by Nora Roberts
Of course, she did. The more she wriggled and kicked, the more Sydney laughed and cuddled. When she’d managed to secure the diaper, Katie looked so cute, smelled so fresh, felt so soft, she had to cuddle some more. Then it seemed only right that she hold Katie up high so the baby could squeal and kick and blow more bubbles.
The diaper sagged but stayed generally where it belonged.
“Okay, gorgeous, now we’re set. Want to go down and see Mama?”
“Mama,” Katie gurgled, and bounced in Sydney’s arms. “Mama.”
In the kitchen, four people scattered and tried to look busy or casual.
“Sorry it took so long,” she began as she came in. “She was wet.” She saw Mikhail and stopped, her cheek pressed against Katie’s.
When their eyes met, color washed to her cheeks. The muscles in her thighs went lax. It was no way, no way at all, she thought, for him to be looking at her with his mother and sisters in the room.
“I’ll take her.” Stepping forward, he held out his arms. Katie stretched into them. Still watching Sydney, he rubbed his cheek over the baby’s head and settled her with a natural ease on his hip. “Come here.” Before Sydney could respond, he cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her against him for a long, blood-thumping kiss. Well used to such behavior, Katie only bounced and gurgled.
Slowly he slid away, then smiled at her. “I’ll come back for the beer.” Juggling Katie, he swaggered out, slamming the screen door behind him.
“Now.” Nadia took a dazed Sydney by the hands. “You make deviled eggs.”
* * *
The sun was just setting on the weekend when Sydney unlocked the door of her apartment. She was laughing—and she was sure she’d laughed more in two days than she had in her entire life. She set the packages she carried on the sofa as Mikhail kicked the door closed.
“You put more in here to come back than you had when you left,” he accused, and set her suitcase down.
“One or two things.” Smiling, she walked over to slip her arms around his waist. It felt good, wonderfully good, especially knowing that his would circle her in response. “Dyakuyu,” she said, sampling thank you in his language.
“You mangle it, but you’re welcome.” He kissed both her cheeks. “This is the traditional greeting or farewell.”
She had to bite the tip of her tongue to hold back the grin. “I know.” She also knew why he was telling her—again. She’d been kissed warmly by each member of the family. Not the careless touch of cheek to cheek she was accustomed to, but a firm pressure of lips, accompanied by a full-blooded embrace. Only Alex hadn’t settled for her cheeks.
“Your brother kisses very well.” Eyes as solemn as she could manage, Sydney touched her lips to Mikhail’s cheeks in turn. “It must run in the family.”
“You liked it?”
“Well…” She shot Mikhail a look from under her lashes. “He did have a certain style.”
“He’s a boy,” Mikhail muttered, though Alex was less than two years his junior.
“Oh, no.” This time a quick laugh bubbled out. “He’s definitely not a boy. But I think you have a marginal advantage.”
“Marginal.”
She linked her hands comfortably behind his neck. “As a carpenter, you’d know that even a fraction of an inch can be vital—for fit.”
His hands snagged her hips to settle her against him. “So, I fit you, Hayward?”
“Yes.” She smiled as he touched his lips to her brow. “It seems you do.”
“And you like my kisses better than Alex’s?”
She sighed, enjoying the way his mouth felt skimming down her temples, over her jaw. “Marginally.” Her eyes flew open when he pinched her. “Well, really—”
But that was all she managed to get out before his mouth closed over hers. She thought of flash fires, ball lightning and electrical overloads. With a murmur of approval, she tossed heat back at him.
“Now.” Instantly aroused, he scooped her up in his arms. “I suppose I must prove myself.”
Sydney hooked her arms around his neck. “If you insist.”
A dozen long strides and he was in the bedroom, where he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. By the time she had her breath back, he’d yanked off his shirt and shoes.
“What are you grinning at?” he demanded.
“It’s that pirate look again.” Still smiling, she brushed hair out of her eyes. “All you need is a saber and a black patch.”
