by Cait London
He leaned back against the kitchenette counter, crossing his arms so that he wouldn’t reach out for her. “Yes, now I do. I mind you wearing clothes of any kind.”
She nodded and kicked off her sneakers. Ellie slowly, thoughtfully bent to place them beside his boots. Then, with those same careful movements, as though she were making an important decision, working her way through to the final solution, she eased away her long-sleeve sweater and folded it neatly, placing it on the table. “I like this place. With you.”
In the moonlight sliding through the windows, she was silvery soft curves, graceful as she slid from her jeans and folded them neatly, too. It was a feminine ceremony, Mikhail realized, and one that was slowly killing him.
He couldn’t move, every muscle tense as Ellie picked up the earrings and studied them before sliding them into her lobes. The movement fascinated him; Mikhail had never seen such grace, the shift of her body, the silvery lights of her hair sliding around her face.
She walked slowly toward him, her face in shadow, but the gold gleaming softly as it swayed seductively amid her hair. Moonlight caught the tilt of her breasts, the rounded curve of her hips, the darker shadows between her thighs—
When she stood close, the scent of her skin beckoning, Mikhail couldn’t speak; he could only put out his hand to stroke her thigh, to trail his fingers along her hip. She quivered at his touch. Then her hand was in his, soft and feminine and yet strong as he brought it to his lips.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, Mikie,” Ellie whispered.
As he undressed, she touched him softly on his shoulders, the muscle of his arm, on his hip, winnowing her fingers through the hair on his chest. Each touch, each look aroused, until his blood pounded and heated and knew….
“So here we are,” she whispered as he eased her body close to his, the curve and flow of man and woman, so near and yet not one.
This was the mating, he thought as he cupped her breasts, cherished them with his lips, savoring the taste, the feminine scent of her skin. Her sigh took his desire higher, his body taut and aching, and yet he was determined to give her everything as he eased her onto the bed, covering her with his body.
She opened to him, easing to take him tightly, slowly, within her, and Mikhail fought release, his body humming for it. Half-closed, silvery in the night, Ellie’s eyes watched him, her cheeks flushed, her lips moist, the earrings gleaming amid the tousled silky strands. She was magic and desire; she was his, the woman who was the other part of him, who was his life.
She was mysterious, waiting, hot, holding her secrets, beckoning him on with the flow of her hips and her breasts nudging his chest, her stomach supple and undulating, those long legs trapping him, her hands caressing….
The storm came too quickly, a flurry of passion and heat and cries that pulsed around them, in them, as Mikhail met her there, fought to hold her, a primitive claiming driven by her sounds, her mouth on his flesh, her hands roaming his back—
They fought on that plane, no gentle taking for either of them, each burning into the other, forging a new level to their relationship, raw and clean and true.
Mikhail felt her body tense as his own tore from his control, and then the world spiraled around them, twisted and made them one….
With his face against her throat, he could feel her pulse slow and treasured what she had given—what she had taken—as her hands soothed and caressed in the aftermath of their passion.
She was complete.
Ellie gave herself to the peace only Mikhail could bring her, and then he began to move again, rising above her, fierce and demanding, and she would have no less….
He eased the hair from her cheek, her ear, and in the moonlight his expression was primitive, all glittering eyes and hard planes. She knew what pleased him, that she wore his mark, that she was his, and she reveled in that, because she held him within her and reminded him by clenching her body.
She met his dark look, challenged him, enjoying the seduction of this man, this wonderful, exciting man, this warrior, making her feel like a woman, to know a woman’s heart and strength and hungers….
Mikhail pressed his hot, hard face against the spot between her throat and her ear and his hands caressed her, and suddenly her body flew into the storm again, the hunger renewed.
In the night, she heard Mikhail chuckle as she moved over him, taking what she wanted, taking his lips, tasting him, becoming one again.
In the dawn, she awoke to Mikhail sliding from her arms and legs; he padded to the bathroom and when she heard the shower running, Ellie held his pillow tight, caught his scent and slid back into sleep. When she awoke the second time, Mikhail was lying beside her, toying with her hair, the earrings.
