THE RUSSIAN'S ACQUISTION

by Dani Collins

  “How old were you when—?”

  “Four.” She hid her flinch with a shrug, steeling her spine. This was costing her, he could see it, but she said without inflection, “Car crash. I had a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. They died instantly.”

  “Why does that make you so defensive?” He had an urge to take her in his arms, but that wasn’t who he was. He didn’t coddle, but he still found himself trying to reassure her. “Being an orphan isn’t a crime. I’m one.”

  “You lost both your parents? Not just your father?” Her somber blue eyes softened with empathy, threatening to pull things out of him he didn’t want to release. “What happened? How old were you?”

  He was instantly sorry he’d mentioned it. “Fourteen when I lost my father. My mother lived until I was twenty. I suppose I wasn’t technically orphaned.” He glanced away, deliberately not addressing how his father had died. “I’m only saying there’s no shame in not having parents who are still alive. It’s hardly something you can help.”

  The irony of his assurance twisted inside him. He suffered deep shame over his father’s death and the fact that he’d never been able to provide properly for his mother. He lived daily with the anguished guilt that even if his mother had survived to live as he did now, it wouldn’t have cured the broken heart that had been the real cause of her withering away.

  Suppressing the agonizing memories, he focused on Clair’s circumstance instead, observing, “Four years old is still young enough to be adopted.”

  Tendons rose in taut lines against her throat as she said with stunned hurt, “That wasn’t really in my control, was it?”

  He might as well have kicked a puppy. He wished he could take it back, but the damage was done. She was pulling herself inward, composing herself into the untouchable woman he had seen several times now. Her skin was incredibly thin, he realized. He’d bruised her without even knowing he could do so. The way she mentally distanced herself caused an unexpected gap of agitation to open beneath his feet.

  He moved forward, taking her arms in a light grip, as if he could prevent her retreat into herself.

  She stiffened and her hands came up to his chest. He read the same conflicting signals of resistance and subtle, sensual melting that he’d felt in her earlier in his apartment. She liked his touch but was trying to shield herself at the same time, something he understood all too well, but she didn’t have to fear him on this.

  “You’re right, of course,” he murmured, experimenting with a light massage up and down her arms. “I shouldn’t have said that. Where did you live, then? An orphanage?”

  “Yes.” He felt a quiver go through her, one she suppressed as she said with quiet dignity, “The home was the only real one I had. It was stable and I needed that after being in foster situations for the first few years. That’s why I’m trying to ensure that it has enough funding to stay open, but I don’t need the donation from Grigori. The amount you’ve promised is so much more than Victor offered that I can keep them going and actually support expansion. Tell Grigori whatever you like. I won’t bring it up again. I’ll just tell people we met in London and leave it at that.” She turned her face away, lips tight.

  He had dismissed her charity as a ruse when she first mentioned it, imagining that at best it was the illusion of a bleeding-heart idealist incapable of solving real problems, but the full impact of it being genuine continued to jar through him. She wasn’t a gold digger; she was a mother bear fighting to protect children.

  The knowledge sliced a fresh cut of ignominy through him, but he ignored it, too caught up in trying to understand her.

  “You might have given me some indication,” he admonished. “Why let me believe your motivations were shallow?”

  “What do you care what motivates me? This isn’t the sort of relationship where we talk about our scars, visible or otherwise, is it?” she challenged, pupils contracted with wounded pride.

  A knot of complex emotions pulled his gut tight.

  “No,” he agreed. His hands unconsciously tightened on her arms.

  “Good. Because I don’t want you in my h-head,” she said shakily, but he heard the underlying hurt.

  The constant rejection in her life had made her understandably wary of intimacy, Aleksy guessed, but he couldn’t stand that chilly shell she was trying to recover. She wasn’t just in his head; she was under his skin so deep he could barely breathe without feeling her. Physical intimacy was the salvation for both of them, he told himself.

  “How about your body?” he murmured, pulling her hips into a delicate crash against the erection that had rarely subsided since he’d met her. Sex seemed the only way to get past her shields, and he would use it, now, before she’d locked her barriers into place. “Do you want me inside you?”

  She started with surprise and drew a sharp breath, face flooding with a sexual blush. “I— Well, y-yes. I mean, that’s what we’ve agreed, isn’t it? Um.” Her words caught and faded into a husky tone of arousal. “Un—um, uncomplicated and…” She licked her lips nervously and the play of her tongue was almost a visceral stroke up his spine.

  Simple. Practical. Physical.

  He tried to hang on to the words as he backed her toward the divan, the need in him, once acknowledged and released, so intense his muscles began to shake. Every cell in his body ached for the pleasure she promised, but there was a primordial aspect to it that he refused to examine too closely. He wanted more from her than sexual accommodation. He wanted her to give herself to him because she wanted to, not for any orphaned children. He wanted her as ensnared by this wild passion as he was.

  He levered her slight body onto the cushions and lowered himself to cover her.

  Clair released a helpless whimper as Aleksy’s hot mouth touched the racing pulse in her throat. Her overwhelmed senses took in the painted ceiling and the music beyond the doors. Had he locked any of them? The back of the divan offered a bit of protection if someone walked in but not much.

