Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (12 page)

“And I am very pleased with the
progress accomplished in less than a week,” Sergei said, his voice oozing with
self-confidence.

His reassurance seemed to reach
the Vice-President. “We will give them the time needed for their task but warn
them that I want to see results as soon as possible.”

The VP stood, signifying the end
of the meeting. Both Sergei and his former father-in-law left the room.

So far, Sergei had controlled his
temper and avoided retaliation at the verbal daggers expertly aimed by the
colonel. In the hall, Roussov dropped all pretenses. “You’re going at it again?
Another woman falls prey to your powers of seduction. I thought her smart
enough to resist you.”

Sergei forced a nonchalant smile
to upset his enemy. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Dr. Lornier is a
businesswoman and a scientist interested only in her work.”

“I’m the Director of National
Security. It’s my duty to know everything,” he said with importance.

“By all means, do your job,
Roussov.” Sergei spread his arms and snorted. “Spend your day listening to all
your spying devices if that amuses you.”

Roussov raised his fists. “I will
get you, Fedorin. I swear if it’s the last thing I do on Earth, I will see you
fall. Ungrateful bastard.” He roared. “My wife helped your mother when your father
died. And I looked after you for two years.”

“You didn’t do a damned thing for
me. Your wife was a wonderful woman and I loved her dearly. We both know you
abused her and Sofya,” Sergei hissed between his teeth.

“You damn fool, you interfered
with my plans for my daughter and seduced her. Then you let her die alone,”
Roussov shouted.

“Stop it, old man. Stop your
lies. You know we loved each other. I married her and we lived happily
together. I was stuck in the Chechnyan war when she died. But you were here and
never bothered to see her in all those years.”

Sergei spun around and stomped
toward his office. He needed a strong cup of coffee. The visceral hostility of
Colonel Roussov had added a throbbing pain to an already growing headache. This
man was his cross to bear, a cross he accepted in memory of Sofya.

But he wouldn’t let Roussov ruin
his mood.

He sucked in a deep breath and
erased the grim thoughts to concentrate on planning his evening. Tonight was
special.

In his office, Sergei removed his
jacket, loosened his tie and yanked off his boots. No one dared to question why
the powerful Major General Fedorin chose to live under such Spartan conditions
when he could afford more luxurious accommodations. His officers speculated
he’d abandoned his former apartment after his wife’s death. The fact was
nobody—except Nicolai—remembered ever seeing General Fedorin living anywhere
else than in his offices at the Ministry of Defense and the Hall of Officers.

A light knock on the door
announced the secretary and a much needed cup of coffee. Sergei sat at his
desk. “Eugene, you can go home now. I’m too tired to work tonight. Tell the
Jeep’s driver I won’t need his services until tomorrow evening. I may go with
the officers to the Gentlemen’s Spa and will return very late.”

“Yes, my General. I hope you’ll
feel better by tomorrow.”

Sergei knew that his decision to
dismiss them early would not surprise his secretary or the Jeep’s driver. They
were used to their general taking off with his officers on a long wild night
almost every Friday.

The Gentlemen’s Spa provided good
relaxation to sore muscles but also plenty of booze and terrific entertainment
followed by discreet companionship for the night. The door closed behind the
secretary. Sergei sipped his coffee and smiled.

Tonight, he would have a very
different agenda. He had asked Nicolai to bring Cecilya to his flat, his
personal apartment where he rarely set foot. He wanted Cecilya in his arms and
he promised himself that their first night together would provide her with
memories she would cherish forever. He spent the next half-hour planning their
evening and night.

Heavy boots pounded in the
corridor. He opened the door to greet Nicolai and grabbed his long gray coat.
They walked out of Sergei’s office, exiting through the main gate of the
Ministry of Defense and automatically returning the guards’ salute. Sergei
stopped a taxi and ordered the driver to take them to Nicolai’s apartment. His
colonel’s wife and children were out visiting the grandparents.

Sergei changed into civilian
clothing and joined his friend in his Volvo. “I left my uniform at your place.
I will stop and get it tomorrow.”

“No problem.” Nicolai drove him
to the market. “Enjoy your evening, my
Generalle
.”

