by Renee Rose
“Video or teleconferencing would be preferred,” Ravil answers smoothly. Showing an outsider the location of the cabin would defeat the point of having the cabin. Of course, Natasha would know now, unless I make her cover her head with a hood, an idea that turns my stomach.
Dr. Taylor nods. “That’s fine. Let’s video tomorrow, so I can take a look at everything. I’ll send you with a pressure cuff as well.” He glances at Natasha. “You know how to use it, I assume?”
She nods.
“Let’s carry him out,” Ravil says. We use the bodyboard, and I put one of the back seats forward to lay Nikolai down flat like I’m transporting lumber. Natasha crawls in the remaining backseat, positioned near his head.
“Keep him comfortable,” I growl, throwing her a dark look before I slam the door.
The order is totally unnecessary. I know without a shadow of a doubt that Natasha will take care of him. That’s her personality. That’s why she made herself indispensable to the vet, brought coffee out to Ravil, and learned everything she would need to know to act as Nikolai’s nurse.
Still, I’m not going to soften my heart toward her again.
I can’t. Not when the consequences are this terrible.
Natasha
* * *
I jerk awake from what must’ve been a dream although it exactly represented my present moment. As in, I dreamed I was in the Land Rover, sitting beside Nikolai, trying to keep his head stabilized on a turn.
The vehicle bumps and jostles, and I realize it was the change to a dirt road that woke me. By the glowing clock on the dash, it’s nearly four in the morning. Dima drives another ten minutes or so then parks the Land Rover in the dark. I blink, my eyes getting used to the darkness. Dima gets out without a word and slams the door. He walks toward the darkened building.
A few moments later, a light comes on, illuminating a large, wooden wraparound porch. Lights go on inside the cabin, giving its windows a warm yellow glow. I’m not sure you can really call it a cabin. Yes, it’s made of logs, but it’s huge and looks newly constructed and expensive.
“We’re here,” I say softly to Nikolai, even though he seems to be out cold. The doctor said the pain meds should keep him asleep until morning.
I climb out and open the back gate of the Land Rover and slide the board toward me.
“You take that end.” Dima appears behind me.
I swallow. This could be tough with just the two of us, but I can do it. At least I have his lighter half. “‘Kay.” I grip the board and back up.
Dima slides in to take the other side and then walks backward up the steps and through the door, which he propped open. I follow his lead into a giant living room area with vaulted ceilings. He leads me to what appears to be a master bedroom, with a giant king bed that he’s already pulled the covers down on.
I’m starting to grunt with the weight, and Dima must notice because he moves quickly, sliding the board onto the bed and taking over my portion until the entire thing is supported. Then he stares down at his brother.
“Should we try to slide him off it?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” The weariness and defeat in Dima’s voice make me want to drop to my knees and howl for what’s happened to his beloved brother.
I have to fix this. To fix Nikolai. I crawl up on the bed beside him on my knees. “You steady him, and I’ll see if I can just slip this out without jostling him too much.”
“Slip it out. Right. Good luck with that,” Dima mutters, but he slides his two palms under Nikolai, one under his hips, the other under his mid-back. “Go.”
I tug. It doesn’t move. Dammit. I lean all my weight backward, and it slides a little in a jerk. I gasp, but Nikolai’s body remains relatively undisturbed. I yank again with all my weight, and the board slides out. “Got it,” I say needlessly.
I think I must want him to praise me or thank me or just somehow acknowledge me, but he doesn’t. He just stares down at his brother stonily.
“Pick a bedroom upstairs. I’ll stay with Nikolai.” Once more, I hear how weary he is, and I feel stupid for wanting anything from him. Of course, he has nothing to give. And all of this is my fault.
I kick off my high heels—the ones I’m about ready to throw into a deep lake because my feet ache so badly—and pick them up to walk up the stairs.
I don’t want to go to bed—not before things have been straightened out between Dima and I. I want to somehow make things right.
But I’m too tired to think straight, and he’s obviously too angry to listen.
Tomorrow, I will fix things.
I hope.
5
Dima
I’m driving over an icy bridge. Alyona is beside me, chattering about friends of ours. About the concert we’re going to see that weekend. Visibility is shit because it’s snowing, and I don’t see the brake lights in front of me until it’s too late. I slam on the brakes, which sends us into a tailspin. We crash through the guardrail and hurtle over the edge into the icy river. Alyona screams and screams, but she’s Natasha now. Natasha, covered in Nikolai’s blood, a look of horror on her face. And then I realize Nikolai’s lying unconscious in the back. He’s been shot, and we won’t be able to save him because we’re crashing through the ice. Water seeps in through the windows as the car sinks. It’s not my car, it’s Ravil’s—he’s going to be so pissed I totaled it.
“What the fuck have you done?” Nikolai demands, waking and sitting up. He’s looking at me, but the gun he points is at Natasha.
I turn and punch him in the face. “Leave her alone. It’s not her fault—it’s mine.”
Fuck.
