by Cait London
It was only a temporary situation, Ellie decided. She knew what Mikhail thought of her, that she’d been rich and spoiled, a society jet-setter just like his ex-wife, not likely to stay…but then, her past performances with him hadn’t been exactly sweet. And it was so hard to be good around Mikhail. When he looked so withdrawn, concentrating on business, she just wanted to grab his tie, wrap it around her fist and tug him to her for a kiss.
She wanted to burn herself into his mind and body so that he wouldn’t forget her. Maybe that was what she wanted all along…to have Mikhail’s full attention, to meet him there in the passion that simmered now in her.
Leigh held Ellie’s hand as they watched the men and the child on the beach. Leigh sighed luxuriously and said, “The Stepanovs are a wonderful family and Mikhail is a lovely man. He needs you—you make him feel alive. Anyone can see what’s happening between you.”
“He doesn’t trust me—as a woman. I can feel it. Maybe I deserve that, given the Ellie I used to be—self-serving, spoiled and all the rest. I’m asking a lot of him.”
“Not any more than Jarek or Fadey would give. Stepanov men were meant to protect and to love, but Mikhail had little of that in his marriage. JoAnna put him through hell. It tore his heart out to know she destroyed his baby. She wasn’t faithful, and I have to question if it even was his baby. Yet he grieved for it as if it were. And he took the divorce as a failure. Failure is so hard for Mikhail to accept.”
Leigh was very quiet, and then she said fiercely, “I would do anything to protect my husband from those feelings, the dark, brooding side of their Stepanov heritage. Jarek’s first wife died, and he felt so guilty, felt that he should have gone with her to Strawberry Hill to conceive a child that day. I danced in front of the chieftain’s grave, because if there is a curse, I didn’t want it to touch Jarek again. Maybe it was silly, but I love him so. I knew myself—what was really important—my love for Jarek, and that’s what they say will break the curse, a woman who knows her own heart.”
“Really? You did that?”
“I had to tear him away from her, from his guilt. I know it was silly to believe in a curse, but it always seems to hover here, people talk of it. I would have done anything to tear her from him.”
Ellie shook her head. “It wasn’t silly at all. I’d use anything I could to keep Tanya safe.”
Leigh yawned delicately. “I could use a nap, and from the looks of you, Ellie, you could, too. Mikhail said you need hard work because you’re afraid for Tanya, but Mary Jo says you’re working too hard. And then you’re so sweet to take time to pamper me.”
Ellie thought of how Hillary had reacted after childbirth, as though she deserved every homage. “I’d better go and let you get some rest.”
“Ellie, thank you so much for all you’ve done. The baby quilt you made for Katerina is just beautiful.”
“I like to sew. There hasn’t been much time for that, but it settles me. I borrowed Georgia’s machine.”
On the way back to the Amoteh, Ellie scanned Strawberry Hill. It would be hours before she would take Tanya back to the suite that was now their home. Tanya was to go back to the Stepanov home to enjoy baby Katerina. And Ellie needed all the good luck she could get….
Mikhail pushed up the rocky trail on Strawberry Hill. In late afternoon, the wind had kicked up, dark clouds forming on the horizon, as if Chief Kamakani was gathering his powers—and Ellie was missing. Norm, the head groundskeeper, had said that she had asked the way to Strawberry Hill and Kamakani’s gravesite.
With a storm brewing, the clouds skimming shadows over the water, Ellie could be pushed off the cliff by a gust of upward wind, knocked flat and hit her head on a stone…. Mikhail pushed away his fears, and hurried upward, stumbling once and cutting his hand on a sharp rock.
The wind caught the swaying tops of the pines and hissed through them. Breathing hard, Mikhail reached the summit. The wind flattened Ellie’s jacket to her, sending her hair out in a storm of gleaming silk. She stood braced against the force, her head lifted, as though she welcomed the wind, embraced it.
A cold shaft of fear shot through Mikhail. More than one woman had obsessed about the chieftain, including Jarek’s first wife.
