Christmas Tsar (Blood and Thunder 1)

by Susan Stephens

  “Great. Now I get to see the beautiful weather,” she murmured ruefully. The

  London sleet was sheeting down. It had turned the busy street into a monochrome image that was a million miles from the Christmas-card depictions of London with their sparkling snow and cheery robins. Blowing on her hands, she wished the ancient fire would hurry up and warm the room, but the chill inside her went a lot deeper than a cold room. It had taken up permanent residence in her heart.

  Supplies!

  There was no point sitting around moping.

  But first…

  “Okay, Mouse. You’re home. Welcome—” She turned full circle and decided to put the mouse Alexei had given her on the windowsill where he would be the first thing she’d see each day when she came home. Next she needed some London armor to protect her from the cold. Reaching inside the battered wardrobe she’d rescued from a skip, she pulled out her sludge-green parka. The shabby jacket had seen better days and had been sitting neglected in the cold for so long, it was like shrugging on an ice jacket, but critically, it had a hood.

  She had intended to leave the post until she got back. There was a stack of mail, most of which was destined to go straight into the recycling bin, but one thick envelope caught her eye. It was from Hard News.

  Perching on the bed, she opened it. And blinked. It was an offer in response to the success of her article, for her to work as a reporter-at-large, traveling the world to find stories. She sat back to think what this meant. She wouldn’t be tied down anywhere and could maybe afford a proper apartment with a separate bedroom. The accompanying letter informed her that as her article about life on board Russian Thunder had been so well received, another article about the world’s hottest polo team would be appreciated by return.

  That might be a bit of a problem, Amber reflected as she put the letter back inside the envelope.

  ~o0o~

  This was it? He checked the address again. The paint on the front door of Amber’s house was peeling. There was no garden. The entrance opened directly onto the busy main road…

  Da. This was definitely it. With a shake of his head, he huffed a surprised laugh to see the small felt mouse sitting in the front window. At least she hadn’t tossed his gift in the trash. Pulling up his collar, he left the black Lamborghini and wove his way through the steady flow of pedestrians. The area she lived in had energy and a real personality. Very Amber, he thought. The lights were off at her address, so he guessed she was out shopping for essentials. He’d passed the local shops as he drove by at a crawl in the busy London traffic. All the shops were open and busy, most of them still boasting Christmas decorations, as if the upbeat neighborhood was in no rush to say good-bye to the happy holiday season. He could only hope Amber was in the same sort of mood.

  The bell over the corner shop door chimed a cheery welcome as Amber hurried inside, exclaiming with pleasure as an effective heating system embraced her.

  “Amber! We’ve missed you!” Cindi, the woman who owned the corner shop, exclaimed. “Welcome back!”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  And it was. She’d enjoyed this same welcome all the way down the street. But this wasn’t so great, Amber thought as she stood in front of the counter trying to decide what to eat from the wide selection of meals for one.

  “Amber?” Cindi looked at her shrewdly. “Whatever you decide to take, take a packet of these as well,” Cindi insisted, pushing a box of chocolate biscuits into Amber’s hands. “My belated Christmas gift to you—I overbought,” she explained with a shrug when Amber tried to refuse and wanted to pay for them. “There’s nothing like a bit of chocolate to ease a heartache.”

  “That obvious?” Amber asked ruefully.

  Cindi smiled wryly. “Flashing neon sign?”

  Leaving Cindi’s, she went to the florist. They still had glittery leaves and red berries left over from Christmas, she’d noticed when she’d walked past.

  The florist had closed early.

  Oh well. She’d have trouble carrying anything more, Amber told herself, turning for home.

  It was a cold night, and she walked briskly back to her flat and was glad to see her front door as the driving sleet started to find its way down a rip at the back of her hood. Lowering her bag to the step, she put her key in the lock—and nearly died of shock when the door swung open. “Alexei!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Amber tried to catch her breath. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Okay—” Holding up her hand like a traffic cop, she sucked in a steadying breath. “You have a jet. Your name works miracles. A flight plan to London’s no problem for you. And then…” She tried her hardest not to scream with outrage and didn’t quite make it. “You broke into my home?”

  Alexei remained perfectly composed. “The lock didn’t take much ingenuity,” he admitted as she walked past him.

  “You had no right,” she flared.

  “Correct,” he agreed. “But I needed to see you, to make things right between us.”

  She shook her head, still trying to get over the fact that he was there and taking up all the available space—and looking more than gorgeous—big and strong and tanned, and ridiculously sexy in his heavy winter clothes, and as fiercely determined as she’d ever seen him. Most people would quail beneath that laser stare, Amber decided, lifting her chin determinedly. Not a chance she would. “And you bought out the florist, I see?” She surveyed the riot of floral exuberance that took up every spare inch of her room, exotic flowers in fantastic displays: bird of paradise, protea, and sunflowers, all imported, she was sure, at this time of year, and all strikingly fabulous. There were peonies and lavender roses in romantic posies secured with jute laces, and, of course, seasonal displays of poinsettia, orchids, and white Christmas roses.

