Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (23 page)

He blinked, finding it difficult
to digest her words. “This is not a fun trip. I may not have time for you
there.”

“I know. I want to be with you.
Unless it compromises your public image?”

“Nobody cares about my public image
in this remote area.” He frowned, still not sure he understood. She was
pleading with him to take her to visit his dying mother. How could he tell her
the village and the little house where his mother lay ill was a far cry from
the well-tended American farms pictured on TV?

“The house is cold and small and
dark. And unlike…” He hesitated, hating to denigrate his birthplace.

“Stop it, Sergei. I want to be
with you. That’s what counts for me. And I’ll meet your mother. I’m sure she
must be a wonderful woman to have raised such a son.” She smiled, a lovely
sweet smile that melted his apprehension.

He captured her lips one more
time, pouring his love and appreciation into his kiss.

Cecile disentangled herself.
“Help me store this food in the fridge.”

“No, we will put it in boxes and
eat it in the train. Believe me, the first meal you have cooked for me will be
rightfully honored,” he said while covering the pot containing the roast.

In less than five minutes, they
had the dinner packed into plastic containers.

“What about the flowers? Can I
take them to your mom?”

A strange emotion filled him as
he recalled that his mother had not received flowers in years. He’d bought her
food, medicine and clothes, and gave her money. He suppressed a bitter smile. His
mamouchka
would have scolded him if he ever wasted precious rubles on
something so trivial. The only flowers he’d ever bought in his life were the
ones he gave Cecilya, when he tried to match—in a measly way—the luxury she
must have been used to. Without comment, Sergei indulged her by wrapping the
vase and its contents.

He helped her with her coat and
wore his. “I may have to stay longer than a day.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with
you.”

He adjusted the
chapka
on
her hair and caressed her cheek. “You have an answer to every problem. Are you
always so determined when you want something?”

“Always.” She chuckled and
shrugged. “It’s part of my upbringing. Let’s go.”

Hooking her arm through his, she
let him guide her through the dark streets. Her gaze followed the reflection of
the few ghostly shadows of cars and passersby on the glittering icy sidewalk.

“You are very quiet, Cecilya.”

“I’m concentrating on my steps.
It’s quite slippery on this sidewalk. Do they never shovel the snow in Minsk?”

He laughed as if she just said a
stupid joke. “By hand? There is too much of it on the ground. We just wait. It
will melt in the spring.”

They turned around the corner and
reached the main street. Sergei quickened his steps. She hung more heavily on
his arm until they entered a revolving door leading to the train station. He
lowered his
chapka
deep over his eyes and wrapped the scarf around his
mouth.

He halted at the ticket window
and looked at her with hesitation. “Cecile, when I travel for personal reasons
I buy an economy class ticket.”

“How long is the trip?” she
asked, wondering if they could still save some part of their original plans.

“Eight hours. We will arrive at
dawn. Of course, a separate compartment would be more private.”

Cecile understood his dilemma. As
usual, money was a difficult issue. “It was my idea to come with you. Please,
let me handle the tickets.” She grabbed his arm before his hand reached his
pocket. “Anyway I give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar or in this case to
Belarus. Last night, I won a lot of money at the casino of the hotel.”

“You played at the casino?” His
eyes almost popped out of his head.

“I’ll tell you all about it
later.” She stuffed a packet of rubles in his hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “It looks
like you have an awful lot of things to tell me, my dear.”

Cecile grimaced determined to
avoid tricky subjects that would sour the moment. In spite of his
understandable worry about his mother, Sergei was in a relatively easygoing
mood and she wanted to keep it that way.

He shoved the tickets into his
pocket and recaptured her hand. Cecile spun her head right and left, intrigued
by the crowd running in different directions. He led her toward the correct
platform where a train with a succession of red and silver cars was already
stationed.

Sergei helped her up into the
train and they strolled along the corridor to the right compartment. He
deposited his bag on the small table adjoining the large window and slid the
door closed behind them. “Your mobile palace for the next few hours, madam.”