“Breakfast?” He had shaved, and the laughter in his expression caused her to smile.
She could have loved him again, if she could move. “You know I want you, not food.”
His kiss was brief, playful. “I know. I am sexy. You want me. You adore me,” he drawled.
The statement was so unlike Mikhail that she had to laugh, and then Mikhail was studying her. He turned her cheek and frowned at her throat. “I was afraid of that—I didn’t take time to shave last night. You’re scratched here.” His finger explored her throat.
“Kiss it and make it well,” she challenged, feeling very certain of herself.
But Mikhail had his own agenda. He eased the blankets away from her body, studying the length as his hand moved over her, his expression dark and intent. “You gave yourself to me.”
“Correction—You gave yourself to me, several times.” Still shy of Mikhail, Ellie fought drawing up the blankets to shield herself.
Mikhail smiled gently. “Nervous?”
“You’re very intense.”
Mikhail touched her breasts, a fingertip playing with her nipple until she pressed his hand close with hers. “Come here,” she ordered breathlessly, reaching for him.
When Mikhail grinned, a devastating flash of white teeth against his tanned skin, Ellie decided to tease him. “Or we could have that breakfast.”
Mikhail reacted just as she wanted. “Breakfast can wait.”
Later, they sat on the porch—Ellie on Mikhail’s lap—watching the morning come to life—seagulls swooping to strut on the beach, sandpipers scurrying, old Boyd Jones out with his bucket, picking up clutter that had been left by irresponsible picnickers, Mario Ferguson jogging with his earphones.
“I needed this,” Ellie said as Mikhail tucked a blanket closer around her. “It’s been so long since I relaxed that I feel like I’m coming apart.”
He kissed her forehead and, beneath the blanket, caressed her breasts, clothed only in his T-shirt and his leather jacket. “You come apart beautifully.”
“Mmm.” She snuggled against him, resting her head on his chest. She couldn’t resist wiggling her hips against him, and through the denim layers between them found him responding, hardening once more.
“Let’s make a day of it, shall we?” Mikhail asked as he toyed with her earring, blowing gently into her ear. “Take some time off?”
“Can’t. I’ve got a meeting with ten wedding planners this morning.”
His disapproving growl was long and low and hungry as he nuzzled her throat.
Ellie couldn’t help laughing as he nuzzled that spot behind her ear and growled. Mikhail in a playful mood wasn’t to be missed. “I just rescheduled,” she told him, and this time his growl was one of sheer agreement.
Eight
Ellie smiled as she hurried up the steps of the small cabin and flicked the wind chimes Bliss had made from spoons; they spun and tinkled in the first of April sunlight. She balanced the grocery sack in one arm as she opened the door, and when it closed behind her, she placed the sack on the table and removed her light jacket.
It was such a good place, just for her and Mikhail. Ellie stroked Mikhail’s flannel shirt hung by the door, drawing it to her face, inhaling his scent. In the shadowy si
lence she heard his chuckle again as he tickled her on their bed. Yes, it was a very good place.
With one touch, the big Stepanov rocking chair that Mikhail had brought to the cabin creaked gently, moving back and forth. He’d said that Tanya was not too big to be cuddled and rocked, and with a boyish grin added that he wanted to rock Ellie, too.
She’d lived in penthouses and mansions and rented rooms, but if ever she’d had a first home filled with love and safety, this small cabin was it. She’d tried to give those things to Tanya, and yet it was the first time anyone had given them to her. A sense of homecoming warmth surrounded her immediately. Tonight, she would cook dinner for Mikhail—a gesture that was a little old-fashioned for the Ellie Lathrop she’d always been, to serve a man, to tend him.
She smoothed the earrings he had given her. In the past week, each time he saw her wearing them, his expression softened, and a riveting sense of being fresh and new and desired washed over her.
At work, he was all business, but when walking along the pier, holding her hand, Mikhail might smile down at her and then bend for a light, friendly kiss—or he might tug her into a shadowy spot, flatten her against a wall with his body, and then he was her lover, as eager for her as she was for him. On the beach, he was a boy again, teasing her, chasing her, and she was the girl she’d never been, laughing and carefree….