They shook hands. Sergei clasped
Nicolai’s shoulder. “Thank you,
moy drouk
. I count on you. Here is the
key. Give it to her. Be careful.”

Sergei strolled toward the
market. It had been ages since he’d freely roamed in a public bazaar. He bought
meat, potatoes and cake, collected several bottles of clear vodka and wine.
After standing in line to pay, he returned to pick up a bouquet of red
carnations.

His arms loaded with two big
bags, he waited for public transportation. Nothing differentiated him from the
crowd that swarmed toward the bus. His athletic body covered by the heavy gray
coat and part of his face concealed by the black fur
chapka
, he stood in
a corner, turned his back to the riders and watched the cars pass by.

The bus dropped him two blocks
away from his building. He walked briskly and entered the dark lobby. The
elevator stopped at the seventh floor and Sergei opened the door to his
apartment and his memories.

A rancid smell of confined air
emerged from the dark place. He flicked on a light switch and strode straight
to the tiny kitchen to dump his bags on the narrow countertop and open a
window. He welcomed the freezing air.

Nothing had changed in the small
flat, the narrow bedroom, the hall used as living room and dining area, the
bathroom cramped with a toilet, sink and shower, the kitchen where two people
could squeeze with difficulty.

It was all there, exactly as he’d
left it five years ago but somehow everything looked different, older and
inadequate. The gray sofa seemed darker, the dining table smaller and the lamp
weaker.

His finger slid over the wooden
back of a chair, sweeping up a heavy layer of dust. He scowled, upset at his
negligence. Sofya’s cheerful apartment was falling into decay. But Sofya was no
more and tonight he would turn the page.

Sergei removed his coat, jacket
and tie. He went back to the kitchen to fetch a rag and attacked the furniture
with the same frenzy and tenacity he deployed in a battlefield. He wiped and
dusted the furniture, mopped the floor, fluttered clean sheets on the bed and
spread an embroidered tablecloth on the table.

He closed the kitchen window.
Cecile was sensitive to the cold and tonight he wanted her warm and relaxed.
Pleased with himself and his domestic accomplishments, he arranged the flowers
in a vase and set it in the middle of the table while whistling a Russian
melody.

He surveyed the bedroom and
froze. A large frame with the picture of a happy smiling couple adorned the
chest. Since Sofya had died, five years ago, Sergei had worshipped this
picture. He reached for the frame then hesitated, as if he was afraid to commit
a crime. His fingers caressed the picture with reverence. He would never forget
her. He fixed his gaze on the image of the frail wife he had loved so much.

Forgive me, my angel. Please,
allow me to live again
.

He waited for a crazy moment,
expecting his angel to answer. He hauled a heavy breath and hid the frame in
the top drawer. Two other smaller pictures disappeared in the same way from the
living room corner table.

Sergei plugged in his old record
player and music filled the room. He checked his watch. It was six-thirty. In
an hour Cecilya would be here. He seasoned the steaks and arranged them in a
pan, remembering with bitterness that in the first years of his marriage he
couldn’t afford to buy meat for his young wife. He washed and boiled the
potatoes. His culinary expertise was rudimentary—almost nonexistent to be
honest—but he planned to compensate in different areas. He repressed a
confident gloat and helped himself to a glass of vodka. The music, the flowers
and the spicy smell emanating from the kitchen restored the pleasant and cozy
atmosphere in his little flat.

He sat on the sofa and waited.

A key rattling in the door bolted
him out of his reverie. Sergei opened the door and pulled Cecile in his arms.
He kicked the door closed behind them. The fur of her
chapka
tickled his
cheek. He held her away at arm’s length and examined her with amused curiosity.

“Do I have the right person? My
Cecilya metamorphosed into a Russian lady?”

She pirouetted in front of him.
“I went shopping with Tania. How do you like it, my General?”

He grinned. “I love it. Cecilya
is suddenly Belarusian. You’re adorable in this outfit.” Wrapping his arms
around her shoulders, he kissed her, then raised his head and surveyed her new
coat. His gaze slid from her hat all the way down to the tips of her boots. “Is
it my imagination or have you grown taller today?”

