Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (13 page)

Sergei stroked her hand. “How was
your shopping with Tania?”

Of course, he noticed. His casual
question was aimed at diluting the sultry insinuation.

“Fun. I’ve never enjoyed
lingering in the boutiques as I did today. I had a good guide and I was buying
for a special occasion,” she added with a smile.

He kissed her hand and then
turned it and brushed his moist lips along her wrist. A shot of desire pulsed
from her hand all the way to her belly. She wet her lips and tried to control
her breathing. “How about you? How was the rest of your day?”

His mouth twisted in a sideways
smile and he huffed. “I met with our Vice-President and several ministers. I
told them what a great job you are doing.”

“Thank you, Sergei. Thank you so
much.” He was finally giving her credit. She bent across the table and kissed
him on the cheek.

He cupped her face and captured
her mouth in a lingering kiss that stopped her breath. Reluctantly, she
disentangled herself to breathe. “I’m almost suffocating in the arms of a
strong man who certainly knows how to kiss.”

A smug grin on his face, he
wrapped his hand around hers. “Cecilya, you are one of a kind. I don’t know
what I’m going to do when you leave.”

She sobered up. “Please, let’s
not talk about tomorrow,” she said in a weak voice.

“Let me get the dessert. Minsk’s
bakers are renowned all over the Russian world.” He brought a small chocolate
cake and two bottles of vodka.

Cecile cleared the table and set
smaller plates for the dessert. They ate the scrumptious cake and licked their
lips. “It’s delicious,” she assured him.

“We’ll eat the rest for
breakfast.”

Was he planning to keep her here
all night? Cecile raised an uncertain gaze toward him. They hadn’t discussed
her return to the hotel. To be on the safe side, she’d packed her suitcases for
tomorrow’s trip before coming to see him.

Sergei didn’t notice her
bewilderment. He opened a bottle and poured vodka into the shot glasses. He sat
on the sofa and patted the place next to him. “Come, my Cecilya, let’s
celebrate our date.” She slid beside him. He raised his glass. “To the
beautiful woman who brought rays of sunshine back to my heart.”

He couldn’t have offered her a
nicer compliment. She felt tears prickling her eyes. “Thank you, Sergei, I want
to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

His gaze focused on her as he
emptied his glass.

On a sudden impulse, she clanked
her glass to his and said, “Bottoms up,” and downed the drink.

Her lashes flickered, her eyes
tickled. She saw hundreds of stars dancing in front of her.

Sergei’s jaw sagged. “
Holla
!
What do you think you’re doing?”

She giggled. “I’m trying to act
like a Belarusian lady.”

He burst out laughing. “A
Belarusian lady drinking bottoms up! John and I were teasing you. Oh, my Cecilya,
you are a unique gem. And you’re doing this to please me?”

He smoothed away a strand of hair
that fell across her eyes. She held his hand and pressed it against her cheek.
How she wanted her general. She had known him for less than a week and yet she
claimed him as her hero. He belonged to her, or rather she wanted to belong to
him.

Sergei scooped her onto his lap.
She cuddled into the curve of his arm and flattened herself on his chest, raking
her fingers through his hair. She wouldn’t trade her place for all the
treasures of the world. Sergei’s arms anchored her to the only paradise where
she could find happiness.

His lips devoured hers. His
tongue slid into her mouth and entwined with hers. Passion and vodka enflamed
their caresses.

Unable to breathe, she snatched
her mouth away and rested her head on his shoulder. Her arms hooked around his
back, her lips crushed against the soft skin of his throat, she inhaled the
smell of his cologne and closed her eyes, feeling content.

 * * * * *

Afraid to move and disturb her,
Sergei kept her in his arms for several minutes. Cecile’s head nested
comfortably against the hollow of his neck. He caressed her hair and whispered,
“Sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”

She didn’t answer. He eased away.
Gently moving her away from his shoulder, he raised his voice. “Cecilya, my
love…Cecile?”

He released her head. It fell
back to his chest. Asleep.

Sergei’s heavy sigh interrupted
the total silence of the room.

It was their first night
together. And their last one for a long time.

