To Love A Hero (International Romance Series)

by Risk, Mona

  Back in the hotel, Cecile thanked and hugged her fashion consultant who assured her she had enjoyed herself tremendously.

  “Thanks for the jacket.” Tania gave her a brilliant smile. “We have handsome officers around here. I will light a candle for you to find a good man.”

  Taken aback by the so-close-to-real-life suggestion, Cecile opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a sound. A handsome officer—and very good man—was waiting for her.

  But was she ready for him?

  Chapter Ten

  Today’s meeting with the ministers’ cabinet proved to be a particular challenge. As soon as Sergei entered the Minister of Defense’s office, he paused, noticing with annoyance Colonel Roussov ensconced in a large chair. The syrupy voice of his former father-in-law grated on his ears. “Dobroye deen, Fedorin, good day. We don’t see much of you these days. Too busy with the Americans.”

  Sergei managed a blank expression. “They are here only for a week to assess the Belchem Lab.”

  “Too young and too pretty, this woman. Can’t you ask the Contract Director to replace her with someone more substantial?”

  Embarrassment eating at his heart, Sergei remembered he had shared the same opinion not long ago. Roussov’s eyes narrowed on him. His former father-in-law remained true to his character. Like a cat that enjoyed playing with a mouse, Roussov cast doubts on Cecile’s capability, then watched for Sergei’s reaction. But Sergei was no mouse. He clenched his fists and jammed them into his pockets.

  “So far there’s no reason to replace her. She had planned a total reorganization of the lab. Everyone works hard in order to meet the deadline she’d set. The Belchem chemists have nicknamed her Dr. Robota—Dr. Work.” He quirked an eyebrow, daring Roussov to contradict him.

  To Sergei’s annoyance, the Minister of Defense grimaced. “Well, Fedorin, we all know that a woman—and I heard this one is just a young girl—can’t manage a big contract. Isn’t it an offense toward our country to send such an inexperienced Program Manager?”

  Sergei noticed the triumphant gleam in Roussov’s eyes at the minister’s negative comment. He hated to be forced to defend Cecile and to reveal with a wrong word his attraction to her. Yet he couldn’t let them belittle her efforts and his leading role in the contract. He turned toward his boss and purposely ignored his father-in-law.

  “Minister Anatov, both Mr. Gordon and Dr. Lornier understand their responsibilities and work accordingly. I suggest we give them time to prove themselves before protesting too loudly.”

  “Do you really mean the lady Program Manager is able to handle the scientists of the Belchem Lab?” the Vice-President of Belarus asked with utter disbelief.

  “Amazing,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs exclaimed while shaking his head.

  The Minister of Environment rubbed his hands. “Great. Major General Fedorin, I’m very pleased to hear our project is well under control.”

  “And I am very pleased with the progress accomplished in less than a week,” Sergei said, his voice oozing with self-confidence.

  His reassurance seemed to reach the Vice-President. “We will give them the time needed for their task but warn them that I want to see results as soon as possible.”

  The VP stood, signifying the end of the meeting. Both Sergei and his former father-in-law left the room.

  So far, Sergei had controlled his temper and avoided retaliation at the verbal daggers expertly aimed by the colonel. In the hall, Roussov dropped all pretenses. “You’re going at it again? Another woman falls prey to your powers of seduction. I thought her smart enough to resist you.”

  Sergei forced a nonchalant smile to upset his enemy. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Dr. Lornier is a businesswoman and a scientist interested only in her work.”

  “I’m the Director of National Security. It’s my duty to know everything,” he said with importance.

  “By all means, do your job, Roussov.” Sergei spread his arms and snorted. “Spend your day listening to all your spying devices if that amuses you.”

  Roussov raised his fists. “I will get you, Fedorin. I swear if it’s the last thing I do on Earth, I will see you fall. Ungrateful bastard.” He roared. “My wife helped your mother when your father died. And I looked after you for two years.”

  “You didn’t do a damned thing for me. Your wife was a wonderful woman and I loved her dearly. We both know you abused her and Sofya,” Sergei hissed between his teeth.