Ellie turned to him and his heart leaped, beating furiously. “What are you doing here?”
“Thinking. Why don’t you want me?”
Why don’t you want me? The question pounded at him, and a gust of wind sailed against them, carrying her scent to him—erotic, fresh, feminine….
“Want you?” he asked grimly, before tugging her to him and holding her safe within his arms. A seagull swept too close, driven by the wind, as though the chieftain were threatening—
She pushed at him, her hair flying around her face. “I’m not her, Mikhail. I’m me.”
“And I’m not your father—he rejected you, didn’t he? Don’t apply that to me.”
A toss of her head threw her hair into the wind, pulled back from her face, those dark thunderstorm eyes flashing at him. “Prove it.”
She always right there, edgy and pushing and fascinating and wild and woman, stirring his senses, making him react in the most primitive ways. “I wanted to give you time to rest, to adjust. Most of the time, you look like you haven’t slept. And I don’t want your gratitude or payback. Let’s keep this clean, shall we? Apart from the situation with Tanya’s safety.”
“Always so logical,” she murmured, and pushed away again, freeing herself. She began to run across the fields that would be lush with strawberries, and Mikhail found himself in pursuit, his senses pounding to catch her, to hold her, to feel her close and warm and alive against him.
She turned to glance at him over her shoulder, and it wasn’t fear he read in her expression. It was excitement and flirtation, a woman beckoning to a man. Who was the hunter and who was the prey? he wondered just that once before catching her and lifting her high in his arms.
Ellie laughed then, her hair flying around her face, her cheeks pink and her eyes soft and glowing upon him. She was his enchantress, and inside him, the tempo rose—he was a man needing to claim the woman haunting him.
He could feel the music inside him, wild and passionate, and hungry, so hungry, storming in his blood, the heat rushing around them, man and woman.
Her arms around his neck, she watched him as he carried her to a flat rock, still bearing the warmth of the sun, laying her gently down, to cover her with his body. “Why did you run from me?” he asked.
“Maybe I was running from myself,” Ellie replied. “From this. There are parts of myself I’ve always kept to myself, and you’re too thorough. You see too much.”
“I want to see more.”
Ellie reveled in Mikhail’s weight, in the way his thumbs stroked her temples as they stared at each other. She could feel the passion in him, the heat and the desire, the powerful emotions and body held in check as he watched her. But there was tenderness there, too, lurking in his smile. “Happy?” he asked.
She squirmed a little beneath him, enjoying the sturdy feel of his body, the strength and warmth of it over her own, though she knew he braced his full weight away. Mikhail was a protective, thoughtful man. “You’re so easy.”
His eyebrow hitched up, mocking her. “Easy, am I?”
She stroked that eyebrow with her fingertip. “Terribly easy. I could have you, if I wanted you.”
His kiss was slow, deep and thorough, leaving her body pounding hungrily. “Could you?” he asked in a husky drawl.
Ellie smoothed his hair, toying with it, and traced the sharp slash of his cheekbones. He toyed with her earlobe, smoothing it. “No earrings? I remember diamonds.”
“Sold them. They were part of the picture Paul wanted. It didn’t hurt a bit.” Her breath hitched as Mikhail’s teeth prowled her lobe, his unsteady breath sweeping across her skin as his hands moved lower, stroking her waist, the denim covering her hips.
He turned, lying beneath her, and she dived into him,
feasted on his skin, his scent, his mouth, her hands fisting his hair. She wanted to mark Mikhail as hers, to tear away the pain of another woman.
“Little savage,” he whispered rawly as she nipped his bottom lip and then licked it.
“Look who’s talking.” She couldn’t help moving against him, the pressure building between them until the air sparked and churned and heated. Mikhail’s face was shadowed, dark and closed, holding away from her what she would have, his eyes slitted, looking up at her.
She was half in love with him now, she realized, as somewhere off in the distance the wind howled and cold rain began to slash at them. Had they always been moving toward this time, this reckoning, as she’d slashed at him and he’d grimly refused to enter her game?
