by Lauren Smith
Her temper flared to life. “I would never let you touch me, you—”
Mikhail caught her by the waist and dragged her against him, his mouth covering hers and silencing any protest. She clutched his shoulders, desperate not to fall as he stepped away from the vehicle. How had she forgotten how good he tasted? It was exquisite, like seventy-year-old scotch. She buried her rational thoughts, which warned her that this was a nonsensical thing to do—kissing the man who’d somehow forced her to steal priceless jewels—but damn, he kissed like the world was ending.
Flickers, like faded photos, began to flash through her mind again, confusing her. How was this not some wild dream? A woman in a Tudor-era gown danced with her, the woman’s eyes alight with mischief as she placed her palm against Mikhail’s hand and began to twirl in a courtly dance.
More visions, moving quicker, a kiss in the dark room outside the jewel reception, the feel of her lips against his and an overpowering sense of belonging. Piper’s heart felt as though it was being tugged out of her chest toward his. On some deep level she sensed she was being bound to him, falling for him, but it was insane…wasn’t it?
I can’t love a stranger. I can’t love a man who steals jewels and…
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he growled against her.
“Excuse me?”
“You have no shoes. I’m going to carry you inside.” He gripped her backside, and she gasped, her legs locking around his waist like he’d flipped a switch. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.
“Please don’t drop me!” she begged. None of her previous boyfriends had ever tried to carry her because she was too heavy.
Mikhail buried his face in her hair and kissed the shell of her ear as he walked. “How could I? You barely weigh anything.”
A blush heated her cheeks, and she shoved aside the girlish excitement at the thought that he was carrying her. And she liked it.
He kidnapped you. This is not sexy or charming. This is a crime. That irksome voice of reason was shouting at her again, but she hushed it.
Mikhail paused at the door of the house. She’d been too distracted to get a proper look at it.
“Hold on.” He turned the knob, and the door creaked open. A rush of warm air escaped as they entered. Mikhail closed the door behind them and set her down.
“Welcome.” He waved a hand at the entryway, and Piper took her time in appraising what a jewel thief’s home was like. It was an old stone mansion with wooden walls and cloth wallpaper that had been painted to look like wooded glens. The walls were warm and rich, with art hanging from the walls along the staircase that led to other rooms. Her bare feet sank into a red-and-blue Persian rug. It was the most surreal moment she’d ever had in her life.
“Come. Let me get you some tea before you settle in for the night.” Mikhail grasped her hand and led her to a quaint kitchen. He offered her a chair at a small table in a cozy nook with a window that overlooked the sea. She pulled his coat tighter about her to keep out the slight chill from the single-glazed windows where a stiff breeze from the ocean drifted through.
“Mikhail…” she began, wondering how many times she’d have to beg him to let her go.
“We will talk about your situation in the morning. Tonight you will sleep.” He set a kettle on the stove and clicked the burner on. Blue flames erupted around the pot.
Piper stared at him through bleary eyes, completely exhausted. She didn’t feel afraid now. She couldn’t explain it, but something felt…different. The rough, dark man Mikhail had been when he’d kidnapped her in London was not here. The man in the kitchen was a relaxed country gentleman. Was it because he’d successfully stolen the jewels and felt he no longer had to worry? That had to be it.
She remained silent as he poured a cup of tea and sat down at the table beside her. The honey and chamomile felt good and soothing as it went down. She’d always enjoyed tea before bed, even as a child.
“This is your house, but you’re from Russia, right?” She tried to puzzle the pieces together even through her fatigue. There was so much that didn’t fit together. The more she knew about him and this situation, the easier it would be to explain to the authorities once she made it back to London.
“Yes. I have lived here for many years, but my true home is in Russia. I haven’t been home in a long time.” The look in Mikhail’s eyes seemed so far away, as though he were seeing ghosts from his past.
