by Risk, Mona
To Love A Hero
(International Romance Series)
Contemporary Romance
by
Mona Risk
Praise for To Love A Hero...
Two Lips Review: “Mona Risk tells a poignant yet beautiful and sweet story of two people falling in love, who must fight their attraction… This is a story readers will enjoy.”
Review Your Book: “Mona Risk is a talented author. She knows how to weave intrigue and romance into her story. Fans of romance and suspense will enjoy To Love A Hero.”
Simply Romance Review: Outstanding Read. “Mona Risk's To Love A Hero is a wonderful love story complete with deception, conceit, stubbornness and the love of a lifetime for two people who couldn't be more different. Ms. Risk hits a homerun with this story.”
Publishers Weekly, Saturday Blurb Special, Beyond her Book Blog. “The sense of the unfamiliar makes the story exotic, and a subtle tension was maintained with the trace of fear for an unknown culture and its politics… I enjoyed the story a lot.”
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To Love A Hero
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To Love A Hero, Copyright June 2013 - Mona Risk
Kindle Edition, License Notes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To Love A Hero
October 1994
Chapter One
“Welcome to Minsk International Airport,” the loudspeaker announced as the aircraft bounced on the runway before coming to a halt.
Cecile Lornier rubbed her ringless finger, her spirit buoyant with triumph. After a twelve-hour flight, she’d made it to Belarus. In spite of her ex-fiancé’s dirty dealing. For the millionth time, she cursed Rob Spenser, the worthless creep who’d snatched her promotion, almost thwarted her recent international assignment, and gifted her with a bleeding ulcer.
Her nose pressed against the plane window for a first look at the remote little country, located south of Russia. Not much to see. But the gloomy sight of gray sky, barren trees and drizzling rain couldn’t dim the joy that exploded in her heart.
With a sigh of relief, she hung her purse on her arm and collected her hand luggage to exit the plane. Dragging her carry-on suitcases, she proceeded up the bumpy ramp of the jetway boarding bridge.
A group of people clustered in front of a sign affixed on the sidewall. Russian? Belarusian? Not that it made a difference. Unable to decipher the foreign script, Cecile shrugged and followed the line of passengers through the arrival gate, toward an escalator.
As if this rickety machine could be called a mechanical escalator. Uneven steps jolted with a grinding noise, jerked and shuddered downward. Cecile scanned the area for an elevator or stairway. There were none in sight. Was she expected to negotiate this crooked roller coaster with her luggage in hand?
Apparently, yes. The passengers were carefully holding the railing, men helping their female companions and children as they went down. She eyed the rattletrap contraption—her first taste of Belarusian obsolete technology. This was exactly why her company had been chosen to help modernize the local environmental laboratory.
An officer dressed in khaki uniform and black visor cap passed her. Fascinated by his authoritative stance, Cecile contemplated his large back and decorated epaulets. He was tall and solid. The wobbly escalator didn’t seem to bother him but then he didn’t have two suitcases hindering his movements.
Cecile bit her lip, imagining the sneer on Rob’s face if he could see her now, hesitating so long in front of the first step of her mission. Literally the very first step. She shifted her two carry-ons to her left hand and followed the officer onto the wobbly stairway, hoping for the best.
Wishful thinking. Her short heel caught between the steps of the damned escalator and a panicked hiss escaped her locked jaws.
“Welcome to Minsk…” the airport speaker roared in broken English.
Gripping the railing for dear life, she let her luggage slip out of her hand as she pitched forward.
A sturdy back blocked her fall. The officer turned and circled her waist with brawny arms, welding her to his rock-hard frame. She stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing, until they reached the end of the escalator and he lowered her to stable ground.
Her head still pillowed against the muscular chest, Cecile inhaled the scent of soap and spicy cologne. She was alive all right and oddly secure in this stranger’s arms.
He said something in his native language. She tilted her head back. Her gaze collided with deep blue eyes fringed by long, black lashes. Still floating in a peculiar haze, Cecile squirmed to free herself. A gasp for air cleared her head. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked.
The striking officer stared at her, a glint of interest under the scowling eyebrows. “Americanka?” His baritone voice echoed against the metallic escalator’s crunch. “Here, let me help you.” He cupped her elbow. “Can you walk? Are you hurt?” he asked in fluent but accented English.
Leaning on his arm, she took two steps and exhaled with relief. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Her ankles felt sore, her right shoulder hurt and her breasts ached from the impact, but she was still in one piece. Breathing in uneven gulps, she eased from the officer’s supportive arm.
He waved to the escalator. “People have to be careful. It needs repair. There was a sign.”
“The sign? Oh, is that what it said?” Cecile patted her purse with regret. The little Russian-English dictionary was right there.
“Unfortunately, fixing the airport escalator is not on our government’s priority list and there is no lift at the gate.” A curious smile replaced his scowl. “Is it your first visit to Belarus?”
