THE RUSSIAN'S ACQUISTION

by Dani Collins

  “I can’t believe they arrested you!”

  “Why wouldn’t they? A crime had been committed.” He turned to the freezer to retrieve the bottle. “It was ruled self-defense and, supposedly, sealed because of my age.”

  Ever-deepening levels of dreadfulness rippled over her. A deliberately set fire. A narrow escape. Petrifying violence. Catastrophic loss. His life nearly taken. She never would have known him. The thought pushed tears into her eyes.

  And all at the hands of a man she had trusted and relied on. Bile and self-disgust rose to the back of her throat.

  Aleksy would never pick her. Not to live with him forever. Her awful connection to Victor would always be between them.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said with remorse, wishing the words weren’t so inadequate. “I had no idea Victor could do something so vile.” She took a deep swallow of the cocoa, seeking the numbing effect of the alcohol. The sweetness made her gag. She set it away, revolted.

  “What about what I’ve done?” A scowl of self-hatred ravaged his expression. “I’m no better than the paid assassin who killed my father.”

  “You were fighting for your life!”

  “I shouldn’t have fought at all. I got my father killed and destroyed my mother.”

  She shook her head. This was why he isolated himself. He thought he was some kind of monster. “You can’t punish yourself for a…mistake.”

  “A mistake that lasts forever.”

  “If you let it,” she asserted. “You can’t blame yourself, Aleksy. Victor brought about the tragedy by starting it, not you.”

  “Stop it.” He stepped forward, every muscle bulging in confrontation. “I saw how you looked at me when you realized what I’d done. I know what you really think of me.”

  “No,” she cried, assailed by guilt. “I was in shock from something completely unexpected. I didn’t know what to believe—”

  “How could it be unexpected? It’s right here!” he railed, pointing at his scar. “From the first moment anyone sees me, they know what kind of man I am. You should have run far and fast the first day we met.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance, did you?” she shot back, angry at his rebuke.

  “No,” he agreed with a bitter bark of laughter. “No, I didn’t, but that’s the kind of man I am.” Snatching up bottle and glass, he elbowed his way out of the kitchen into the lounge.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’M NOT RUNNING now, am I?” Clair challenged behind him, barreling through the door on his heels.

  Aleksy halted, teeth clenching as he searched for patience. Did she not realize his control was hanging by a thread? Without turning back to her, he guessed harshly, “Because you don’t know where to go? Call Lazlo. He’ll arrange a car and hotel.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Aleksy Dmitriev!”

  Funny, he was terrified of her. Setting down the bottle and glass with deliberation, he turned and said, “You should be.”

  “Why? Are you going to hurt me? Kill me?”

  He jerked his face to the side, blind to all but splashes of color in his field of vision while he dealt with the sense of being rent open. No, he could never harm her, but he couldn’t have her poking heedlessly into his old wounds either.

  “Back off, Clair.”

  “You’re not a monster, Aleksy,” she said more gently. “You’re generous and compassionate and honorable.”

  “What are you trying to do? Make it okay in your head that you ever let me touch you? I took a virgin for a mistress. I bought you clothes and gave you money for your charity because I wanted to have sex with you.”

  Her breath caught as if she’d taken a stiletto to the lung. “That’s not true,” she gasped. “It wasn’t just sex. Was it?”

  He mentally stripped her fleece vest, insulating V-neck and loose jeans, imagining her naked skin catching the glow off the fire, her nipples pulled into dark, shiny points by his mouth, her thighs relaxing open under his hand. “Very good sex,” he ground out, dying because he’d never have her like that again.

  “Then why are you trying to take a bottle to bed instead of me?” she goaded, angry hurt pouring a wild flush into her cheeks. She had the gall to charge close enough to stand toe to toe with him, breath chocolate-sweet and as innocent-smelling as the rest of her. “You could be sugarcoating your past and trying to seduce me right now. You know you don’t have to try very hard, so why don’t you?”

  His skin tightened and her upper arms were in his flexing hands before he could stop himself. Her slender muscles always shot a warning through him. Take care. The protective instinct couldn’t be overridden even when he was feeling so threatened he wanted to shake the daylights out of her.

  “Don’t think I won’t give it a shot,” he growled. “I’m not in a frame of mind to stop either.”

  She only dared him with a tiny hitch of her chin.

  He searched for vestiges of fear in her expression but wound up homing in on her lips. A tiny shudder quaked through her as temptation crackled in the air.

  The weight of his head weakened his neck. “Stop me,” he ordered dimly, speaking against the damp, ripe plum of her mouth.

  He almost had her. She almost said it. He felt her begin to shape the word, sensed her tongue tucking behind her teeth. If she’d said no, for any reason, he would have made himself stop.

  Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her open mouth to his.

  She smelled of snow and chocolate and vodka, sweet and hot. And he was hurting. His deepest shame was never meant to be on display like this. He felt flayed to pieces by today’s revelations. By her reaction. But when he drew her into him, the pain subsided. The tattered edges of his soul came together and began to mend.