He hooked his thumbs in frayed belt loops. “So, you think I’m a barbarian.”
She let her gaze slide up his naked torso, over the wild mane of hair, the stubble that proved he hadn’t bothered to pack a razor for the weekend. To his eyes, those dark, dramatic, dangerous eyes. “I think you’re dazzling.”
He would have winced but she looked so small and pretty, sitting on the bed, her hair tumbled from the wind, her face still flushed from his rough, impatient kiss.
He remembered how she’d looked, walking into the kitchen, carrying Katie. Her eyes had been full of delight and wonder and shyness. She’d flushed when his mother had announced that Sydney had made the eggs herself. And again, when his father had wrapped her in a bear hug. But Mikhail had seen that she’d hung on, that her fingers had curled into Yuri’s shirt, just for an instant.
There were dozens of other flashes of memory. How she’d snuggled the puppy or taken Brandon’s hand or stroked Freddie’s hair.
She needed love. She was strong and smart and sensible. And she needed love.
Frowning, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Uneasiness skidded down Sydney’s spine.
“What is it? What did I do wrong?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that strain of insecurity and doubt in her voice. Biting back the questions and the impatience, he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s me.” Turning her hand over, he pressed a soft kiss in the center of her palm, then to her wrist where her pulse was beating as quickly from fear as from arousal. “I forget to be gentle with you. To be tender.”
She’d hurt his feelings. His ego. She hadn’t been responsive enough. Too responsive. Oh, God. “Mikhail, I was only teasing about Alex. I wasn’t complaining.”
“Maybe you should.”
“No.” Shifting to her knees, she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. “I want you,” she said desperately. “You know how much I want you.”
Even as the fire leaped in his gut, he brought his hands lightly to her face, fingers stroking easily. The emotion he poured into the kiss came from the heart only and was filled with sweetness, with kindness, with love.
For a moment, she struggled for the heat, afraid she might never find it. But his mouth was so soft, so patient. As her urgency turned to wonder, his lips rubbed over hers. And the friction sparked not the familiar flash fire, but a warm glow, golden, so quietly beautiful her throat ached with it. Even when he took the kiss deeper, deeper, there was only tenderness. Weakened by it, her body melted like wax. Her hands slid limp and useless from his shoulders in total surrender.
“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he murmured as he laid her back on the bed, emptying her mind, stirring her soul with long, drowning kisses. “I should be shot for showing you only one way.”
“I can’t…” Think, breathe, move.
“Shh.” Gently, with an artist’s touch, he undressed her. “Tonight is only for you. Only to enjoy.” His breath caught as the dying sunlight glowed over her skin. She looked too fragile to touch. Too lovely not to. “Let me show you what you are to me.”
Everything. She was everything. After tonight he wanted her to have no doubt of it. With slow, worshipful hands, he showed her that beyond passion, beyond desire, was a merging of spirits. A generosity of the soul.
Love could be peaceful, selfless, enduring.
Her body was a banquet, fragrant, dazzling with erotic flavors. But tonight, he sampled slowly, savoring, sharing. Each sigh, each shudder filled him with gr
atitude that she was his.
He wouldn’t allow her to race. Helpless to resist, she floated down the long, dark river where he guided her through air the essence of silk. Never, not even during their most passionate joining, had she been so aware of her own body. Her own texture and shape and scent. And his. Oh, Lord, and his.
Those rock-hard muscles and brute strength now channeled into unimagined gentleness. The subtlety of movement elicited new longings, fresh knowledge and a symphony of understanding that was exquisite in its harmony.
Let me give you. Let me show you. Let me take.
Sensitive fingertips traced over her, lingering to arouse, moving on to seek out some new shattering pleasure. And from her pleasure came his own, just as sweet, just as staggering, just as simple.
She could hear her own breathing, a quiet, trembling sound as the room deepened with night. A tribute to beauty, tears dampened her cheeks and thickened her voice when she spoke his name.
