The Stanislaski Series Collection, Volume 1
Page 20
“It took me a long time to accept what I can never understand.” She turned over her hands in his. “A long time to start living again, going back to work, finally moving here, starting my business. I think I would have died without my family.” She gave herself a moment, sipping the water to cool her dry throat. “I didn’t want to love anyone again. Then there was you. And Freddie.”
“We need you, Natasha. And you need us.”
“Yes.” She took his hand to press it to her lips. “I want you to understand. Spence, when I learned I was pregnant, it all came flying back at me. I tell you, I don’t think I could survive going through that again. I’m so afraid to love this child. And I already do.”
“Come here.” He lifted her to her feet, keeping her hands locked tight in his. “I know that you loved Lily, and that you’ll always love her and grieve for her. So will I now. What happened before can’t be changed, but this is a different place, a different time. A different child. I want you to understand that we’re going to go through this pregnancy, the birth and the rearing together. Whether you want me or not.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Then we’ll be afraid together. And when this baby is eight and rides a two-wheeler for the first time, we’ll be afraid together.”
Her lips trembled into a smile. “When you say it, I can almost believe it.”
“Believe it.” He bent to kiss her. “Because it’s a promise.”
“Yes, it’s time for promises.” Her smile grew. “I love you.” It was so easy to say it now. So easy to feel it. “Will you hold me?”
“On one condition.” He rubbed away a drying tear with his thumb. “I want to tell Freddie she’s expecting a baby brother or sister. I think it would make a great Christmas present for her.”
“Yes.” She felt stronger, surer. “I want us to tell her.”
“All right, you’ve got five days.”
“Five days for what?”
“To make whatever plans you want to make, to arrange to have your family come down, buy a dress, whatever you need to do to get ready for the wedding.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He framed her face with his hands and silenced her. “I love you, I want you. You’re the best thing to come into my life since Freddie, and I don’t intend to lose you. We’ve made a child, Natasha.” Watching her, he laid a hand on her stomach, gently possessive. “A child I want. A child I already love.”
In a gesture of trust, she placed her hand on his. “I won’t be afraid if you’re with me.”
“We have a date here Christmas Eve. I’m going to wake up Christmas morning with my wife.”
She steadied herself by putting her hands on his forearms. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
With a laugh, she threw her arms around his neck and said one word. “Yes.”
* * * * *
EPILOGUE
Christmas Eve was the most beautiful day in the year as far as Natasha was concerned. It was a time to celebrate life and love and family.
The house was quiet when she came in. She was drawn to the tree and the light. She sent an angel spinning on one branch, then turned to study the room.
On the table there was a papier-mâché reindeer with only one ear. Compliments of Freddie’s second-grade art class. Beside it stood a pudgy snowman holding a lantern. An exquisite porcelain crèche was displayed on the mantel. Beneath it hung four stockings. A fire crackled in the grate.
A year before she had stood before the fire and promised to love, honor and cherish. They had been the easiest promises she had ever had to keep. Now this was her home.
Home. She took a deep breath to draw in the scents of pine and candles. It was so good to be home. Last-minute shoppers had crowded The Fun House until late in the afternoon. Now there was only family.
“Mama.” Freddie raced in, trailing a bright red ribbon. “You’re home.”
“I’m home.” Laughing, Natasha scooped her up to spin her around.
“We took Vera to the airport so she can spend Christmas with her sister, then we watched the planes. Daddy said when you got home we’d have dinner, then sing Christmas carols.”
“Daddy’s absolutely right.” Natasha draped the ribbon over Freddie’s shoulder. “What’s this?”
“I’m wrapping a present, all by myself. It’s for you.”
“For me? What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can. Watch.” She dropped onto the couch to run her fingers along Freddie’s ribs. “It’ll be easy,” she said as Freddie squealed and squirmed.
“Torturing the child again,” Spence commented from the doorway.
“Daddy!” Springing up, Freddie raced to him. “I didn’t tell.”
“I knew I could count on you, funny face. Look who woke up.” He bounced a baby on his hip.
“Here, Brandon.” Madly in love, Freddie passed up the ribbon so that he could play with it. “It’s pretty, just like you.”
At six months, young Brandon Kimball was chubby, rosy-cheeked and delighted with the world in general. He clutched the ribbon in one hand and reached for Freddie’s hair with the other.
Walking over, Natasha held out her arms. “Such a big boy,” she murmured as her son reached for her. Gathering him close, she pressed a kiss to his throat. “So beautiful.”
