Luring a Lady

by Nora Roberts

  She was awakened shortly past seven by high, excited barking, maniacal laughter and giggling shouts coming from outside her window. Moaning a bit, she turned over and found the bed empty.

  Mikhail had lived up to his promise to sneak into her room, and she doubted either of them found sleep in the narrow bed much before dawn.

  But he was gone now.

  Rolling over, she put the pillow over her head to smother the sounds from the yard below. Since it also smothered her, she gave it up. Resigned, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. She just managed to find the doorknob and open the door, when Rachel opened the one across the hall.

  The two disheveled women gave each other bleary-eyed stares. Rachel yawned first.

  “When I have kids,” she began, “they’re not going to be allowed out of bed until ten on Saturday mornings. Noon on Sunday. And only if they’re bringing me breakfast in bed.”

  Sydney ran her tongue over her teeth, propping herself on the doorjamb. “Good luck.”

  “I wish I wasn’t such a sucker for them.” She yawned again. “Got a quarter?”

  Because she was still half-asleep, Sydney automatically searched the pockets of her robe. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Hold on.” Rachel disappeared into her room, then came back out with a coin. “Call it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Heads or tails. Winner gets the shower first. Loser has to go down and get the coffee.”

  “Oh.” Her first inclination was to be polite and offer to get the coffee, then she thought of a nice hot shower. “Tails.”

  Rachel flipped, caught the coin and held it out. “Damn. Cream and sugar?”

  “Black.”

  “Ten minutes,” Rachel promised, then started down the hall. She stopped, glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Since it’s just you and me, are you really crazy about Mikhail?”

  “Since it’s just you and me, yes.”

  Rachel’s grin was quick and she rocked back on her heels. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

  Thirty minutes later, refreshed by the shower and coffee, Sydney wandered downstairs. Following the sounds of activity, she found most of the family had centered in the kitchen for the morning.

  Natasha stood at the stove in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Yuri sat at the table, shoveling in pancakes and making faces at the giggling baby who was strapped into one of those clever swings that rocked and played music. Alex slouched with his head in his hands, barely murmuring when his mother shoved a mug of coffee under his nose.

  “Ah, Sydney.”

  Alex winced at his father’s booming greeting. “Papa, have some respect for the dying.”

  He only gave Alex an affectionate punch on the arm. “You come sit beside me,” Yuri instructed Sydney. “And try Tash’s pancakes.”

  “Good morning,” Natasha said even as her mother refilled Sydney’s coffee cup. “I apologize for my barbaric children and the mongrel who woke the entire house so early.”

  “Children make noise,” Yuri said indulgently. Katie expressed agreement by squealing and slamming a rattle onto the tray of the swing.

  “Everyone’s up then?” Sydney took her seat.

  “Spence is showing Mikhail the barbecue pit he built,” Natasha told her and set a heaping platter of pancakes on the table. “They’ll stand and study and make men noises. You were comfortable in the night?”

  Sydney thought of Mikhail and struggled not to blush. “Yes, thank you. Oh, please,” she started to protest when Yuri piled pancakes on her plate.

  “For energy,” he said, and winked.

  Before she could think how to respond, a small curly-haired bullet shot through the back door. Yuri caught him on the fly and hauled the wriggling bundle into his arms.

  “This is my grandson, Brandon. He is monster. And I eat monsters for breakfast. Chomp, chomp.”

  The boy of about three was wiry and tough, squirming and squealing on Yuri’s lap. “Papa, come watch me ride my bike. Come watch me!”

  “You have a guest,” Nadia said mildly, “and no manners.”

  Resting his head against Yuri’s chest, Brandon gave Sydney a long, owlish stare. “You can come watch me, too,” he invited. “You have pretty hair. Like Lucy.”

  “That’s a very high compliment,” Natasha told her. “Lucy is a cat. Miss Hayward can watch you later. She hasn’t finished her breakfast.”

  “You watch, Mama.”

  Unable to resist, Natasha rubbed a hand over her son’s curls. “Soon. Go tell your daddy he has to go to the store for me.”

  “Papa has to come.”

