by Roxie Rivera
"Well, when you find that man, send him my way." With a soft touch to his chest, she said, "There's beer in my fridge. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Unable to help himself, he tilted his head and watched the sultry swing of her trim hips as she walked down the hall to the master suite. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to be a true knight in shining armor riding to the rescue of his woman. A real hero wouldn't be standing here in her living room, tiny purse in hand, while the damsel in distress disappeared into a bedroom.
The sexiest images taunted him. If he was a good man, a man who could offer Holly a future, he would follow her down that hall, gather her tightly in his arms and finally get that kiss he had wanted since meeting her on that rainy March morning. Maybe it would go somewhere. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, he would finally quench the undeniable thirst for that sweet, pouty mouth of hers.
Rolling his neck, Kostya cursed himself for even dreaming of something so wildly impossible. She inhabited a world so far removed from his it was as if they lived on opposite ends of the known universe.
Turning toward her kitchen, he came face to face with dozens of framed photographs arranged gallery style on her walls. As if to prove a point, the wall mocked him. She had family and friends who loved her. What did he have? He had Nikolai's family, all of them bonded by a different sort of blood.
Stepping closer to inspect the photos, he placed her clutch on the entryway table and scanned the ones he had already seen the half a dozen or so times he had been inside her home. They provided a snapshot of her life in Houston. Holly as a cheerleader at a high school football game. Holly as the Prom Queen. Holly at sorority parties. Holly graduating from Rice. Holly opening the salon with her two best friends.
He enjoyed the photos of Holly and her mother the most. He hadn't met Annette Martin yet, but she looked like a very nice woman. Judging by her age in the newest photos, she had been an older mother, probably in her early forties when Holly was born. He wondered if that was why she had chosen to raise Holly alone and without the help of a husband or partner. By all accounts, Annette was quite successful in her career with one of Houston's mega energy firms. She was now a CFO and incredibly well-respected.
"Are you ogling me in my cheerleader uniform again?"
Kostya laughed and made the mistake of glancing at her. Though he had just come from a strip club where the women were walking around bare ass naked, it was the sight of Holly in slim-fitting yoga pants and a plain pink T-shirt that made his cock stir to life. Fresh faced, she had wiped away all the traces of her makeup and pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail.
Ignoring that pulsing ache deep in his belly, Kostya shook his head. "No, I wasn't ogling you."
"Sure you weren't, you perv," she teased and bumped him with her hip.
He didn't even try to stop the smile that curved his typically grim-set mouth. Sliding his gaze along the wall, he spotted a set of photos he had never seen. He was a bit taken aback by the Russian landmarks he knew only too well. "Those are new."
"Yes." She reached out to trace the frames. "Mom is going to downsize in the spring from that monstrosity of a mansion up in The Woodlands so we've been going through the rooms at the house to see what she'll keep, sell or donate. I found a box of photographs from her year in Russia."
"What was she doing there?" He glanced at the pictures of Annette around various tourist hotspots like the Hermitage Museum and Saint Basil's Cathedral.
"The company she works for wanted to get in on the ground level of the oil and gas exploration over there. She hopped around the country and spent most of her time in Kazakhstan, I guess. It was only the last three months or so that she was in Moscow and St. Petersburg."
As he studied the photos, a conclusion began to form. He noted the fashions her mother wore, the vehicles and even the few visible advertisements. It wasn't difficult to do the math. "Your father…?"
"Yes," Holly said quietly. "Before you ask, no, I don't know his name. Mom said it's not important, and frankly, I decided that I didn't want to know the name of the man who wanted nothing to do with me or my mother."
Kostya wondered if it was that simple. Not wanting to upset her, he let the issue drop. He had his own ways of finding out information like that.
"Come on. Let's have that beer." She gave the sleeve of his jacket a tug. "Take this off. You're going to burn up in here under all that leather."
"I'm fine." He didn't want to be forced to reveal the gun hidden under his jacket. When they reached the kitchen, he stopped her before she got to the refrigerator. "I'll get that. You get up here." He patted the granite counter. "Let me get a look at that scrape on your cheek."
"I've already put some antibiotic ointment on it."
"I still want to look at it. You might need to be seen by a doctor."
She rolled her eyes at him. "You are way too overprotective."
He bit back a reply and grabbed two beers from the fridge. She hopped up onto the small island and impatiently swung her legs while he filled a small plastic bag with ice and wrapped it with a dishtowel.
Standing in front of her, he set aside the ice pack and gingerly clasped her face between his hands. Their gazes clashed as he tilted her head back and examined the grazed skin across the tip of her nose and the apple of her cheek. It took all the self-control he could muster not to gently caress her beautiful face and run his thumb along that bee-stung lower lip.
"You'll have a bruise." Fingertips electrified by the contact with her supple skin, he reached for the ice pack. "It won't be too bad."
"Thankfully, I'm an ace at makeup application." She took the pack from him and placed it against her puffy cheek. She turned a critical eye to the front of his shirt. "Although, maybe I should come to you for tips if I ever have a hankering to toss on some stripper dust."
He glanced down and saw the glittery specks on the front of his shirt. "Shit."
