Nikolai barely refrained from patting Bobbi on the back when she choked on the tea she had been sipping. Instead he just sat grinning at her, appreciating the deep flush that fanned her cheeks as obvious embarrassment filled her. She put the cup down and looked around her, her eyes flitting from one place to another before finally resting on him. Her green eyes studied him, soft and serious, almost hesitant, before sparkling with amusement and laughter.
“Yes, well…I’m glad you thought of that!” Her voice ended in soft laughter and she reached for the platter, carefully transferring food to her plate. Nikolai was gratified to see that she didn’t hesitate, that she took more than just a small spoonful of each. She placed the plate in front of her, shook the napkin into her lap, then took a bite of the black bread. Her eyes closed in appreciation, bringing another smile to Nikolai’s face.
He filled his own plate, taking satisfaction in her enjoyment of the food, letting her smile and voice fill him. Yes, he had been hungry for friendship, for companionship, and the woman across from him satisfied the hunger in his soul as much as the food satisfied the hunger in his belly.
Nikolai grunted, softly so as not to attract her attention. He was amusing himself with his thoughts, and wondered when he had become such a soft romantic. At the same time, he quietly cautioned himself against getting too close, against trusting too freely.
He could caution all he wanted, but he was wise enough to admit the truth: he was already too close to this woman.
Too close, yes. So instead he would caution himself to tread carefully in letting her know just how close.
**
The inside chill swept over Bobbi again and she shifted on the cold metal bleacher seat, rubbing her hands and wishing for warmth. She hadn’t thought to bring a jacket to wear, not with the early Spring weather outside, but then—she hadn’t given much thought to how much cooler the rink was compared to her closet office.
She shifted again, wondering at the lack of intelligence and thought behind putting metal bleachers in an ice rink, and huddled closer into herself, trying to get warm. Her gaze darted around the practice arena, studying the faces of the few dozen people who were here. The crowd consisted mostly of kids, and Bobbi wondered whatever happened to school. It was, after all, the middle of the week.
Her attention turned back to the rink, her eyes automatically seeking and finding Nikolai. He was doing sprints up and down the ice with a handful of other players, his muscular legs propelling him across the smooth surface with power and grace.
Heat curled in her stomach and blossomed outward, pushing back the chilled air that blanketed her. A vivid image of all that power and grace being used to pleasure her filled her mind and she shifted against the hard bench as a blush fanned her face. The last several nights had been, without a doubt, the most intimate, sensual experiences of her life.
Nikolai was a considerate and very talented lover, an exciting mix of gentleness, playfulness, power and possession and sacrifice. He demanded and coaxed responses from her body but gave as much as he took. More, even.
Bobbi’s toes curled and her stomach did a small roll as she tried to hide the smile she could feel forming on her face. Loud banging coming from the ice in front of her caught her attention and she looked up to see Nikolai a dozen feet away, hitting the glass with his stick. Her eyes met his, and she saw the same smile on his face as he waved her down.
Bobbi grabbed the bag from beside her feet and climbed down from the bleachers. Nikolai pushed the butt end of his stick against the latch and swung the door open, then reached out and grabbed her hand with his gloved one and pulled her as close to him as possible without actually yanking her onto the ice. Heat rolled off him in waves, and she could literally see steam drifting from his shoulders.
“You are blue with cold. Why do you not have a jacket on?”
“I didn’t think about grabbing one.” And standing as close as he was, his body thrumming with heat and power, his size almost overwhelming because of the pads, she was close to not being able to think at all, period. Already her earlier chill had disappeared, banished by his nearness. “Besides, I’m not really cold anymore.”
He pushed his helmet back and grinned down at her. “No?”
She shook her head, smiling up at him, then let out a muffled shriek when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him, literally lifting her off her feet. Her body pressed fully against him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding on, fearing he’d lose his balance and they would both topple to the ice. “Nikolai!”
“Shh, moe krasivejshee, I will not drop you.” He dipped his head down and claimed her mouth in a deep kiss, quick but no less searing in its intensity. He laughed at her expression, then gently placed her back on her feet. She untwisted her hands from his jersey as she tried to catch her breath. “There. Now you will be warm.”
“Petrovich! Get back here! Five laps, now.” The coach’s booming voice echoed across the ice. Nikolai gave him an impatient wave of his hand, then winked at her before slamming the door shut and taking off, his powerful strides making easy work of the punishment.
Moe krasivejshee. My beautiful one, he had called her. He had been calling her that instead of his annoying little pest since the first night she had slept at his place. She told herself not to make anything of it, not to read into it.
Bobbi took several deep breaths, trying to calm her galloping pulse, then looked around to see if she was being watched. A few curious glances were cast her way but for the most part, the spectators’ attention remained focused on the players.
She returned to her seat, no longer mindful of the cold bleacher, and watched the players on the ice, doing her best not to lose focus. Several minutes went by before she noticed a shift in the air around her. Nothing obvious, nothing threatening, just a subtle change in the atmosphere. She straightened and looked around, then stiffened when she saw Denny approaching her. She turned back toward the ice, refusing to look at him as he slid onto the bench behind her left shoulder.