“Why do you live here then? Is there a reason you can’t go back?” She couldn’t resist studying him more closely as she sipped her tea. She realized that he was dressed differently now than when they’d kissed at the public reception. He now wore dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt. He must have gone to Belishaw’s house to change into his thief clothes. She’d imagined thieves ran around in all black with ski masks. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life, and he’d clearly gotten away with the robbery just fine.
“I made a mistake a long time ago, and my father exiled me. Eventually, I stayed here with a good friend for a time. When he died, he left me this house.”
A pale shaft of moonlight came through the window, illuminating Mikhail’s green eyes. The unexpected pain she saw in them made Piper tilt her head with curiosity.
“I’m sorry about your friend.” She’d never lost anyone close to her and couldn’t imagine what it must be like.
“It was a long time ago, but I have many memories of him to fill my heart.” His sad smile only made him more beautiful somehow. His affection for the man was still there, but a bittersweetness hung about his lips. Piper had the strange desire to lean over and kiss him, to try to banish the sorrow inside him.
Piper hastily drank the rest of her tea and tried not to think about kissing Mikhail anymore. She’d done it enough already today, in situations that seriously called her sanity into question.
Mikhail stood and held out a hand. “Do you want more tea?”
Piper shook her head and handed him the empty mug. He set it on the counter and extended his hand again. After a long hesitation, she placed her palm in his and tried to ignore the spark she felt when he curled his fingers tightly around hers. They left the kitchen, and she followed him down the hall lined with tiny landscape paintings. Someone in this house had loved art. There were piles of folios on a corner table by the stairs, and sketches peeped out at uneven angles from old worn leather bindings.
“Are you an artist?” she asked.
Mikhail chuckled. “Me? No. Those belonged to James. My friend. He was quite talented.” Mikhail paused at a painting at the base of the stairs. It was a cliff-side view of the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks as though announcing the arrival of a storm. There was a distant, almost black-colored bird painted in the distance. Strange to paint a single bird, she thought, a bird that didn’t seem to resemble a bird, actually. The wings were far too spiked, more like a bat than a bird. How odd.
Piper nodded at the scene, which still managed to look stormy despite the hall lamps that painted everything with gold light. “Did he paint this?”
“He did. James was a naturalist, what you’d call a scientist now, but there was a part of him that was untouched by logic and thrived on emotion and the arts. He was one of the few humans I trusted with—” Mikhail suddenly stopped, and with a rueful smile he continued up the stairs. He was a man of more secrets than she realized.
They walked down a short corridor and paused in front of a heavy oak door with intricately carved designs. The latch was an old brass contraption that had not been updated like other parts of the house. It was stiff when Mikhail gave it a jerking twist with his hands. She guessed that most people would have taken a home like this and done their best to update everything so it was new and modern, but Mikhail hadn’t. His home was ancient. The stones by the window were covered in moss, and the walls were thick enough that the roar of the sea outside couldn’t slip between the cracks and stones, though the windows were still a problem. It was a place that fill
ed one’s mind with dreams of days long past and the lives people might have once lived. The house was a haunting place full of surreal beauty.
The wooden door opened, and Mikhail led her inside. A four-poster bed sat on a small dais, with blue-gold brocade curtains draped over the bed, shadowing it from the light of the chandelier.
“You can sleep here,” Mikhail said. “The windows are locked, and I wouldn’t advise breaking them. The glass is thick and old, which makes it more dangerous for you.” He leaned on the bedpost and watched her intently.
Piper walked away from him and examined the delicately designed vanity table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The surface was cold and silky to the touch, covered with a fine layer of dust. She tilted her head back to see cobwebs strung like fine spun lace along dozens of perfectly cut glass pieces of the chandelier hanging above their heads.
It’d been a long time since anyone had stayed in this room.
A breeze slipped between the panes of the windows, making Piper shiver despite Mikhail’s heavy coat.