She laughed and gestured toward the beers. "Grab the church key from the fridge and pop that top for me. I'll definitely need a drink for this story."
"There's no story." He swiped the magnet-backed bottle opener from the stainless steel door.
"Really? Because I'm thinking that a handsome guy like you hanging out in some dirty freaking strip club on Christmas Eve has got to have a story behind it."
Hearing her call him handsome made his heartbeat speed up. Popping the caps off the beers, he handed one to her. "First, Wet isn't a dirty freaking strip club." He repeated her exact phrase. "It's a first-rate gentlemen's club."
"If you say so…" She sipped her beer.
"I do."
"But why?"
"Why what?"
"Why were you there? Surely, you have no problem finding a hot woman willing to dance naked in your own bedroom."
He nearly choked on his mouthful of beer. Gulping it down, he glanced at her to see if she was teasing him. She looked dead serious. Clearing his throat, he stated, "I don't bring women to my house."
"I noticed that."
"Did you?" He wasn't sure he liked being watched that closely. "Well, I've noticed you don't have overnight guests either."
"By the time we shut the salon down, it's almost nine. Then I've got to drive across town, make dinner, do laundry, blah, blah, blah." She waved her hand. "Trying to get a small business through the first five years is tough. And, obviously, after tonight's front yard spectacle, I've got no business inviting men home with me."
He wasn’t sure if she expected him to encourage her to try again. If she did, she was shit out of luck because he wasn't about to suggest anything of the sort. Selfish as it was, he didn't want any man heating up her sheets.
Unless it's me.
Pushing aside that tempting thought, he asked, "How is business?"
She smiled knowingly before taking another drink. Mercifully, she let the topic of strip clubs go and didn't force him to admit that he owned them. They finished their bee
rs while chatting about the salon she loved so much. With her mother's deep pockets funding the enterprise, they were very nearly in the black. Considering the unbelievable amount of hours Holly had put into her salon, he was thrilled for her. She deserved so much success.
"I should go." He said after draining the last of his drink. "It's late. You need to rest."
"I need a lot of things," she murmured, "but I'm not sure rest is at the top of that list."
Was she coming onto him? He couldn't tell and didn't want to risk misreading her and upsetting their friendship.
"Well, I'm an old man so rest is at the top of mine."
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "What are you? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Seriously?" She slanted her head to the side and examined him more closely. "You're going to be one of those ridiculously sexy silver foxes in another twenty years."
He chortled loudly and swiped the empty bottle from her hand. "You're drunk."
"Hardly," she said and hopped down off the island. "I've only had a glass of wine and that beer all night."
"You're a lightweight." In his line of work, accurately judging height and weight came in very handy. Holly couldn't weigh more than fifty kilograms. Maybe fifty-two, he allowed, while rinsing their empty bottles in the sink. He dropped them into the recycling bin in her laundry room and came back into the kitchen to find she had disappeared on him.
Frowning, he went in search of her. He found Holly crouched down in front of her Christmas tree. There were only a handful of presents under the tree, and she selected a gift bag with a vintage holiday print on the front. Grinning at him, she crossed the living room and presented it to him. "So, I know we agreed we were going to trade white elephant gifts this year…"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "But?"
"But I decided to get you something a little silly and something else that I think you'll actually enjoy."
He decided not to ruin her surprise because he had done the same thing for her. Instead, he exhaled dramatically. "I suppose I will let it slide this year."
She raised an eyebrow and saucily retorted, "Or I could bend over the arm of that couch and you could give my backside a swat for being such a naughty little elf."
Heat unfurled fast and hard in his core. The vision of her bare, wiggling ass enticed him. What would her bottom look like all pink and hot after a good spanking? He could almost feel her snug, wet heat wrapped around his cock while he fucked her roughly after giving her exactly what she deserved—and needed.
Taking the bag from her, he warned, "You should be careful making overtures like that, Holly. One of these days, a man might take you up on them."
She smiled at him. "Oh, I'm counting on it."
The thought of another man accepting her offer made his stomach lurch. The overpowering urge to cup that perky little ass of hers and drag her tight to his chest was almost too much to deny. Right here, right now, he could claim her as his woman. For tonight, at least, he could be an everyday sort of man making love to and enjoying the woman of his dreams.
But it wasn't that simple.
Because you aren't an everyday sort of man. You're a mob cleaner and a hit man. You're all wrong for Holly. Let her go. Let her have the chance to find the man she deserves.
Taking the gift bag from her, he stepped back before the scent and heat of her coaxed him to make a huge mistake. "Thank you, Holly."
"No, thank you, Kostya. You saved me tonight."
"If you see Cody again—"
"I'll tell you," she promised. "But I don't think either one of us will ever see him again."
For Cody's sake, Kostya hoped that was true.
Holly shadowed him to the front door. "Good night, Kostya. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Holly." He stepped onto the welcome mat and gestured to her door. "Lock up."
"There you go again with your overprotectiveness."
"Someone has to look out for you."
"So it may as well be you?"
He nodded. "Yes."
She smiled sweetly. "I can't imagine a better protector."
Oh, if only she knew…
"Night."