I wake, cold with sweat and shock. I find Nikolai beside me in the darkness and move my face in close to listen for his breath.
Still alive.
Thank God.
He’s alive, and we’re at the cabin. I’ve only slept a couple of hours.
My dreams were a knotted mess of trauma and guilt. Too much to even begin to climb out of. I consider getting up—dawn is just starting to break—but I’m not willing to leave Nikolai’s side.
As if me lying beside him will make any kind of difference.
It won’t for him.
“Posti, brat,” I murmur in the darkness. I’m sorry, brother.
Natasha
I wake with an aching head and terrible breath and guilt that adds an extra fifty pounds to my chest. I slept in my stupid cocktail dress, which now feels like another punishment.
Last night, a million years ago, when I put it on, I felt so seductive. I'd been thinking about impressing Dima, remembering his erections every time I massaged him. Hoping he might see me as worthy of asking out, especially now that there was competition.
Now I wish to God I’d gone in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. At least they would've made better pajamas. I can’t stand to be in this thing for another second. To say I'm not the cocktail dress type would be an understatement. I live in skinny jeans and Chucks.
I search the drawers in the bedroom I'm in for a t-shirt but find nothing but a spare set of sheets and pillowcases for the bed.
I don’t hear any sounds from downstairs, and part of me just wants to keep hiding up here. I don’t want to face Dima and his wrath and whatever punishment he has planned for me while I’m locked up here with him.
But I need to be a big girl. Still, I slip down the stairs as silently as possible. If Dima’s asleep, I’ll let him stay that way. I peek in the open bedroom door and find him lying on top of the bed beside Nikolai, asleep. I guess I wasn’t the only one who slept in their clothes last night.
I take a look around. Last night it was dark, and my brain wasn’t working. Today, I’m stunned by how beautiful the cabin is. It’s more like a forest mansion, really. A great room with vaulted ceilings has wall-to-wall windows along one side with a spectacular view of the forest. Leather furniture is organized around the view and the fireplace on one end of the great room. On the other, a long farm t
able anchors the open-concept dining area, which is beside the large, well-appointed kitchen.
As I discovered last night, the curving staircase leads to an upper-level wraparound hallway, with banisters overlooking the great room. There are four bedrooms and two bathrooms up there.
I head into the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee as quietly as possible. The refrigerator is empty except for condiments, but there’s some food in the pantry. Canned goods. A pancake mix that only requires water. A half a bag of chocolate chips.
I definitely need chocolate today. I pop a few chips in my mouth and go about making chocolate chip pancakes. I’m a firm believer in adding chocolate to everything, especially when I’m stressed.
Dima still hasn’t woken by the time I finish, so I eat a couple, lamenting the lack of butter, but finding real maple syrup to drizzle over them instead.
Then I finally stop stalling and go into Nikolai’s room. I need to give him his meds through a new drip although I can’t remember if we even brought the supplies in from the Land Rover last night. I do a cursory check of the room but don’t find them.
Outside, I find the Land Rover open, and I carry the cardboard box of supplies inside, setting them gently on the dresser beside a pistol and Dima’s glasses.
I didn’t know Dima had a gun. I’ve seen them on Ravil and Maxim before but never on Dima.
I stare at it for a moment.
“You touch that pistol, Natasha, and the gloves come off.”
I whirl, anger surging like bile. Dima’s sitting up in the bed, his blond hair rumpled, his face no less beautiful when he’s being cruel. He pats the bedside table without taking his gaze off me and I realize he’s looking for his glasses.
I hand them to him. “Seriously, Dima? What in the hell do you think I’m going to do with it? Shoot you? Make you give me the keys, so I can run away?” I throw my hands in the air with exasperation. “I live in your building. My mother lives in your building. I know this is my fault, but I’m in this with you. I’m not the enemy.”
Dima swings his long legs off the bed and stalks past me and out of the room without answering.
Great. So I’m getting the silent treatment now. Peachy.
Nikolai groans. “Well, good-fucking-morning to you, too.”
“Nikolai!” I gasp, moving to his side. “I’m sorry. You’re probably in pain. You were supposed to get your meds a couple hours ago.”
“That explains it,” he says weakly.
“Just give me a minute. It’s intravenous, so it will work quickly.”
I swiftly attach the IV bag and the painkiller to the tube still in the back of his hand and unlock the port, as the veterinarian showed me. My hands shake nearly as badly as they did last night, just from that little interaction with Dima, and I have to work to steady my breath.
“You’ve got my brother all kinds of grouchy,” Nikolai observes.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter as I work. “And I thought you two were the laid-back ones.”
“We are. We were. Not with you around, though.”
I wince. Finishing with the IV, I take his temperature and write it down, as Dr. Taylor requested.
“You know what I think?” Nikolai’s accent is thick. He sounds a little drunk from pain.
“What?”
“Dima is madder about you bringing a date to the game than about me getting shot.”
For a moment, my heart stops. Then it trips up to a gallop. “I-I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, trying to sound casual while I’m reeling.
