by Cait London
“We’ll see. A new broom sweeps—”
“Fadey…” Mary Jo warned, because Mikhail wasn’t a man to push.
As Mikhail began to enjoy his mother’s famous pancakes, he could feel Ellie thinking, tick-tock. She ate slowly, methodically, and then, as if sensing her mother was upset, Tanya came to sit on her lap. “You kissed my mommy,” she accused Mikhail, frowning at him. “Why?”
“It’s a thing people do when they like each other,” Mikhail said gently.
“A man tried to kiss her once like that, and she hit him and made him go away. He didn’t like me and she said she didn’t like him anymore, but they were married once. He wanted her, but not me, and she said it was ‘a package deal.’ She said I was more important than anyone like him.”
“But I like you.” Mikhail bent slightly to kiss the little girl, who obviously needed reassurance. When he offered his arms, Tanya came into them, snuggling sweetly against him and sitting on his lap.
With her little body cuddled against him, Mikhail knew that he would do his best to protect her from Hillary and Paul. In Ellie’s place, he would have done the same thing.
“Here,” Tanya said, offering her doll, which he cradled in his other arm.
Over Tanya’s head, Mikhail met Ellie’s soft gray eyes. Sadness lurked there, and fear that tore at Mikhail’s heart. He couldn’t bear to see her fight alone, and he knew the cold, cruel and treacherous dangers of Paul and Hillary.
“So are you coming to work for me or not?” he asked gently as he slid a finger through Ellie’s hair, wrapping the silky length around his finger and studying the naturally sun-lightened shades.
He saw no reason to hide his fascination with her from his family. The Stepanovs did not keep secrets, they freely shared their moods and feelings with each other.
“Absolutely not. You’re a disaster.”
Her snit delighted him—they both knew that kiss had changed the war to a different level, a sensual one, tit-for-tat, hunger meeting hunger. “Think about it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And did you check out my references?” she asked tauntingly, referring to the list of places she and Tanya had lived in the last six months.
“Of course.” It was a sad trail, from small cabins to motels, from one job to another, and Mikhail realized how much it had cost Ellie to finally come to him.
She turned to look at the pancakes Fadey had placed in her plate, slathering them with butter. Fadey patted her shoulder. “Eat. Mikhail has offered you a job. You have a warm home for your child and good food. We are family. We laugh, we love. How much better can life be?”
Ellie did not look up, and her hand shook slightly as she lifted her fork. “I’ll think about it.”
A child needing reassurance when her parent was troubled, Tanya eased into Ellie’s arms. She cuddled the little girl close, kissing her hair, and Tanya’s small hand stroked Ellie’s face. “What’s wrong, Mama? Don’t you like it here? You get that sad look when we have to leave.”
Ellie kissed Tanya’s hand and rocked her. “You’d like to stay, wouldn’t you, pumpkin?”
“I want to be with you,” Tanya stated firmly, and pressed her face against Ellie’s throat, her arms tight in a hug.
“Always,” Ellie whispered adamantly, her voice uneven.
Mikhail couldn’t resist smoothing Ellie’s shoulders, comforting her. She had fought alone long enough.
A man deeply touched and his emotions visible, Fadey sniffed just once and roughly wiped his eyes with his napkin. “This little girl says she doesn’t know her grandpa. While I am sure he is a fine man, I would like to be her grandpa, too. What do you think, eh, little one? I need some little girls to sit on my lap and to hug. Poor Fadey. Grandpa Fadey, eh? That is what you call me, eh, Tanya?” he asked cheerfully.
Clearly excited, Tanya remained where she was, looking at Ellie, who nodded. With a whoop, the little girl squirmed out of her lap and ran to Fadey’s open arms. “Grandpa Fadey!”
“Hey. And Grandma Mary Jo, of course.”
“Of course,” Tanya said with Stepanov-like arrogance. She beamed when Mary Jo bent to kiss her lips. “Grandma.” The word slid out easily as a child’s wish come true. “Grandma,” Tanya repeated.
Ellie’s indrawn breath, her soft expression, that quiver of her lips, said she was deeply grateful. “Thank you,” she whispered, because a child needed safety and to belong to a family.
