by Lily Harlem
I opened my eyes and shoved at him. “Move!”
He’d already released me and taken a step back. With his arms at his sides and his cap pulled low he kept his gaze firmly on my face, apparently unconcerned by the telltale bulge in his jeans.
First Officer Jones stepped out, pressing his hat on.
“Oh, hello,” he said, stopping and staring up at Vadmir who was easily a head taller than him. “I’d seen on the passenger manifold that we had an all-star on board. It’s great to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Blake Jones.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Vadmir said, shaking hands. “But who is flying the plane if you are standing here?”
First Officer Jones laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m one of the co-pilots, there are still two guys up front keeping an eye on things.”
“Glad to hear it.” Vadmir moved from one foot to the other.
Perhaps he was uncomfortable, after all.
“Could I could get your autograph? If you don’t mind that is. My kid is a mad Vipers fan.”
“Sure, what’s his name?”
“Tristan.” First Officer Jones turned to me. “Samantha, do you have a pen and paper Mr. Arefyev could use?”
“Certainly. I’ll take it to his seat right now,” I said, nodding at the curtain and indicating that Vadmir should return to his chair. That was a close enough call, he needed to get out of the galley.
“That’s okay,” Vadmir said, “I’ll happily sign it here. I’m enjoying stretching my legs.”
“Yes, it gets like that for big guys, even in first,” First Officer Jones said. “But are you enjoying your flight so far? Do you have everything you need?”
“Oh, yes. I have everything I need.” He settled his attention on me again. “I have everything I need right here.”
“I’m pleased to hear it and it’s awesome to meet you.” He moved past Vadmir. It seemed the no-passengers-in-the-galley rule didn’t apply to hockey players.
“Oh,” First Officer Jones said, turning with his hand on the curtain. “One quick question.”
My stomach swirled. Fuck, did he somehow suspect the two people standing before him had caused his sleepless night? And if so would he still be as charming and polite? Would he still want Vadmir Arefyev’s autograph?
“Fire away,” Vadmir said, continuing to study me with an expression that made me wonder if he was considering eating me the second the first officer went from the galley.
I leaned against the wall again and gripped the side of the counter, kept my attention on him.
“Who do you think…?” Jones looked between the two of us, his mouth set in a serious line.
I held my breath. Shit.
“Will lift the cup at the end of the season?” he said with a smile.
“Vipers of course,” Vadmir said with a huff as if it were a stupid question. “No doubt about it.”
“Yep, I agree,” First Officer Jones said. “Let’s hope you’re not away from the team for too long, though. They’ve got a game tonight, haven’t they?”
“They’ll handle the Penguins without me just fine.”
“Hope so.” First Officer Jones slipped from the galley and with him went my invisible safety shield.
Damn, I’d nearly kissed Vadmir, a passenger, only moments earlier. That was a disciplinary offence, I was sure, or at the very least a caution. And it was very nearly an officer who’d caught us.
“You have to go,” I said in a harsh whisper.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Now, please. Return to your chair.”
“I will if you tell me one thing?”
“No, under aviation law, if a member of crew tells you to do something, you must do it. Go sit down.”
He grinned in a maddening way. “Oh, I love it when you get all bossy with me, just like you did last night when you flipped me on my back, shoved my hands over my head and rode on my face, that was just so—”
I marched up to him and slapped my hand over his mouth. “Shut the fuck up.”
Amusement sparkled in his eyes and beneath my palm I felt his mouth stretch into a grin.
Damn, I wanted to tie him up and tease him ’til tomorrow and back for that remark. Make him pay for saying those words out loud, up here, on my flight. “Shut up and sit down. I won’t tell you again.” Carefully I lifted my hand from his mouth. Moisture from his lips made my skin tingle.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “If you can do one thing for me.”
“What?”
“Give me a quick kiss. I missed out on a goodbye one, we were both in such a rush to catch this flight.”
“No, out of the question, not at all. I—”
My words were cut short as he swept me up against him and pressed a wild, ravenous kiss to my lips.
I wanted to squeal in protest but couldn’t risk anyone discovering us. And damn, the guy could kiss. His soft lips were pliant yet firm. He tasted divine, champagne and man, an intoxicating combination.
But still I didn’t give in completely and I writhed against him as he pulled me onto my tiptoes, deepening the kiss and slanting his head as his tongue tangled with mine.
I gathered his top in my fists, both wanting to pull him closer and shove him away. My mind was spinning. What was it about him that made me throw caution to the wind?
As suddenly as he’d snatched me to him he released me. I stumbled backward and clutched the counter. My lips felt bruised, my heart was racing and heat was burning between my legs.
He had smudges of lipstick over his mouth, bright sticky red lipstick that looked all the more startling on his pale skin.
“Just so you know,” he said. “That wasn’t a goodbye kiss.”
“What do you mean?” I managed, pulling in breaths that made my erect nipples scratch against the inside of my bra.
“That was just to remind you what you could have again…later.”
“Later!” I shook my head. “Are you always this cocky?”
He reached forward, his eyes blazing. “Yep.”
I thought he was going to grab me again but instead he plucked a damp napkin from a tray and wiped it over his face. The red stain of the makeup transferred to the material, leaving his face unblemished once more.
