Moskva (10 page)

Texas - present day

Sitting at the large conference table in Riona's studio with his smartphone in hand, Mishka thumbed through Trent Kane's job offer. He hadn't decided whether to take it. Money wasn't the object. He had a small share in the Kehoe empire, which translated to a lot of money, and he had earned a generous salary as their head of security -- something that kept him close to his friends and protected his investment at the same time.

What Kane offered was far more valuable than money -- an almost absolute guarantee of safety for his family. He would also be getting paid to bring down the Russian crime syndicates, the very same scum who would want to hurt Alina and Bogdan.

Hearing the studio door open, he looked up.

Even with Riona standing at her side, he almost didn't recognize Alina. When he did, his heart seized.

Was there ever a more beautiful woman?

Pocketing his phone, he stood up. She seemed to shrink away, didn't want him to come closer. He didn't think she was afraid of him, just feared his inspection and judgment.

Slowly he approached, his hands locked behind his back to keep from immediately touching Alina once he reached her.

"I'm going to see how Bogdan and Simon are doing," Riona said, already slipping across the room to leave the two of them alone.

Alina stood with her gaze cast at the ground. He slid a finger under her chin but didn't force her to look up.

"What are you afraid of, my Alina?"

Maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe what she didn't want to see was love and hope shining in his eyes.

Gently, he pinched her chin between his finger and thumb, the pinch repeating again and again in a rhythmic caress. Her shoulders relaxed but she tried to tilt her head, to interfere with what he was doing.

"You look beautiful," he rasped softly. "Always, but I don't think you can see that."

"Stop trying to make me feel better, Mikhael," she said. "It's cruel, even if you don't mean it to be."

"How?" He pushed closer, his body brushing lightly against hers with each breath he took. "All I want is for you and the boy to be happy and safe."

"Take him and he will be," she persisted, pulling back, her hand instinctively searching for the handle of the door behind her.

He wanted to explode in denial but Bogdan rushed in at the other side of the room with Riona and Simon in tow. He carried someone's smartphone in one hand and a mini hover drone in the other.

"Look!" he shouted. "Look what Simon gave me!"

The boy ran over, proudly thrusting the craft higher so his parents could inspect it.

"I have to transfer control to another phone," he explained then looked directly up at Alina. "Can I use yours mama?"

"Of course."

Her voice sounded distant and Mishka noticed that she still winced when Bogdan called her "mama." In the days since the boy had made his breakthrough, Alina hadn't sought to embrace him, either. At least she didn't withhold herself entirely. She would allow him to sit on her lap or rest against her when he wanted.

There was no doubt the boy wanted to be close to his mama. Alina's lap was fast becoming his favorite place to rest, his head on her shoulder and one hand curled around her arm. She would let him stay as long as he liked, often with him falling asleep on her and Mishka carrying the boy to bed.

Still holding onto the drone and phone, Bogdan kept staring up at Alina. A bigger smile brightened his already happy face and he put his arms around Alina's waist.

"You look so beautiful, mama!"

She stiffened, her hands stopping the instant before they would have closed around the boy's arms. Her gaze, loaded with accusation, shot first to Mishka and then to Riona and Simon.

Gently, she disentangled from Bogdan's embrace and shooed him toward Simon. Dipping into her purse, she handed the boy her phone. "You should switch it over now, in case it's difficult to understand."

As Bogdan walked over to the table with Simon and Riona, Alina started to shake.

"No one put him up to that," Mishka assured her. "He said it because he sees what I see."

She didn't answer, couldn't stop shaking. Grabbing her by the elbow, Mishka walked Alina over to another door, one that led into a smaller, private space.

"We are borrowing your office, Ree," he explained, his words clipped at the end.

Shutting the door, he tapped at a control pad on the wall, dimming the lights. A few more taps and soft instrumental music began to play.

"What are you doing?" The question emerged fast, almost breathless with an undercurrent of panic.

