Stone Cold Knockout

by Lavender Parker

  I will not give up, solnyshka.

  She turned the note over in her hand, but that was all it said. She lifted the paper to her nose, then set it on the sideboard.

  “You're good, Mr. Ivanhof,” she murmured to herself, her attention grabbed by his record collection. She ate more ice cream as she thumbed through the colorful old records. He had way too much Elvis for her tastes, but as she ran across a Johnny Cash album, a shiver of recognition washed over her.

  Without questioning the desire to do so, she pulled out the flat black disc and set it on the record player. A minute later, the opening mariachi horns of Ring of Fire broke the silence in the empty apartment. Feeling eyes on her, she turned toward the big picture window, but there was no one there. That was when a flash of a memory came to her.

  Mikhail tilted his head toward the bedroom, wordlessly communicating an unspoken invitation, his eyes never leaving hers. She didn't need him to say anything. She knew exactly what she wanted. As Johnny Cash's grave voice filled her ears, she rolled the strap of her green dress slowly down her shoulder, revealing the swell of her breast to his hungry gaze...

  Gennifer took a deep breath, lust stabbing her right in the stomach. She closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to have his eyes on her, looking at her like she was the sexiest woman in the world. She wasn't willing to settle for the one memory, though. She wanted more. Setting the ice cream down on the coffee table, she made her way into the bedroom. His bed was big and covered in white bedding. It looked infinitely comfortable. She ran her hand over the fluffy duvet at the end, but continued on into the bathroom.

  She flicked on the light and let out a low whistle. The spacious bathroom was all marble, with a big shower and a separate jet tub. She turned to the sink and wasn't surprised to find a tube of her fuchsia lipstick on the counter. A bottle of her face wash was beside the faucet, along with a soap dish full of ponytail elastics and hair pins. She caught her own eyes in the big mirror, facing the reality of the situation.

  Before she'd come to Mikhail's apartment, she could pretend that it wasn't a big deal she didn't remember him. She could pretend that whatever they had wasn't that serious. But now she knew. Her things were everywhere. As far as she could see, she'd practically moved into his apartment. She'd never done that with any boyfriend she'd ever had.

  Her eyes drifted to the shower stall behind her. Another memory struck her, out of nowhere.

  His hands ran through her hair, softly washing the thick strands. She moaned and leaned into him, loving the feel of his hard body against hers. She turned around in his arms, pressing her soapy breasts against his chest and snaking her arms around his neck. He kissed her nose, his fingers still working their magic in her hair. She could feel his erection, thick and hard between them, begging for her attention...

  The memory fizzled out in her brain and goosebumps prickled on her arms. It was so strange. She'd barely remembered anything in two weeks, and now memories were coming faster and faster. She went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, her head spinning. The drawer on the bedside table was calling her name and she opened it. Inside were condoms and lube, but the condom box was almost empty. Only two packets remained out of the large box. Giggling to herself, she rolled onto her back on the bed. No wonder he seemed so frustrated. It looked like the man was used to a lot of sex. Her sex drive was high as well. No doubt, they'd fucked like rabbits. Every night and every morning...

  Gennifer's smile faded as she realized that he was gone. She wondered for the thousandth time that night where he was going. As she stared up at the ceiling, she wondered if he was going to come back to his apartment that night. Longing for him to walk through the door, she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. All of her emotions were jumbled up and confusing and there seemed to be no solution in sight. She tried to fool herself into thinking that her memory wasn't important, but now she knew that was a lie. But she was still no closer to making sense of what it all meant.

  She couldn't help but feel that she only had herself to blame for that.

  Chapter 23

  Life slowly returned to normal. On weekdays, Gennifer got up and went to work. On weeknights, she went to House of Pain. On Sunday nights, she went to Big Jimmy and Maria's for dinner. She could almost pretend that she'd never known a man named Igor Mikhail Ivanhof. She could almost pretend that she wasn't tortured by thoughts and half-memories of him. She could almost pretend she wasn't plagued by what-ifs. Almost.

  When she'd accidentally fallen asleep in his apartment, a month ago, she'd woken up reaching across the bed for him. For a moment, her half-conscious brain actually thought he was there. But then she'd woken up to the harsh reality. He was gone. The apartment was empty. She'd thrown out the ice cream and put away the Johnny Cash record and turned out the lights, like she'd never been there. She'd driven up the West-Side Highway at 2:00 a.m., opening the car window and letting the crisp wind blow through her hair as she made her way home.

  She'd taken the bouquet of yellow tulips, though.

  He wouldn't answer her calls. She found his number in her phone and she'd called him dozens of times, but he never answered. He'd never call back, so she stopped calling. She knew why he wasn't answering.

  He was boxing again. Articles about his comeback were plastered all over all the sports and boxing blogs she followed. Igor Ivanhof was a hot ticket. One night, he'd be in Denver, the next night in L.A. He'd been to Canada and Mexico. He had returned to the life he'd tried to escape, and there was nothing she could do about it. He had shut her out. Eventually, anger replaced her sadness and loneliness. As always, it was just easier to be angry.

