by Nic Saint
She’d been quite surprised by his confession that his brother had been changed by love, and that perhaps he, too, would one day quit the business of hurting people for a living, and settle down with the right woman by his side.
“So what are you going to do now?”
She dreaded finding out. He’d come to America to find Nathan Callaway. If he'd given up the search, would that mean he would return to his homeland of Russia? She hated to admit it to herself, but she’d hoped he would stay on a little longer. Perhaps all his talk about meeting her folks had been just that: talk. But she still nurtured the idea he’d planted in her head.
She could see him walk up the drive to her ancestral home, proud and tall, hand in hand with his new bride, adamant to meet her parents. She groaned inwardly at the silly notion. Puh-lease. Who was she kidding?
He’d placed a hand across his brow. “I don’t know.” He was silent for a moment, then gestured her over. “Come here. I have to tell you something.”
Obediently, she tripped over and sank on her knees beside the couch, so her face was level with his. She enjoyed studying him when he slept—when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“I need to get this job done,” he began. “If I don’t, I’m dead man. You too.”
“A dead woman, you mean,” she corrected, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“I was told to find this man. He is not my enemy, but he hurt my employers. Twenty years ago, he betrayed them. They swore revenge. They asked me to finish the job. Finish Nathan Callaway.”
She listened, her blood freezing in her veins. “And what if you don’t?”
“As I said. I’m dead man.”
“I don’t want to die, Roman,” she entreated, “but neither do I want this Nathan Callaway to die either. Isn’t there a way out of this?”
“Not,” he grunted. “It’s Nathan Callaway or me.” He pressed her small hand in his large one. “I did horrible things, Dora. Killed people. Pillaged and ransacked and murdered enemies of Gornakovs. I have no friends. Only enemies now.” He gestured at the door, where the last of his three bodyguards had just taken his leave. “They’re all gone. It means big trouble.”
“But I thought you said they had good reasons to return?”
He held up a finger. “Only one reason to return. Gornakov.” He laid his head back against the dark, leather pillow, staring into space. “I’m finished.”
The news astounded her even more than the fact he was a killer. She’d already known about that part. “But why would they do that? I thought you said you were their most important asset?”
“I was. Now I’m not. No word from Yuri Gornakov in two days. Radio silence. They cut me loose. Let me go. The reason?” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe political. Maybe economics.” He turned to her, a puzzled frown on his face. “I don’t mind. I’m happy. I’m finished with Gornakovs.” He slashed his hand through the air, emphasizing the point. “Finished, Dora.”
He’d told her this before, and she had hardly believed it. Why would a big important mobster like him turn his back on his family of his own volition? It was suicide, pure and simple.
“So what happens next?”
He gave her a sad smile. “Now we wait. See who comes through the door.”
She turned to watch the door, as if expecting some murdering goon to come barging in here any minute now. Then she felt the pressure of Roman’s hand still enveloping hers.
He placed his hand on her cheek. “Do not worry, Dora. I protect you.”
She nodded, words failing her. The brash Broadway showgirl was suddenly speechless.
CHAPTER 10
Roman gazed into Dora’s soft blue eyes, now misted over with worry at the words he’d just spoken. He’d never been one for pussyfooting around, for approaching an issue stealthily. He liked to barge in and deal with matters head on. But perhaps in doing so, he’d scared the living daylights out of her.
He liked this young woman, more than he actually understood. She was an American actress, not normally the kind of girl he went for. And yet, there was something about her that had attracted him from the first. The way she could stare at him, her eyes blazing with insolence and reproach. No one had ever spoken to him in quite this way, not even his employers, and most definitely no woman.
Anyone he met was used to treating him with deference or fear, and usually a mixture of both. To find a woman who would defy him like this, unafraid to look him in the eye and tell him what was what, had given him quite a shock at first, then appreciation for her candor and her honesty had given way to a slow settling of his appreciation, giving way to deeper feelings.
He liked her, yes, but even more, he wanted her. In his bed. In his life. And hitherto no other woman had ever been capable of that particular feat. He’d had girlfriends, of course, but they’d been mere playthings in a life filled with violence and the kind of terror the main enforcer for one of Moscow’s major crime families encountered on a daily basis.
And now there was all this softness, and all this femininity, and he hadn’t known how to respond to it at first. Then the thought of Dimi had come haunting him. How he’d treated his little brother with scorn when it had become so obvious he was smitten with the Cole woman. He regretted his actions—regretted having pushed his brother away from him over a woman.
Dimi had been right to choose love over vengeance. Nathan Callaway, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t mean a thing to him. He’d never even met the man, and if the old men running the Gornakov family enjoyed holding a grudge for two decades, he wanted no part of that madness.
He was through, he knew. For some reason that he couldn’t comprehend, he’d fallen out of grace with the brothers who had employed him for the last twenty years. Whether it was his failure to capture Nathan or something else, he didn’t know and didn’t really care, either.
Oddly enough, all he cared about now was to protect this innocent woman by his side. She’d been dragged into this mess by him, and by God, he would drag her out of it as well, even at the cost of his own life.