  Her expression as she stared at them and then looked at him brought a mock rueful expression to Alexei’s face. “You don’t like them?”

  She loved them, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so.

  “Apologies if you’re allergic.”

  “I’m not allergic. So, what are you doing here, Alexei?”

  She was so tense, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d shattered into tiny pieces as she waited for him to speak. No answer to a question had ever mattered more.

  “No, don’t touch me,” she insisted when he reached out. She wouldn’t be able to think straight if he did. Backing away, she succeeded only in stumbling over the end of her sofa bed, forcing Alexei to perform a flying tackle to save her. To his credit, once he’d steadied her, he dropped his hands to his side and let her go.

  “I would have thought my reasons for being here are obvious?”

  “To you, maybe—” Emotion threatened to overwhelm her, but she couldn’t fold now. Lifting her chin, she gave it to him straight. “You can’t just walk back into my life as if nothing’s happened. I can’t do this again—”

  “Yes, you can,” he insisted. “You’ve never been a quitter.”

  “But I shouldn’t have to fight so hard, and, frankly, I don’t want to.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “I’ve been a bastard. But with your help, I intend to change.”

  Taking the single step necessary, he pulled her into his arms. “You have to do this again—we have to do this again, and we have to get it right this time. Give us a chance, Amber. I know I messed up, and I get that there aren’t any guarantees, but without you, my life is meaningless. I couldn’t even last a day without you.”

  “Is this your pride talking? I left you, so now you have to be the one to walk away?”

  “You’re so wrong,” he insisted. “This isn’t a polo match. This is forever.”

  Forever?

  Did he have to raise a brow, slant those lips, and let the smile in his eyes do the talking for him?

  “You’ve got as little reason to trust as I have,” Alexei told her, “but in the end, we both want the same thing, which
is to trust and be trusted; to love and be loved. You have to take the same first step I do, if you want that.”

  She wanted to believe him. “What do you want me to say?”

  “That you love me would be a start. Then move on to Happy New Year, followed swiftly by Happy Christmas, because tomorrow is another Christmas Day.”

  “The seventh of January,” she whispered.

  “I love you, Amber. You tore my heart out of my chest and took it with you. I had to come here to get it back.”

  “You love me?” she repeated, staring into Alexei’s eyes.

  “Forever—if that’s long enough for you? And I know you don’t want to live on a boat. I get that.”

  “It’s very nice for a holiday,” she said politely.

  Alexei laughed out loud, and it was the most glorious sound she’d ever heard. “Very nice,” he agreed, his steel-gray eyes dancing with warmth and laughter. “But now—” He looked around. “I can see you’re a homemaker, and I’m doubly determined to win your heart by showing you all the raw material I can give you to work on.”

  “Your houses.”

  “My houses,” he confirmed.

  She couldn’t pretend her heart didn’t rush with excitement at that thought. “A homemaker?” She glanced around. She supposed it was true. Her bed-sit was tiny and modest, but it was warm and comfy and safe, and full of all the things she loved, but for Alexei to see that meant a lot.

  “Could you do the same for me?” he asked.

  “If you want to build a home like this, you’ll have to share the work, but I can tell you what to do—”

  “That sounds about right,” he agreed, grabbing her close. “So, what’s your answer?”

  “What’s the question?”

  “Provocative woman! Will you marry me, Amber Smith?”

  “I love you. Happy New Year!” She smiled. “Merry Christmas. And…yes, I will marry you, Alexei Riga.”

  “If only to save me from myself?” Alexei suggested dryly.

  “There is that,” she said wryly. “But I think we’ve saved each other.”

  Swinging her off her feet, Alexei kissed her, and the end became the beginning as they started all over again.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Project number one,” Alexei announced, opening pale beech double doors leading onto the most fabulous penthouse on top of an iconic building in London.

  He owned the entire building. Of course he did. Amber’s head was still spinning. They’d spent the night and most of that morning making love in her bed-sit, which, Alexei had assured her, was a lot more comfortable than his grandfather’s traditional yurt, the portable round tent covered with woven tapestries and animal skins they had used when they were inspecting herds of animals on the steppes. She wasn’t entirely sure whether to be flattered or not by that comparison, but she got his drift, and they had certainly raised the temperature of the room.

  The penthouse had been designed and equipped by a professional interior designer—a good one—and it was practical, comfortable, and luxurious. “But this is beautiful,” she exclaimed, staring around. ‘From your description of your sterile homes, I had an image of Colditz in my mind.”