“Slumming today?” She muttered, referring to his dressed-down appearance in jeans and a sweatshirt. It was obviously an attempt to blend in—nobody here was dressed in a suit and tie.
“I could ask the same of you.”
Bobbi stiffened but said nothing, refusing to play into his manipulation. He was here for a reason. She would sit in silence until he was ready to share it with her.
“You need to focus more on what’s going on around you and less on getting laid, Bobbi. I could have taken Petrovich out several times already.”
His harsh words sent a chill of fear slicing through her, and she stiffened even further. “Then I would have gladly put a bullet through your head. And I’m sure your man back there would have done the same.” She turned and nodded to the man sitting at the very top of the bleachers. “Unless, of course, you gave him instructions not to.”
Denny sighed and turned to face the man she had just mentioned. He gave a slight nod of his head, and the man stood up and walked away.
“I don’t need you to remind me how vulnerable Nikolai is, how easy a target he makes. So unless you’ve come up with a way to make him invisible, just shut up.” She felt Denny stiffen behind her, and she knew the vehemence in her voice had shocked him. It had shocked her a bit, too. Her gaze went back to the ice and she saw the players skating to the center, huddling around the coaches. “Practice is almost over. What do you want?”
“To drop off information.” Denny leaned over and dropped several folded sheets of paper next to her. “Ask your boyfriend if he knows anything about the Ruskov Orphanage. We got some intel that says he visited there immediately after signing the contract with TBL.”
Bobbi slipped the paper into her bag just as the whistle signaling the end of practice blew. She caught Nikolai’s gaze as he skated past and offered him a small smile even as his eyes darted behind her. A quick frown creased his face, but quickl
y disappeared.
“Intel? From eight years ago? Nothing like being on top of things.”
Denny stood, his movements stiff and jerky behind her. “Just ask him.”
She turned around and watched him leave, noticing the angry set to his shoulders and stiff carriage as he jumped down from the bottom bleacher and headed toward the door. She recognized the controlled anger thrumming through him and wondered what was causing it. Deciding she didn’t care, she climbed down from the seats and walked over to where the players had gathered to sign autographs.
Her shoulders tightened with tension and her senses heightened, her eyes darting all around. Denny’s man was back, surveying the scene from the upper bleachers. Seeing him, knowing there was an additional set of eyes searching, protecting, should have allowed her to relax but it didn’t.
She stepped closer to the small crowd, still standing off to the side, and watched Nikolai interact with the fans. He paid attention to any adults that approached him, but it was obvious that he was fonder of the kids. He laughed and joked with them, signed their souvenirs, gave them tips on how to play a better game. And he took his time with them. Never rushing them, letting them know that they had his full attention. She smiled as the last excited kid walked away, and knew without a doubt that Nikolai Petrovich was a fan favorite for very good reasons.
“You’re good with them,” she told him as he walked over to her and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “The kids.”
“They do not ask for much, and are easily pleased. It is easy to be good with them.”
“Not many people think that way, you know.” She fell into step with him as he headed down the hallway toward the locker room.
“I am not many people.”
She paused, looking up at him, her head tilted to the side. He stopped, one brow cocked in her direction as she studied him. “No, you’re not. Do you have any kids?” She wasn’t sure what made her ask the question, hadn’t even known she was going to ask it until it spilled from her lips. But now that she had asked, she found herself holding her breath, waiting, watching him.
A shadow crossed his face and he looked away, running his thumb across the blade of his stick as he shook his head. “No, I have no children. And my family…they are gone.”
Bobbi stepped out of the way to let several players pass, then stepped closer to Nikolai, resting her hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch. “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai looked at her, and her heart clenched at the sadness he let her see deep in his eyes. He blinked and shook his head, and that quickly the sadness was gone, replaced by a slight smile. “Do not be sorry, moe krasivejshee. Now I must go shower. You go wait in your grand office and I will find you, then we will go to our meeting.”
“Meeting?” Bobbi mentally reviewed the schedule for the day, then shook her head. “I don’t have any meeting down for today.”
“We are meeting with my agent. He called this morning, and I told him I would see him after practice.”
His agent? Anxiety swept over her, and she knew this could be a perfect opportunity to get more information. She nodded, then shook her head. “Nikolai, I’m supposed to be your personal assistant. Keeping your schedule straight is about the only thing I have to do. You should have let me know.”
“And I just did.” He gave her a quick kiss then nudged her gently. “Now go, and I will see you when I am not so smelly.”
She watched as he disappeared through the locker room doors, then turned and rushed down the hall to her closet. Nikolai didn’t take long to shower, which didn’t leave her much time to once again review the information Denny had given her in addition to preparing for the meeting with his shark of an agent.
Denny was certain there was a connection there, but she still hadn’t seen it. Was there really? Maybe meeting the agent would help. And if there was a connection…? She wasn’t sure yet how, but she was going to find out.