“He looks just like his mother.” Spence stroked a hand over Brandon’s thick, black curls. As if he approved of the statement, Brandon let out a gurgling laugh. When he wriggled, Natasha set him down to crawl on the rug.
“It’s his first Christmas.” Natasha watched him scoot over to torment one of the cats and saw Lucy dart under the sofa. She’s no fool, Natasha thought happily.
“And our second.” He turned Natasha into his arms. “Happy anniversary.”
Natasha kissed him once, then twice. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Not since I called you this afternoon.”
“Much too long ago.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “I love you. Thank you for the most wonderful year of my life.”
“You’re very welcome.” He glanced over her head only long enough to see that Freddie had prevented Brandon from pulling an ornament from a low branch. “But it’s only going to get better.”
“Do you promise?”
He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers again. “Absolutely.”
Freddie stopped crawling with Brandon to watch them. A baby brother had turned out to be nice, after all, but she was still holding out for that baby sister. She smiled as she saw her parents embrace.
Maybe next Christmas.
Passionate, proud and hopelessly romantic, the Stanislaskis are a family you won’t soon forget!
Look for the rest of Nora Roberts’s captivating six-book family saga, available now wherever ebooks are sold:
The Stanislaskis
Taming Natasha
Luring a Lady
Falling for Rachel
Convincing Alex
Waiting for Nick
Considering Kate
Don’t miss these other favorite series by Nora Roberts, also available now wherever ebooks are sold!
Stars of Mithra
Hidden Star
Captive Star
Secret Star
The MacKade Brothers
The Return of Rafe MacKade
The Pride of Jared MacKade
The Heart of Devin MacKade
The Fall of Shane MacKade
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1317-3
Taming Natasha
Copyright © 1990 by Nora Roberts
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Luring a Lady
The Stanislaskis
Book Two
Nora Roberts
The Stanislaskis: an unforgettable family saga by #1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts
Nothing in Sydney Hayward’s background of wealth and privilege prepared her to take the helm of her family’s corporation, and her new responsibilities left no room for complications. Mikhail Stanislaski was definitely a complication. Earthy and entirely masculine, Mikhail came from a world utterly different from her own. But the way she felt when he put his strong, work-hardened hands on her was wreaking havoc with Sydney’s resolve.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
She wasn’t a patient woman. Delays and excuses were barely tolerated, and never tolerated well. Waiting—and she was waiting now—had her temper dropping degree by degree toward ice. With Sydney Hayward icy anger was a great deal more dangerous than boiling rage. One frigid glance, one frosty phrase could make the recipient quake. And she knew it.
Now she paced her new office, ten stories up in midtown Manhattan. She swept from corner to corner over the deep oatmeal-colored carpet. Everything was perfectly in place, papers, files, coordinated appointment and address books. Even her brass-and-ebony desk set was perfectly aligned, the pens and pencils marching in a straight row across the polished mahogany, the notepads carefully placed beside the phone.
Her appearance mirrored the meticulous precision and tasteful elegance of the office. Her crisp beige suit was all straight lines and starch, but didn’t disguise the fact that there was a great pair of legs striding across the carpet. With it she wore a single strand of pearls, earrings to match and a slim gold watch, all very discreet and exclusive. As a Hayward, she’d been raised to be both.
Her dark auburn hair was swept off her neck and secured with a gold clip. The pale freckles that went with the hair were nearly invisible after a light dusting of powder. Sydney felt they made her look too young and too vulnerable. At twenty-eight she had a face that reflected her breeding. High, slashing cheekbones, the strong, slightly pointed chin, the small straight nose. An aristocratic face, it was pale as porcelain, with a softly shaped mouth she knew could sulk too easily, and large smoky-blue eyes that people often mistook for guileless.
Sydney glanced at her watch again, let out a little hiss of breath, then marched over to her desk. Before she could pick up the phone, her intercom buzzed.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Hayward. There’s a man here who insists on seeing the person in charge of the Soho project. And your four-o’clock appointment—”
“It’s now four-fifteen,” Sydney cut in, her voice low and smooth and final. “Send him in.”
“Yes, ma’am, but he’s not Mr. Howington.”
So Howington had sent an underling. Annoyance hiked Sydney’s chin up another fraction. “Send him in,” she repeated, and flicked off the intercom with one frosted pink nail. So, they thought she’d be pacified with a junior executive. Sydney took a deep breath and prepared to kill the messenger.