“I’ll fetch you something to wear tonight and start a fire to keep you warm.” Mikhail nodded at the fireplace against the wall that backed up to the outside, directly opposite her bed.
Piper sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. He didn’t lock her in the room, but she suspected he would if he felt the need to. Escape could come later. Right now she just wanted to curl up in a soft, warm bed and sleep. Nothing about tonight had gone the way she’d planned. She was supposed to have met up with Mikhail, sure, maybe have a glass of wine, and, well, do what she’d been wanting to do for more than a decade.
Instead, she was his prisoner on his estate. In Cornwall, of all places. Yeah, she definitely hadn’t planned this. To think she’d been worried he wouldn’t show up at the reception tonight or that he’d stand her up afterward. Those fears seemed rather silly now, all things considered. She closed her eyes and tried to take in a slow, calming breath.
Mikhail returned with a stack of clothes which had a large shirt and boxers.
“I’m sure these will be too big for you other than to sleep in.” He closed the door with his foot and set the clothes beside her on the bed. Then he knelt beside the fireplace and placed several hardy-looking logs on the rack, then set some kindling beneath them. She was only half paying attention when flames suddenly erupted over the logs and a healthy fire began consuming them. How in the world had he started a fire that fast? Piper shook her head. Must’ve been a Boy Scout.
“I’ll come wake you in the morning,” Mikhail said as he rose and walked to the door. “But please, do not run. Between the cliffs and the fog that shrouds the shore this time of year, it isn’t safe.” His earnestness was so startling that she simply nodded. He lingered in the doorway, his face a mixture of doubt and worry. “Good night, little dove.” Then he closed the door.
Rather than feeling safe from him, however, she felt more alone than ever.
Little dove. She hated that she liked being called that. She strained an ear to listen for a lock turning, but she heard only soft footfalls as he walked away. Piper rose from the bed and went to warm herself by the fire. Distant eerie whines trickled down the fireplace as the wind passed over the chimney outside. It reminded her of her grandmother’s tales of banshees in Ireland, crying out to foretell someone’s approaching death. The sound was an unearthly wail, but it was muted by the sounds of the sea.
She padded over to the window and stared out into the darkness. A car was driving away, its taillights already distant spots in the night. Belishaw had finished whatever he’d been doing, probably hiding the jewels for Mikhail before he left. They were truly alone.
Piper faced the stack of clothes and shivered again.
“Suck it up, Piper. If he wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground,” she muttered. She stripped out of her dress and donned the black T-shirt and plaid blue boxers she’d been provided. The boxers were actually just the right size for her full figure.
There was a tall wardrobe in one corner, and she couldn’t resist investigating. The doors creaked, and the front panel shimmered slightly as gilded paint caught the light from the chandelier and fire. A musty smell, mixed with a lingering hint of perfume, teased her nose, making her sneeze.
Inside the armoire was a collection of clothes. They were very old but in good shape, rather than moth-eaten and faded. Piper tugged on the sleeve of a dressing gown made of red silk, causing it to fall off the hanger. She lifted it out of the armoire and glanced at the closed bedroom door before she examined the outfit.
He won’t know if I just take a little look, right?
The red silk was dark, like burgundy wine, with gold embroidered dragons. She didn’t know how to describe these dragons, except to say that they felt more European than Asian in design.
Her fingers traced the dragons that battled on the back of the dressing gown. Even though it was made of silk, the item was well made and warm. She shrugged it on, feeling a tad guilty, but it was freezing in the room unless she stood directly next to the fireplace. She missed her fuzzy slippers back in her hotel in London. Mikhail didn’t strike her as a man to have fuzzy bunny slippers lying around to borrow.
An exhausted, hysterical giggle escaped her. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. There was a long moment of silence in her room, broken only by logs snapping and crackling in the fireplace.
I’m losing my mind. That’s it. I’m going all-out bananas. There was nothing funny about being stuck in a mansion on the Cornwall coast after being made an unwitting accomplice in a jewel heist.