**
Bobbi was sick to her stomach and doing all she could not to show it as she sat back in the oversized chair and watched the scene in front of her. Nikolai had been given a multi-page contract to sign. He had barely been given any details, hadn’t asked any questions. He sat there, the contract on the shiny glass desk in front of him, and watched his agent with a broad, empty smile.
It was a great deal, Walter Jacobs had assured him in a smooth voice, all but dismissing her as soon as Nikolai introduced them. The endorsement was a lucrative one, the company was offering solid terms. All Nikolai had to do was wear a particular brand of skates for a few weeks and pose for some pictures while he was wearing them.
And, oh yeah, sign on the bottom line.
My God, Nikolai hadn’t even asked how much it was for!
She glanced at his agent, sitting smugly behind the massive chrome and glass desk, nestled in this oversized opulent office with a breathtaking view of the Inner Harbor. His suit and loafers were high-dollar Italian, his hands were manicured, and his complexion the result of regular facials. She’d bet any amount of money that he drove something flashy, expensive, and inappropriate.
Bobbi closed her eyes and pictured Nikolai’s row home, economically furnished, basic. She opened her eyes as he reached for the gold pen—real gold, of that she was certain—and held it between his strong, calloused fingers. He flipped to the last page of the contract and positioned the pen at the bottom line, putting the point against the crisp white sheet.
Bobbi shot from the chair.
“No!” She yanked the pen out of his hand and sat back down, clutching it tightly in front of her, her heart hammering in her chest. Walter Jacobs nearly jumped out of his own chair and lunged across the desk, his shock obvious before he stopped himself and sat back down. Nikolai merely looked at her, one brow raised in calm question.
“You do not like this, moe krasivejshee?” His voice was as casual as if he had been asking about the weather, while she was still shaking on the inside.
She shook her head, her fist still closed in a death grip around the pen. “No. No, I don’t.”
Nikolai leaned back in his chair, an amused smile on his face, the contract all but forgotten on the desk in front of him. “You…how you say…do not like these skates?”
Bobbi wanted to kick him, and shot him a look that let him know she was annoyed with the deepening Old Country act. “No. I…how you say…don’t care about these skates! What I care about is the contract.”
Nikolai quickly looked down, hiding his smile at her obvious sarcasm. Walter Jacobs, however, looked like he was close to having a massive coronary. His full face had the unhealthy glow of an overripe tomato, and his dark eyes bulged as he stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Bobbi truly wished he would keel over, right then and there.
“Now see here, Miss. This is a solid, lucrative agreement. I have been Mr. Petrovich’s agent for eight years, and only have his best interest at stake.”
Bobbi clenched her fists in her lap and refrained from lunging across the desk and tearing his lying lips right off his face. The conniving little bastard. But she couldn’t.
Because she didn’t know what she knew. Hell, she didn’t know anything. Not for certain. And there was nothing she could do. Not here, not now. She had already said and done too much, could have possibly risked everything with her careless, impulsive actions.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that as much as she wanted to scream and fight, it would accomplish absolutely nothing. She wasn’t supposed to know what she knew and if she wasn’t careful, she would raise suspicion.
Had already raised suspicion.
“I’m sorry.” She almost gagged on the apology as she opened her eyes and faced Jacobs. “I’m sure it is a good contract, but you never mentioned how much it was worth to Nikolai. It just makes me nervous when people sign things without discussing the specific finances.” She slid a meaningful look at Nikolai, willing him to understand her message.
“Moe krasivejshee, you are worried about me, no? Do not be. Mr. Jacobs has always taken care of me.”
Yeah, she just bet he had. Her heart sunk at the look on Nikolai’s face, at the façade of a smile on his lips, at the shadows in his eyes that he was trying so hard to hide from her. And she realized…he knew. Damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing! But why?
“Nikolai…”
He shook his head then faced his agent. “You will leave us, no? I wish to speak in private.”
Walter Jacobs muttered something she couldn’t hear, his impatience and annoyance clear as he stood and walked across his office. The door closed with a loud click, leaving them in silence.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nikolai let out a heavy sigh, then stood and crossed to her. He knelt on one knee in front of her, taking the pen from her hand and placing it on the desk. Then he held both of her hands in each of his, and brought them to his lips.
“My beautiful one, you look so sad. Do not be. There are things you do not understand, things I cannot tell you, but trust that I know what I am doing. Trust that this is what must be done.”
Bobbi’s stomach dropped at his words, spoken in whispered Russian. She wanted to ask him what he meant, what it was that had to be done. But she couldn’t. “I hate when you do that. You know that.”
He laughed, a soft sound of genuine humor, and kissed the knuckles of her hands once more. “I know you do, moj dosadnyj malen’kij bich.” His fingers tightened against hers, squeezing, then he brought her hands up and placed one on either side of his face. She felt his warm flesh against her palms, felt her skin tingle at the contact as he held her hands in place. He turned his head, kissing first one palm then the other, then slid her hands down to his chest, over his heart, and held them there. His eyes gazed deep into hers, searching.
“Do you trust me, my Bobbi?”
Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2) Page 8