  The first Wednesday in October started off normally enough. After an unusually busy day, Gennifer said goodbye to Libby and walked to her car. The sky was a brilliant shade of pink and the trees that lined the street outside of her office were already turning various shades of orange and red. The air had turned chilly and smelled of crisp apples and dead leaves. It was a lovely night, but the change of seasons depressed Gennifer. There was nothing much to look forward to after summer ended. Snow and sub-zero temperatures were just around the corner. As she slid into the car, she comforted herself with thoughts of taking a trip soon, to somewhere warm.

  A change of scenery would do her good.

  Too tired and too burnt out to head downtown to the gym, she picked up Thai takeout on the way home. As soon as she got in the door, she kicked off her shoes and pulled on her pajama pants and an old sleeveless T-shirt. She turned on the TV and laid on the couch, ready to zone out. She just wanted her brain to relax, to stop searching for memories that didn't seem to exist. She didn't want to think about the hulking Russian who she hadn't seen in weeks. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep. When she slept, she felt comfort from all the questions and unease that plagued her during the day.

  Her phone, vibrating on the coffee table, interrupted her dozing. She sat up and check the caller ID. Rubbing her eyes, she answered.

  “Hey Hector, what's up?” She leaned back on the couch, tucking her legs under her. “Aren't you at work?”

  “Yeah. I just went down to the floor and I didn't see you.” Hector said, his voice slightly breathless.

  “I was tired. I just got home.”

  “You feel okay?” he hedged. Gennifer rolled her eyes, running her hand through her hair.

  “I'm fine. Christ,” she said. “I'll head down to House of Pain tomorrow.”

  “Cool. I mean, don't over do it. Just relax, there's no rush.”

  “I'm hanging up now,” she said.

  “Well... just take it easy. Maybe you should go to bed early.”

  “You actually woke me up,” she said, accusingly.

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “Okay, well I'll let you go then.” There was a moment of silence, and then he continued. “I'm really not trying to be annoying.”

  “I know,” Gennifer said, smiling. “Tell Erica I said hi.”

  “Okay...” he
hesitated, and she wondered what else was going on.

  “You're being weird.”

  “Just take it easy, G, okay?” he said.

  “Goodbye, Hector.” Gennifer hung up and stared at the phone. What the hell? Shaking her head, she laid back down and closed her eyes. She didn't have the brainpower to figure out what his deal was. She couldn't wait until everybody stopped treating her like she was made of glass and she was going to break at any moment. She appreciated that everyone cared, but damn. She hated feeling weak. Her doctors had given her a clean bill of health. She took her medication and she was in great physical shape. She wished everyone would give her a break.

  Gennifer sighed and snuggled into the couch. The TV provided the mindless chatter she needed to distract herself from the sad state of her life. She let herself doze off into a dreamless sleep. Some time later, she was jolted awake by the door buzzer. She sat up and checked her phone. 1:00 a.m. She debated not checking the video monitor that showed her who was at the door. But curiosity got the best of her. With a yawn, she stood and went to the buzzer. She pressed the video button and immediately, her heart caught in her throat.

  It was Mikhail. Or Igor—whatever name he was going by these days.

  Her pulse was suddenly racing. She was pissed, true. She hadn't seen or talked to him in so long and now, he turned up on her doorstep in the middle of the night? Who the fuck did he think he was? Anger rising, she watched him for a minute in the video feed. He ran his hand over his bearded face. Then he flipped his hood up and turned, walking away. “No!” she heard herself whisper aloud. Don't go. Without another thought, she rang him in. He stopped and turned back and she let out a ragged breath. She couldn't help how drawn she was to him. The only thing to do was face him head-on and get him out of her system for good. Whatever had happened between them was in the past, she told herself.

  But she wasn't quite convinced.

  Gennifer went to the door, her hand poised over the deadbolt. She bit her lip. Mikhail was on his way to her now and she had one last choice. She could turn him away, or she could open the door. She was scared, she realized. Not of him, but of what had passed between them. Their connection was intense, even if she didn't remember everything. She knew that he was the key to getting her full memory back. And she wanted to remember. More than anything.

  His light knock on the door made her jump. She unlatched the lock and opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She gasped when she saw him. He looked terrible. The bridge of his nose was split, the wound a few days old. He had a black eye and a busted lip. He dragged his eyes up her face, his gray eyes unreadable.

  “What do you want, Igor?” she said coldly, raising an eyebrow.

  “My fight was in New Jersey. I was close, so I come to say hello,” he explained, his voice strained.

  “Did you win at least?” she asked, her heart squeezing painfully. He smiled a bit, scratching his chin.

  “Yes,” he said, simply, leaning closer to her. She forced herself to school her face, wanting to be tough, but it was hard to be tough when Mikhail was so close. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. He smelled good, she realized. Like fresh soap and a light spritz of cologne. He must've taken a shower after his fight. She gnawed at her lip, her pussy clenching of its own accord. Damn him! He was turning her on just by smelling good. Of course, he could have showed up smelling like sweat and blood and she still would be attracted to him. The man was like her kryptonite.

  “It's one in the morning. I have work in six hours,” she kept her voice strong and level.