  She moaned softly, igniting him. With one step, he had her back against the wall, her neck and the curve of her hip filling his hands, her delicate softness cushioning all his hard angles. Her fingers wove into his hair, pulling him into a kiss he couldn’t have ended if the house had fallen down around them. Her tongue stroked his, her throat straining as she reached for the same oblivion he was in. With a growl, he fumbled the fly of her jeans, pushing them down, lifting her as she kicked free and bracing her against the wall so she could lace her legs around him. He needed to be inside her. Needed her.

  As he tried to free himself, her fists clenched in his hair, pulling his scalp tight as she dragged him back from the kiss enough to gasp, “Condom?”

  It wasn’t no, but it made him hesitate. He distantly put together that he was about to risk a pregnancy. He couldn’t put a baby in her. Him, with his tainted soul.

  The deepest agony filled him as he carefully pushed her legs off him and supported her until she stood. Confusion broke through her flush of arousal. “What’s wrong?”

  “Leave me alone, Clair.” He walked outside where the gathering darkness, frozen and harsh, matched what was inside him.

  * * *

  His rejection devastated her, but, Clair realized, she’d hurt him first.

  The knowledge stunned her, hovering like a dark cloud as she took a long bath and tried to sleep. She’d always been the one hurt, always taking it to heart when she was overlooked or misjudged or found wanting. To her knowledge she’d never delivered anything but mild disappointment when she declined a date. The fact that she’d penetrated Aleksy’s hard shell was as shocking to her as how deeply she’d stabbed him behind it.

  She stared into the dark, her mind unable to stop replaying those few minutes in Moscow when she’d learned about his past. I saw how you looked. I know what you think of me. She had let him down when he’d already been feeling humiliated by the uncovering of his deepest pain before the entire world.

  Maybe she should have read more into his scar from the very beginning, but even though he was for
midable and ruthless, she’d only ever seen that blaze as an injury, never a warning of cruelty or aggression. She’d instinctively understood it was the result of deep pain.

  And maybe if they had more going on than sex between them, she might have had more immediate trust! She was nothing to him but his latest mistress, though. He’d made that clear while she was performing her little exercise in proving he had honor.

  And she had certainly failed to think that through! She clenched her eyes shut, still throbbing with heat between her thighs while the rest of her ached with wounded disappointment and fear. Had honor stopped him or did he not want her anymore? He’d seemed as excited as she was, only stopping because she’d reminded him about birth control. She’d said it because she couldn’t bear to trap him into something he didn’t want. If they ever married, she wanted—

  Clair sat up, instantly shaky and clammy all over. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t want to marry anyone.

  Did she?

  Yes! She curled into a ball, trying to contain the longing that exploded in her like a supernova. Years of denial were blown into fragments as, within seconds, a brilliant future unfolded in her mind: her with Aleksy and children in this house full of affection and laughter and love.

  She was falling in love with him and it made knowing he only felt desire—maybe not even that anymore—unbearable. Her mind shot back to Paris and his, I’m not the marrying kind. She yearned to believe that was just the self-inflicted punishment he’d hinted at in the kitchen tonight, but even if it was, there was no guarantee he’d ever be interested in marrying her. Every solicitous, tender moment he’d shown her had been a prelude to sex. Because he wanted her body, not her. Never her.

  With an angry sob, she threw herself back onto the pillows, ordering her longing back into its box, but it was futile. The fantasies continued.

  Eventually she quit tossing and turning, sleeping hard from her journey through such taxing emotions and waking to a brilliant day. Coffee was already made when she entered the kitchen and Aleksy’s boots and jacket were missing. A quick glance out the window and she spotted him shoveling the snow off the drive.

  When he wasn’t in his office over the next few days, talking and talking in every language he knew, that’s where he was, outside in the cold. She tried to stay busy preparing the final details for the launch of Brighter Days, but Aleksy filled her mind. Every time she saw him, he looked exhausted, as though he was barely sleeping. The media demands were obviously getting to him. She only wished there was something she could do, but he didn’t seem to want to share—which was one more layer on the cake of hurt she was carrying inside her chest.

  Clair wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. Then her mobile rang unexpectedly. It was Lazlo.

  Startled to hear him identify himself, she asked the only sensible question that could explain his ringing her number. “Are you looking for Aleksy? He’s upstairs. I was just going to ask him what he’d like for lunch.”

  “Please don’t disturb him. He’s doing a live Web conference off his laptop. No, I’m calling for you, Ms. Daniels. I want to discuss the press release on your contribution to our investigation.”

  “I haven’t contributed anything,” she broke in.

  A significant pause; then, “As it happens, the calendar details you kept of Victor Van Eych’s appointments proved very helpful.”

  “Oh.” Clair turned to sit on the stairs.

  “We’ll be stating that even though you had no knowledge of the misappropriation of investor funds, it was thought you could be in danger from associates who might have feared that you did. This is why, despite any appearances otherwise, you have been the platonic guest of Aleksy Dmitriev since the takeover.”

  Clair was glad she was sitting. Her blood seemed to drain out of her head, leaving her feeling empty as everything vital in her slithered away.