Across Tanya’s blond curls, Fadey met Ellie’s eyes. “You stay, little one. Mikhail is a good man, and so is Jarek. My two good sons, so different, so much the same. You are home now. If you go, you will always have this home.”
Mikhail brushed the tear from Ellie’s cheek. Clearly deeply touched, she bent her head, her face hidden by her hair. She was unused to the open warmth of the Stepanov home. “Mikhail, help me,” she whispered as a second tear, silver and shining dropped in the morning sunlight.
“Of course. A hug, right, Bliss?”
“Most definitely.”
In typical Fadey style, Mikhail reached to surround Ellie with his arms, giving her a big playful bear hug, waggling her a little before releasing her into her chair.
When she tensed and those eyes shot thunderbolts at him, he grinned and kissed her on both cheeks, Fadey-style. “It’s just a custom. Don’t get all worked up over it, Ellie.”
“You couldn’t work me up if you tried.”
“No?” he drawled, his body humming.
On her way to the stove, Mary Jo slapped the top of his head. “Hey. Behave. You’re not that grown-up, Mikie,” Mary Jo reminded him.
While Mikhail sulked over the use of a childhood nickname that he preferred would be forgotten, Ellie smirked beautifully. “Mikie,” she repeated.
Mikhail knew she would use his nickname to torture him. “No.”
“Yes, Mikie,” she cooed and batted her lashes at him.
Mikhail decided to retreat from the battlefield and grimly ate his pancakes.
Mikhail ignored the morning’s cold slashing rain, because he needed it to clear his head. He tore away a wind battered stand of dry grass on his way up to Chief Kamakani’s grave. In summer, the fields on either side of the rocky trail leading to the summit would be lush with grass and strawberries, a lover’s delight. At the creeping gray dawn, Strawberry Hill smelled of ocean salt and earth and the air was heavy, ominous, as the chieftain’s curse thrown to the same winds before he shivered and died.
If Mikhail had needed proof that the curse was still valid, he’d gotten it. After all, Ellie had arrived on his doorstep. At his parents’ breakfast table, he had actually invited her to ruin what he had built—incomes depending on the success of the Amoteh Resort hung in the balance.
He stood at the crest of Strawberry Hill, jammed his hands in his peacoat and let the wind and rain tear at him as he looked over the black ocean and the lights of the small town below. In tourist season, the small town bustled and thrived, shopkeepers hurrying to restock their shelves. The scent of freshly baked sourdough bread mixed with salt air, chowders and hot dogs and Dungeness crabs at the Crab Shack. The charter boats would slide across the waves, the tourists’ sails cutting into the blue sky.
A child’s welfare hung in the balance; Hillary and Paul were no angels.
And Ellie’s kiss had shot into him and twisted into a hungry, sensual knot simmering in him throughout the night. He didn’t want to feel anything for Ellie but that fine regard one gives a potential disaster.
He could still taste her, feel her against him, feel that soft skin against his own, feel her breathe. Her hunger was real; she had opened to him, had given him all that a woman’s lips could promise.
He’d been promised before and from a woman much like Ellie—too much like her. Once he’d thought that he’d paid the curse’s price, the terrible fights with JoAnna, who craved city life and who did not hesitate to destroy the life within her.
Was he any better? Hadn’t he wanted JoAnna for what sh
e could do for his career, for the Amoteh? And he’d wanted her because his instincts had told him that it was time to create a home and a family.
But he’d loved her, or thought he did at the time, and his choice had been a disaster. He’d come away from his marriage wounded and fragile, and he never wanted to be torn apart again.
The chilly wind brought an admission Mikhail had circled for years: The failed marriage was his fault—he wasn’t a perfect husband, devoting himself to a cause that JoAnna couldn’t abide. He’d worked long hours and he’d known she was restless. He saw it in how she flirted with men. And sex—it never seemed complete, his body hungering for that link that never came, the bonding that went beyond the physical. As a friend and a lover and a husband, he’d left JoAnna unfulfilled. He couldn’t share himself with her, his inner thoughts, nor did he honestly want to know hers.