  “I know. I am sorry.” He dropped his head, pressing his hand on the doorjamb above her head. “But I have not seen you in awhile.”

  “What do you care?” she said softly.

  “How are you?” His voice was light, but it was anything but innocent. She watched as he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. Her breath caught in her throat. “You look good,” he said.

  “You look like death warmed over,” she said, not mincing words. “But I'm doing okay.”

  “Good.” He lifted the strand of her hair to his nose. “I miss you.”

  “You don't get to miss me,” she shrugged. “You chose to leave.”

  “You do not fucking know who I am,” he said sharply, his voice low and dangerous. She jumped at his tone, and he dropped the strand of her hair. “It is hard for me.”

  “For someone who supposedly misses me so much, you certainly had no problem leaving me as soon as you got the chance,” she shot back, not knowing why it bothered her so much. But it did. He leaned into her, pressing her against the doorjamb.

  “I want to come in.”

  “Why didn't you call me back?” she asked, lifting her chin.

  “Gennifer.” He bit out the word, and she felt her body tighten and her spine straighten. She was always wound so tight when he was around. As if could sense her tension, he smiled, taking her off guard. “You are always so stubborn.”

  Damnable Russian.

  She loved it when he smiled that sexy, dangerous smile. Like he was a wolf and she was his prey... she shivered as a flash of a memory suddenly revealed itself to her.

  Mikhail laughed, his eyes dancing. “I kick your ass, I owe you a drink.” Then he swung quick, hitting her twice in the gut. She doubled over, forcing breath back into her lungs. He grabbed her before she lost her footing and clinched her tight against him. She wrenched an arm free and went for his ribs, landing a blow on his right side.

  “No drinks. No nothing,” she bit out and hit him again for good measure, wanting to wipe that sexy, devilish smile off his face for good. In a fast movement, he crossed her arms against her back, pinning her against him.

  “You are right. No drinks.” He dropped his eyes to her cleavage, her chest heaving as her heart raced. “What about fucking?”

  Gennifer took a deep breath, coming back to the moment. Mikhail was so close he could kiss her. She wasn't sure yet if she wanted him to or not. Only one way to find out, she thought, taking a step back and opening the door wide.

  “Come inside,” she said.

  ***

  Mikhail stepped past her into her apartment and everything he'd been running from reared up in his face. Her shoes were on the floor. Her big black purse hung on the back of a chair. Her leather jacket was on a hook near the door. Everything that reminded him of her was in his face and impossible to ignore. The scent of orange zest and the soft fragrance of flowers permeated everything. Suddenly, he couldn't take a deep breath. His chest felt heavy, and he could barely pull air into his lungs.

  For a month, he'd been fighting. Fighting his own demons. Fighting his love for her. Fighting the fact that his life had taken a turn he never expected it to take.

  He'd fallen in love and he'd gotten kicked in the balls for his trouble.

  “You want a drink?” she asked, from behind him.

  “No,” he somehow managed to get out. He didn't want to drink. He wanted to grab her and throw her down and fuck her until she loved him... but that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't that weak. She stepped around him on her way to the kitchen, her hair curly and loose down her back. She was wearing a big white T-shirt and stretchy black pants, but even in the baggy clothes, she was the sexiest woman in the world to him.

  “I have vodka,” she said, throwing a slight smile over her shoulder. “Isn't it rude to refuse vodka that's offered?”

  “That is right,” he said, reminding himself that it meant nothing. But his body didn't listen. His heartbeat sped up as he wondered what else she was beginning to remember.

  “This is your brand?” she asked from the kitchen, holding up the half-empty bottle of Kauffman he'd brought over and left at some point. He nodded and she poured a healthy amount in a water glass.

  “The night I am having, I deserve a drinking partner,” he said as he took the glass, careful not to graze her fingers with his own. His self-control was hanging only by a thin thread as it was. She gave him
a narrow-eyed look, but didn't argue, perhaps sensing it was useless to argue with a Russian about vodka. She poured a much smaller amount for herself then held up her drink.

  “What are we toasting?” she asked, keeping her eyes cast downward, deliberately not looking at him.

  “Vechnaya lyubov,” he said. Everlasting love. What a fucking nightmare. He clinked her glass with his, then downed the vodka in one swoop. She followed suit, tossing hers back as well. She made the cute face she always made when drinking vodka, like it was the most disgusting shit she'd ever tasted, but she drained the glass.

  “You drink like a real Russian now,” Mikhail said.

  “Lucky me,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. They stood in silence for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. The silence roared in his ears, and his breath was frozen in his chest again.

  “Did you come here to fuck?” she asked, after a minute.

  “No,” he said, sliding the glass back on the counter and taking a step back, away from her.

  “Then why are you here?” She didn't let up with the questions, looking him right in the eye this time.

  “You know why.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Her blunt question had sent him for a loop. He hadn't come for sex, no. He'd come because he was a glutton for punishment. Because he couldn't leave New York without seeing her at least once. He didn't expect anything else, although he needed her like he needed oxygen.

  “I want to know about the man you killed.” She set her glass lightly on the counter, then turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. He cursed inwardly as the action forced the T-shirt to conform around her breasts, the nipples jutting out and taunting him.