A Very Russian Christmas (12 page)

Concerned for her, Kostya pivoted quickly, cupped her face and tilted back her head. He gazed at the injury. “We have to put ice on that.”

Dazed, she clutched his wrist, her soft fingers curling along his skin and setting his body alight with need. “Thank you.”

Teased by the scent of her perfume, Kostya dropped his gaze to her pink lips. Perhaps he could have just one kiss…?

No. Don’t be stupid. Get her inside. Go home.

Clearing his throat, he took his hand away from her face. “You don’t have to thank me for helping you.” He spotted the goose bumps rising along her exposed skin. A cold wind blew across them. He picked up her jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

Not arguing with him, Holly led him up her sidewalk and into her home. Their floor plans were similar with his house only slightly larger. Where he had chosen a dark hickory for his floors, she had picked out a pale, gleaming oak. Her walls were a breezy shade of blue and bedecked with photos and witty word art pieces.

The differences in their lives had never been more perfectly presented to him. She was sweet, fun and lived a full, happy life. He was dark, somber and lived a life filled with terrible secrets and even worse deeds.

Shaking off that depressing thought, he said, “Go change. I’ll make an ice pack for your face.”

“Oh, Kostya, you don’t have to do that.” Embarrassment caused her ears to flush. “You did enough coming to my rescue out there with Cody.”

He committed the other man’s name to memory along with the license plate on the car. He fully intended to pay Cody a visit in a few days just to rattle that bastard’s cage. “Where the hell did you meet someone like that?”

“His mom comes to the salon. She’s friends with my mother. I guess they thought it would be a good idea to set us up. You know, the flighty cosmetologist with the successful divorce lawyer. He had tickets for the Weston Christmas Gala so I accepted the date thinking he might have some potential.”

What about me? Does she think I have potential? No
, he silently acknowledged. He had been friend-zoned from their very first meeting nearly a year earlier. For her safety, it was best.

“He’s scum, Holly.”

“He was just a little drunk and really stupid.”

“I’ve been very drunk and extremely stupid, but I’ve never put my hands on a woman.” He flexed his fingers at his sides rather than indulge the clawing need within him to caress her bare skin. “Men like that are dangerous. You will never go out with that man again. Do you understand?”

“Excuse me?” Her green eyes went wide with surprise at his harsh tone. “You’re my friend, but you don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

“Because I am your friend, I get to tell you all sorts of things that you don’t want to hear, Holly. That man is off-limits. He’ll hurt you—and then I’ll have to hurt him.”

Her expression relaxed some. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but you don’t have to go all crazy alpha male on me. You know? You could just say, ‘Hey, Holly, you can do better.’ You don’t have to throw down ultimatums.”

Duly chastised, he nodded. “You can do better, Holly. Much, much better,” he murmured. “You deserve the very best in a man. Not some fucking prick like that.”

“Well, when you find that man, send him my way.” With a soft touch to his chest, she said, “There’s beer in my fridge. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Unable to help himself, he tilted his head and watched the sultry swing of her trim hips as she walked down the hall to the master suite. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to be a true knight in shining armor riding to the rescue of his woman. A real hero wouldn’t be standing here in her living room, tiny purse in hand, while the damsel in distress disappeared into a bedroom.

The sexiest images taunted him. If he was a good man, a man who could offer Holly a future, he would follow her down that hall, gather her tightly in his arms and finally get that kiss he had wanted since meeting her on that rainy March morning. Maybe it would go somewhere. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, he would finally quench the undeniable thirst for that sweet, pouty mouth of hers.

Rolling his neck, Kostya cursed himself for even dreaming of something so wildly impossible. She inhabited a world so far removed from his it was as if they lived on opposite ends of the known universe.

Turning toward her kitchen, he came face to face with dozens of framed photographs arranged gallery style on her walls. As if to prove a point, the wall mocked him. She had family and friends who loved her. What did he have? He had Nikolai’s family, all of them bonded by a different sort of blood.

Stepping closer to inspect the photos, he placed her clutch on the entryway table and scanned the ones he had already seen the half a dozen or so times he had been inside her home. They provided a snapshot of her life in Houston. Holly as a cheerleader at a high school football game. Holly as the Prom Queen. Holly at sorority parties. Holly graduating from Rice. Holly opening the salon with her two best friends.

He enjoyed the photos of Holly and her mother the most. He hadn’t met Annette Martin yet, but she looked like a very nice woman. Judging by her age in the newest photos, she had been an older mother, probably in her early forties when Holly was born. He wondered if that was why she had chosen to raise Holly alone and without the help of a husband or partner. By all accounts, Annette was quite successful in her career with one of Houston’s mega energy firms. She was now a CFO and incredibly well-respected.

“Are you ogling me in my cheerleader uniform again?”

Kostya laughed and made the mistake of glancing at her. Though he had just come from a strip club where the women were walking around bare ass naked, it was the sight of Holly in slim-fitting yoga pants and a plain pink T-shirt that made his cock stir to life. Fresh faced, she had wiped away all the traces of her makeup and pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail.

Ignoring that pulsing ache deep in his belly, Kostya shook his head. “No, I wasn’t ogling you.”

“Sure you weren’t, you perv,” she teased and bumped him with her hip.

He didn’t even try to stop the smile that curved his typically grim-set mouth. Sliding his gaze along the wall, he spotted a set of photos he had never seen. He was a bit taken aback by the Russian landmarks he knew only too well. “Those are new.”

“Yes.” She reached out to trace the frames. “Mom is going to downsize in the spring from that monstrosity of a mansion up in The Woodlands so we’ve been going through the rooms at the house to see what she’ll keep, sell or donate. I found a box of photographs from her year in Russia.”