"Spokoynoy nochi."
Safe inside his house, Kostya carried the gift bag into his kitchen and shrugged out of his jacket. He peeled off his holster and placed his pistol on the counter next to the present. After plucking free the knife sheathed along his left leg and his backup pistol from the right, he pulled the fluffy red and green tissue paper out of the bag and withdrew his gift.
His fingers brushed something cold and hard. Ceramic? He felt another object of the same size next to it. He grabbed one and hauled it out of the bag. Staring at the bizarre and slightly creepy face looking right back at him, Kostya burst out with laughter. It was a garden gnome!
He found the female match to the pair inside the bag and placed her next to the white-bearded male gnome. The homeowner's association would hit him hard for putting them in his front yard, but Kostya didn't care. He wanted Holly to laugh every time she pulled into her driveway and spotted the weird miniatures in the flower beds in front of his house.
Remembering the real gift she had admitted to buying him, he fished around in the bag and finally withdrew a card. He opened the envelope and found a gift certificate to the very last place he had ever expected—the animal shelter. Wondering what in the world she had been thinking, he read the note scrawled inside the card.
Because I know you're going to hem-and-haw over this, it's good for a year. Oh—and I get first dibs on helping you name your new furry friend. I've already got a shortlist. What do you think about Tokarev?
He traced the loopy shapes of her handwriting. A dog? Was she insane? That was the very last thing he needed.
Except.
Well.
Maybe it would be nice to have a companion.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Even as he mentally listed all the reasons why a dog was a terrible idea, he grudgingly admitted that Tokarev would be a good name for his pet, especially considering his fondness for the surplus 7.62x25 ammunition that he occasionally got his hands on during the family's illicit arms trading.
Leaving the gift certificate on the counter, he walked over to the small dining room table where Holly's gift sat. Unlike her, he hadn't decorated for Christmas and didn't have a tree. She had been the only person he had shopped for this year.
In fact, she was the only person he had shopped for since his mother's death over ten years ago.
Though he had planned to drop off her gift in the morning, he decided that he wanted to have a little fun with her tonight. There was no chimney for him to come crashing down so her front door would have to do.
Not bothering with his jacket, he nonetheless tucked a pistol into the back of his jeans. Out in the cold, wet night, he made a stealth crossing of their property lines and walked up to her front door. He could see the faint glow of a television around the closed wooden blinds and the edges of her living room drapes. He placed his gift on the welcome mat, rang the doorbell—and ran like a kid pulling a prank.
He made it to the tree in her front yard before she opened the door. He could only just make out her silhouette in the light shining behind her. She bent down to pick up the gift and then glanced around the yard. Feeling sillier than he had in years, Kostya deepened his voice and called out, "Ho, ho, ho!"
Holly's snort of laughter echoed in the quiet night. "Aw, Santa, you shouldn't have! Bacon flavored toothpaste in a jewelry box? I'm such a lucky girl."
He chuckled but remained hidden behind the tree. "Don't throw away that jewelry box without turning it over first."
"Why? Is there—holy shit! Kostya, this is too much."
He smiled at the thought of her wearing the gold bracelet with the jade cabochon that he had carefully taped to the bottom of the box. The moment he had seen the bracelet in the jeweler's case, he had thought of her pretty
green eyes. "Santa doesn't have the receipt so you'll have to keep it."
She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and he started to worry. Had he been wrong to give her jewelry? He had been sure that a bracelet was the perfect gift for her. Now he had second thoughts.
"Santa will have to let me cook him dinner to show my appreciation."
Relieved that she liked the gift, he replied, "Santa will have to check his calendar and get back to you. Now—go back inside and lock that door."
"Yeah. Okay. Bossy butt."
He laughed again and waited for the front door to close before returning to his house. Alone in his bedroom sometime later, Kostya stared at the ceiling and played his moments with Holly on an endless loop inside his head. It struck him suddenly that she had given him the greatest gift of all this Christmas.
She had given him a glimpse of what it might be like to be normal, and—God help him—he liked it. One taste of how things could be if he wasn't mired in the swamp of his mobbed-up life, and Kostya craved the possibilities.
Was this the feeling that Ivan Markovic and Alexei Sarnov had chased all those years ago when they were making their exit plans? Now, Ivan had everything he wanted—a clean life, a successful business and a gorgeous woman who loved him.
Can I have that?
He honestly didn't know. Even before getting involved with Nikolai's crew, Kostya had never dared to dream that his life might be normal. His rather unorthodox upbringing with parents who were KGB operatives had sealed that deal. When he had proven to be a genius like them, he had gone to university where he had excelled in biochemistry and then he had accepted a government contract to follow in his parents' footsteps.
Getting out from under the Kremlin's thumb had required that he make a hasty exit from his homeland, and there had been only one way to do it—Maksim Prokhorov, the mob boss of Moscow. Through the boss' vast network, Kostya had ended up here and attached to Nikolai. His friendship with Nikolai was the truest of his life, and he would give his life to defend his friend and his boss.
But what if there was something else for him?
Even if he could get out—and the odds of him surviving such a move were less than one percent—what the hell could he offer a woman like Holly?