He gave her a gentle tug that landed her on top of him, and that’s exactly where he wanted her. Then he folded his fingers around her neck and drew her in for a devastating kiss. He wanted to feel her soft, pliant body against him, even if it drove him mad.
And it did. To feel her in his arms was all he wanted—all he needed. And if his enemies and former associates found this ridiculous, so be it. Roman Loginovsky had fallen under the spell of a woman, they’d say, and they wouldn’t be lying.
Dora reveled in the heat from Roman’s embrace, and as she lay atop him, drowning in his gaze, she thought she’d never met a more fascinating man. And then he captured her lips, and it was as if the heat she’d been feeling at his touch was multiplied a hundredfold. His arms enclosed her, and their mouths connected, and then it was as if she was melting into him, falling into an abyss of pure lust. She found herself tugging at his shirt, opening the buttons, as he did the same for her, and moments later they were both naked from the waist up, and when his fingers clasped her ample bosom, as it spilled out of her bra, she gasped with the pleasure of it all.
Her softness pressing against his hard chest, she felt him stirring beneath her, and then he rolled her over and they were on the floor, the sheepskin rug prickling in her neck, and his lips were on her chest, sucking in the smooth flesh of her breasts like a man on fire. They were burning up, heat radiating between them, electricity crackling violently back and forth as between two poles, and she felt him tugging down her jeans.
She hesitated but for a single moment, then knew that all resistance was futile. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and moments later they lay together, both naked, and she felt the wetness of her center welcoming him in its ultimate embrace, the smooth layers of skin enveloping his hardness. She was transported into another world, her breath coming in whispered sighs, his name on her lips, and his hands traversing the curves and valleys of her body, nippin
g, kissing, sucking, and he was arching up inside her, spreading more heat to the loins that were on fire in their desire for him.
It didn’t take long for her to discover this was what she’d wanted all along. From the moment this strange, dark Russian had entered her life, she’d known instinctively this was where they’d end up. Their union had been as inevitable as night following day in the cycle of life.
They were finally joined now, their bodies connected in the ultimate dance, the intoxication of his hot lips spreading to her belly as his male girth moved inside her core, plundering what had been his from the very start. As he plunged deeper into her yearning center, she suddenly looked up when she heard a noise, and started violently at the sight of a black-haired young woman standing over them—staring down at them with a puzzled frown on her face.
She was holding a gun in her hand, she now saw, aiming it at Roman’s head!
CHAPTER 11
Lidiya stared down at the couple at her feet, the gun poised in her hand. It was so easy. So easy to take the shot, and yet so hard. The sight of her friend grinding against this blond-haired bimbo was almost too much to bear, and a sudden rush of rage streaked through her.
She hadn’t seen Roman in years, hadn’t even thought about him, but seeing him like this with another woman stirred a memory. The memory of days long gone—days she’d safely tucked away in the back of her mind. Days when she’d roamed the streets of her rundown neighborhood, running with a small gang of no-good kids, Roman firmly in charge.
He’d been her hero, the one they all looked up to. He’d been the oldest of them all, and when he left to make a name for himself in the Gornakov organization, he’d been sorely missed. Soon after, Dimitri had also left, and it had only been her. She’d felt stranded, left behind, and had blamed Roman.
“Hello, Lidiya,” suddenly the man at her feet spoke.
He’d turned around and was directing a laconic look up at her, straight up the barrel of her gun.
She hesitated. She hadn’t come here to kill him—she’d actually changed her mind about that. But seeing him with this blonde had temporarily distracted her from her purpose. Now it seemed to come back to her. The poise. The levelheadedness that made her so good at what she did.
“Hello, Roman,” she returned coldly.
He cocked an eyebrow, his nakedness distracting her. She stared from his broad shoulders to the woman’s heaving chest and then back into his dark eyes, boring into her soul.
“If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me,” he offered, then gave her a mocking smile that enraged her even more.
Finally, with a quick shrug of her shoulders, she lowered the gun. “I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sakes!” burst out the woman beneath him, then pushed helplessly at the large man pinning her down.
Wiping a hand across her fevered brow, Lidiya stepped back, awarding the couple a measure of privacy. She searched around the suite, admiring its splendor. Quite different from the room Alexei had housed her and Oleg in.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” she began to say when she heard footsteps behind her. She just had time to whirl around before Roman was upon her. He snatched her by the shoulder and fastened a grip on her so strong that she winced.
“What did you come here for?” he wanted to know in clipped Russian. “Who sent you? Yuri?”
“Not Yuri,” she countered. “And I didn’t come to kill you.”
He smirked. “Ah? Is that why you were aiming a gun at my head just now? Because you didn’t want to kill me?”
“If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead now,” she spat furiously.
“I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “I heard you coming in. I was simply curious to see how far you would go.”
“Oleg is here with me. Oleg Yugurov. I thought you should know.”
This surprised him. “Oleg… Doesn’t he work for—”
“Alexei Demiakov, yes. He’s the one who sent us over. Says you’re ruining his reputation by prancing all over New York pretending to be him.”