It wasn’t a game now. It was raw and quivering, tender and hungry, because they’d tasted each other and knew….
Mikhail was on his feet, tugging her up to him. His impatience was new and she reveled in his desire for her. They hurried down the path, his arm around her. He opened her car door and bent to kiss her. “Turn on the heater. You’re soaked.”
Mikhail’s black BMW followed her car as she drove to the Amoteh, still quaking with the need to hold him, to keep him safe and to protect him. She frowned into the rearview mirror, the curtain of rain between his car and hers. More ran between them than desire, and she wasn’t certain of the tenderness that Mikhail could make her feel. Her father had taught her not to trust that emotion.
The Amoteh was quiet and sprawling, as Mikhail quickly built a fire in her suite and she took off her damp coat. “I’ll get something to eat,” he said quietly and turned to her. “You’re cold—”
He stopped and rose slowly, staring at her body, at her breasts where her nipples thrust against the light turquoise sweater. Her heart seemed to slow and wait as he walked toward her, then curved his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her close to him.
In his eyes, she saw an age-old question, that of a man asking for a woman, desiring her. “Yes,” she whispered into the silence, the heat simmering between them.
Mikhail would be very thorough, she thought desperately, too hungry for him, as he slowly eased her sweater from her and considered her breasts beneath the lace. He breathed roughly, just that sharp intake of breath, as he unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. She slipped out of her loafers and he stroked away her jeans until she stood only in scraps of lace.
She half feared Mikhail’s dark, intent look, and yet, as a woman, she reveled in it.
Ellie didn’t expect the tug on her bra strap, the pressure enough to snap it and the other as Mikhail’s big hands passed lightly over her, caressing away her briefs. Her hands beneath his blood-red sweater roamed that rough hot flesh, needing him pressed against her, all that wonderful big body trembling for her as she was for him.
Mikhail tore off his sweater, tossing it aside, and stripped away his jeans. Firelight defined his body, all hard planes and cords and muscles and jutting power. She could almost feel him throb with desire, her own body softening, waiting.
It would be no easy, forgettable lovemaking, she knew, as his fingertips began to prowl as if taking her into him, sensually absorbing her, his hands cradling her breasts, smoothing her stomach and hips and brushing her just there… She gripped his arms, fingers digging in as her legs weakened, the pounding within her a storm of emotions.
While he could appreciate and be thorough, her hunger ran too fiercely; she was a woman used to taking what she wanted. She’d waited a lifetime for this man, and now…
“You are already—” Mikhail’s voice was deep, raw, raising her senses, her need of him.
He eased her to the carpet in front of the fire and settled over her as he had on the rock. This time, the storm was inside her, the cold rain replaced by the heated pounding of her blood, the hunger.
His hands were gentle, seeking, claiming, his lips moving over her with a certainty that she knew could never be erased. The hot suction of his mouth, the lave of his tongue, sent her arching against him, a fierce, driving need too poignant to wait.
Mikhail seemed to gently flow over her, the muscles of his powerful back taut beneath her hands. She met his stare above her as he moved intimately, carefully, giving her time to adjust.
“Mikhail…” she whispered when they were complete, one locked with the other.
His words were dark and stormy and fierce, the bunching of his shoulders, his taut body pressing against hers, said he was forcing himself to wait for her.
But Ellie’s body raced on furiously, helplessly, clenching Mikhail. When she opened her eyes, she found Mikhail’s tender look, his thumb brushing away the tears from her lids. “You went inside yourself, taking everything.”
She tried to smile, mocking her emotions as she had for a lifetime. “I’m greedy.”
He smoothed her cheek. “Even now, as you hold me deep and tight, you are shy of me. Why?”
She looked away at the fire and Mikhail’s hand gently brought her back to him. “It’s new. It’s different. There’s just more…” she answered simply. “I’m terrified.”
“So am I. We can stop.”
“You would do that? Now?” Who was he? Who was this man, so intense, so concerned for her above his own needs?