Cecile peered through the glass.
A train passed parallel to theirs. She lowered the shade and flopped down on
one of the benches clapping her hands. “A haven of privacy.” She beamed,
delighted.

He smiled at her excitement. “Let’s
eat.”

Sergei opened the bag, extracted
the boxes, plates, forks and knives, a bottle of wine and two glasses. She
prepared their plates while he poured the wine. They heard the bell announcing
their departure. The train chugged and then gained speed.

She raised her glass to toast.
Her arm stopped in midair. This was not a fun adventure but a visit to his
dying mother. She lowered her glass and waited, not wanting to spoil the moment
and not knowing what to say.

His gaze met hers and he
understood. “I will take care of my mother when we arrive. The next eight hours
belong to us alone. I drink to you, my love.” He clanked his glass against
hers.

Sergei tasted the meat and
immediately took another mouthful. “Delicious,” he said while chewing with undisguised
hunger. “I never thought a businesswoman could cook so well. Hmm, the beans
taste so good.” He cleared his plate. “Can I have some more?” he asked with
boyish embarrassment.

“Of course,” she said, pleased to
see him eating with such gusto.

He emptied his plate and licked
his lips. “It’s been a long time since I ate such a tasty meal. Why were you
hiding your culinary talents? A woman who cooks so well is a husband’s dream.”

She laughed. “Don’t raise your
hopes too high. I rarely have time to cook.” Cutting the cake she gave him a
big portion and took a small one for herself. “I’d better watch the calories.”

“Now, a glass of wine to help the
digestion.” He poured the rest of the wine and raised his glass. “To the pretty
cook. My mother used to say, ‘the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his
stomach.’ But you, my dear, grabbed my heart before feeding my stomach.”

“I wish I could keep your heart,
Sergei.” The smile disappeared from her lips as she remembered the many
problems facing them.

“Why the sad expression, Cecilya?
You were smiling so happily a few seconds ago. What’s going on in your pretty
head?”

Cecile put the boxes and plates
into the bag and threw the empty bottle in the wastebasket without answering.
Sergei wiped his mouth and sat beside her. His arm encircled her shoulders.
“You haven’t answered my questions.”

She leaned her head against his
arm and closed her eyes. “I love you, Sergei.”

He brought her against his chest
and claimed her lips in a tender kiss that clearly said, “I love you too.”

She forgot her worries when his
tongue invaded her mouth and thrust deep inside. He smoothed her hair and
caressed her nape. Then pulled his head away and smiled. “It’s hot in this
compartment. You don’t need to be buried under a mountain of clothing. Allow
me.”

He slid her heavy sweater away
and removed the turtleneck. “You know, my love. The only time I undressed you,
you were asleep. I fought to control my desire. Tonight, I will enjoy removing
your clothes one by one while making love to you.”

She felt herself blushing like a
young bride, already excited by his words and panting for his caress and his
body.

“I’ll share the undressing with
you.” She reached for his sweater and he swiftly removed it. She unbuttoned his
shirt and brushed her palm against his skin. He held his breath as her fingers
tangled in the soft curls at his chest and circled his nipples. She watched him
holding himself still, reveling in her ministrations. His eyes closed, his
teeth bit into his lower lip, his breathing came in ragged gasps.

She bent, trailing her lips along
his chest and licked his nipple while her hand reached down to unzip his pants.
He sighed and caught her wrist. “No, my love, this is my part.”

Damn it, the man insisted on
always being in control. She remembered their first lovemaking and then smiled.
She didn’t mind him in control and she didn’t mind a repeat performance but he
was too slow, so exquisitely slow she was afraid she’d soon beg him to take her
and end the sweet torture.

He removed her pants, undershirt
and bra and undressed her while staring at her.

“You smell of fresh flowers,” he
said as he nuzzled her neck. Uncovering the couchette, he pushed her gently
down on the sheet then reached for her waist and dragged down her bikini
briefs. Sergei stood towering above her, studying every inch of her body,
warming her with the intensity of his gaze.