"Calming you," he growled, dragging her toward the sofa pushed against one wall.

"No -- you are not," she laughed hysterically.

Plopping down, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around her chest as he had done that first month with Bogdan.

"I am not the boy," she protested, fear continuing to lace through her responses. "You cannot wrap your arms and legs around me and wait until I fall asleep."

"Bogdan. His name is Bogdan and you haven't used it once in the last week. It means 'God rendered.' The one thing your papa let you do was name your son and that is what you chose."

She began to twist, but she was easier to keep hold of than their son. The boy's wild fury had powered his muscles as he thrashed and turned.

"No one told him to say that," Mishka repeated. "He looked up and he saw his beautiful mama. Just like I saw my beautiful Alina."

She shook her head, the gesture angry. "It all washes off, you know. Clothes fade and wrinkle..."

Mishka rotated her in his arms, defeating her attempt to escape.

"You are most beautiful bare," he said. "Raw...naked."

She dipped her head, refusing to look at him.

Hearing a sniffle, he relaxed his grip and tried to tilt her stubborn chin upward.

"Do not hide your tears from me, Alina. You have to have someone you can cry in front of. Let it be me again."

"Your friend's efforts will be ruined," she rasped and pressed her cheek against his jacket.

Mishka stroked at her hair, let her cling silently to him. He hummed softly to the music, his deep breaths keeping time. Warmth spread through him as she relaxed in his arms.

His Alina was letting him hold her and, for the moment, that was enough.

Texas - present day

"Your friend is...sneaky," Alina said as Mishka and Bogdan finished packing the many "sample" boxes into the trunk of the rental sedan.

Mishka smiled sheepishly. "Riona's been called worse."

"Do you like the presents I picked out for you, mama?"

The boy was hugging her again, his arms around her waist. This time, she didn't look like she wanted to extract herself.

"Yes," she answered softly, her hand stroking at his head, almost a week's worth of growth giving it a velvety nap. "You have excellent taste for how to dress a lady."

Tilting his head up, Bogdan beamed a smile at her.

"In the car with you," Mishka said, his gaze on the western sky where clouds had gathered while they were inside the facility.

It looked like another strong storm would be rolling in, chasing them as they drove east.

Gently manhandling the boy's head, he opened the rear door and steered him toward the back seat. "We'll get some food in your belly near Wood Springs."

Grabbing the car's frame so he couldn't be shuffled inside, Bogdan looked at Alina. "Can you ride in the back with me? I can show you the drone app on your phone."

Her jaw clenching with indecision, Alina finally nodded. "That would be nice."

Mishka watched them climb into the back seat, Alina making sure the boy put his safety belt on before she let him start playing with the phone. Sliding behind the steering wheel, he caught her gaze on him in the rearview mirror.

She attempted a smile, the gesture hesitant and vulnerable, then returned her attention to Bogdan as he launched the app.

An hour later, they sat around a table at a Cracker Barrel, the boy wolfing down dumplings and chicken. Alina had ordered a pot pie, and Mishka smiled to see her eating and not just pretending to eat.

Things weren't fixed. He knew that. But they appeared to be improving. The boy had built up a tough shell living under Dima Rodchenko's thumb, but, just like any other child his age, he wanted to be loved. Mishka didn't think Dima had ever offered Bogdan that emotion.

Alina would not heal as quickly, but he could see the fragile spark of hope in her gaze.

"Mishka," she softly chided as she gestured at his untouched food.

"Right," he grinned then shoveled some mashed potatoes and gravy into his maw. "Need to get moving soon."

"Yes." She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. "The storm is still moving in."

They finished their meal, returned to the sedan and beat the rain home, but not the wind. It battered at the windows as Alina made sure Bogdan brushed his teeth and changed for bed, then curled up next to him and read a few chapters from
A Bear Named Paddington
.