Another confirmation that I was right. Dima’s into me. Judging by what Nikolai’s saying, he’s way into me.
So... WTF? Why has this guy never acted on it? Why won’t he ask me out? Why won’t he make a move?
I attach a pressure cuff to Nikolai’s arm and check his blood pressure, writing it down on the sheet of paper as well. “I’m sorry you got shot,” I murmur as I work. “I would do anything for a redo on last night. I’m just so sorry.”
“I forgive you,” he says magnanimously. “It’s Dima you need to work on.”
I look toward the open door, but I don’t know where he’s gone. Now that Nikolai’s let me in on his secret—that he is interested in me… that knowledge fuels me, gives me the courage to find him and try to explain myself.
He deserves the truth.
Dima
I stand in Ravil’s office, surveying computer equipment that I set up here, trying to figure out if I have what I need to start a full-scale investigation into Alex.
“Dima?”
Blyad’. I can’t get away from her.
I turn to find Natasha standing in the doorway. She’s still in that fucking dress. The one that shows every single curve of her lithe body. It makes her look like a grown-up, someone I could do all the dirty things I frequently imagine doing to her.
“Get out.” I seriously cannot deal with her. I’m not ready. I need more information. I need to get behind a fucking computer!
She doesn’t listen, though. She comes in, drifting ever closer, close enough for me to catch her ginger-peach scent. The one that seems to match the red glints in her coppery hair.
“I’m sick over what I did. What a mess I made of things. I... um… I’ve been trying to figure out why I wasn’t upfront about bringing Alex to the game.”
I grind my molars and finally lift my icy gaze to hers. I even go so far as to take a few menacing steps in her direction.
She registers the threat, backing up toward the wall. I want to kick my own ass for scaring her, but pushing her away—keeping myself shut off from her allure—is imperative. I can’t let myself soften toward her. She’s already the hugest liability possible.
“Honestly?” Her fingers tangle together at her waist; she’s doing that fidgety thing she does when she’s nervous. “I think I was trying to get a rise out of you.”
My brain scrambles in disbelief.
Natasha is not the manipulative type. At least, I didn’t think so. She’s sweet and honest and giving.
“I hoped you’d be jealous and finally make a move.”
I’m suffocating suddenly by the friction of her words ricocheting inside my body. She hoped I’d...be jealous. And make a fucking move.
I close the distance between us, my hand grasping her throat as I push her up against the wall. Her green eyes widen, but I don’t have time to watch them dilate because my mouth crashes down on hers, taking everything I’ve wanted all these torturous months. It’s a brutal kiss. Punishment for all the agony she’s put me through. For what she’s still doing to me.
I lick between her lips to lash her with my tongue. I let my teeth scrape her lips, I suck her tongue into my mouth. She gives it back with passion. So much more eagerness than I expect or deserve.
Well, hell. My cock swells against my zipper. My kiss grows more feral.
She reaches for my dick, giving the hardened outline against my jeans a squeeze. I catch her wrist and spin her to face the wall, punishing her with a sharp smack to her ass.
She holds still like she’s waiting for more.
I hesitate. This is where I should pull back. Shove her out of the room and slam the door. But there was a certain satisfaction that came with slapping her ass. A release of the pent-up lust, frustration, and anger that had me ready to explode.
She certainly deserves a spanking after what she did.
I deserve this release.
I flatten both her palms against the wall and pin them with my left hand as I get busy slapping her ass with my right.
She gasps, squeezing her butt, but doesn’t break position. She likes it.
Godammit.
I rub the bulge of my cock against one of her buttcheeks as I squeeze and knead the other one roughly.
Her moan is one hundred percent female pleasure. I yank the hem of her dress up above her waist, furious when I see the little g-string tucked between her cheeks.
“Did you wear this for him?” I snarl,
hooking my finger under the string and pulling up to cinch the fabric against her clit.
“No!” she gasped. “I wore it so I wouldn’t have panty lines with the dress, that’s all,” she rushes to explain. “And I wore the dress for you.” The second part is softer, and it slips in below my defenses, reaching down my throat to grip my heart and yank on it.
I slap her bare ass, watching my handprints bloom, needing the distraction from the effect of her words.
“I’m not yours to tempt,” I snarl, spanking harder than I mean to. I don’t want her dressing for me. I didn’t ask for that. I can’t fucking withstand my desire if she does that.
She yelps at the intensity, and I stop to rub. I step in close, needing more contact than just my hand on her ass. I grind my dick against her hip and slip one hand down her panties in the front and continue to knead her heated ass with the other. She keeps her hands against the wall like a good girl.
The catch of her breath hangs tender and raw between us. My finger parts her folds, and I find she’s dripping wet. Slick with arousal—as turned on as I am.
There’s no stopping now. Giving her a spanking without getting her off would be a form of abuse, and I’m not that guy.
So even though I shouldn’t, even though I’ve vowed never to take another woman, I curl my fingers, molding my palm around her mons and slipping my index and middle fingers into her welcoming channel.
“Dima,” she moans, like the temptress. A siren luring me to my demise.