JoAnna couldn’t stand to have him touch her. She’d torment him sensually, but in the end, it was the same—frustrating, humiliating….
Ellie’s kiss still burned him, tasting of her hunger.
Hunger. It rode him still, the feel of Ellie in his arms, the sounds and the scent of an aroused woman that set his instincts humming when he didn’t think that possible. Even now, he wanted to find and claim her, and in truth, wanted her to claim him—maybe as a man, he needed that, the hunter needing the huntress.
Mikhail shrugged; he would have to watch his needs with Ellie. She could ignite his emotions like a flash fire, while he preferred to control them.
A gust of wind soared from the ocean, up the steep shelves of rock and grass that harbored birds’ nests in the spring. The wind battered the dried sheaves of grass, rattling them, and then hit the man, who stood braced, legs wide apart.
Paul wasn’t going to be happy if Ellie decided to stay. Meanwhile, she and Tanya were Mikhail’s to protect.
So are you coming to work for me, or not? Mikhail had asked.
Three days later, Ellie stood in the shadows of the Stepanov living room, the big stone fireplace ablaze, gleaming on the wood paneling and hardwood floors, broken by thick woven rugs. The bold furniture and huge canvases of Mary Jo’s Texas ranch and cattle scenes were softened by earth-, sea- and sky-colored pottery. Against one wall, the samovar, an elegant device to heat water for Russian zavareka or tea, was surrounded by beautiful matching cups and saucers. Fadey clearly loved this touch of the old country, looking like a man who had been blessed when served by his gracious wife.
In the evening after dinner, Mary Jo was happily rocking Tanya and telling stories of her Texas girlhood on the ranch. Fadey sat by the fire in his stocking feet, a contented man, his hands folded over his belly.
The Stepanov home was one of love and strength, proof that families could live together, love each other.
Ellie hadn’t known exactly how exhausted she was, but the nights of deep sleep and the recovering naps throughout the days had proved just how long and hard she’d fought. Mikhail had not come to the house, and if his offer of a job held, she had no choice but to take it.
“Where do you think I’ll find Mikhail?” she asked lightly. “We have business.”
“Yes, of course,” Fadey said. “At the shop. Take my coat, little one. There in the closet. Be careful on the path. It can be slippery. I will watch until you are there.”
Outside, Ellie tugged Fadey’s coat collar up around her throat, and inhaled the scent of wood, varnish, love and strength. She wasn’t used to an open, caring family—I will watch until you are there.
Her mother had deserted her as a child. Ellie had grown up without any maternal influence, rarely touched by her father, just an ornament to complete his successful business picture. Fadey hugged, big strong arms enclosing her and lifting her off the ground as he kissed both cheeks. He laughed openly and teased Mary Jo slyly. He cuddled Tanya and put her upon his shoulders and told her that little girls were all princesses. Ellie had needed Fadey desperately, the affirmation that not all men were like her father, that some men loved their families deeply.
And in those three days, Tanya was blooming, growing, laughing. She needed a home and a family, not rented cabins and road miles in the back of a car. She needed the warmth of Bliss and Ed, who doted on her with love beads and kisses and hugs. She needed Ryan, Leigh’s brother, alias “Winter Child,” to tickle and tease her. Most of all, she needed what Ellie needed—to know that there were strong, family men, like Jarek.
But dealing with Mikhail was another matter, Ellie thought as she walked toward the Stepanov Furniture wood shop. In the night, the lights were glowing in the massive building.
Mikhail. As a woman, Ellie understood a man’s need, but Mikhail’s had been too open, too raw and primitive, torching her senses, challenging her and demanding. She’d felt then as if the lid had been torn away to the man inside, a passionate man. And a tender one as he held her later. The contrast wasn’t an easy one to fit inside the Mikhail Stepanov she had known for years.
She braced herself at the big solid door of the furniture shop. From inside came a blast of Russian music, and a saw ripped at wood. With a deep breath, Ellie swung open the door and stepped inside.
The passionate accordion music suited the man. Mikhail was at the saw, a storm of sawdust flying around him, caught by the lights overhead as he concentrated, frowning at the wood in his big hands, guiding it on the course he had set. Safety glasses shielded his eyes and he hadn’t seen her. He seemed wrapped in a savage fury, a private battle within himself, not against the wood in his hands.