  Knowing the game, Yuri huffed and puffed and stuck Brandon on his shoulders. The boy gave a shout of laughter and gripped tight to Yuri’s hair as his grandfather rose to his feet.

  “Daddy, look! Look how tall I am,” Brandon was shouting as they slammed out of the screen door.

  “Does the kid ever stop yelling?” Alex wanted to know.

  “You didn’t stop yelling until you were twelve,” Nadia told him, and added a flick with her dishcloth.

  Feeling a little sorry for him, Sydney rose to pour more coffee into his mug herself. He snatched her hand and brought it to his lips for a smacking kiss. “You’re a queen among women, Sydney. Run away with me.”

  “Do I have to kill you?” Mikhail asked as he strolled into the kitchen.

  Alex only grinned. “We can arm wrestle for her.”

  “God, men are such pigs,” Rachel observed as she walked in from the opposite direction.

  “Why?” The question came from a pretty, golden-haired girl who popped through the doorway, behind Mikhail.

  “Because, Freddie, they think they can solve everything with muscles and sweat instead of their tiny little brains.”

  Ignoring his sister, Mikhail pushed plates aside, sat down and braced an elbow on the table. Alex grinned at the muttered Ukrainian challenge. Palms slapped together.

  “What are they doing?” Freddie wanted to know.

  “Being silly.” Natasha sighed and swung an arm around Freddie’s shoulder. “Sydney, this is my oldest, Freddie. Freddie, this is Miss Hayward, Mikhail’s friend.”

  Disconcerted, Sydney smiled at Freddie over Mikhail’s head. “It’s nice to see you again, Freddie. I met you a long time ago when you were just a baby.”

  “Really?” Intrigued, Freddie was torn between studying Sydney or watching Mikhail and Alex. They were knee to knee, hands clasped, and the muscles in their arms were bulging.

  “Yes, I, ah…” Sydney was having a problem herself. Mikhail’s eyes flicked up and over her before returning to his brother’s. “I knew your father when you lived in New York.”

  There were a couple of grunts from the men at the table. Rachel sat at the other end and helped herself to pancakes. “Pass me the syrup.”

  With his free hand, Mikhail shoved it at her.

  Smothering a grin, Rachel poured lavishly. “Mama, do you want to take a walk into town after I eat?”

  “That would be nice.” Ignoring her sons, Nadia began to load the dishwasher. She preferred the arm wrestling to the rolling and kicking they’d treated each other to as boys. “We can take Katie in the stroller if you like, Natasha.”

  “I’ll walk in with you, and check on the shop.” Natasha washed her hands. “I own a toy store in town,” she told Sydney.

  “Oh.” Sydney couldn’t take her eyes off the two men. Natasha could very well have told her she owned a missile site. “That’s nice.”

  The three Stanislaski women grinned at each other. Sentimental, Nadia began to imagine a fall wedding. “Would you like more coffee?” she asked Sydney.

  “Oh, I—”

  Mikhail gave a grunt of triumph as he slapped his brother’s arm on the table. Dishes jumped. Caught up in the moment, Freddie clapped and had her baby sister mimicking the gesture.

  Grinning, Alex flexed his numbed fingers. “Two out of three.”

  “Get yo
ur own woman.” Before Sydney could react, Mikhail scooped her up, planted a hard kiss on her mouth that tasted faintly and erotically of sweat, then carried her out the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You might have lost, you know.”

  Amused by the lingering annoyance in her voice, Mikhail slid an arm around Sydney’s waist and continued to walk down the sloping sidewalk. “I didn’t.”

  “The point—” She sucked in her breath. She’d been trying to get the point through that thick Slavic skull off and on for more than an hour. “The point is that you and Alex arm wrestled for me as if I were a six-pack of beer.”

  His grin only widened, a six-pack would make him a little drunk, but that was nothing to what he’d felt when he’d looked up and seen the fascination in her eyes as she’d stared at his biceps. He flexed them a little, believing a man had a right to vanity.

  “And then,” she continued, making sure her voice was low, as his family was wandering along in front and behind them. “You manhandled me—in front of your mother.”

