Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (7 page)

The music started again. Except
for the general, her companions left the table to dance. Cecile turned toward
the general determined to start a sensible conversation before he could ask her
to dance again, before he made her lose her head on his shoulder. “Why are you
so worried about being seen in a restaurant?”

“A few months ago, I was promoted
to
Major
Generalle
. I’m a public figure in Belarus,” he said
matter-of-factly while staring straight ahead. “Being too friendly with the
American delegation can be misinterpreted. There are those who are jealous
because of this promotion and others who lay all their hopes on my shoulders.”
He paused and faced her, his eyes gleaming with dark-blue sparkles. “I dream of
a modern Belarus, with enough work and food for everyone and a safe
environment. Now, I need to translate my vision into action. Can you understand
that, Cecile?” The words rang with patriotism and daunting responsibilities.

“Yes. I feel the same
protectiveness—of course on a smaller scale—toward my lab. General, I will do
my best to help you provide a safe environment. I’ll set up the lab as fast as
I can.”

“The lab is not enough, Cecile.”
He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, “but let’s not talk about work now. Can
you call me Sergei, please?”

“Oh.” She stiffened, convinced
that the use of his name would make her more accessible, vulnerable. She
couldn’t allow it. “I thought everyone used your title.”

“In public. Not in private.”

The music stopped for another
intermission. The restaurant had become crowded with new patrons. John and
Tania, Nicolai and his wife resumed their seats at the table. The general stood
and moved his chair closer to Cecile’s to let John squeeze back into his seat.

“I’m sorry,” the general said as
his thigh rubbed against hers. Cecile choked on her beer. Her hand flew to her
burning cheek and slid to her throat, her swallowing audible. Tolerating the
general’s close proximity without betraying her attraction proved quite a
challenge. She had to break the sensual spell that threatened to engulf her.

She turned toward Sergei. “If
you’ll excuse me, tomorrow will be a busy day. I need all the sleep I can get.”

“I’m leaving too, Cecile. It’s
already past eleven and I think I drank a bit too much,” John said with a
groan. “Tomorrow will be a full day with another visit to the Belchem Lab and
the meeting in Dr. Kadelov’s office. Are you ready Tania?”

Tania pushed her chair out to
leave. “It’s chilly now. Do you want me to get the car from the hotel to drive
you back?”

“Of course not. It’s just a few
blocks,” Cecile said as she stood to leave. “General, Nicolai, Yelena, it was a
lovely evening.”

“I will walk with you to the
hotel then take the bus.” The general gestured for her to precede him then
helped her with her raincoat. “Nicolai, I will see you tomorrow.
Dobroye
noyte
, Yelena.”

They stepped out in the night.
Her heart drumming inside her chest, she realized the general had cut his fun
short to be with them.

Sergei held her arm and led her
across the street and down the stone stairs that led to the riverbank. John
leaned on Tania’s arm as they followed behind them.

“Are you sure you can make it,
John?”

“What a question, Cecile.” He
straightened and accelerated his pace. “I’m very sober. Just a bit tired. The
jetlag of course.” He passed Cecile and the general. “By the time…I reach the
hotel,” he stuttered as he looked back over his shoulder, “I’ll be ready…for
another round…if the general wants to join me.”

Sergei chuckled. “Not tonight,
moy
drouk
.”

“Mr. Gordon, wait here. I will
get the car for you.” Tania took off dashing toward the hotel.

Cecile helped John sit on a bench
and then left with the general. Soon the lights of the restaurant and the
street disappeared and the night swallowed them. Far above, a crescent moon
sporadically appeared between the clouds.

Cecile shivered and gathered her
collar around her neck then buried her gloved hands inside her pockets.

“You’re trembling.” Sergei
removed his short leather coat and draped it around her shoulders. “This should
help.”

“What about you? You’ll get
cold.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m used
to worse weather than this. Wait till our winter starts. You’ll discover the
true meaning of cold.”