  “Ms. Daniels?” Lazlo’s voice came from a long way away.

  “Yes, I’m here. Is that what we’re stating?” she said, straining not to sound shrill.

  “It neutralizes speculation and affords you more privacy in the future.”

  “When I’m on my own, you mean.”

  “Exactly,” he said without hesitation. “Please respond to any questions or requests for interviews that you aren’t at liberty to divulge anything until it has all gone through the courts.”

  Clair doubled forward, glad she could hear the rumble of Aleksy’s voice behind closed doors and knew he wasn’t likely to see her like this.

  “When do I leave?” she asked tightly.

  “To return to London? After the interview today, the worst of the media storm should be over. Everything is in place for when you’re ready.”

  By “everything” she supposed he meant a flat, a job and fifty thousand pounds. Blood returned to her cheeks with hot pressure, sharp with the sting of degradation. Of not even being Aleksy’s mistress anymore.

  “Ms. Daniels? Did you have a comment?”

  “None,” she choked.

  “A perfect response.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALEKSY EMERGED FROM his office with a hole in his belly and an even deeper hunger to see Clair. Her quiet, thoughtful nature had been his salvation through this week of scrutiny, painful questions and trial by public opinion. Each time his mind had been drained of his last wit and his defenses battered to nothing, she’d rescued him by simply being here with fresh-baked cookies, humming to old rock tunes or napping in front of the fire.

  He’d offered to bring someone in to cook and clean, but Clair had said she didn’t mind doing it and he’d been grateful. He didn’t want anyone around. He’d been prepared to send her away, had requested Lazlo to put everything in place for her return to London. He’d thought he wanted to be alone to lick his wounds, but since he didn’t have to hide anything from Clair—

  That thought brought him up short halfway into the kitchen.

  Clair knew his worst secret and she was still here. Through the course of this week, everyone else’s reaction had ceased to matter because this one woman, in her tough little way, had skipped the platitudes and supported him with her steady, warm presence in his home.

  His soul, locked in a paroxysm of agony for so long, began to unbend, sighing at the release, burning with the return of feeling. It made him wince as he looked at the table set for two. Another stunning realization struck: he was taking her for granted.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning to catch his scowl.

  “Nothing.” He shook off his dismay, thinking, I might ask you the same.

  Clair’s hair was loose and she was doing her best to hide behind it as she fussed with putting out salad and hot sandwiches. The little he could see of her face was pale, her lip caught between her teeth, her tension visible in the way she moved.

  “You must be bored stiff, locked away like this,” he surmised. “Would you like to go into the city for dinner?”

  It was an impulsive offer, something he didn’t think through, and it surprised her. A sleek decorative bottle full of oil and vinegar dropped from her hand, shattering on the tiled floor. Clair muttered a word her prim lips didn’t usually form.

  “Stand back,” he said, noting her socked feet. “I’ll do it.”

  A few minutes later they sat down to eat. She’d mixed fresh dressing into a measuring cup but was still out of sorts. “I liked that bottle,” she groused.

  “It can be replaced, Clair.” He didn’t understand why that made her jaw set and her eyes grow bright. “Look, I appreciate all you’ve done this week,” he tried. “When I brought you here, it wasn’t with the intention you’d housekeep for me. I just wanted you out of the line of fire.”

  She stared for a moment, thoughts contained behind her slightly flushed cheeks and sober express
ion. “Throwing your jeans into the laundry with mine wasn’t exactly a strain. How is…everything?”

  Yet again he appreciated the way she took care to probe gently. Many times she’d let him get by with a grumbled “Fine.” He had the strongest urge to lean across, brush her hair back from her cheeks and kiss her.

  He hadn’t touched her since that first evening when he’d almost taken her in the lounge. In truth, he hadn’t trusted himself. His emotions had been all over the place and he’d still been hurting from her initial reaction and angry with her later one. He had needed to shove the entire world away while he dealt with old pain and the lurid interest in his past.

  Now he was overwhelmed with a sense of indebtedness along with a desire to be close to one person: Clair. As close as physically possible. He wanted to make love to her, tenderly and thoroughly.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” she said, dabbing a fingertip onto a fallen sesame seed and touching it to her tongue.

  Her words snapped him back to the kitchen, but his libido remained transfixed on the action of her tongue, the press of her lips, the faltering curiosity in her gaze as she looked at him.

  He didn’t disguise the heat rising in him. When she saw it, a flush of desire blossomed on her cheeks, but her eyebrows came together in confusion. She skittered her gaze away and held herself still, not rejecting him, but not screaming with receptiveness either.

  Sweat broke out on his brow.

  In the space of a few minutes, he’d convinced himself that she’d merely been waiting for him to warm up to her again. She was here, wasn’t she? But he hadn’t given her much choice in the matter. At any time, as she’d ferociously pointed out the other day. Would she even have become his mistress without his high-pressure tactics?

  His center of surety, slowly coming back online after this horrific week, backslid a notch. With aggressive determination he leapt to thoughts of how he might continue buying her affections, but that route was distasteful now. He pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, answering her because he didn’t know what else to do.