  “You liked it.”

  “I certainly—”

  “Did,” he finished, remembering the hot, helpless way she’d responded to the kiss he’d given her on his sister’s back porch. “So did I.”

  She would not smile. She would not admit for a moment to the spinning excitement she’d felt when he’d scooped her up like some sweaty barbarian carrying off the spoils of war.

  “Maybe I was rooting for Alex. It seems to me he got the lion’s share of your father’s charm.”

  “All the Stanislaskis have charm,” he said, unoffended. He stopped and, bending down, plucked a painted daisy from the slope of the lawn they passed. “See?”

  “Hmm.” Sydney twirled the flower under her nose. Perhaps it was time to change the subject before she was tempted to try to carry him off. “It’s good seeing Spence again. When I was fifteen or so, I had a terrible crush on him.”

  Narrow eyed, Mikhail studied his brother-in-law’s back. “Yes?”

  “Yes. Your sister’s a lucky woman.”

  Family pride came first. “He’s lucky to have her.”

  This time she did smile. “I think we’re both right.”

  Brandon, tired of holding his mother’s hand, bolted back toward them. “You have to carry me,” he told his uncle.

  “Have to?”

  With an enthusiastic nod, Brandon began to shimmy up Mikhail’s leg like a monkey up a tree. “Like Papa does.”

  Mikhail hauled him up, then to the boy’s delight, carried him for a while upside down.

  “He’ll lose his breakfast,” Nadia called out.

  “Then we fill him up again.” But Mikhail flipped him over so Brandon could cling to his back. Pink cheeked, the boy grinned over at Sydney.

  “I’m three years old,” he told her loftily. “And I can dress my own self.”

  “And very well, too.” Amused, she tapped his sneakered foot. “Are you going to be a famous composer like your father?”

  “Nah. I’m going to be a water tower. They’re the biggest.”

  “I see.” It was the first time she’d heard quite so grand an ambition.

  “Do you live with Uncle Mikhail?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “Not yet,” Mikhail said simultaneously, and grinned at her.

  “You were kissing him,” Brandon pointed out. “How come you don’t have any kids?”

  “That’s enough questions.” Natasha came to the rescue, plucking her son from Mikhail’s back as her brother roared with laughter.

  “I just wanna know—”

  “Everything,” Natasha supplied, and gave him a smacking kiss. “But for now it’s enough you know you can have one new car from the shop.”

  He forgot all about babies. His chocolate-brown eyes turned shrewd. “Any car?”

  “Any little car.”

  “You did kiss me,” Mikhail reminded Sydney as Brandon began to badger his mother about how little was little. Sydney settled the discussion by ramming her elbow into Mikhail’s ribs.

  She found the town charming, with its sloping streets and little shops. Natasha’s toy store, The Fun House, was impressive, its stock running the range from tiny plastic cars to exquisite porcelain dolls and music boxes.

  Mikhail proved to be cooperative when Sydney wandered in and out of antique shops, craft stores and boutiques. Somewhere along the line they’d lost the rest of the family. Or the family had lost them. It wasn’t until they’d started back, uphill, with his arms loaded with purchases that he began to complain.

  “Why did I think you were a sensible woman?”

  “Because I am.”

  He muttered one of the few Ukrainian phrases she understood. “If you’re so sensible, why did you buy all this? How do you expect to get it back to New York?”

  Pleased with herself, she fiddled with the new earrings she wore. The pretty enameled stars swung jauntily. “You’re so clever, I knew you’d find a way.”

  “Now you’re trying to flatter me, and make me stupid.”

  She smiled. “You were the one who bought me the porcelain box.”

  Trapped, he shook his head. She’d studied the oval box, its top decorated with a woman’s serene face in bas-relief for ten minutes, obviously in love and just as obviously wondering if she should be extravagant. “You were mooning over it.”

  “I know.” She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “You won’t thank me when you have to ride for five hours with all this on your lap.”

  They climbed to the top of the steps into the yard just as Ivan, tail tucked securely between his legs streaked across the grass. In hot pursuit were a pair of long, lean cats. Mikhail let out a manful sigh.