  “You damn fool, you interfered with my plans for my daughter and seduced her. Then you let her die alone,” Roussov shouted.

  “Stop it, old man. Stop your lies. You know we loved each other. I married her and we lived happily together. I was stuck in the Chechnyan war when she died. But you were here and never bothered to see her in all those years.”

  Sergei spun around and stomped toward his office. He needed a strong cup of coffee. The visceral hostility of Colonel Roussov had added a throbbing pain to an already growing headache. This man was his cross to bear, a cross he accepted in memory of Sofya.

  But he wouldn’t let Roussov ruin his mood.

  He sucked in a deep breath and erased the grim thoughts to concentrate on planning his evening. Tonight was special.

  In his office, Sergei removed his jacket, loosened his tie and yanked off his boots. No one dared to question why the powerful Major General Fedorin chose to live under such Spartan conditions when he could afford more luxurious accommodations. His officers speculated he’d abandoned his former apartment after his wife’s death. The fact was nobody—except Nicolai—remembered ever seeing General Fedorin living anywhere else than in his offices at the Ministry of Defense and the Hall of Officers.

  A light knock on the door announced the secretary and a much needed cup of coffee. Sergei sat at his desk. “Eugene, you can go home now. I’m too tired to work tonight. Tell the Jeep’s driver I won’t need his services until tomorrow evening. I may go with the officers to the Gentlemen’s Spa and will return very late.”

  “Yes, my General. I hope you’ll feel better by tomorrow.”

  Sergei knew that his decision to dismiss them early would not surprise his secretary or the Jeep’s driver. They were used to their general taking off with his officers on a long wild night almost every Friday.

  The Gentlemen’s Spa provided good relaxation to sore muscles but also plenty of booze and terrific entertainment followed by discreet companionship for the night. The door closed behind the secretary. Sergei sipped his coffee and smiled.

  Tonight, he would have a very different agenda. He had asked Nicolai to bring Cecilya to his flat, his personal apartment where he rarely set foot. He wanted Cecilya in his arms and he promised himself that their first night together would provide her with memories she would cherish forever. He spent the next half-hour planning their evening and night.

  Heavy boots pounded in the corridor. He opened the door to greet Nicolai and grabbed his long gray coat. They walked out of Sergei’s office, exiting through the main gate of the Ministry of Defense and automatically returning the guards’ salute. Sergei stopped a taxi and ordered the driver to take them to Nicolai’s apartment. His colonel’s wife and children were out visiting the grandparents.

  Sergei changed into civilian clothing and joined his friend in his Volvo. “I left my uniform at your place. I will stop and get it tomorrow.”

  “No problem.” Nicolai drove him to the market. “Enjoy your evening, my Generalle.”

  They shook hands. Sergei clasped Nicolai’s shoulder. “Thank you, moy drouk. I count on you. Here is the key. Give it to her. Be careful.”

  Sergei strolled toward the market. It had been ages since he’d freely roamed in a public bazaar. He bought meat, potatoes and cake, collected several bottles of clear vodka and wine. After standing in line to pay, he returned to pick up a bouquet of red carnations.

  His arms loaded with two big bags, he waited for public transportation. Nothing differentiated him from the c
rowd that swarmed toward the bus. His athletic body covered by the heavy gray coat and part of his face concealed by the black fur chapka, he stood in a corner, turned his back to the riders and watched the cars pass by.

  The bus dropped him two blocks away from his building. He walked briskly and entered the dark lobby. The elevator stopped at the seventh floor and Sergei opened the door to his apartment and his memories.

  A rancid smell of confined air emerged from the dark place. He flicked on a light switch and strode straight to the tiny kitchen to dump his bags on the narrow countertop and open a window. He welcomed the freezing air.

  Nothing had changed in the small flat, the narrow bedroom, the hall used as living room and dining area, the bathroom cramped with a toilet, sink and shower, the kitchen where two people could squeeze with difficulty.

  It was all there, exactly as he’d left it five years ago but somehow everything looked different, older and inadequate. The gray sofa seemed darker, the dining table smaller and the lamp weaker.