Chapter Eleven

Sergei contemplated the pretty
face resting against his arm. Her lashes formed a smooth arch on her cheeks and
her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted releasing regular breaths. The jet
lag, the busy schedule, the long wakeful hours and the alcohol had overcome her
resistance. She’d finally let go and slept like an innocent child in his arms.
Tenderness overwhelmed his heart. What good would it do to wake her now?

Her flexible body cradled against
his chest, he straightened up and glided to the bedroom. He laid her on the
bed, flipped over the comforter, then moved her back onto the sheets. She was
sound asleep. He sighed and decided he too could use some rest. They would
sleep entwined in each other’s arms and wake up in the same bed. He smiled,
somehow comforted by the idea. At least this particular scene would happen as
planned.

Sergei removed his clothing,
keeping on only his boxer shorts. He lay down beside her, then realized that he
couldn’t let her sleep with all her clothes on—especially when he was
practically naked. He scratched his head and debated how to go about it. What
the heck! He had undressed enough women in his life.

Still, his conscience prickled
him. He hesitated. Cecile was asleep and unaware of his intentions. Oh well,
she came here willingly and it would help her sleep better.

He unzipped the wool skirt and
lowered it. His body stiffened, a normal healthy reaction to the gesture of
disrobing the woman he desired so much. Cecile wore a long slip. Sergei
relaxed. At least, she was decently covered from his coveting gaze. He draped
the skirt over the back of a chair and examined her blouse.

There were no buttons in the
front. He turned her to the side and fumbled with the three buttons at the
back. He gathered the garment above and away from her head. His ministrations
didn’t wake her. Reassured, he reached under the slip, unhooked the bra and
slid it out. Her breasts free from constraint spilled half out of the lacy
material.

Sergei clasped his hands shut,
his nails digging into his palms. His manhood was rigid and his breathing
ragged. His eyes riveted on her chest, then contoured the outline of the slip.
With every relaxed breath, her breasts raised in a slow recurrent motion that
hypnotized him. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Trying
to regain some control, he turned his head away toward the wall.

A slight movement and a deep sigh
wafted from the bed, inexorably attracting his gaze back to the thin waist, the
flat belly molded in white silk and the thighs half uncovered by the hiking hem
of her slip. She was beautiful, well proportioned but she usually hid all her
attributes under severe, dark-colored suits, long skirts and plain tops. He
stared at the lithe body, the shapely legs and the generous breasts.

He bent over her. His hands, warm
and moist, trembled as they slid along her waist and smoothed the satiny slip
down to cover her hips and thighs. He felt her underwear and froze. Why was he
torturing himself this way? There was no way on earth he could just lie beside
her and ignore her.

He glanced at the face resting on
his pillow and a smile curved his lips. The cool assertive American
scientist—the thunderous Dr.
Robota
who terrified the chemists into hard
work, his valiant
Cecilya
who embraced his cause with eagerness—was
vanquished by the wine and a toast of vodka downed bottoms up.

His hand brushed a silky strand
of hair from her forehead and stroked her cheek, then withdrew swiftly. Moving
away from the bed, he turned off the switch, leaving the flickering light of a
bedside lamp and walked out to the living room.

Sergei grabbed a knitted mohair
blanket from the armoire and dropped onto the sofa without bothering to turn
off the lamp on the side table.

He couldn’t believe his bad luck.
She was in his bed but he was out of it.

Frustrated, he snorted, shook his
head and reached for the bottle of vodka. Damn the vodka. It was responsible
for his present predicament. He put the bottle away with a vengeful bang and
stretched out on the sofa.

* * * * *

Cecile rubbed her temples trying
to quiet the hammering pounding on her skull. Through the fog clouding her
mind, she realized that the bed extended widely on both sides. She relished in
its comfort and rolled around believing herself to be in her own large bed in
Boston.

Reality flashed back. For almost
a week, she’d been in Minsk—not in Boston—in a hotel room and the bed, far from
being soft, poked at her ribs and back.

But then, this bed? Cecile bolted
up and moaned, squeezing her aching forehead between her fingers.