“Don’t forget that pen and paper, Sammy,” he said. “Wouldn’t want Tristan disappointed now, would we?”
He turned, and for a moment, I got to admire his ass that once again looked damn fine in his jeans. He might be a full-of-himself hockey player but jeez, that was a cute butt and the dark denim just made it all the cuter.
The curtain flicked closed and I spun and sagged against the window, staring down at the dark ocean. What was it about Vadmir that had made me act so unprofessionally? It was as if I couldn’t resist. Couldn’t say no. I wanted to simultaneously strap him to a bed and fuck him and have him grip me tight and fuck me. And that kiss, wow, that just reminded me of what I’d had… and what had he said about later?
He must be joking, right? There was no later for us.
I reached for my purse, delved inside for my lipstick and compact and set about repairing the damage to my mouth. I had a bee-stung look going on. It seemed Vadmir only did things hard and fast, including kissing, not that I was complaining.
Within a few minutes I’d composed myself. I had a glass of water, smoothed my hair and got my aroused body under control.
I stepped out of the galley and into the cabin. The lights were dim, most of the passengers sleeping or engrossed in movies. A few had overhead lights on that shone down in laser-straight beams onto their books. I handed out warm napkins, like the one Vadmir had helped himself to, and the majority of passengers took the opportunity to refresh.
When I reached Vadmir I set a pen and paper down on his tray without saying a word.
Two minutes later, just as I’d finished folding the used napkins, the call bell pinged quietly.
It was my Russian boy.
I brushed a few bits of flu
ff from my arms, the napkins had a habit of shedding, and went to him.
“What can I help you with, sir?” I asked curtly.
“Lots of things that I can’t tell you about up here,” he said, with a maddeningly cute, bad-boy grin.
I sighed. “Have you done the autograph?”
“Yep.” He wafted it in the air between us.
I reached for it.
“Ah, ah,” he said, not releasing the scrap of paper. “You have to take this first.”
“What is it?”
With one hand he folded another piece of paper in half. “It’s the name of the hotel I’m staying in tonight. Tomorrow I drive north, to see my family, but I have an early meeting in Moscow with my agent.” He paused and a hint of what I thought was vulnerability crossed over his eyes. “I’d like to see you again, Sammy, tonight.”
“You mean you’d like to…” I stopped myself saying anything more. I didn’t want to incriminate myself further.
“Yes,” he said, with a grin. “I would like to see you for that, but also for a beer and to watch the game.” He paused. “There’s a sports bar in the hotel and the NHL highlights will be on. Meet me there.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I struggled to find an excuse even though I needed one. It was ridiculous what he was suggesting. I couldn’t head off across Moscow looking for some random hotel with a sports bar. I was flying out again within twelve hours of landing. It was out of the question.
“Please, Sammy.”
“No. What we had was a one-night thing.”
He passed me the autographed piece of paper and turned down his mouth. He gave a resigned shrug and his shoulders sagged. “Okay, can’t blame a guy for trying, though.”
I put both pieces of paper into my pocket and straightened. “Anything else…sir?”
He shook his head and reached for his earphones. “No, that will be all.”
Chapter Seven
Staring up at the Grand Hotel on Tverskaya Street in central Moscow, I tried to calm the quiver in my belly.
What was I doing here?
This was crazy of the highest degree.
But for some reason I didn’t care. I’d been compelled to come here. I just couldn’t settle in my airport hotel room or face an evening of mediocre food and the company of my fellow stewards.
I needed more.
Much more.
I stepped away from the cab I’d just ridden and onto the gritty, damp pavement. The arctic wind nipped at my cheeks and tossed my hair over my shoulders as I hurried forward. My coat wasn’t quite thick enough for the sub-zero temperatures. Plus, I was tired and I always felt the cold when I was running on a low battery.
A doorman in a smart burgundy jacket and a beige peaked hat ushered me in with a smile and a semi-bow. He clearly felt sorry for the fact I had no hat and gloves like my fellow pedestrians.
Stepping past him, I was grateful for the warmth of the lobby. I paused to wipe my feet on a large mat that had a golden-colored crest embroidered on its surface. Quickly I reached into my purse, grabbed my Nokia and flicked it to silent. I didn’t want to be disturbed. An evening off from constant text chatter with the girls and social media updates was very appealing, especially since I had other items on my agenda.
The low hum of gentle classical music filled the huge area and danced around enormous pillars that supported an ornate ceiling. Large urns of flowers were dotted about, decedent and rich in color their heady scent perfumed the air.
I tightened my purse over my shoulder and walked toward what looked like a bar. The door was half-open and a plush, emerald green carpet with brass trim circled the entrance. It appeared dark and atmospheric inside.
I peeked through the doorway. Not a bar but a restaurant. A very elegant one with white linen tablecloths, candles and a hushed atmosphere.
Hoping I hadn’t got it all wrong, I circled the lobby. The Grand Hotel didn’t seem the type of place to have a sports bar and I wondered if Vadmir had made a mistake.
Perhaps he was just messing with me?
