To Love A Hero (International Romance Series)

by Risk, Mona

  Sergei motioned to Cecile. “The brilliant Program Manager you chose for this contract accomplished a miracle. And the others helped.”

  She turned toward him and beamed. His recognition of her professional capabilities pleased her more than all the honors and awards she’d received during her Harvard days and her ten-year career.

  John’s brows arched with astonishment. “I want the details.”

  “Later, my friend. I’m sure Jeffrey and Paul will be happy to brief you.” Sergei ushered them toward the back of the building where some twenty Belarusian men tightened their muscles and raised the huge boxes toward the window.

  Alexander Kadelov, a large smile on his face, came to shake hands with them. “I was sure that Colonel Roussov would sign the permit as soon as Cecile explained to him the importance of this equipment.” No one bothered to contradict him.

  Sergei’s smile disappeared. He fixed a questioning gaze on Cecile. Her heart skipped a beat. She gave him a weak smile and shrugged hoping that he wouldn’t quiz her for more details. She realized that each one of her companions was missing a piece of the story.

  “Well, the equipment is here,” she cheerfully said and clapped her hands. “Each one did his share and everyone is happy.” And will live happily ever after with the blasted equipment, I hope. Why ruin the mood with unnecessary explanation?

  Ignoring the general’s quirked brow, she tugged at Jeffrey’s sleeve. “It’s time to call Boston and ask our chemists to jump on the first plane. I need them here to start the installation as soon as possible. And Paul, please call Rob. Tell him we need him here. I’ll call him when I have time.”

  Paul laughed. “For once, your orders came too late. Jeffrey already called our chemists. They are leaving tomorrow. I just hope they don’t face a snowstorm in Boston and end up in Moscow as we did. I’ll talk to Rob tonight.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nicolai said to reassure them. “I will keep track of their flight until they land here. And I’ll be at the airport to receive them.”

  Cecile yawned. “I’m tired. I am going back to the hotel. Do me a favor, guys, don’t knock on my door tomorrow. I may sleep the whole day to make up for my past sleepless nights. I leave the Belchem Lab and its new instruments in your competent hands. See you the day after tomorrow.” She waved to them and left with Sergei and Nicolai on her heels.

  She heard the general say something in Russian followed by, “Spacibo bolshoye, thank you so much. Dasvidania, goodbye.”

  Before they reached the Jeep, Cecile paused. “Sergei, explain to me how to go from the hotel to your place by metro.” Nicolai tried to protest but she interrupted him. “I’d like to learn to go around on my own.”

  Sergei faced her, assessing her request. “Always independent.” She raised a hand to protest but he insisted. “Soon it will be dark. Nicolai will bring you tonight but I promise I will explain to you how to take the metro. I will see you later.”

  He gave the colonel the key to his flat. Bowing over her hand, he pressed a warm kiss on it and turned it to rub his lips on her open palm. Heat infused her cheeks and a tingling sensation rippled through her body. “I’ll see you later,” she whispered.

  The general jumped in the back of the military Jeep and his driver took off. Cecile slid in the front seat of the colonel’s Volvo. “Nicolai, since you’re not wearing your impressive uniform, can we stop at the bazaar for a few minutes?”

  He glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Yesterday I gambled and won a good chunk of money. I pledged to distribute it to these old women sitting out in that chilly weather. Now is a good time.”

  “You are a strong woman with a good heart, Cecile. I understand why Sergei loves you. Maybe you can keep part of the money to distribute in the villages. People are very poor there.”

  Cecile thanked him for the suggestion. Ten women crouched on the icy sidewalk received her donation and showered her with thanks and blessings. Entering the bazaar, she moved between different aisles for food shopping, cakes and flowers.

  In the car she handed one of the cakes to Nicolai. “Take this for your family. Thank you for all your help.”