“Of course.”
She moved slightly, feeling the heaviness of him within her, and Mikhail tensed. “I’ve got you now,” she whispered, pressing her fingers against his back, enjoying the flow of the power there—the controlled power, waiting for her…. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, no?” There was that challenge, that arrogance she adored.
“Mikhail. If you leave me now, I’ll—”
His searing kiss sent her body flying toward his, her arms holding him tight. And then the storm began, the heat flashing, her blood pounding. She took what he gave and served it back to him as they climbed higher. Mikhail… Mikhail…Mikhail…
Later, she would hold him and wonder at the peace she had found, the safety and the comfort within his arms.
She’d been alone all of her life, and to think that Mikhail was a part of her now was frightening—because there was no going back, ignoring the beauty of what had just happened.
She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, settling beneath the afghan he had drawn over them.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said sleepily as he drew her closer and his hands began to roam. “Think about this….”
Later, at the Stepanov home, the family shared zavarka in front of the fire while Leigh contentedly nursed Katerina. Mikhail couldn’t help watching Ellie, the blush that would course up her cheeks as their eyes met, and their bodies remembered and hummed.
On impulse, he rose from his chair and plucked Ellie from hers, carrying her back to sit on his lap. “Mikhail, don’t…” she whispered frantically, trying to push free of him.
He felt like a boy, excited and a little in love with his first sweetheart, and he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck until she wriggled and laughed. When she was breathless and limp and leaning back in his arms, the softness flew around them again, the other thing that they both feared.
Ellie reached to smooth his hair and then his cheek, and the haunting loneliness in him gentled. Mikhail took her hand to bring it to his lips, and the magic deepened and caressed.
They’d made love desperately, gently, and yet—yet more awaited, then he thought, as he looked up to see his family watching them, smiling.
With a delighted squeal, Tanya climbed up to sit on his other knee. “Do that to me, Mikhail. Mom never laughs like that. She sounds like a girl.”
“She is a girl, a very pretty one, just like you.” Mikhail nuzzled the little girl’s neck until she laughed and twisted away, running to leap on Ryan, who took her to the floor, tickling her.
“It’s good,” Fadey said quietly as he studied his son. Fadey’s look said he knew that Mikhail had found the woman he wanted and had claimed her.
>
“Very good,” Mikhail agreed as he held Ellie closer.
She studied him slowly, and he could have fallen into those dove-gray eyes. “I’m not used to this…this openness. You say what you feel,” she whispered.
Not always, Mikhail thought, remembering the shadows he preferred not to share with his family, the bitter fights with his ex-wife, the grief over his unborn child. But they knew and understood.
“Sometimes the quiet is good, too,” he said, drawing her head down on his shoulder and letting peace roll over him as smoothly as a gentle, sunlit tide.
He nuzzled Ellie’s silky hair and welcomed the warmth and the scent, the softness, the rightness of her in his arms.
But he knew that even now, after making love, she was fighting any future with him, throwing up barricades. She’d learned in a lifetime how to protect herself from the pain that came from caring for men whose capacity for love wasn’t equal to her own.
Mikhail understood her reasoning, but he wouldn’t hurt her—ever. He intended to give her all the love that was within him.
Six
The next morning in his office, Mikhail replaced the telephone and grimly considered Paul’s bitter threats—“I’ll jerk that resort off that godforsaken stretch of beach so fast, you won’t know what hit you. By the time my bulldozers get done, nothing will be left but bald, scraped dirt and a dried-up town no one wants to visit. If you don’t play ball, your career with Mignon is finished. I’ll ruin you.”
“Not if I can help it,” Mikhail said quietly as he sipped the Amoteh’s house blend coffee.
Paul would take his time—because he liked to play on and build fear—but he was capable of carrying out his threats. Mikhail had already set his defense in motion, contacting other Mignon resort managers. He had helped most of them deflect Paul’s bullying at one time or another. If there was one thing Paul appreciated, it was good managers who were “worth their weight in gold.”