A receptionist looked up from her computer screen and smiled. I decided to take the plunge and ask her where I might watch hockey. My Russian was incredibly limited but I’d start out polite.
“Privet,” I said, placing my hand on the walnut desk between us.
Her smile broadened and she nodded, her neat, black bob swaying by her ears. “Good evening, madam, what can I help you with?”
I held in a sigh, was it really that obvious that I was a foreigner? I guessed it was.
“I’m looking for the sports bar,” I said, “I’m meeting a friend but I fear he may have been mistaken in the address.”
“No, not at all. If you follow this corridor ’round the back of the hotel you’ll find the Hero Bar. It overlooks the outdoor pool which, in case you were thinking of a dip, is currently out of season.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” I glanced in the direction she was pointing. “And thank you, I’ll find it.”
“Have a nice evening.”
I wandered off, my heeled boots clacking on the floor. An elderly couple, arms linked, walked past me. She was talking in Russian and wore a simple, but beautiful floor-length black dress. He held his head high, as though proud to have her on his arm, and held what looked like tickets in his hand. Perhaps they were off to the Bolshoi later. I wondered what was showing. I’d been once, a few months ago. Harmony and I had sacrificed sleep to enjoy a wonderful performance of Giselle. Ballet wasn’t really my thing but the magic had captivated me, whisking me off into a fantastical fairytale world of passion and loss, ghostly figures and love stronger than death.
Continuing along the corridor, I admired the artwork. Austere and stern portraits in heavy, golden frames glared down at me. Unfamiliar landscapes and architecture, all appearing to be originals and protected by glass.
On rounding the corner, a faint scent of chlorine told me there must be a spa nearby with a pool; how nice a sauna would be to warm my bones and soothe my work weary limbs.
The rumbling sound of a commentator reached me at the same time as I spotted the entrance to Hero Bar.
So Vadmir had been right.
But was he here?
I stepped in, my feet quieting on the carpeted floor. The lights were dim, the place lit mainly by a big screen and spots behind a long, sleek bar. It wasn’t your usual spit and sawdust place. This was one screamed class and sophistication.
The booths around the edge were about half full and a couple of guys sat at the bar. To my right a pool table stood set up, the neatly arranged balls waiting to be fractured apart.
As my eyes adjusted I studied the screen. Hockey was playing, or rather war on ice. A tussle had broken out, gloves were flying off and sticks spinning outward from what looked like a full on fight. I noticed a helmet roll away as a couple of players bashed against the Plexi and one fell to the floor.
The commentary, in Russian, was excitable and fast. I couldn’t pick up any of the words, the jabbering one long string of sounds. Eventually a linesman broke two players apart, almost falling himself, and a referee whizzed over, blowing his whistle.
I unbuttoned my coat, warmer from my walk through the hotel and searched for Vadmir. He was so big he shouldn’t be hard to find. If he was here, that was.
The commentary stopped and in its place an advert with a high-pitched jingle sang around the room.
My gaze fell on Vadmir. He was sitting alone in the booth farthest from the screen. He had his cap on, as usual, and was staring out of the window into the darkness.
I paused, making the most of seeing him before he saw me. It was an unguarded moment that had my breath hitching. He really was beautiful in a rugged, tough-as-nails kind of a way.
Apparently lost in thought he removed his hat, rubbed the flat of his hand over his hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He shut his eyes, screwing them up tight, and pressed his lips t
ogether.
A shard of guilt shot through me. I shouldn’t be observing him like this, without him knowing. It wasn’t fair. I should go to him and make my presence known.
But something held me back. Vadmir was a man of strength and passion yet here, seeing him alone like this with a pained expression, I was reminded of the vulnerability I’d seen earlier.
What was he worrying about? It wasn’t whether or not I’d turn up, surely? Did he have more going on in his life? Perhaps it was something to do with the Vipers? Were they losing? And why was he here and not in Orlando playing for his team?
I found myself drawn to him and, before I knew it, I was standing at the end of his table not really remembering walking there.
He opened his eyes and the hand that had been squeezing his nose reached for his beer.
He saw me and stopped with his fingers wrapped around the bottle. “You came?” he said, his lips losing that stern, worried tension of moments ago.
“Yes.”
He treated me to a full-on smile that filled me with a honeyed glow.
“I am glad,” he said.
His full attention did strange things to my knees, chest and everywhere in between. Quickly I sat opposite him, glad to be off my feet.
“You won’t be able to see from there,” he said.
“See what?”
He smiled. “The game.”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
“No it isn’t. We’re having a beer and watching the game, that was the deal.”
“The deal?”
“Deal, date, whatever you want to call it.”
“I don’t have a beer.”
He held up his hand and called over to the bar, “Yeshche piva.” He then looked back at me. “It’s on its way.”
“Thank you.”
“Sit next to me. I’ll explain what is happening.”
I sighed and stood, but it wasn’t really a hardship to sit next to him and as his cologne seeped into my nostrils my beer arrived.
“So who is winning?” I asked, sipping the malty drink.
“Penguins, it is not a good game and it doesn’t end well.”
Maybe that was why he’d been looking so fed up? This was a rerun, he’d obviously found out the final score already. “Was there a fight a few minutes ago?”