His mouth covered hers again as at last he slipped inside her. Enfolded in her, cradled by her, he trembled under the long, sighing sweep of sensation. Her mouth opened beneath his, her arms lifted, circled, held.
More. He remembered that he had once fought desperately for more. Now, with her, he had all.
Even with hot hammers of need pounding at him, he moved slowly, knowing he could take her soaring again and again before that last glorious release.
“I love you, Sydney.” His muscles trembled as he felt her rise to meet him. “Only you. Always you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When the phone rang, it was pitch-dark and they were sleeping, tangled together like wrestling children. Sydney snuggled closer to Mikhail, squeezing her eyes tighter and muttered a single no, determined to ignore it.
With a grunt, Mikhail rolled over her, seriously considered staying just as he was as her body curved deliciously to his.
“Milaya,” he murmured, then with an oath, snatched the shrilling phone off the hook.
“What?” Because Sydney was pounding on his shoulder, he shifted off her. “Alexi?” The sound of his brother’s voice had him sitting straight up, firing off in Ukrainian. Only when Alex assured him there was nothing wrong with the family did the sick panic fade. “You’d better be in the hospital or jail. Neither?” He sat back, rapped his head on the brass poles of the headboard and swore again. “Why are you calling in the middle of the night?” Rubbing his hand over his face, Mikhail gave Sydney’s clock a vicious stare. The glowing dial read 4:45. “What?” Struggling to tune in, he shifted the phone to his other ear. “Damn it, when? I’ll be there.”
He slammed the phone down and was already up searching for his clothes when he realized Sydney has turned on the light. Her face was dead pale.
“Your parents.”
“No, no, it’s not the family.” He sat on the bed again to take her hand. “It’s the apartment. Vandals.”
The sharp edge of fear dulled to puzzlement. “Vandals?”
“One of the cops who answered the call knows Alex, and that I live there, so he called him. There’s been some damage.”
“To the building.” Her heart was beginning to pound, heavy and slow, in her throat.
“Yes, no one was hurt.” He watched her eyes close in relief at that before she nodded. “Spray paint, broken windows.” He bit off an oath. “Two of the empty apartments were flooded. I’m going to go see what has to be done.”
“Give me ten minutes,” Sydney said and sprang out of bed.
* * *
It hurt. It was only brick and wood and glass, but it hurt her to see it marred. Filthy obscenities were scrawled in bright red paint across the lovely old brownstone. Three of the lower windows were shattered. Inside, someone had used a knife to gouge the railings and hack at the plaster.
In Mrs. Wolburg’s apartment water was three inches deep over the old hardwood floor, ruining her rugs, soaking the skirts of her sofa. Her lacy doilies floated like soggy lily pads.
“They clogged up the sinks,” Alex explained. “By the time they broke the windows downstairs and woke anyone up, the damage here was pretty much done.”
Yes, the damage was done, Sydney thought. But it wasn’t over. “The other unit?”
“Up on two. Empty. They did a lot of painting up there, too.” He gave Sydney’s arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry. We’re getting statements from the tenants, but—”
“It was dark,” Sydney finished. “Everyone was asleep, and no one’s going to have seen anything.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” Alex turned toward the babble of voices coming from the lobby, where most of the tenants had gathered. “Why don’t you go on up to Mikhail’s place? It’s going to take a while to calm everyone down and clear them out.”
“No, it’s my building. I’d like to go talk to them.”
With a nod, he started to lead her down the hall. “Funny they didn’t bother to steal anything—and that they only broke into the two empty apartments.”
She slanted him a look. He might not have been wearing his uniform, but he was definitely a cop. “Is this an interrogation, Alex?”
“Just an observation. I guess you’d know who had access to the tenants’ list.”
“I guess I would,” she replied. “I have a pretty fair idea who’s responsible, Alex.” She touched a hand to the ruined banister. “Oh, not who tossed paint or flooded the rooms, but who arranged it. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to prove it.”
“You leave the proving up to us.”