It was years of training that prevented her mouth from dropping open when the man walked in. No, not walked, she corrected. Swaggered. Like a black-patched pirate over the rolling deck of a boarded ship.
She wished she’d had the foresight to have fired a warning shot over his bow.
Her initial shock had nothing to do with the fact that he was wildly handsome, though the adjective suited perfectly. A mane of thick, curling black hair flowed just beyond the nape of his neck, to be caught by a leather thong in a short ponytail that did nothing to detract from rampant masculinity. His face was rawboned and lean, with skin the color of an old gold coin. Hooded eyes were nearly as black as his hair. His full lips were shadowed by a day or two’s growth of beard that gave him a rough and dangerous look.
Though he skimmed under six foot and was leanly built, he made her delicately furnished office resemble a doll’s house.
What was worse was the fact that he wore work clothes. Dusty jeans and a sweaty T-shirt with a pair of scarred boots that left a trail of dirt across her pale carpet. They hadn’t even bothered with the junior executive, she thought as her lips firmed, but had sent along a common laborer who hadn’t had the sense to clean up before the interview.
“You’re Hayward?” The insolence in the tone and the slight hint of a Slavic accent had her imagining him striding up to a camp fire with a whip tucked in his belt.
The misty romance of the image made her tone unnecessarily sharp. “Yes, and you’re late.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally as they studied each other across the desk. “Am I?”
“Yes. You might find it helpful to wear a watch. My time is valuable if yours is not. Mr….”
“Stanislaski.” He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, shifting his weight easily, arrogantly onto one hip. “Sydney’s a man’s name.”
She arched a brow. “Obviously you’re mistaken.”
He skimmed his gaze over her slowly, with as much interest as annoyance. She was pretty as a frosted cake, but he hadn’t come straight and sweaty from a job to waste time with a female. “Obviously. I thought Hayward was an old man with a bald head and a white mustache.”
“You’re thinking of my grandfather.”
“Ah, then it’s your grandfather I want to see.”
“That won’t be possible, Mr. Stanislaski, as my grandfather’s been dead for nearly two months.”
The arrogance in his eyes turned quickly to compassion. “I’m sorry. It hurts to lose family.”
She couldn’t say why, of all the condolences she had received, these few words from a stranger touched her. “Yes, it does. Now, if you’ll take a seat, we can get down to business.”
Cold, hard and distant as the moon. Just as well, he thought. It would keep him from thinking of her in more personal ways—at least until he got what he wanted.
“I have sent your grandfather letters,” he began as he settled into one of the trim Queen Anne chairs in front of the desk. “Perhaps the last were misplaced during the confusion of death.”
An odd way to put it, Sydney thought, but apt. Her life had certainly been turned upside down in the past few months. “Correspondence should be addressed to me.” She sat, folding her hands on the desk. “As you know Hayward Enterprises is considering several firms—”
“For what?”
She struggled to shrug off the irritation of being interrupted. “I beg your pardon?”
> “For what are you considering several firms?”
If she had been alone, she would have sighed and shut her eyes. Instead, she drummed her fingers on the desk. “What position do you hold, Mr. Stanislaski?”
“Position?”
“Yes, yes, what is it you do?”
The impatience in her voice made him grin. His teeth were very white, and not quite straight. “You mean, what is it I do? I work with wood.”
“You’re a carpenter?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” she repeated, and sat back. Behind her, buildings punched into a hard blue sky. “Perhaps you can tell me why Howington Construction sent a sometimes carpenter to represent them in this interview.”
The room smelled of lemon and rosemary and only reminded him that he was hot, thirsty and as impatient as she. “I could—if they had sent me.”
It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. “You’re not from Howington?”
“No. I’m Mikhail Stanislaski, and I live in one of your buildings.” He propped a dirty boot on a dusty knee. “If you’re thinking of hiring Howington, I would think again. I once worked for them, but they cut too many corners.”
“Excuse me.” Sydney gave the intercom a sharp jab. “Janine, did Mr. Stanislaski tell you he represented Howington?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. He just asked to see you. Howington called about ten minutes ago to reschedule. If you—”
“Never mind.” Sitting back again, she studied the man who was grinning at her. “Apparently I’ve been laboring under a misconception.”
“If you mean you made a mistake, yes. I’m here to talk to you about your apartment building in Soho.”