“Tania convinced me to buy these
high-heeled boots.” Chuckling, she took off her coat and yanked the
chapka
away. She fluffed her hair then scanned the place. “I like your living room.
It’s pleasant and cozy. Are you going to give me a tour of the apartment?”

“In a while. Are you hungry? Come
and help with the steaks.”

 * * * * *

Her heart racing in anticipation,
Cecile delighted in the domestic scenario. Sergei fixing dinner with her
assistance. A simple scene but played by a magnificent hero. Her eyes roamed
over his corded neck, his wide shoulders. She licked her lips, yearning to
fondle the rippling muscles. Her fingers moved forward…then linked behind her
back.

Coming here tonight might prove
to be the worst mistake of her life. Reason shouted to get out of the apartment
now, while she could still function with a clear mind.

“How can I help?” she asked,
slamming the door on reason.

In the small kitchen, they bumped
into each other several times. Sergei burst out laughing. “Since we’re crammed
together every time we move, let’s do it the right way.”

Extending his left arm behind her
shoulders, he pressed her against his side. “Now, you have both hands free. Can
you please open the oven and put the steak pan inside? I already adjusted it to
broil.”

Cecile deposited the pan onto the
oven rack. “Okay, what next?”

With his right hand, Sergei
removed the pot containing the potatoes from the stove.

“Can you drain the water?” He
handed her the pot. His arm still enfolding her back squeezed her closer to his
chest.

She squirmed and grinned as she
poured the water down the drain and replaced the pot on the stove. “Careful, I
can’t move. I’m going to spill our dinner on the floor before I can turn down
the stove so the vegetables won’t burn.”

Sergei released the pressure,
caressed her arm and eased his hand over the silk blouse to cradle her breast.
She moaned, “Sergei, I can’t function like that. I’ll ruin the meal.”

“The hell with the food. I’m
hungry for you.” He turned her against him, his hands spanning her waist.

She dropped the plate on the
countertop and twined her fingers around his neck.

His breath fanning her face,
Sergei gazed into her eyes. “Do you know that you rarely call me by my name?
You always say, ‘
Generalle
’.”

She shook her head. “No, not
‘general’ only. I call you ‘my General’. My one and only general.”

Passion glimmered in his eyes.
“Oh my darling.” He crushed her lips beneath his mouth. She was pressed between
his hard frame and the marble countertop, unable and unwilling to move. His
lips slid from her mouth to her cheek and her throat. She felt his hardness
pressing against her belly and lowered her lashes, surrendering to his will and
whims.

The smell of meat and spices
wafted around them. He released her mouth and wrinkled his nose. “Are we
burning something?”

Cecile landed from her cloud of
love. She pressed her cheek against his, not ready to let him go yet. Breathing
deeply, she grimaced. “No but we will, soon, if we don’t rescue the steaks.”

He unhooked her arms and spun her
around. “Let’s have dinner. Take the potatoes and I’ll bring the steaks.”

Sergei deposited the big plate on
the table and uncorked a bottle of wine. “Will you serve, please, while I pour
the wine?”

“What! No vodka today?”

“Vodka is for special toasts. We will
do that after dinner. I had a drink while waiting for you but I don’t want your
pretty head to swim in oblivion before dinner. Here, taste this wine.”

He clanked his wineglass to hers.
“To your health, Cecilya. I want to tell you how much I appreciate your coming
here tonight. I wish I could date you like a normal man, give you a tour of our
beautiful city and let you discover Minsk at my side. When are you coming
next?”

“Maybe in two weeks, maybe in a
couple of months, when the equipment arrives.” She sighed and lowered her
eyelashes to hide a treacherous wetness.

“I hope it will be soon.” His
hand squeezed hers across the table. “Let’s forget about tomorrow. Our present
is too good to waste. Bon appetite.” Sergei attacked his steak with gusto. “Is it
edible?”

She took her first bite. “It’s
delicious. You have gone to so much trouble for me.”

“I’m also selfish. I want us
relaxed and comfortable for dinner and after dinner.”

He grinned and winked at her in
such a beguiling way that she blushed with embarrassment. Did he notice?