“Yes. A business trip.” She wasn’t ready to stay here and converse with someone she’d never met before. Disoriented, she scanned the walls in the confined area for an arrow or an indication leading to baggage claim.
People kept coming down the escalator and pushing past her but there was no sign of John Gordon. The Contract Director from the Chemical Division of the Department of Defense (CDDD) had traveled in business class and disembarked before her. Obviously, the selfish oaf hadn’t bothered to wait for her.
The officer’s eyebrows shot up in an incredulous arch as he appraised her. “Are you traveling alone?”
Scanning the six-foot plus, movie star-type figure, she rubbed a sweaty palm against her raincoat. “No. My companion has already exited the plane.”
Damn it, where was the welcoming committee John had promised? And where had he gone? “I appreciate your help, sir. I can manage now.” She extended a hand to grab the two carry-ons he’d collected for her.
A knowing smile curved his mouth as he shook his head. “Let me help you to the passport control. This way,” he instructed as he offered her his left arm for support.
Should she accept the unspoken invitation?
Glancing at the officer’s sharp profile, she hesitated for a fraction of a second. John had raved about the quaint charm of Belarus a
nd the affability of its residents. Cecile couldn’t reject the courteous gesture without being rude. Ignoring the pinch of angst in her stomach, she curled her fingers on the sleeve at his elbow. His hard biceps contracted under her hand. Uncomfortable warmth spread through her. She stiffened but suppressed the urge to pull back.
He led her into an adjacent room where a musty smell mingled with the odor of strong tobacco. She pinched her lips and wrinkled her nose in distaste. The room bustled with passengers in long coats and round fur hats. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she saw John emerge from a dark corner. He swayed his portly frame toward her.
Cecile pulled her hand from the officer’s arm and waved. “For heaven’s sake, where did you rush to? Couldn’t you have waited for me?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “You always manage well enough on your own.”
“Not this time.” She rolled her eyes and rubbed her aching hip. “The broken escalator at the arrival gate threw me down and this gentleman—”
“General Fedorin,” John exclaimed with a bright smile and pumped the officer’s hand. “I didn’t realize we were all on the same plane. It looks like you’ve already met Dr. Cecile Lornier.”
The General? Oh, God. She had literally started her assignment on the wrong foot. Her throat went dry with embarrassment.
“Dr…Lornier?” Shock spread over the general’s face.
“Yes, General.” John nodded. “Dr. Cecile Lornier, the Program Manager of your environmental chemical contract. I saw you coming in together and assumed you’d met.” John turned toward her. His bushy brows shot up. “Cecile, you have met General Fedorin, haven’t you?”
Cecile winced. “Er…in a way. He’s the gentleman who saved my neck when I stumbled down the escalator.” And he was the same Major General Sergei Fedorin who had signed her contract—the man she’d planned to impress with her professionalism.
The officer’s eyes mirrored her amazement. He gave her an unsettling half-smile followed with a bow. “I am honored, Dr. Lornier. Welcome to Belarus.”
She needed to recover fast and respond to the polite greeting. Wetting her lips, she made an effort to control her uneven breathing. “General, thank you for your help.” Not a brilliant sentence but the exchange of platitudes was better than awkward silence.
“I am glad I was able to prevent an accident. But someone from our Ministry of Defense should have met you at the arrival gate.” The general scanned the hall and scowled.
“The last letter I received said a Colonel Roussov would greet us at the customs control.” John rummaged through his coat pocket and extracted an envelope he quickly perused.
“Colonel Roussov? I see.” The general’s eyebrows rose. Annoyance flickered on his face, before he rapidly concealed it under a smile. “In that case, follow me.”
He led them to a larger hall where passengers were already lined up, their passports in hand. Around them, people stepped aside and nodded with respect. Some women ogled their handsome host and smiled. When Cecile moved toward the line, the general stopped her. “No, please. You are an official guest in our country. Here is Colonel Roussov to help you.” The general signaled to a middle-aged officer standing next to the back wall, smoking a cigarette while surveying the passengers.
The newcomer was a stocky man with a dark mustache. Silver hair crowned his balding head. He threw his cigarette on the floor and ground it out with a heavy foot, then strode toward them and exchanged a military salute with the general. Cecile couldn’t tell if they spoke Russian or Belarusian but their dry tone and curt sentences didn’t sound like an exchange of niceties.
She took a step back and glanced at John. He winked and bent toward her, whispering, “There doesn’t seem to be any love lost between these two.”
“Have you met the colonel before?”
“Once. We hardly exchanged two sentences.”
The general glanced up as if he’d just remembered her presence. “Dr. Lornier, may I introduce Colonel Roussov?”
The colonel’s gaze roamed over her face, his eyes widening with disbelief as if she’d come from another planet. “Dr. Cecil, Cecile-ee, Lornier?”