  Alexei laughed. “I’m glad you like it. You can see the Shard and St. Paul’s Cathedral from the balcony, where you’ll find a lap pool and a fire pit for cool evenings. There are numerous individual local shops around here too, as well as theaters and concert halls just around the corner. There’s a cinema room behind that door, that looks like the interior of a particularly luxurious cave—”

  “And a Christmas tree in the hallway,” she said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “You had the penthouse dressed for Christmas,” she said, her eyes glowing with warmth. “ You knew you’d get me here, didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I thought I might.”

  They entered a glorious entertaining room with double-height, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the River Thames, where there was another Christmas tree, even bigger than the first. “It’s amazing what you can do with a single phone call,” Alexei confessed, clearly having difficulty hiding a grin.

  “It’s amazing what you can do with a single phone call,” Amber argued, exclaiming with happiness as Alexei swung her into his arms.

  “And a whole army of Christmas mice,” he pointed out, turning her to face a shelf where they’d been arranged in family groups. “Do you like it? Your opinion matters to me.”

  “I love it. Not sure if we’re going to need pest control for the mice, but it feels like a privilege to be in such a beautiful home.”

  “It isn’t a home yet,” Alexei argued. “It’s nothing more than a two-dimensional magazine shoot without your energy. Could you change it, warm it, give it your own special touch—maybe make it your headquarters in London? There’s quite a big office in the back, so it wouldn’t intrude on the main living area.”

  Amber held up her hand. What do you mean, my headquarters?”

  “I want you to be part of our organization—I know nothing less would satisfy you. I also want you to organize my life—our lives. You can have all the help you need. That goes without saying.”

  “Live here?”

  “While we’re in London. As I mentioned, I do have several other properties across the world for you to work on.”

  “One property at a time, please!” She laughed, a little incredulously. “I can’t take this in.”

  “But you do like this apartment?”

  “It would be hard not to,” Amber admitted, “but I don’t need a place as big, or as fabulous as this.”

  “But we do,” Alexei insisted. “Won’t you allow me to give it to you?”

  “What?”

  “It would make me very happy,” Alexei admitted. “It would make my Christmas very happy if you would accept this apartment as a gift.”

  “A…” She tried to speak, but no words would come out.

  “I take it that’s a yes,” he said. “Don’t look so shocked. We’ll need to hold fund-raisers to get the great and the good involved in our various projects, and while I’d love to tell you that the great and good would be just as happy assembling in my grandfather’s yurt, I think you’d be more inclined to believe me if I suggest we entertain here. We can have a cozy home somewhere else. Well? What do you say? Will you join me in the biggest adventure of your life? Will you help me in my fight? Will you be more than my wife and my love, will you work with me?”

  Amber laughed. “You certainly know the way to a girl’s heart. At one time, men like you would say, marry me and you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

  “And you’d accept that?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’d walk out that door, and I’d never get an interior designer free of charge.”

  They lay entwined on the sofa in front of a weirdly designed cutting-edge open fire. Perhaps she would take a hands-on approach to the design aspects of Alexei’s properties, Amber concluded as they gazed out over London, spread like an improbably fantastic wall hanging behind the fire.

  “I feel bad that I haven’t got you a gift,” she murmured, snuggling into Alexei’s chest.

  “You underestimate your powers of attraction,” he assured her.

  With only the fairy lights on the Christmas tree and the state-of-the-art concealed lighting to cast a soft glow on Alexei’s naked skin, he had never looked more beautiful. “You,” she said, propping herself up so she could stare into his eyes, “are a very bad man.”

  “And you,” he countered huskily, “haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”

  When he turned her beneath him and sank satisfyingly deep, she was tempted to believe him.

  They made it to bed eventually—to yet another room with the most fantastic view of London, as well as the stars and the moon overhead, casting a soft glow like a convenient lantern. Before that, they had trialed the huge marble bathroom, where surfaces were firm and cool
and stable, the water was at a perfect temperature, and Alexei’s stamina was infinite.

  “I’ve got two things for you now,” Alexei told her as he carried her to bed. “First this,” he said after setting her down.

  “But this is beautiful,” Amber breathed as she took in the intricate painting of a polo player and his horse on the small enameled box. There was a girl in the painting, sitting on the fence with her face turned toward the polo player.

  “These enameled boxes are traditional Christmas gifts in the part of Russia where my grandfather lived,” Alexei explained. “I commissioned it in the hope that you wouldn’t be sitting on the fence by the time I gave it to you.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You took quite a chance.”

  “The first of many,” Alexei agreed, turning serious. “I think you should look inside the box.”

  She lifted the lid. “Two keys?” She frowned as she pulled them out.

  “The first is for this penthouse,” Alexei explained. “It’s my gift to you. And the second is for a property I’m buying in your old neighborhood. The owner very kindly allowed me to have a key cut before we sign the contract.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “While I was waiting for you, I identified a building in your old neighborhood that I thought would make an excellent women’s refuge. I’m guessing you’d like to run it, and the best way to do that is if you own it outright. You can campaign, write articles, join us on missions—though I’m not so keen on that last—”