“What was she doing there?” He glanced at the pictures of Annette around various tourist hotspots like the Hermitage Museum and Saint Basil’s Cathedral.

“The company she works for wanted to get in on the ground level of the oil and gas exploration over there. She hopped around the country and spent most of her time in Kazakhstan, I guess. It was only the last three months or so that she was in Moscow and St. Petersburg.”

As he studied the photos, a conclusion began to form. He noted the fashions her mother wore, the vehicles and even the few visible advertisements. It wasn’t difficult to do the math. “Your father…?”

“Yes,” Holly said quietly. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know his name. Mom said it’s not important, and frankly, I decided that I didn’t want to know the name of the man who wanted nothing to do with me or my mother.”

Kostya wondered if it was that simple. Not wanting to upset her, he let the issue drop. He had his own ways of finding out information like that.

“Come on. Let’s have that beer.” She gave the sleeve of his jacket a tug. “Take this off. You’re going to burn up in here under all that leather.”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t want to be forced to reveal the gun hidden under his jacket. When they reached the kitchen, he stopped her before she got to the refrigerator. “I’ll get that. You get up here.” He patted the granite counter. “Let me get a look at that scrape on your cheek.”

“I’ve already put some antibiotic ointment on it.”

“I still want to look at it. You might need to be seen by a doctor.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You are way too overprotective.”

He bit back a reply and grabbed two beers from the fridge. She hopped up onto the small island and impatiently swung her legs while he filled a small plastic bag with ice and wrapped it with a dishtowel.

Standing in front of her, he set aside the ice pack and gingerly clasped her face between his hands. Their gazes clashed as he tilted her head back and examined the grazed skin across the tip of her nose and the apple of her cheek. It took all the self-control he could muster not to gently caress her beautiful face and run his thumb along that bee-stung lower lip.

“You’ll have a bruise.” Fingertips electrified by the contact with her supple skin, he reached for the ice pack. “It won’t be too bad.”

“Thankfully, I’m an ace at makeup application.” She took the pack from him and placed it against her puffy cheek. She turned a critical eye to the front of his shirt. “Although, maybe I should come to you for tips if I ever have a hankering to toss on some stripper dust.”

He glanced down and saw the glittery specks on the front of his shirt. “Shit.”

She laughed and gestured toward the beers. “Grab the church key from the fridge and pop that top for me. I’ll definitely need a drink for this story.”

“There’s no story.” He swiped the magnet-backed bottle opener from the stainless steel door.

“Really? Because I’m thinking that a handsome guy like you hanging out in some dirty freaking strip club on Christmas Eve has got to have a story behind it.”

Hearing her call him handsome made his heartbeat speed up. Popping the caps off the beers, he handed one to her. “First, Wet isn’t a dirty freaking strip club.” He repeated her exact phrase. “It’s a first-rate gentlemen’s club.”

“If you say so…” She sipped her beer.

“I do.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why were you there? Surely, you have no problem finding a hot woman willing to dance naked in your own bedroom.”

He nearly choked on his mouthful of beer. Gulping it down, he glanced at her to see if she was teasing him. She looked dead serious. Clearing his throat, he stated, “I don’t bring women to my house.”

“I noticed that.”

“Did you?” He wasn’t sure he liked being watched that closely. “Well, I’ve noticed you don’t have overnight guests either.”

“By the time we shut the salon down, it’s almost nine. Then I’ve got to drive across town, make dinner, do laundry, blah, blah, blah.” She waved her hand. “Trying to get a small business through the first five years is tough. And, obviously, after tonight’s front yard spectacle, I’ve got no business inviting men home with me.”

He wasn’t sure if she expected him to encourage her to try again. If she did, she was shit out of luck because he wasn’t about to suggest anything of the sort. Selfish as it was, he didn’t want any man heating up her sheets.

Unless it’s me.

Pushing aside that tempting thought, he asked, “How is business?”

She smiled knowingly before taking another drink. Mercifully, she let the topic of strip clubs go and didn’t force him to admit that he owned them. They finished their beers while chatting about the salon she loved so much. With her mother’s deep pockets funding the enterprise, they were very nearly in the black. Considering the unbelievable amount of hours Holly had put into her salon, he was thrilled for her. She deserved so much success.

“I should go.” He said after draining the last of his drink. “It’s late. You need to rest.”

“I need a lot of things,” she murmured, “but I’m not sure rest is at the top of that list.”

Was she coming onto him? He couldn’t tell and didn’t want to risk misreading her and upsetting their friendship.

“Well, I’m an old man so rest is at the top of mine.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “What are you? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Seriously?” She slanted her head to the side and examined him more closely. “You’re going to be one of those ridiculously sexy silver foxes in another twenty years.”

He chortled loudly and swiped the empty bottle from her hand. “You’re drunk.”

“Hardly,” she said and hopped down off the island. “I’ve only had a glass of wine and that beer all night.”

“You’re a lightweight.” In his line of work, accurately judging height and weight came in very handy. Holly couldn’t weigh more than fifty kilograms. Maybe fifty-two, he allowed, while rinsing their empty bottles in the sink. He dropped them into the recycling bin in her laundry room and came back into the kitchen to find she had disappeared on him.

Frowning, he went in search of her. He found Holly crouched down in front of her Christmas tree. There were only a handful of presents under the tree, and she selected a gift bag with a vintage holiday print on the front. Grinning at him, she crossed the living room and presented it to him. “So, I know we agreed we were going to trade white elephant gifts this year…”