She snuggled into his jacket and
sighed as the delicious warmth of his body heat and the scent of his Old Spice
wafted around her. Sergei grinned and wrapped his arm around her back. She felt
sheltered and warm.

“Tell me, Cecile, how is it that
your name sounds French?”

“Because it is.” She’d never
talked about her personal life. Seeing his curious look, somehow, she didn’t
mind telling him. “I was born in Paris of French parents. My father died during
a military exercise, when the plane he was piloting crashed. I was three. Later
on, my mother married an American and moved to Boston. They traveled quite a
bit and left me behind in boarding schools.”

“So your father was in the Air
Force?”

“And an ace pilot who tested
experimental planes.” She paused for a second and stared straight ahead at the
pitch-black night, recalling the loneliness she’d tried to bury, first under
long hours of study and later in continuous work. She tilted her head,
following her memories. “I learned to be independent and fend for myself. My
mother brought me back to France every few years to visit with my
grandparents.”

“Where did you go to school? In
France or the U.S.?”

“I did my undergraduate studies
at Northeastern University in Boston but I spent my junior year in Paris.
Later, I prepared my doctorate in Chemistry at Harvard.”

Sergei whistled softly. “A
brilliant brain in a pretty package. No wonder you ended up as the Program
Manager of our project.”

She chuckled, then sighed. The
general excelled at offering compliments but she would still have to convince
him she deserved the contract and her title.

Far above in the street, the
screeching of tires alerted them to reality. She removed his coat and handed it
to him. “I can see the lights of the hotel.”

He caught her hand as they
climbed the stairs leading to the street and walked her to the revolving door
of the hotel. Before she entered, he clasped her shoulders. “Be careful. Not
everyone accepts foreigners here. Beware of General Roussov. He hates me. He
could harm you if he links you to me. One can never be too cautious with my
former father-in-law.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

 “Thank you for a unique
evening.”

“Goodnight, General.”

He brought her hand to his lips,
lingered on her fingers, and trailed kisses to her wrist. “General, please.”

He cupped her face between his
hands and deposited a light kiss on her parted mouth. “Sleep well, sweet
Cecile.”

Chapter Six

His heart overwhelmed with
frustration, Sergei Fedorin watched the young woman rush away from him. He
protected millions of citizens but could not afford the simple gesture of
courtesy to walk this American inside her hotel. In his country, they would
consider it high treason for their Major General to date a foreigner.

He sat on a bench beside the
river and waited for the brisk cold to quiet his throbbing headache and cool
his boiling blood. He wanted her so badly. Not only in a physical way—although
he admitted to himself, she tied him into a knot with a simple touch. He wanted
her presence but also admired her poise, her assertiveness and her
self-confidence. She wasn’t afraid to tackle a man’s job.

Sofya had needed him. Cecile
didn’t.

For the first time in his life,
he enjoyed carrying on an intelligent conversation with a woman. If only he
could date her openly, invite her out and take the time to know her and court
her.

For one crazy moment, he wondered
what it would be like to be free, to run away—far away, to Europe or
America—with the woman he wanted. Impossible dreams.

Exasperated, he slapped his
thigh. He had become a controlled public figure, watched and scrutinized by
everyone. A statue on a pedestal, admired and revered but not allowed to
breathe, or love, or live a personal life. The Major General of Belarus had forever
buried the Citizen Sergei Fedorin.

Sergei tolerated it because of
his love for Belarus. He had given his country his best years and would
continue to serve it until his last breath. A bitter smile stretched his lips.
How could he ever forget his patriotism, the nine million citizens who counted
on him?

* * * * *

In her bed, Cecile rubbed a
finger over her lips and smiled as she remembered the strength of his arms
around her back, the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his lips on her
cheeks. She closed her eyes, yearning to discover the rest of his powerful
body.

Tonight, Sergei had trusted her
and confided his patriotic dream. His life belonged to his country even more
than hers belonged to her lab.

What future could they share?

The loneliness of her Bostonian
life submerged her. Could she allow herself to taste happiness in his arms?