  “Aleksy,” she choked, voice thick with the conflict of wanting him so instantly she was almost willing to risk discovery and holding back because she was upset. All her internal guards were shattered and in bad need of repair. She should wait until she had a better hold of herself, but he was strangely reassuring in the way he caged her beneath him without crushing her. The way he trailed his lips across her bare shoulder, pausing to drink in the scent of her skin.

  “I want everything you’ll give me.” The statement spurred a light-headed rush, one that nearly lifted her off the divan as he slid his finger under the diagonal edge of her bodice to reveal her breast.

  His mouth found the tip and her mind exploded. His urgent demand was as exciting as his mastery, causing a thrilling flood of heat into her extremities. She wove her fingers into his hair, making him lift his head. She was desperate to own his mouth but too shy to say it.

  Her body spoke for her, knee bending to bracket him into the space between her legs. He responded by stroking her ankle, her calf, her thigh. With their eyes locked in ever-intensifying connection, he climbed his hand beneath the skirt of her gown until he touched her so intimately she had to close her eyes.

  That only made her excruciatingly aware of the deliberate way he tantalized her. She lodged the back of her hand against her open mouth, muffling the cry of pleasure that escaped as he caressed and teased, making her long for more—

  “Oh!” He pressed into her wet core and she clenched, surprising herself with an unexpected orgasm that squeezed her eyes shut and rocked her entire body. Jagged moans refused to be suffocated.

  “I’m sorry! I’m so embarrassed,” she said into the paneled back of the divan, almost sobbing as he lifted her to strip her undies away.

  “Don’t be,” he commanded, his voice thick and fierce. He rose over her, his penetration happening at the same time he too
k her mouth in a kiss that captured her deep groan of relief.

  It was better than the first time. All sweetness as he filled her and paused, giving her a moment to accommodate his thick, hot girth. She grasped at him, certain there could be nothing better than this first deep thrust to alleviate the acute need.

  Then he moved and the pleasure storm swept through her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALEKSY SHIFTED, ROLLING onto his back, snapping Clair out of her deep sleep.

  Her naked back reacted to the loss of his heat like the cool, raw flesh under a bandage. She fought a foreign desire to turn and burrow into his warm strength.

  Smoothing her hair from her eyes, she let her gaze find shapes in the barely discernible pattern of the wallpaper, trying to make sense of what was happening to her. She’d been so angry, so hurt at being misjudged, and positively crushed at his remark about being adoptable. Did he think she hadn’t spent her entire childhood waiting for new parents? For someone to want her?

  He didn’t care about her struggles or pain—he’d more or less admitted it when she challenged him. He only wanted sex from her. That’s all this affair was, and it should have turned her off, should have kept her from making love in public at the very least, but his touch had erased all the hurts. She’d forgotten there was such a thing as loneliness.

  And the sense of connection had inexplicably remained, even when he’d wryly apologized for being unprepared with a condom and dried her belly with his handkerchief. It should have been a horribly awkward moment, but she’d found herself giggling as if they shared a secret. His tender kiss had tasted like a promise as he solicitously straightened her disarranged clothing and shielded her from the eyes of the wait staff while they slipped out of the theater, flushed and pinned together.

  The drive had been a blur. She’d stared out the window without seeing anything, mind reeling, belly still quaking, skin sensitized with longing. There’d been no misgivings, just a glow of joy like an ember inside her.

  She hadn’t recognized the feeling as a state of sustained desire, but when he’d drawn her to him before their shoes and coats were off, she’d met his kiss with an enthusiasm that had made him groan. He’d scooped her into the cradle of his arms and carried her to this bed. She hadn’t given one thought to how long she’d stay here, only that she needed to be naked with him, all of her hurts and worries forgotten.

  She very much feared she was losing herself, and that was bad.

  Nevertheless, when his big body jerked behind her, her pulse leapt as if they were connected by invisible, electric wires. They’d spent a long time getting to know each other’s body. She’d even let him slide down her to arouse her so selflessly she’d almost died, but oh, the deliciousness of that near-death experience. When he’d risen to thrust into her, they’d locked themselves into a writhing knot of ecstasy. She’d been so exhausted and replete after their final, shuddering culmination that she’d fallen asleep without making a conscious decision to stay in his bed.

  She should leave now that she’d woken, but she was reluctant, especially when he crooked his leg against hers and renewed desire tingled through her. Would he wake and love her again? Who knew she could be this insatiable?

  He muttered something in Russian.

  Drawn by curiosity, she rolled to face him and tried to read his features in the dark. His eyebrows were pulled together in a grim line, his jaw clenched. His long body was one taut muscle weighing down the mattress. More utterances pushed through grinding teeth.

  A nightmare? Reaching out with instinctive compassion, she lightly touched the tensed muscles of his neck, thumb accidentally lining up with the ridge of his scar on his chin. “Aleksy.”

  He clamped a swift hand around her wrist, the strength of his grip painful enough to make her cry his name again in a warning.