Hurrying to start the spaghetti sauce, Ellie placed Mikhail’s old flannel shirt over her blouse and jeans, not only for protection while she cooked, but also because she loved having this token of him near. While the sauce simmered, she swept and cleaned and wished for Mikhail as she showered.
Dressed only in his shirt and her jeans, she dived onto the bed she had shared for two nights with Mikhail. Ellie drew his pillow close to her, nuzzling it and remembering how he had taken one look at her in the bikini she was trying on—okay, she just couldn’t resist putting a raincoat over it and hunting him down—just to see his reaction.
When they were alone in the Amoteh’s hallway, Mikhail—still distracted by the flurry of women planning a “Boost Your Sexuality” retreat—had frowned down at her. “Women,” he had brooded. “I am not going to lecture to them on what a man likes. Or—”
He had been too perfect—unmussed and businesslike and unlike the man she’d watched shave, and she couldn’t resist. “Oh, Mikie…”
He had blinked and looked stunned as she had flashed him, opening her coat.
If she’d been timing his reaction, it might have taken a heartbeat for Mikhail to reach around her, lift her off her feet and, holding her eyes, walk her into a linen closet, which he locked behind him.
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he’d said roughly as he pulled the tiny string bow between her breasts.
“Likewise,” she had said, arching up into his kiss.
In the shadows, filled with the scent of fresh laundry, Mikhail had grinned and then set about giving her what she wanted.
In the Amoteh’s kitchen later, their hands had touched when reaching for a glass and Mikhail had caught hers, bringing her palm to his lips in that tender, humble gesture she adored—but then, she adored the man.
Days and nights of loving Mikhail had made her a little dizzy with happiness. She knew the passion that ran beneath that cool exterior, knew how his body felt against hers, trembling with desire. She knew the dipping curve of his muscular butt, how it felt in her hands, that very cute butt. She knew how his heart beat against hers, how hot his blood pulsed in passion. She knew his tenderness and the peace in his silence.
Was she wrong for wanting a momentary escape, for seeking her own pleasure and happiness, for glimpsing what could be perfect?
Meanwhile Tanya was safe at Mary Jo’s family ranch, ecstatic that she would be caring for her own pony and riding it, and feeding chickens and calves.
Ellie frowned slightly as the wind chimes tinkled outside; she almost felt guilty for snatching the happiness Mikhail brought her. She rose to stir the spaghetti sauce, locked in her thoughts. Her momentary peace with Mikhail wouldn’t last—Paul hadn’t made his move yet, but he would as surely as the tide washed over the shoreline.
Paul. From experience, she knew that he didn’t make empty threats, and that he took his time preparing to demolish anyone who he felt had crossed him—and that would be Mikhail.
Hillary. The younger sister who, lacking male affection at an early age, set about gathering men’s attention with her woman’s body. “She’s still my little sister and I love her,” Ellie whispered to the shadows.
Outside, Mikhail’s surprised shout terrified Ellie. Paul had used “muscle” before to get his way, big thugs who could… Still gripping the wooden spoon, she hurried outside and saw two big men approaching Mikhail on the beach. In denim jackets and jeans, they matched Mikhail for height and build, and reaching him, they began butting him with their shoulders and hooking an arm around his neck. Then, with a shout, the three men went down into the sand, Mikhail on the bottom. The sack he had been carrying broke and groceries spilled upon the sand.
“You let him go!” Running toward the wrestling men, Ellie didn’t pause; she threw herself on top of the first man and grabbed his hair, pulling hard. She thumped the man over Mikhail with her spoon. “Get off.”
“Hey! That hurt.”
“Let him go, or I’ll get you again,” she threatened fiercely as she pulled the other man’s hair.
“Ouch! Lady, let me go.”
The whole mass of male muscle beneath her stopped heaving and—and laughing. They were laughing, not arguing and threatening. She peered over the shoulder of the top man down at Mikhail who was grinning at the bottom.