  His finger slid over the wooden back of a chair, sweeping up a heavy layer of dust. He scowled, upset at his negligence. Sofya’s cheerful apartment was falling into decay. But Sofya was no more and tonight he would turn the page.

  Sergei removed his coat, jacket and tie. He went back to the kitchen to fetch a rag and attacked the furniture with the same frenzy and tenacity he deployed in a battlefield. He wiped and dusted the furniture, mopped the floor, fluttered clean sheets on the bed and spread an embroidered tablecloth on the table.

  He closed the kitchen window. Cecile was sensitive to the cold and tonight he wanted her warm and relaxed. Pleased with himself and his domestic accomplishments, he arranged the flowers in a vase and set it in the middle of the table while whistling a Russian melody.

  He surveyed the bedroom and froze. A large frame with the picture of a happy smiling couple adorned the chest. Since Sofya had died, five years ago, Sergei had worshipped this picture. He reached for the frame then hesitated, as if he was afraid to commit a crime. His fingers caressed the picture with reverence. He would never forget her. He fixed his gaze on the image of the frail wife he had loved so much.

  Forgive me, my angel. Please, allow me to live again.

  He waited for a crazy moment, expecting his angel to answer. He hauled a heavy breath and hid the frame in the top drawer. Two other smaller pictures disappeared in the same way from the living room corner table.

  Sergei plugged in his old record player and music filled the room. He checked his watch. It was six-thirty. In an hour Cecilya would be here. He seasoned the steaks and arranged them in a pan, remembering with bitterness that in the first years of his marriage he couldn’t afford to buy meat for his young wife. He washed and boiled the potatoes. His culinary expertise was rudimentary—almost nonexistent to be honest—but he planned to compensate in different areas. He repressed a confident gloat and helped himself to a glass of vodka. The music, the flowers and the spicy smell emanating from the kitchen restored the pleasant and cozy atmosphere in his little flat.

  He sat on the sofa and waited.

  A key rattling in the door bolted him out of his reverie. Sergei opened the door and pulled Cecile in his arms. He kicked the door closed behind them. The fur of her chapka tickled his cheek. He held her away at arm’s length and examined her with amused curiosity.

  “Do I have the right person? My Cecilya metamorphosed into a Russian lady?”

  She pirouetted in front of him. “I went shopping with Tania. How do you like it, my General?”

  He grinned. “I love it. Cecilya is suddenly Belarusian. You’re adorable in this outfit.” Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he kissed her, then raised his head and surveyed her new coat. His gaze slid from her hat all the way down to the tips of her boots. “Is it my imagination or have you grown taller today?”

  “Tania convinced me to buy these high-heeled boots.” Chuckling, she took off her coat and yanked the chapka away. She fluffed her hair then scanned the place. “I like your living room. It’s pleasant and cozy. Are you going to give me a tour of the apartment?”

  “In a while. Are you hungry? Come and help with the steaks.”

  * * * * *

  Her heart racing in anticipation, Cecile delighted in the domestic scenario. Sergei fixing dinner with her assistance. A simple scene but played by a magnificent hero. Her eyes roamed over his corded neck, his wide shoulders. She licked her lips, yearning to fondle the rippling muscles. Her fingers moved forward…then linked behind her back.

  Coming here tonight might prove to be the worst mistake of her life. Reason shouted to get out of the apartment now, while she could still function with a clear mind.

  “How can I help?” she asked, slamming the door on reason.

  In the small kitchen, they bumped into each other several times. Sergei burst out laughing. “Since we’re crammed together every time we move, let’s do it the right way.”

  Extending his left arm behind her shoulders, he pressed her against his side. “Now, you have both hands free. Can you please open the oven and put the steak pan inside? I already adjusted it to broil.”

  Cecile deposited the pan onto the oven rack. “Okay, what next?”

  With his right hand, Sergei removed the pot containing the potatoes from the stove.

  “Can you drain the water?” He handed her the pot. His arm still enfolding her back squeezed her closer to his chest.