She hugged her pillow trying to
think rationally. Today she had been warned twice.

Colonel Roussov had cautioned her
against Sergei. The father, still mourning, seemed to have reason to hate the
Major General he held responsible for neglecting his daughter, even on her
deathbed.

But Sergei had also warned her
against Roussov. Could the man who held her with so much passion be callous
enough to let his wife die alone?

The question swirled in her mind,
almost hurt her with its abrasiveness and grated on her nerves. She had to find
out how his wife died.

* * * * *

After a full day of work at the
Belchem Laboratory, Nicolai pulled Cecile aside. “My wife has asked me to
invite you for dinner. You can ride with us in the military Jeep. I have
already spoken with John. Our
Generalle
is coming too.”

She nodded with a smile. “Thank
you. It’ll be a pleasure.”

As he turned toward the Jeep,
Cecile tugged at his sleeve and threw a furtive glance toward the general.
“Tell me. When Sergei’s wife was sick, did he leave her all by herself?”

Nicolai spun around, scowling.
Irritation clouded his gaze. “Is that what his father-in-law told you? Do not
listen to Roussov. That son of a
dourak
is a corrupt man. He will do
anything to destroy Sergei,” Nicolai said through narrowed lips. “Six months
ago, our Vice-President awarded Sergei with the
Vallianskaya Medaal
for
his dedication to our mother country. He also promoted him to Major
Generalle
of Belarus, at the age of forty. Roussov almost burst with jealousy.”

Her mouth curved into a smile. In
her tedious routine and well-structured life, she’d never met exciting people.
Working on the project took on a different perspective.

“But did she die alone?” Could
the hero of Belarus be so insensitive?

“Sergei was a young colonel on a
difficult mission in a bloody war. He could not desert his position in Chechnya
and leave his troops.”

The revelation punched her and
she fell back a step. Nicolai grasped her arm. She realized he wanted to infuse
her with his loyalty toward the general he admired. “Sergei adored his wife.
Sofya shared his patriotism. She never tried to hold him back.”

“But he let her die alone?” Oh God,
had he no feelings?

“He couldn’t be with her.”
Nicolai hissed. “His mother stayed with Sofya until the day she died. Sergei
arrived in time to bury her. He did not cry but he broke several pieces of
furniture in their small apartment. On her tomb, he pledged to cleanse our land
from the Chernobyl pollution. Help him keep his promise, Cecile.”

Deep in her heart, she had known
Sergei was innocent of Roussov’s accusations but hearing Nicolai absolve him
filled her heart with relief. Nicolai helped her into the backseat of the Jeep.
As she slid next to Sergei, she caught his questioning look and smiled without
answering. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned her Belarus trip. The contract
she fought so hard to win was growing into something more than pure business.
It was becoming a passionate mission. Sergei’s mission.

Half an hour later Nicolai and
his wife, Yelena received them in a small living room with a bay window. Cecile
sat next to John on the red velvet sofa. Sergei leaned against the frame of the
bay window while Nicolai removed shot glasses from the cherry wood wall-to-wall
unit and filled them with the traditional vodka. He handed around the full
glasses.

Yelena set several plates of
home-cooked hors d’oeuvres on the table covered with a hand-embroidered
tablecloth. With a bright smile, Nicolai raised his glass. “As you well know by
now, in Belarus, we greet our friends with a toast.
Na zdorovie
,
moy
drouk
, my American friends.”

Cecile cautiously sipped her
drink until she got used to the fiery liquid. She put down the small glass, her
eyes watering, her cheeks burning. Toasting was now included in her job
description but she needed to discuss one serious point before they became
entangled in the vodka business.

She lifted a hand to request their
attention. “General Fedorin has asked me to collect samples from around Minsk
and take them to Boston for analysis at EAL lab. John, this task is not
included in the contract.”

“You’ve got a fixed price
contract. If you want to do some extra work to satisfy the Belarusians be my
guest. Your company will have to absorb the cost.” John shook his head. “Can’t
you ever relax and stop talking business? I need a drink.”