By the time she noticed Bogdan had fallen asleep, rain pattered softly against the windows -- the larger storm still brewing beyond the city limits.

Leaving the boy's room, she paused next to the couch, her hands folded in front of her and her fingers lightly pinching at the cuff of their opposing sleeve.

"I thought I would try to fall asleep before the worst of it hits."

He nodded. They both knew she would be wide awake as long as the storm was nearby. Mishka figured she wanted to avoid him, especially now that their son was in his room for the night. He wished she didn't need her space, but he would give it to her.

"Let me know if you need anything," he said, watching her disappear into the bathroom.

Listening to water run in the sink, he pulled his phone out and opened a real estate app. He still had a few weeks before he had to give Kane a definitive answer. If he took the job, they'd have to relocate to the east coast. He looked for homes in the gated communities Kane had mentioned, single family dwellings with large yards, multiple bathrooms and a garden tub Alina could soak in.

If it meant she would stay -- that they could try to live as a family, he would respect her wishes on whether he took the job and let her select the house. Anything she wanted, he would give her.

But her staying was a big "if" and he knew it.

Hearing her turn the knob, he put the phone down, his attention jumping to the bathroom door. She emerged, her face scrubbed clean of the cosmetics Riona had applied. Alina's gaze bounced off him as she mumbled a goodnight.

He wanted her to look at him, to see in his face that he found her every bit as lovely as before she had washed the makeup away.

She simply wasn't ready.

When she shut her bedroom door, he sighed and turned off the couch-side lamp. Then he stood and went around the house, making the same checks he had when they returned from Dallas. Windows locked, security system armed, doors locked, land line working, the street clear of unfamiliar cars.

Going into his bedroom, he shut the door and stripped down to his boxers. After turning off the light, he re-opened the door. In the dark, he settled under the blankets. Hands folded across his chest, he listened to the storm building and prayed she would come.

Texas - present day

Alone in her room, Alina listened to the storm intensify. Reaching blindly along the nightstand, she found her phone, pulled it under the covers and turned it on. Clicking the weather app, she checked for tornado warnings and wished the safe house had come with a basement.

Wouldn't that be the story of her life -- to die from a tornado after Bogdan seemed to have finally accepted her as his mother?

Better pull back on that Russian fatalism, she warned herself, clicking off the phone and putting it on the nightstand.

Thunder cracked across the sky, surprising her. The room's single window was covered by heavy drapes with an added blackout liner, subduing the effect of the storm's lightning and leaving her unprepared for the inevitable thunder that followed.

She pressed her hands against her ears. The tactic only muffled the next clap of thunder. She started to worry whether she would miss the siren with her ears covered, or the supposed train-like rumble of a tornado if the sirens failed.

Sitting upright, she braced her back against the headboard and drew her legs up close to her chest. Her arms curled around her head as she pressed her face against her knees.

You will not go to him.

She wanted to. Mishka was the only one who had ever made her feel safe from the storms. He was the only one who had ever made her feel safe -- period.

The window shook with thunder. She trembled in response. When the noise subsided, she found herself stroking absently at the silk nightgown Riona had included in the sample boxes. The gown itself was sleeveless, but had been gifted with a matching long sleeve robe in a blush pink.

The smooth material soothed her until the next cracking boom. A half birthed shriek popped out of her mouth. She dove under the blanket and pulled a pillow over her head.

Was Mishka awake and wondering if she would come to him? Did he want her to?

Beneath the pillow, she shook her head. He had said those things to build her confidence up, to make her a better mother. For him to say she was most beautiful naked was ridiculous and had exposed his lies. That's why she couldn't go to him -- she wanted it so badly it would kill her to be rejected or know that he was only playing along for Bogdan's sake.

That was what he was doing, right?

She slipped a hand under the nightgown, her fingertips skating lightly atop the surface of her scarred skin, feeling what Mishka would feel if he reached beneath the fabric.

When had she become such a coward?