  * * * * *

  The Jeep dropped Sergei at the Ministry of Defense. He went to his office and called the Minister of Defense to update him on the delivery of the long-awaited equipment to the Belchem Lab. Upon hearing the compliments of his boss, he protested and specified all credit should go to Dr. Lornier who multiplied her efforts to serve this important cause. When he hung up the phone, a smile hovered on his lips. The minister assured him he would never forget her dedication to their country and promised to personally send her a thank you note.

  Sergei entered the antechamber he used as his bedroom and changed into civilian clothes.

  It would be wonderful to go home and find her waiting for him. A domestic scene played in his mind, Cecile fixing the dinner then relaxing on the sofa while listening to Russian music. They’d eat, dance and make love. No vodka. He remembered the first time she came to his flat. She had fallen asleep in his arms just when he wanted her wide-awake.

  They’d toast later, much later…

  She would spend the night in his arms and the next day he would take her by train to the lake where he used to vacation with his parents. A whole day spent together like two lovers without any worries. They both needed a break from their responsibilities and hectic life. And they needed to be together.

  His secretary knocked, admitted himself and handed him an envelope. “General, this telegram was delivered two hours ago.”

  Sergei opened it and read the few words. His hand, holding the piece of paper, dropped to his side. He blankly stared at the wall.

  “I hope it’s not bad news, my Generalle.”

  “It is. My mother is dying.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The delicious smell of home-cooked food, more precisely the smell of roasted meat, with garlic and onions, lingered in the corridor of his building’s seventh floor. Sergei halted before inserting the key in the lock. He wriggled his nose and sniffed. No, he wasn’t mistaken. He opened the door and blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

  A dream come true.

  Just like in his fantasy, Cecilya lounged on the sofa while listening to Russian music. The table was set and even the bottle of vodka was open. She bolted up and flung her arms around his neck. Even better than his fantasy.

  Without uttering a word, he took her in his arms and lowered his head, crushing his lips against hers. His hand slid along her back to press her against his hardness. She moaned and he knew she wanted him as much as he craved her. With escalating passion, he ravished her mouth. His tongue probed and played with hers and she responded with fervor.

  His mother’s message popped into his mind.

  He pulled his mouth away and stared into the beautiful eyes dazed with desire. He hated himself for what he was about to say, what he was about to do.

  “Cecilya, I love you for this welcome, for fulfilling every detail of my fantasy. But a telegram came from the village. My mother is dying.”

  “Sergei, you have to go right away. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t see her alive.” She raised a hand and caressed his cheek, love sparkling in her eyes. “Can I come with you?”

  He blinked, finding it difficult to digest her words. “This is not a fun trip. I may not have time for you there.”

  “I know. I want to be with you. Unless it compromises your public image?”

  “Nobody cares about my public image in this remote area.” He frowned, still not sure he understood. She was pleading with him to take her to visit his dying mother. How could he tell her the village and the little house where his mother lay ill was a far cry from the well-tended American farms pictured on TV?

  “The house is cold and small and dark. And unlike…” He hesitated, hating to denigrate his birthplace.

  “Stop it, Sergei. I want to be with you. That’s what counts for me. And
I’ll meet your mother. I’m sure she must be a wonderful woman to have raised such a son.” She smiled, a lovely sweet smile that melted his apprehension.

  He captured her lips one more time, pouring his love and appreciation into his kiss.

  Cecile disentangled herself. “Help me store this food in the fridge.”

  “No, we will put it in boxes and eat it in the train. Believe me, the first meal you have cooked for me will be rightfully honored,” he said while covering the pot containing the roast.

  In less than five minutes, they had the dinner packed into plastic containers.

  “What about the flowers? Can I take them to your mom?”

  A strange emotion filled him as he recalled that his mother had not received flowers in years. He’d bought her food, medicine and clothes, and gave her money. He suppressed a bitter smile. His mamouchka would have scolded him if he ever wasted precious rubles on something so trivial. The only flowers he’d ever bought in his life were the ones he gave Cecilya, when he tried to match—in a measly way—the luxury she must have been used to. Without comment, Sergei indulged her by wrapping the vase and its contents.