Kneeling in front of her, he
massaged her feet and ankles and worked his way up her legs and thighs with
inexorable slowness. Cecile lowered her eyelids and moaned. Unable to withstand
the scorching heat of his hands and his eyes, she lay down and he stretched
halfway on top of her. His hand roamed over her breasts, fondling and
tantalizing them with blazing kisses.

She wriggled under him. His cool
skin couldn’t smother the fire that spread from her breasts down to the core of
her sensitivity. He seemed to understand her needs and responded with his own.

His mouth captured hers and his
hand reached, deep between her legs, cradling her mound. His fingers delved
into her wet warmth, gentle and persistent. She groaned in his mouth. Fueled by
her escalating desire, her hands spread on his back and raked the hard muscles.

She was ready for him. Snatching
her mouth away, she squirmed and spread her legs to send him a message—a prayer
or an order, she didn’t care which as long as he entered her and extinguished
the fire that consumed her. “Sergei, my darling,” she purred as she slithered
her hand down the length of his body and wrapped it around his shaft. Obviously
he was more than ready for her.

“Cecilya, my love,” he said, his
voice gruff. He focused a knowing look at her, heaved a sigh and slid his
fingers deeper inside her. She lifted her hips to give him better access and
quivered. Dipping over her, he buried his mouth between her achingly sensitive
breasts, lavished one than the other with moist kisses and suckled her nipples.

She tightened her grip around him
and stroked his penis with increasing urgency until he groaned and pulled her
fingers away. She almost cursed with frustration and want. He protected himself
and she sighed with relief as he moved on top of her. He plunged into her,
thrusting deeper and deeper, moving with the cadence of the train.

Closing her eyes, she wrapped her
legs around him and squeezed her muscles to feel him better.

“Look at me,
daragaya
.
Loubloum
yavas
. My darling, I love you.” His gaze dark with passion captured hers.

“I love you.” She inhaled his clean
masculine scent and her breath stilled in her throat.

He covered her mouth with a
sizzling kiss and increased the tempo of his thrusts, piling sensation over
sensation. Ripples of pleasure washed over her and she cried in ecstasy. He
gathered her closer, fusing her to his taut body. She felt him tremble and
convulse as thousands of stars glittered in her brain and her world shattered
in his arms.

She came back to Earth,
languidly, hearing his heart pulsing against her chest and the train motion
slowing down. Sergei kissed her with a tenderness and gentleness that melted
her heart. “I love you, my Cecilya,” he whispered against her hair.

Her lips glued to his skin, she
inhaled the scent of his aftershave. She squeezed him against her wanting to
imprint every one of his muscles on her soft flesh.

The train stopped. Sergei edged
away and peered through the shade of the window. “We better get dressed. Soon,
the inspector will knock to check the tickets.”

He kissed her on the nose. “You
don’t need the heavy sweater now. Just slip on the blouse and pants. We still
have five hours. As soon as the train leaves, we will take a nap.” He pulled
his clothes on while she did the same.

Someone knocked. Sergei slid the
door slightly open and handed the two tickets to be checked. She heard
Spacibo
bolshoye
and the door slid back in place. He bolted it and came to sit next
to her.

She chuckled. “You hardly opened
the door. All he could see was your hand.”

“I prefer not to be recognized
with you in my compartment.” A momentary shadow wiped the smile from his face.
“You have refused to be my wife, but you don’t mind being my mistress.”

She gasped. “Sergei, you make it
sound…cheap. I love you and I can’t stay away from you. But a marriage between
us would raise too much controversy—you know that better than I do.”

He cradled her face in his hands.
“Cecilya, I love you and I want to marry you. You are beautiful and generous,
intelligent, strong and honest. I trust you more than I ever trusted anyone. I
know you would embrace my cause and never betray me.” He wrapped her in his
arms and pressed his cheek against hers. “I worry about you. My former
father-in-law is trying to destroy me. He would not hesitate to hurt you too. I
am glad you avoided him and did not obtain the customs permit for the equipment
through him.”