“Hi, honey. Meet my cousins from Wyoming. You’re on top of Alexi, and then the other is Danya Stepanov. They’re brothers…their father is Viktor, brother to my father.”
Sprawled over one man, Ellie hurriedly pushed herself to her feet. Still worried about him, she stood rigid as the men eased to their feet, and Mikhail stood unharmed and laughing as he hooked an arm around both men’s necks.
All three men were rumpled, dusted with sand, and by their strong features, clearly related.
And she could have killed them.
“You were worried for me, yes?” Mikhail asked as she dusted the sand from his hair and clothing—none too gently, because she was thinking of…
He took the spoon from her hand as if fearing she would use it on him.
While she was deciding where to hit him since he’d frightened her so, Mikhail wrapped her in his arms and kissed her long and hard.
He eased her away and looked over her head to the two men. “I love her, of course.”
Then, while she was dealing with I love her, of course, he bent to ease her over his shoulder and carried her toward the cabin. “Mikhail, let me down.”
When he placed her on her feet in the cabin and quickly wrapped his arms around her, Ellie didn’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Alexi and Danya entered the cabin, carrying the groceries. “Hold her. Don’t let her go,” Alexi warned.
“I love you,” Mikhail repeated quietly, solemnly as he smoothed her hair back from her face.
“I love you, too,” she whispered unevenly, surprised at the truth, at her ability to say it, returning the emotion with every molecule deep within her.
This time, his kiss was gentle and seeking, and when Ellie opened her eyes, the two big western men were in the kitchenette, their denim jackets hung on the wall. They chopped and stirred as if completely at home and familiar with it.
Mikhail smiled slightly and brought her hand to his lips. “Do you mind?”
Mind what? Loving him, and him loving her?
He eased her onto a chair and bent to towel the sand from her bare feet, warming them with his hands.
“Do I mind what?” I love you….
“My cousins dropping in for a visit. They’re unmarried and…”
“And you kissed me to show that I was already taken.”
/> He shrugged and stood, his hands on his waist. Mikhail looked down at her as if bracing himself for an argument and he was determined to have his say. “I find I have limitations with you. You are too desirable, especially now with your hair mussed and your color high, those eyes the color of thunderclouds. You look like a woman a man would want to make love to instantly. It was necessary to kiss you. They are Stepanovs. They understand. Are you killing me now, or later?”
Ellie stood and hurried to collect the underwear she wasn’t wearing, in anticipation of Mikhail—alone, without his cousins, who were humming what sounded like a Russian folk tune, punctuated with shouts. She slipped into the bathroom and changed with shaking hands. When she had brushed her hair and calmed herself, she braced herself to meet the men. Mikhail’s mind shaking, quiet I love you…roared over the current male rumble outside the bathroom.
And she’d shocked herself, hearing that she loved him, too!
The men seemed to fill the small cabin and mixed with the scent of her spaghetti sauce was that of beef stroganoff. Alexi was tossing salad greens into a bowl, crumbling feta cheese into it, and Mikhail was setting the table; a fluid mix of English and Russian flowed between them. The men were too potent, too big and overwhelming, Ellie found Danya looking at her. “Sit and have a glass of wine. Tell me about your daughter. Do you have a picture?”
Ellie opened her bag and showed the mini album of Tanya. The ache to hold her daughter curled around her.
“Beautiful. I want children, a lot of them,” Danya said quietly. “A Stepanov usually does want children.”
His sky-blue eyes locked with hers. One woman hadn’t wanted Mikhail’s life in Amoteh, or his baby. The Stepanovs were a close family and they worried for each other.
“I want Mikhail,” Ellie said quietly, but feared that she could cost him dearly.
Danya’s bear hug surprised her, and so did his brief kiss to her cheek. “You’re good for him. It’s been a long time since we heard him laugh.”
“Hey, Ellie,” Alexi said as he poured noodles into a bowl. “When dinner is finished, we’re going to see Katerina. It’s a short stop and then back to Wyoming. We have a lot to do and don’t have much time. Are you coming with us, little sister?”