She glanced at the streak of paint along the wall. “Would you?” She shook her head before he could reply. “Once I’m sure, I’ll turn everything over to you. That’s a promise—if you promise to say nothing to Mikhail.”
“That’s a tough bargain, Sydney.”
“I’m a tough lady,” she said steadily, and walked down to talk to her tenants.
By eight o’clock she was in her office poring over every word in Lloyd Bingham’s personnel file. By ten, she’d made several phone calls, consumed too many cups of coffee and had a structured plan.
She’d authorized Mikhail to hire more men, had spoken with the insurance investigator personally and was now prepared for a little psychological warfare.
She put the call through to Lloyd Bingham herself and waited three rings.
“Hello.”
“Lloyd, Sydney Hayward.”
She heard the rasp of a lighter. “Got a problem?”
“Not that can’t be fixed. It was really a very pitiful gesture, Lloyd.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” The sarcasm was brisk, almost careless. “Next time, I’d suggest you do more thorough research.”
“You want to come to the point?”
“The point is my building, my tenants and your mistake.”
“It’s a little early in the day for puzzles.” The smug satisfaction in his voice had her fingers curling.
“It’s not a puzzle when the solution is so clear. I don’t imagine you were aware of just how many service people live in the building. And how early some of those service people get up in the morning, have their coffee, glance out the window. Or how cooperative those people would be in giving descriptions to the police.”
“If something happened to your building, that’s your problem.” He drew hard on his cigarette. “I haven’t been near it.”
“I never thought you had been,” she said easily. “You’ve always been good at delegating. But once certain parties are picked up by the police, I think you’ll discover how unsettling it is not to have loyal employees.”
She could have sworn she heard him sweat. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“No, of course you don’t. And I won’t keep you. Oh, Lloyd, don’t let them talk you into a bonus. They didn’t do a very thorough job. Ciao.”
She hung up, immensely satisfied. If she knew her quarry, he wouldn’t wait long to meet with his hirelings an
d pay them off. And since the investigator had been very interested in Sydney’s theory, she doubted that meeting would go unobserved.
She flicked her intercom. “Janine, I need food before we start interviewing the new secretaries. Order anything the deli says looks good today and double it.”
“You got it. I was about to buzz you, Sydney. Your mother’s here.”
The little bubble of success burst in her throat. “Tell her I’m…” Coward. “No, tell her to come in.” But she took a deep breath before she rose and walked to the door. “Mother.”
“Sydney, dear.” Lovely in ivory linen and smelling of Paris, she strolled in and bussed Sydney’s cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“I—what?”
“I’ve had to wait all weekend to contact you and apologize.” Margerite took a steadying breath herself, twisting her envelope bag in her hands. “May I sit?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Would you like anything?”
“To completely erase Friday evening from my life.” Seated, Margerite gave her daughter an embarrassed glance. “This isn’t easy for me, Sydney. The simple fact is, I was jealous.”
“Oh, Mother.”
“No, please.” Margerite waved her daughter to the chair beside her. “I don’t enjoy the taste of crow and hope you’ll let me get it done in one large swallow.”
As embarrassed as her mother, Sydney sat and reached for her hand. “It isn’t necessary that you swallow at all. We’ll just forget it.”
Margerite shook her head. “I hope I’m big enough to admit my failings. I like thinking I’m still an attractive and desirable woman.”
“You are.”
Margerite smiled fleetingly. “But certainly not an admirable one when I find myself eaten up with envy to see that a man I’d hoped to, well, enchant, was instead enchanted by my daughter. I regret, very much, my behavior and my words. There,” she said on a puff of breath. “Will you forgive me?”
“Of course I will. And I’ll apologize, too, for speaking to you the way I did.”
Margerite took a little square of lace from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. “You surprised me, I admit. I’ve never seen you so passionate about anything. He’s a beautiful man, dear. I won’t say I approve of a relationship between you, but I can certainly understand it.” She sighed as she tucked the handkerchief back into her bag. “Your happiness is important to me, Sydney.”