  She squirmed and grinned as she poured the water down the drain and replaced the pot on the stove. “Careful, I can’t move. I’m going to spill our dinner on the floor before I can turn down the stove so the vegetables won’t burn.”

  Sergei released the pressure, caressed her arm and eased his hand over the silk blouse to cradle her breast. She moaned, “Sergei, I can’t function like that. I’ll ruin the meal.”

  “The hell with the food. I’m hungry for you.” He turned her against him, his hands spanning her waist.

  She dropped the plate on the countertop and twined her fingers around his neck.

  His breath fanning her face, Sergei gazed into her eyes. “Do you know that you rarely call me by my name? You always say, ‘Generalle’.”

  She shook her head. “No, not ‘general’ only. I call you ‘my General’. My one and only general.”

  Passion glimmered in his eyes. “Oh my darling.” He crushed her lips beneath his mouth. She was pressed between his hard frame and the marble countertop, unable and unwilling to move. His lips slid from her mouth to her cheek and her throat. She felt his hardness pressing against her belly and lowered her lashes, surrendering to his will and whims.

  The smell of meat and spices wafted around them. He released her mouth and wrinkled his nose. “Are we burning something?”

  Cecile landed from her cloud of love. She pressed her cheek against his, not ready to let him go yet. Breathing deeply, she grimaced. “No but we will, soon, if we don’t rescue the steaks.”

  He unhooked her arms and spun her around. “Let’s have dinner. Take the potatoes and I’ll bring the steaks.”

  Sergei deposited the big plate on the table and uncorked a bottle of wine. “Will you serve, please, while I pour the wine?”

  “What! No vodka today?”

  “Vodka is for special toasts. We will do that after dinner. I had a drink while waiting for you but I don’t want your pretty head to swim in oblivion before dinner. Here, taste this wine.”

  He clanked his wineglass to hers. “To your health, Cecilya. I want to tell you how much I appreciate your coming here tonight. I wish I could date you like a normal man, give you a tour of our beautiful city and let you discover Minsk at my side. When are you coming next?”

  “Maybe in two weeks, maybe in a couple of months, when the equipment arrives.” She sighed and lowered her eyelashes to hide a treacherous wetness.

  “I hope it will be soon.” His hand squeezed hers across the table. “Let’s forget about tomorrow. Our present is too good to wast
e. Bon appetite.” Sergei attacked his steak with gusto. “Is it edible?”

  She took her first bite. “It’s delicious. You have gone to so much trouble for me.”

  “I’m also selfish. I want us relaxed and comfortable for dinner and after dinner.”

  He grinned and winked at her in such a beguiling way that she blushed with embarrassment. Did he notice?

  Sergei stroked her hand. “How was your shopping with Tania?”

  Of course, he noticed. His casual question was aimed at diluting the sultry insinuation.

  “Fun. I’ve never enjoyed lingering in the boutiques as I did today. I had a good guide and I was buying for a special occasion,” she added with a smile.

  He kissed her hand and then turned it and brushed his moist lips along her wrist. A shot of desire pulsed from her hand all the way to her belly. She wet her lips and tried to control her breathing. “How about you? How was the rest of your day?”

  His mouth twisted in a sideways smile and he huffed. “I met with our Vice-President and several ministers. I told them what a great job you are doing.”

  “Thank you, Sergei. Thank you so much.” He was finally giving her credit. She bent across the table and kissed him on the cheek.

  He cupped her face and captured her mouth in a lingering kiss that stopped her breath. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself to breathe. “I’m almost suffocating in the arms of a strong man who certainly knows how to kiss.”

  A smug grin on his face, he wrapped his hand around hers. “Cecilya, you are one of a kind. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave.”

  She sobered up. “Please, let’s not talk about tomorrow,” she said in a weak voice.

  “Let me get the dessert. Minsk’s bakers are renowned all over the Russian world.” He brought a small chocolate cake and two bottles of vodka.

  Cecile cleared the table and set smaller plates for the dessert. They ate the scrumptious cake and licked their lips. “It’s delicious,” she assured him.