Bound by Blood
Page 14
The glass muffled his voice a little, made it sound like it was coming from a distance. She didn’t know what else to do, so she thought of a question.
“Well, where are you from?”
“New York. I live in the city.”
Ah ha.
“What are you doing in Colorado?”
His dark eyes bored into hers, sincere, yet so forceful she lowered her lashes. “I came to meet you.”
“Why?”
“My mother told me to find you. That you’d be my perfect one.”
Mother? Like Norman Bates’s mother? Oh man, that was creepy. “Who is your mother?” she snapped. “And what the hell does she know about me?”
Faustin was a model of patience, standing out there in the freezing cold. It didn’t seem to bother him. His nose wasn’t even red. And he didn’t seem to mind her shrewish tone either. “My mother’s name is Natalia Grigorevna Faustin.” He ground through those hard consonants like a real Russian. “She lives in Brooklyn. She…well…she dreamed about you, dreamed you and I were meant for each other. It’s sort of an old world thing.”
“And on the basis of her dream, you came here to find me?”
He lifted one shoulder and smiled, as if the whole thing was a little embarrassing, but unavoidable. “It’s better than internet dating.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had to resort to that.” Helena sniffed, imagining him striding around Manhattan with hordes of Sarah Jessica Parker types staggering after him in their expensive heels.
“My family, our traditions, they mean a lot to me, Helena. I’m ready to settle down and I want to do it in the old way. It worked for my parents.”
“They met by dream?”
He nodded and leaned his head on the glass. “I think my mother dreamed right, Helena.”
The longing in his voice stopped her breath. His perfect one. To think that such a thing might exist—a perfect mate. Two halves coming together to make a whole. Never lonely again.
That was delusional thinking. A good relationship was all about hard work, compromise and mutual respect—not magic destiny crap. That’s why happy couples were as rare as hen’s teeth.
She put the phone down and twisted her hands together, trying to think of something else to say when she had all of two brain cells firing. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Two older brothers, Mikhail and Gregor.”
Gregor. His name really was Faustin, and he really was from New York.
He slid his palm down the glass and straightened up. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They’re…they’ve passed on. A year ago. This is their house, actually.” That’s it, tell him you have nobody.
His brow creased in concern. “So you’re all alone? I’m so sorry.”
The empathy in his voice brought tears to her eyes. The hormones were surging again, making her sappy. Yes, it was hard to be alone. She loved her friends, but they were not family. Family had to put up with you no matter what. She wanted them back. Before she started bawling outright, she changed the subject. “You’re Russian. Your background, I mean?”
“Right. But I was born here.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I trade in foreign currency.”
Whatever that meant, exactly. Helena never had enough money to spare for investment or trading and so paid little attention to the subject. She imagined him sitting at a big table with piles of exotic coins stacked in front of him, even though that was retarded.
“Do you have a card?” she asked. Also retarded. But she wanted to see something solid, something that proved he had a life outside of hanging around her house.
His lips twitched in amusement as he reached in his jeans pocket and brought out a slender wallet. “Do you want to see my driver’s license? My social security card?” He flashed these things at her, all legitimate looking. He showed her a couple of credit cards, a library card, a subway pass and a Borders gift card in there too, decorated with candy canes. Then he pulled out a business card and pressed it against the glass.
“FFS?”
“Faustin Financial Services. I also do some investment consulting.” He tucked the card in the door frame and left it there like a salesman. “What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a freelance radio producer. I do a lot of work for NPR.”
“Really? I listen to NPR all the time.”
A public radio fan? Then he must be her life mate. Well, unless maybe he was Garrison Keillor’s life mate.
But he seemed interested, truly interested. “Tell me something you’ve produced that I might have heard.”
“Uh…” Helena’s mind went marvelously blank. It was hard to remember anything when he looked her straight in the eye. A warm fluttering started between her legs. Oh, jeez. “Uh, last week they aired a story about the little kid who rode his bike across America…”
“To commemorate his brother’s death? I heard that one.” He had the strangest look to him as he said that. Something like pride. “That was your idea?”
She nodded, dry mouthed. “Look, this is a ridiculous way to talk. I should let you in, but I…”
“No.” The sudden harshness of his voice made her take a step back from the glass. “Don’t let me in if you have any doubts in your mind, because once you invite me in, I’m going to make love to you. It is the first thing I will do. We will not have dinner or a glass of wine first. We will not chit chat or watch a movie. You let me in this door and I’m taking you. Understand that.”
Scared of him once again and scared of her own reactions to him, Helena took another step back and hugged herself. “Why are you like this?”
If looks could melt glass… “You were on the stoop with me. Answer yourself.”
Helena paced back and forth in front of the sliding glass door, chanting her inner mantra, Dang, oh dang, oh dang.
Since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d wanted him, and that was the truth of the matter. He didn’t hide his desire, he was clear in his intentions. That was the difference between them. He told the truth while she waffled and flirted and lied and called the cops when things got too intense. So who wasn’t playing fair?
Let him in.
He’d probably talk to her though the door all night, but she didn’t know if she could do it. She couldn’t think. Hell, she could barely stand. Either she had to take him up on his offer or go lock herself in the closet.
She’d been thinking of him as caught on the deck, behind glass, but she was the one who was trapped. He had all the world behind him.
I’m tired of being afraid.
Faustin leaned against the door while he waited for her answer, head down, palms flat against the glass as if he was thinking about pushing the door off its tracks. “I need you,” he said, almost too low to be heard.
Her breath caught in her throat. Frightened, she wrapped her arms around herself. That gentle pressure made her breasts ache and tingle. Her skin was oversensitive, stimulated by the soft knit of her sweater dress. She’d never been so aroused. Part of it was knowing a man wanted her that much. Another part was knowing that she’d have to risk her life to find out if her instincts were right. The instincts that told her to open the door.
Trust yourself.
He’s a public radio fan, for crap’s sake.
Do it.
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bsp; Evie Byrne, Bound by Blood