  With a jolt he woke, but his grip stayed locked tight. “Clair.” He sounded…fraught, his tone demanding she answer.

  “Yes, it’s me.” She tried to rotate her arm and ease his unbreakable hold. “Where were you?”

  He drew a shaken breath, letting his fingers loosen, then just as quickly caught her arm again, closing around her fine bones, exploring lightly for damage. “Did I bruise you? I’ll get ice.” He released her and started to leave the bed.

  “No, I’m fine.” She dropped a staying palm on his chest, startled to find it soaked with perspiration. “You’re sweating. Do you have nightmares often?”

  “Never,” he replied shortly, dragging the corner of the sheet over himself, dislodging her touch as he dried himself.

  Smarting from his brush-off, she curled her fist into the blankets and drew them up over her chest. “Maybe it was my being here. I was just leaving, so…” She trailed off.

  He didn’t say anything.

  She waited too long. Nausea clenched in her stomach as she realized he wasn’t going to protest and ask her to stay. Aghast at herself for making the mistake of fishing for signs she was needed—or at least not unwanted—she forced her stiff limbs to ease toward the edge of the bed. Funny how she had spent years conquering feelings of bereft abandonment, learning never to set herself up for it, yet the tsunami of worthlessness could sweep over her as fresh and coldly devastating as ever.

  This was exactly why she avoided intimacy. He was too far inside her if he could bring her to the brink of anguished rejection this easily. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Years of practice allowed her to swallow the lump of unshed tears trying to lodge itself against the back of her throat. She wouldn’t cry, refused to. She found her way down the hall to the spare room and crawled into the icy bed with dry eyes, telling herself the ache clawing at her insides was for Aleksy.

  What would haunt him so badly he’d have nightmares? She’d been distracted by his misjudgment of her and the foundation earlier, but he’d said Grigori had given him his first job after his father was killed. He had shut down and diverted her by asking about her own history, but she had a feeling the touchy subject of his scar was related. The way he’d just called her name as if he’d been frightened for her stayed with her, filling her with an urge to go back and ask him about it. Offer comfort.

  Rolling onto her back, she flung an arm over her eyes and reminded herself not to give or ask too much. This relationship was temporary and if she got any more emotionally involved with Aleksy, she’d be too deeply attached when it ended. Look how she was reacting to being separated by just a wall. She didn’t want her heart broken when half a world stood between them.

  Better to stay exactly where she would spend the rest of her life: alone.

  * * *

  Aleksy stared unseeingly at the frozen river, still deeply perturbed by his nightmare. He hadn’t had one since his mother was alive, yet the dream and the memory it contained had ambushed him with deadly accuracy.

  Except this time, when he’d heard his name, Clair’s voice had called it and torment had nearly ripped open his chest.

  Soft footsteps padded on the tiles behind him. Not the bustle of his housekeeper and he felt Clair’s presence like a tangible force anyway. Her sexuality radiated into him, synchronizing to his own. He wanted to touch her with the immediacy that swept through him every time he was near her.

  He hesitated to turn, though, dreading what he might see. He had meant to be gone by now, but his driver was caught in one of Moscow’s world-famous traffic jams, so he was loitering in his own foyer, mind jammed with unwanted introspection. When he pivoted, he caught her hovering indecisively, showered and dressed, hair glittering like sunlight in icicles. She took in his suit and tie beneath his open overcoat, then the briefcase on the floor. Her eyes were underlined with bruised half circles. No sleep either? Or something else?

  Apprehension made his voice unintentionally severe. “Good morning.”

  “Good
morning,” she answered. Her cloak of composure slid firmly into place, hiding anything she might have betrayed.

  He felt his mouth twist in dismay, but really, it was for the best. He’d saturated himself in her last night, allowing his own well-built defenses to waver so he could draw her in as tightly as possible, but apparently letting down his guard had allowed his subconscious to come out of hiding. That was so disturbing he didn’t know what else to do but run.

  “You’re going out?” she asked without emotion, making it impossible to tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Her remoteness renewed the fear that had been creeping through him since the early hours. Had he said something revealing in his sleep? Was that why she’d left him for the bed down the hall?

  “I’m needed at the office.” He scowled at the briefcase he’d filled like a criminal fleeing the country, as if putting off facing her would change anything. There was no changing what she thought of him, only the disclosure of what that might be. “I didn’t mean to disturb you last night.” He watched her closely, trying to discern what was going on.

  “It’s fine.” Her lightness sounded forced. “I needed to go to my own bed anyway.”

  He bit back a reflexive Why? Her insistence on sleeping apart from him annoyed him and he didn’t understand the reaction. He usually gave his women separate apartments and left them in the middle of the night, but even that first night when he’d been in a state of utter turmoil, there was something satisfying in knowing Clair was in his bed. He’d looked in on her more than once, baffled by the spell she’d cast over him, but pleased with her presence.

  He was a possessive man with possessive urges, he supposed, trying to rationalize how out of sorts he was. But this exaggerated reaction made him more determined than ever to ensure that this arrangement stayed on clearly defined footings. She had a place in his life and it was a narrow one.