Where the hell was she? She
scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, an armoire, Russian chiffonier with a
round mirror on the wall and crystal candlelight on the night table. A sudden
flurry of memories swarmed into her weary mind. Last she remembered, she was
cozily ensconced against Sergei’s solid chest. She spun her head right and
left, searching. The impulsive movement jolted a throbbing pain inside her
brain.

Cecile closed her eyes, then
opened them very slowly. “He gave me his bed,” she mused. “He must be out on
the sofa.”

She bit her lip. A pang of guilt
invaded her heart. She removed the comforter and eased out with careful
movements. The last thing she needed was a bout of dizziness. Shivering, she
brought her hand to tighten her blouse around her. Her eyes widened. She gawked
at herself.

Good God, she wore no blouse,
actually no bra and no skirt, only her slip. She patted her belly and exhaled
with relief and embarrassment. Her bikini briefs still clung to her skin.

Dear Sergei, he’d removed the
cumbersome clothes that could hinder her sleep but kept her covered enough to
protect her modesty. She smiled, gratitude and appreciation overwhelming her.

Cecile drew her jacket over her
shoulders and opened the bedroom door. Leaning against the wall, she glanced at
the living room. His head lying on one arm of the sofa and his feet propped on
the other, Sergei slept. A blanket covered him to the waist leaving his torso
naked. She stared at the chest where thick black hair curled over rippling
muscles. An overwhelming desire to reach, caress and kiss the wide expanse of
rugged skin gripped her.

She tiptoed toward him and stood
close to the sofa. Her gaze shifted from the long black lashes to the straight
nose and rested on his firm lips. He slept peacefully. A hint of a boyish smile
played on the mouth that had ravished hers a few hours ago. Her fingers moved
toward his lips then retracted and clenched. Heat slithered through her almost
naked body. Yet she trembled and inhaled deeply.

His soldier senses on alert,
Sergei heard her coming out of the room. He kept his eyelids lowered and
watched through his lashes. Aware of her approach and retreat, he held himself
in check, waiting for her to give him a lead, to show if she wanted him as much
as he wanted her. He felt her hand hovering near his face, then withdrawing.

He was hard and ready for her,
yet he waited, determined not to take but to give. He would give more than she
asked for—more than she would dream of—if she only came to him.

“Cecilya, you’re so beautiful.”
He opened his palm to her. She put her hand in his and he pulled her down on
his chest.

“Sergei,” she breathed against
his mouth as she slid onto his body.

“My darling, how are you
feeling?” He wrapped his arms around her and massaged her back and neck.

“Oh, this feels so good.” She
wriggled under his ministrations. “I woke up with a terrible headache but it’s
gone now.” Lying on top of him, Cecile brushed his lips with hers.

He reveled in the sight of her
silk-clothed body sprawled on top of him and the feeling of her breasts crushed
against his chest. She closed her eyes as he kept rubbing her back. Pressing
her head down, he claimed her lips. His tongue plundered her mouth, stroking,
swirling and tasting.

She freed her lips to breathe. He
pulled both of them up. For the second time in the same night, he carried her
to the bedroom.

Sergei lowered her in the middle
of the bed and joined her. “Do you want to sleep?”

His question surprised her.

Cecile laughed softly. She
snuggled against him and chained her fingers around his neck. “No, my darling,
I’m wide awake. Your massage did wonders.” A deep sense of relaxation and
contentment spread through her entire body.

His mouth rained fiery kisses
along her cheek. A husky murmur reached her. “Cecilya, I want you so much.”

She cupped his face and inhaled
his breath and the scent of his cologne. Her eyes locked with his, letting him
read her approval. “I want you too.”

He captured her lips and ravished
her mouth. Their tongues played together. Lying against his sturdy body,
cushioned by rippling muscles, she relaxed and returned his kiss.

A strong leg straddled and
entwined with hers. Hard muscles stroked the smoothness of her naked thigh. His
hand moved between their bodies and molded her breast. He gently pinched a
nipple and played with it.

Her concentration focused on his
hands. Losing touch with her thoughts, she clutched his shoulders, her mind
hanging on his fingers and her tongue twirling with his. Her slip was whisked
away and her panties slithered down her legs.