  He helped her with her coat and wore his. “I may have to stay longer than a day.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you.”

  He adjusted the chapka on her hair and caressed her cheek. “You have an answer to every problem. Are you always so determined when you want something?”

  “Always.” She chuckled and shrugged. “It’s part of my upbringing. Let’s go.”

  Hooking her arm through his, she let him guide her through the dark streets. Her gaze followed the reflection of the few ghostly shadows of cars and passersby on the glittering icy sidewalk.

  “You are very quiet, Cecilya.”

  “I’m concentrating on my steps. It’s quite slippery on this sidewalk. Do they never shovel the snow in Minsk?”

  He laughed as if she just said a stupid joke. “By hand? There is too much of it on the ground. We just wait. It will melt in the spring.”

  They turned around the corner and reached the main street. Sergei quickened his steps. She hung more heavily on his arm until they entered a revolving door leading to the train station. He lowered his chapka deep over his eyes and wrapped the scarf around his mouth.

  He halted at the ticket window and looked at her with hesitation. “Cecile, when I travel for personal reasons I buy an economy class ticket.”

  “How long is the trip?” she asked, wondering if they could still save some part of their original plans.

  “Eight hours. We will arrive at dawn. Of course, a separate compartment would be more private.”

  Cecile understood his dilemma. As usual, money was a difficult issue. “It was my idea to come with you. Please, let me handle the tickets.” She grabbed his arm before his hand reached his pocket. “Anyway I give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar or in this case to Belarus. Last night, I won a lot of money at the casino of the hotel.”

  “You played at the casino?” His eyes almost popped out of his head.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later.” She stuffed a packet of rubles in his hand.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “It looks like you have an awful lot of things to tell me, my dear.”

  Cecile grimaced determined to avoid tricky subjects that would sour the moment. In spite of his understandable worry about his mother, Sergei was in a relatively easygoing mood and she wanted to keep it that way.

  He shoved the tickets into his pocket and recaptured her hand. Cecile spun her head right and left, intrigued by the crowd running in different directions. He led her toward the correct platform where a train with a succession of red and silver cars was already stationed.

  Sergei helped her up into the train and they strolled along the corridor to the right compartment. He deposited his bag on the small table adjoining the large window and slid the door closed behind them. “Your mobile palace for the next few hours, madam.”

  Cecile peered through the glass. A train passed parallel to theirs. She lowered the shade and flopped down on one of the benches clapping her hands. “A haven of privacy.” She beamed, delighted.

  He smiled at her excitement. “Let’s eat.”

  Sergei opened the bag, extracted the boxes, plates, forks and knives, a bottle of wine and two glasses. She prepared their plates while he poured the wine. They heard the bell announcing their departure. The train chugged and then gained speed.

  She raised her glass to toast. Her arm stopped in midair. This was not a fun adventure but a visit to his dying mother. She lowered her glass and waited, not wanting to spoil the moment and not knowing what to say.

  His gaze met hers and he understood. “I will take care of my mother when we arrive. The next eight hours belong to us alone. I drink to you, my love.” He clanked his glass against hers.

  Sergei tasted the meat and immediately took another mouthful. “Delicious,” he said while chewing with undisguised hunger. “I never thought a businesswoman could cook so well. Hmm, the beans taste so good.” He cleared his plate. “Can I have some more?” he asked with boyish embarrassment.

  “Of course,” she said, pleased to see him eating with such gusto.

  He emptied his plate and licked his lips. “It’s been a long time since I ate such a tasty meal. Why were you hiding your culinary talents? A woman who cooks so well is a husband’s dream.”

  She laughed. “Don’t raise your hopes too high. I rarely have time to cook.” Cutting the cake she gave him a big portion and took a small one for herself. “I’d better watch the calories.”