  “He is an embarrassment to the family.”

  “Poor little thing.” Sydney shoved the package she carried at Mikhail. “Ivan!” She clapped her hands and crouched down. “Here, boy.”

  Spotting salvation, he swung about, scrambled for footing and shot back in her direction. Sydney caught him up, and he buried his trembling head against her neck. The cats, sinuous and smug, sat down a few feet away and began to wash.

  “Hiding behind a woman,” Mikhail said in disgust.

  “He’s just a baby. Go arm wrestle with your brother.”

  Chuckling, he left her to soothe the traumatized pup. A moment later, panting, Freddie rounded the side of the house. “There he is.”

  “The cats frightened him,” Sydney explained, as Freddie came up to stroke Ivan’s fur.

  “They were just playing. Do you like puppies?” Freddie asked.

  “Yes.” Unable to resist, Sydney nuzzled. “Yes, I do.”

  “Me, too. And cats. We’ve had Lucy and Desi for a long time. Now I’m trying to talk Mama into a puppy.” Petting Ivan, she looked back at the mangled petunias. “I thought maybe if I fixed the flowers.”

  Sydney knew what it was to be a little girl yearning for a pet. “It’s a good start. Want some help?”

  She spent the next thirty minutes saving what flowers she could or—since she’d never done any gardening—following Freddie’s instructions. The pup stayed nearby, shivering when the cats strolled up to wind around legs or be scratched between the ears.

  When the job was done, Sydney left Ivan to Freddie’s care and went inside to wash up. It occurred to her that it was barely noon and she’d done several things that day for the first time.

  She’d been the grand prize in an arm wrestling contest. She’d played with children, been kissed by the man she loved on a public street. She’d gardened and had sat on a sunny lawn with a puppy on her lap.

  If the weekend kept going this way, there was no telling what she might experience next.

  Attracted by shouts and laughter, she slipped into the music room and looked out the window. A softball game, she realized. Rachel was pitching, one long leg cocking back as she whizzed one by Alex. Obviously displeased by the call, he turn
ed to argue with his mother. She continued to shake her head at him, bouncing Brandon on her knee as she held firm to her authority as umpire.

  Mikhail stood spread legged, his hands on his hips, and one heel touching a ripped seat cushion that stood in as second base. He tossed in his own opinion, and Rachel threw him a withering glance over her shoulder, still displeased that he’d caught a piece of her curve ball.

  Yuri and Spence stood in the outfield, catcalling as Alex fanned for a second strike. Intrigued, Sydney leaned on the windowsill. How beautiful they were, she thought. She watched as Brandon turned to give Nadia what looked like a very sloppy kiss before he bounded off on sturdy little legs toward a blue-and-white swing set. A screen door slammed, then Freddie zoomed into view, detouring to the swing to give her brother a couple of starter pushes before taking her place in the game.

  Alex caught the next pitch, and the ball flew high and wide. Voices erupted into shouts. Surprisingly spry, Yuri danced a few steps to the left and snagged the ball out of the air. Mikhail tagged up, streaked past third and headed for home, where Rachel had raced to wait for the throw.

  His long strides ate up the ground, those wonderful muscles bunching as he went into a slide. Rachel crowded the plate, apparently undisturbed by the thought of nearly six feet of solid male hurtling toward her. There was a collision, a tangle of limbs and a great deal of swearing.

  “Out.” Nadia’s voice rang clearly over the din.

  In the majors, they called it clearing the benches.

  Every member of the family rushed toward the plate—not to fuss over the two forms still nursing bruises, but to shout and gesture. Rachel punched Mikhail in the chest. He responded by covering her face with his hand and shoving her back onto the grass. With a happy shout, Brandon jumped into the fray to climb up his father’s back.

  Sydney had never envied anything more.

  “We can never play without fighting,” Natasha said from behind her. She was smiling, looking over Sydney’s shoulder at the chaos in her backyard. Her arms still felt the slight weight of the baby she’d just rocked to sleep. “You’re wise to watch from a distance.”