expectant grandfather could be, and Mikhail suspected even greater expectations in that intent look crossing from Mikhail to Ellie. If there was one thing Fadey and Mary Jo dreamed of in their rich life, it was for a houseful of grandchildren. “It’s not going to happen,” Mikhail said quietly to his father.