He drew his hand through his long mane. “That doesn’t make sense. Yuri and Vladimir squared things with Alexei before they sent me here. It was all part of the plan. Alexei is one of the Gornakov’s longest-standing allies. He would never give the order…” His voice trailed off, and Lidiya saw his mind work. He hadn’t changed. Older and bigger now than when she’d seen him last, he was still highly intelligent, highly capable and… highly attractive.
Then a voice piped up behind her. “What are you doing here?”
She turned to the ditzy blonde, who’d casually slung a nightgown around her ample curves and stood eyeing her with a look of censure.
She easily switched back to English. “I came here to warn you. There’s a contract out on you—both of you.”
The woman stared at her, not comprehending. “A contract?”
She rolled her eyes. She hated dealing with amateurs. “Someone wants you both dead.”
Her eyes swiveled to Roman, who was pacing the room now, a pensive look on his face. He reminded her of a panther pacing its cage, for that was what this hotel room was: a cage provided by Roman’s employers.
“You’re a sitting duck here, Roman. By now I’m sure Oleg knows where you are. For all I know he could be across the street, drawing a bead on you right now.”
Though thinking back to the lazy killer watching daytime television and snacking on fast food, she kind of doubted this. Too much effort required.
Roman seemed to make up his mind. He pointed to the bedroom. “Pack up your stuff, Dora. We go.”
“Where are we going?” the blonde wanted to know. Then she threw an icy glare at Lidiya. “And is she coming with us?”
Fat chance. “No. I’ve got other plans, lady,” she returned, trying to put just as much ice in her own voice and failing. She wasn’t the icy type, she knew. The moment the woman’s back was turned, she told Roman, “If Demiakov knew about this mission, he must either be working for the Gornakovs, which means you’ve fallen out of favor or he’s conducting a war against the family. Either way, you’re screwed, Roman.” And so was she, she knew, for there was simply no way she could carry out Alexei’s orders.
“There’s no war,” Roman stated. Then he faced her. “The Gornakovs must have given the order. For some reason, they’re taking their hands off me.”
Confused, she drew her brows together. “Whatever, Roman. You need to lay low for a while. Do you have friends on this side?”
He shook his head slowly, then a light seemed to appear in his eyes. “I have my brother. Dimi is also in America.”
This surprised her. “Dimi is here? But why?”
Roman shrugged. “He fell in love. He fell in love with an American and decided to turn tail.”
“And so did you, apparently,” she offered, gesturing to the bedroom.
He gave her a wide grin that reminded her of the Roman of old. With a pang of concern, she realized he’d actually fallen for this blond-haired actress. Though she’d felt jealousy before, she didn’t now; the story of her and Roman had ended a long time ago. And though seeing him with this Dora Liverpool had momentarily stoked up the old flame, she knew their relationship belonged to the dead past and would do well to stay there.
“You love her, don’t you?” she asked, quite unnecessarily, judging from the stupid look on his face.
He merely nodded, then frowned. “If you don’t fulfill the contract, you’ll be in great trouble, Lidiya. What are you going to tell Alexei?”
Now it was her turn to smile. “I’ll tell him I succeeded, of course. You are going to play along, aren’t you, Roman?”
As understanding crackled between them, he walked over and enveloped her in his arms. A hug for old time’s sake. “I owe you,” he murmured against her hair.
With a husky voice, she said, “Don’t mention it. What are friends for, huh?”
She looked up when a sharp
cough sounded.
The lady of the house was back in their midst. This time, she’d actually put on some clothes.
“Please leave my husband alone,” Dora said haughtily.
Lidiya arched an eyebrow and patted Roman on the back. “Henpecked already, huh? Way to go, my friend.”
Roman ruffled her hair the way he used to do back in the old days, and she gave him a goofy grimace. “See you around, kid,” he told her.
With a tiny wave, she walked to the door. “See you around. And you, lady.”
As she rode the elevator down, she rehearsed in her mind the story she would tell Oleg. Now she only hoped Roman would be smart and effectively disappear from the grid. And stay off.
CHAPTER 12
“Who was that woman?”
For a moment, Roman didn’t speak, his eyes darting along the corridor before stepping from their suite. “A friend,” he finally said, before taking a firm grip on her arm and propelling her out the door.
As she tripped down the plush carpet, the sconces on the wall lit even though it was daytime, she experienced a twinge of unhappiness. She didn’t want the twinge. She hated the twinge, and yet there it was. The green-eyed monster. The moment she’d seen Roman and this woman together, she’d felt it. It was obvious the two had been lovers, and though she wanted to dispel the thought, she found she couldn’t.
“Are you—were you a couple?” she insisted as he held open the door to the stairwell, and she passed through.
“Not,” he grunted. Then he suddenly turned to her and let the door fall closed behind them. He pulled her to him in a sudden movement that both surprised and excited her, and she felt his hardness pressed against her, her heart skipping a beat. Then he crushed his lips on hers, clasping her to him with an insistence and a heat that was unmistakable. She temporarily forgot all about gun-wielding black-haired minxes and there was only Roman’s tongue exploring hers, and his body insisting they continue what they had started just before the woman had come barging in.