  “Now, a glass of wine to help the digestion.” He poured the rest of the wine and raised his glass. “To the pretty cook. My mother used to say, ‘the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’ But you, my dear, grabbed my heart before feeding my stomach.”

  “I wish I could keep your heart, Sergei.” The smile disappeared from her lips as she remembered the many problems facing them.

  “Why the sad expression, Cecilya? You were smiling so happily a few seconds ago. What’s going on in your pretty head?”

  Cecile put the boxes and plates into the bag and threw the empty bottle in the wastebasket without answering. Sergei wiped his mouth and sat beside her. His arm encircled her shoulders. “You haven’t answered my questions.”

  She leaned her head against his arm and closed her eyes. “I love you, Sergei.”

  He brought her against his chest and claimed her lips in a tender kiss that clearly said, “I love you too.”

  She forgot her worries when his tongue invaded her mouth and thrust deep inside. He smoothed her hair and caressed her nape. Then pulled his head away and smiled. “It’s hot in this compartment. You don’t need to be buried under a mountain of clothing. Allow me.”

  He slid her heavy sweater away and removed the turtleneck. “You know, my love. The only time I undressed you, you were asleep. I fought to control my desire. Tonight, I will enjoy removing your clothes one by one while making love to you.”

  She felt herself blushing like a young bride, already excited by his words and panting for his caress and his body.

  “I’ll share the undressing with you.” She reached for his sweater and he swiftly removed it. She unbuttoned his shirt and brushed her palm against his skin. He held his breath as her fingers tangled in the soft curls at his chest and circled his nipples. She watched him holding himself still, reveling in her ministrations. His eyes closed, his teeth bit into his lower lip, his breathing came in ragged gasps.

  She bent, trailing her lips along his chest and licked his nipple while her hand reached down to unzip his pants. He sighed and caught her wrist. “No, my love, this is my part.”

  Damn it, the man insisted on always being in control. She remembered their first lovemaking and then smiled. She didn’t mind him in control and she didn’t mind a repeat performance but he was too slow, so exquisitely slow she was afraid she’d soon beg him to take her a
nd end the sweet torture.

  He removed her pants, undershirt and bra and undressed her while staring at her.

  “You smell of fresh flowers,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. Uncovering the couchette, he pushed her gently down on the sheet then reached for her waist and dragged down her bikini briefs. Sergei stood towering above her, studying every inch of her body, warming her with the intensity of his gaze.

  Kneeling in front of her, he massaged her feet and ankles and worked his way up her legs and thighs with inexorable slowness. Cecile lowered her eyelids and moaned. Unable to withstand the scorching heat of his hands and his eyes, she lay down and he stretched halfway on top of her. His hand roamed over her breasts, fondling and tantalizing them with blazing kisses.

  She wriggled under him. His cool skin couldn’t smother the fire that spread from her breasts down to the core of her sensitivity. He seemed to understand her needs and responded with his own.

  His mouth captured hers and his hand reached, deep between her legs, cradling her mound. His fingers delved into her wet warmth, gentle and persistent. She groaned in his mouth. Fueled by her escalating desire, her hands spread on his back and raked the hard muscles.

  She was ready for him. Snatching her mouth away, she squirmed and spread her legs to send him a message—a prayer or an order, she didn’t care which as long as he entered her and extinguished the fire that consumed her. “Sergei, my darling,” she purred as she slithered her hand down the length of his body and wrapped it around his shaft. Obviously he was more than ready for her.

  “Cecilya, my love,” he said, his voice gruff. He focused a knowing look at her, heaved a sigh and slid his fingers deeper inside her. She lifted her hips to give him better access and quivered. Dipping over her, he buried his mouth between her achingly sensitive breasts, lavished one than the other with moist kisses and suckled her nipples.

  She tightened her grip around him and stroked his penis with increasing urgency until he groaned and pulled her fingers away. She almost cursed with frustration and want. He protected himself and she sighed with relief as he moved on top of her. He plunged into her, thrusting deeper and deeper, moving with the cadence of the train.