Even though she was exhausted, she couldn’t sleep. Piper tiptoed to the door, the dressing gown trailing behind her, the silken train whispering on the carpet, then the stones. She tested the knob, wincing as it creaked. She froze, then waited for Mikhail to come charging down the hall, but nothing happened. She opened the door and peered around it into the corridor.
The door to a room two doors down was slightly ajar. It had to be Mikhail’s bedroom. Gold light could be seen, inviting her to come inside, but she ignored the lure. Strains of music drifted down the hall toward her. It sounded like Tchaikovsky. Mikhail was a classical music fan? She was as well. So few people seemed to have an appreciation for classical music anymore.
In the small blue-collar working town where she’d grown up, there hadn’t been much of a chance to listen to music like that. When she’d gotten her scholarship and had taken art history and music classes for her electives, she’d discovered a beautiful, artistic world she’d never known existed. One Mikhail seemed to share.
Mikhail was so different from the men she’d known growing up. He was mysterious, worldly, completely intoxicating. That whole tall, dark stranger thing women joked about being attracted to? It was totally a real thing.
Piper walked down the hall, away from Mikhail’s room, intending to explore the first floor of the house. She’d just put her foot down on the top step when an arm shot around her waist, lifting her into the air. She was jerked back against a hard male body.
“Going somewhere, little dove?” Mikhail whispered in her ear.
7
I would rather be adorned by beauty of character than jewels. Jewels are the gift of fortune, while character comes from within.
—Plautus
“No! I wasn’t going anywhere!” She gasped and dug her fingers into his arms, trying to make him release her.
“Why do I get the sense that you’re lying?” He chuckled, but the sound was dangerous. “Does this mean I must keep watch over you, even while you sleep? Or shall I tie you to the bed?” He carried her back down the hall to his room and tossed her none too gently onto his massive bed.
“Stay,” he ordered and went to lock the door, blocking her only way out.
“How dare you!” Piper snapped, even though her heart was racing again. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d threatened to do to her in the SUV…about how he would punish a woman. She also had
n’t forgotten that his dominance turned her on.
I’m going to need major therapy after this.
Mikhail opened a drawer from his dresser and turned to face her, a pair of silk neckties in his hand. He wound a blue one around his fist and pulled, as though testing its strength. When he looked up at her, his lips split into a wicked grin.
“Be a good girl and stay still.” He came toward her, but Piper scrambled onto the other side of the bed and grabbed the first thing she could find. A candlestick. There was just one problem. It had a candle in it—a lit candle. Hot wax spilled and dribbled down her hand. She yelped at the sharp sting of pain.
“Ow!” She dropped the candlestick, and Mikhail dove for it, dropping the ties. He used his thumb and index finger to extinguish the candle. Then he set the candlestick back on the table.
Piper clutched her hand to her chest as it throbbed. She was too stunned to react when Mikhail scooped her up and carried her to a large connected bathroom. He set her down by the sink and, with surprising tenderness, took her hand and held it under the faucet. The icy water hit her skin, making her whimper. But she was not going to let him see her cry again over a minor burn, not after everything she’d been through tonight. Soon the pain that had burned so fiercely faded, and the wax cracked and peeled off, sliding into the sink.
“There now,” he said. Then he spoke softly in Russian. The meaning of his words was a complete mystery, but they were sweet-sounding. He rubbed the back of her hand, his fingers stroking and massaging not just her skin but the muscles beneath. The action was hypnotic, and she couldn’t resist leaning back against him as he caressed her.
“I will take care of you,” Mikhail said and feathered a kiss against her ear.
A wave of desire battled with the confusion building inside her. This would’ve been perfect if she hadn’t been kidnapped. Why was she letting this man get to her? Was she so sex-starved that even the tiniest bit of intimacy would affect her this strongly? She really hoped that was not the case. Womankind everywhere would be ashamed of her.