Ellie chose to step back into the shadows, beside a huge armoire. That raw hunger sprung inside her instantly, heating….
Alone in his lair of wood furniture and surfboards, the shelves of finishes and walls of tools, Mikhail moved almost gracefully, efficiently. In jeans and a T-shirt that looked more like a rag than clothing, he wore a red bandanna wrapped around his forehead, a carpenter pencil tucked above his ear.
Then, as if sensing he was being watched, he slowly reached to switch off the saw, remove his safety glasses, and turned to stare at her. He reached for the tape player and the room was instantly silent. Too quiet, so quiet she could feel her humming, the prickle that being near Mikhail always brought, and her defenses rising…. “So you’ve chosen here to hide.”
Old habits, she thought, the need to thrust at Mikhail, to make him react to her. She tried again, struggling to say what she really meant. “I don’t want to keep you away from your family, Mikhail.”
“I thought you needed time to think. And rest.” He leaned back leisurely against the work counter and reached for a thermos, pouring liquid into a cup. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She stayed pressed back against the wall, sheltered by the huge block of furniture. Above them, the fluorescent lights hummed slightly as she summoned her courage and dropped her pride. “If you meant what you said about working for you, I’ll take the job.”
“I always mean what I say. You have the job.”
“I don’t want your pity. I will work, Mikhail. I’ll really try.” She didn’t want to tell him about all the odd jobs she’d held, how much she’d had to learn about the simplest tasks she’d previously taken for granted.
“Yes, of course. I would not have an employee who did not.”
Ellie jammed her hands in her pockets. She had to ask even more. “We need a place to stay.”
He only nodded as she continued. “A place for Tanya and myself, if that’s okay. I can’t stay with your parents. One of the cheaper rooms will do just fine. You can take it out of my salary. I have to pay our way. I’ve…gotten very good at managing on little and I’ll need working clothes. Tanya is outgrowing her clothes. I suppose there are thrift shops here?”
“Of course.” He sipped the coffee and watched her, waiting. “You have the job, and we’ll discuss your duties and compensation at my office in the morning. But you are staying at the Amoteh.”
“It’s only temporary, Mikhail, then we’ll m
ove out. Leigh said that no one has rented Jarek’s old cabin yet.”
He removed the red bandanna from his forehead and dropped it to the counter, as if dismissing her suggestion. “No washer or dryer…very primitive.”
“We’ve made do before. Tanya likes Laundromats.”
“Not this time,” Mikhail said slowly and placed his cup on the counter. “Not for a while. I want you to be within reaching distance.”
He was so exact, so certain of himself, that Ellie could feel herself gearing up to argue. She walked to him slowly, arranging her thoughts. “It’s because of that kiss, isn’t it? You want…certain amenities from an employee?”
His gaze was lazy, his brief smile cold. “You know better.”
She did. While her father had done nothing about a young divorcée’s plight, a mother with two small children fending off the threats of a Mignon top manager, Mikhail had. In the end, that mother replaced the manager and had performed better. What Paul tried to manage with threats and power, Mikhail accomplished with thoughtfulness and logic and, most of all, kindness. Dedication to Mikhail was far reaching in the Mignon chain; his connections with other managers were based on respect and friendship—they trusted him. Ellie did not doubt that if Paul and Mikhail warred on a corporate decision, Mikhail would win.
She trusted him, and, always independent, she feared that trust.
“You’re still tired and on edge, Ellie. Let’s do this tomorrow morning.”
She could have left, but instead she reached to brush the sawdust from his temple. Mikhail inhaled and tensed instantly, watching her, and the air between them was alive again, sizzling, waiting for the storm. Ellie placed her hand on his cheek, feeling the strong bones, the warm, rough flesh. She’d thought him unfeeling, a business machine, but now, she could almost feel his darkness: the failure of his marriage, the pain of losing his unborn child, whom he would have loved very deeply, passionately. Ellie wanted to soothe that ache, her fingers gliding back to his hair, smoothing it. “I’m sorry for what happened, Mikhail.”