She cast a quizzical glance at John. He coughed and busied himself with his briefcase, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Puzzled, Cecile extended her hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”
The colonel clicked his heels, bowed and squeezed her hand. “Colonel Oleg Roussov, Director of National Security, at your service.” He turned toward John for a handshake. “Welcome to Belarus, Mr. Gordon. Dr. Lornier, I am sorry about your accident on the escalator. From now on, you should not worry about a thing. Let me take your suitcases and your passports. I will help you clear customs.”
He was friendly, even patronizing, with an affable smile revealing two gold-capped teeth.
“I appreciate your help, Colonel.”
“Dr. Lornier, are you the only Program Manager for our project?” Roussov raised an eyebrow and glanced at the general. Fedorin stepped closer, darting a speculative look at her.
“Yes, of course. Why?” Cecile shifted her gaze from one officer to the other.
“I haven’t seen the contract. I was just wondering.” The colonel focused narrowed eyes on her and imperceptibly shrugged. “Please, wait for me here. I will be back with the entry visa forms.” He bypassed the lines and strode to the passport control windows.
Something was amiss here. Where they expecting someone else?
Rooted in place, Cecile stared blankly at his departing back. The general touched her arm. Awareness shot up to her throat as he invaded her breathing space. Her chin tilted up a notch. “Yes?”
“Dr. Lornier, I must leave now. Roussov will take care of the formalities.”
“General Fedorin, the colonel asked me an odd question. Were you expecting two Program Managers?”
“No, of course not.” His penetrating eyes fastened on hers for an alarming moment, then he quickly added, “The opening meeting of our contract is scheduled for tomorrow at eleven, at the Hall of Officers.”
A disturbing knot formed in Cecile’s stomach. Why hadn’t the general bothered to explain the colonel’s confusion? Was anything wrong?
Her gaze trailed over the thin lines bracketing the general’s lips, moved up the high-boned cheeks and tracked the midnight sparks in his eyes. His strong jaw and the small scar on his cleft chin conferred a somber expression to his attractive face. A charming man but a mighty officer.
Power and dynamite, she thought on a blink. Definitely not an easygoing customer she could intimidate with starchy speech.
“We’ll be there at eleven sharp, General.” John’s jovial voice intruded into her secret contemplation.
“Kharasho, very good. Then I will see you tomorrow, John, Dr. Lornier.” The general shook hands with John, then raised her hand to his lips and brushed it with a kiss.
Her professional mask melted into a genuine smile. Did he always spice business with old-European, grand manners? She eased her hand out of the general’s palm and blurted the first serious thought that came to mind. “I can’t wait to visit the Belchem Lab.”
“We will go to the laboratory after the meeting. Meanwhile, we will make every effort to ensure your comfort.”
His velvety voice sent a shiver down her spine but she forced a businesslike tone. “Thank you, General. We have a lot to discuss about the contract and the lab refurbishment.”
“Yes, we do.” His gaze skimmed her face like a gentle caress, launching her heart on a much bigger roller coaster ride than the broken escalator. “Have a good evening, Dr. Lornier.”
For years, she had thrived on challenge in her analytical laboratory. Maybe now the real adventure had begun, with more chemistry than she’d bargained for.
Chapter Two
“I am sorry it took so long. Here are your customs declaration forms.” Roussov handed Cecile and John their passports and a couple of papers written in Russian. “There are no computers yet
at the airport. The clerk had to enter all the information by hand before stamping your passports.”
“No problem, Colonel. Now, I have to locate the rest of my luggage.” Cecile surveyed her surroundings for a baggage claim area where she could collect her two valuable suitcases.
One contained a heavy wool blanket, indispensable when traveling to Belarus at the end of October, according to John. The other suitcase was filled with leather folders stamped with her company logo. Her boss, always proficient at promoting EnviroAnalytical Laboratory, had appeared at her doorstep two hours before she left to the airport. He’d insisted she carried the public relations items to be distributed to Belarusian officers and laboratory staff—preferably in front of John Gordon, the Contract Director who could provide EAL with more lucrative projects.
“Our only conveyor belt is a little slow.” Roussov pointed to a hidden corner of the hall where a row of suitcases jolted on a partially rusty set of rollers. He gave a few orders. Two employees rushed to carry Cecile’s luggage while glancing at her with deferential attention.
Unease crept up her neck. Was it Roussov’s presence at her side that attracted interest? Did she look out of place in a pantsuit and raincoat, with no heavy coat or fur hat? With a sigh of relief, Cecile left the depressing gray hall where people eyed her with curiosity.
As she stepped out of the airport, the bitter cold needled her face and she shivered. The wind, heavy with moisture, whipped her hair and plastered strands of it against her cheeks. She buttoned her raincoat and raised the collar high over her turtleneck.
A vivacious young woman climbed down from a rental van waiting at the curb and rushed toward them. “This is Tania, our driver and interpreter. I specifically requested her from the rental car agency.” John hugged the young woman.
With her suede miniskirt, brown leather jacket and thigh-high boots, she was the hippest female chauffeur Cecile had ever seen. A beige cap, tilted at a cocky angle over her forehead, completed her driver’s uniform.