With the muscles of her chest squeezing mercilessly at her lungs, she rolled out from under the pillow and sat up gasping for air. Pushing her feet into silk slippers that matched the gown, she pulled on the robe she had left folded at the end of the bed.

Her toes tapped lightly against the rug, the music Mishka had played in Riona's office waltzing through her mind.

It had felt so right for him to hold her, just as it had felt that night in the closet, the two of them packed in like sardines.

A roll of thunder shook the window, but she didn't jump, just stiffened as she kept the image of Mishka holding her in the closet alive in her mind. Only she couldn't survive for long on imagination -- pretending he wanted her, that this wasn't just about "doing right" by her and the boy.

How many more years would they waste that way? Would it last until Bogdan finished high school or would they hold on tooth and nail until he graduated college.

God kept playing his drums, pounding away at the roof as the storm seemed to settle directly over their house to magnify her torment. She stood on shaking legs and walked toward her door. She would sit on the couch. The drapes were less lightproof in that room. She'd be able to count the seconds and brace herself.

Heading for the couch, she passed Mishka's door. He had left it open.

For her?

For the boy, she thought. They were leaving Bogdan's door unlocked now.

Pivoting silently on one foot, she looked at the sleeping giant, his form faintly visible because he hadn't fully closed his curtains. He was on his back, the blanket folded all the way down toward the footboard and the sheet around his hips.

His chest was massive, even bigger than when he was in his early twenties. She wondered what he had done to get so big. She wondered about many things. He had made powerful friends on the right side of the law -- glamorous friends, too. He was supposed to be a charred corpse, but he wasn't. How had he survived and then thrived?

And did thriving include lovers? Was Alina's presence temporarily keeping him from the woman with whom he truly wanted to be?

She couldn't ask him any of those things. Some of the answers might crush her. Nor could she expect to get answers without having to respond to his questions, which would have her mired in memories of pain and humiliation.

Pulling back from the door, her hip hit a side table nestled against the wall.

Mishka slid immediately into a semi-upright position, his elbows propping him up.

"Alina?"

The question confused her. She was standing in the doorway, her form visible enough that even if his eyes were slow to adjust, it was clear she wasn't an intruder or their son. Had he been dreaming of some other woman -- confusing the dream for reality?

"Yes, Mikhael," she answered, her voice soft and uncertain. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to close your door so I wouldn't."

That was a lie. It slid out as easily as all the other lies she'd told him.

Lightning brightened the room through his open curtains. He patted the other side of the bed. "Come, wait with me until the storm passes."

She shook her head, her body clinging to the doorframe for support as she anticipated the thunder. "I have to get over this nonsense."

She had to get over all of the nonsense -- the unreasonable fear of storms heightened by her half-brother's cruel practices and the idea that she and Mishka could be bonded by more than raising their son as one unit.

"Do you have to get over it alone?" he asked and waited.

The sky roared before she could answer.

"I want you in my bed, Alina."

"Don't say it that way," she rasped. Didn't he realize how easy it was for her mind to twist his meaning when his voice dropped low and caught each syllable before releasing it?

"What way?"

There was a tease in his tone. He patted the side of the bed as light flashed inside the room.

Damn, he was sexy. He had looked like a demi-god as a young man, with flawless skin, gracefully sculpted muscles and those piercing blue eyes. Now he was decidedly mortal, the muscles cut and shaped from steel, his jaw rough and his face lightly lined with a decade of time and scars. The combined effect made him brutally handsome and devastating to look at.

Her slippered feet crossed the room to stand by the empty half of his bed.

"It's going to crack and boom in five...four...three...two--"

Before he could finish his countdown, she jumped onto the bed and buried her face against his shoulder. Her arm curled around his neck as he hugged her tightly to him. When the sky started to roar again, she didn't nestle closer and shake.

Instead, she lifted her head and looked at him in the dimly lit room.

"Why aren't you married?"

His embrace tightened and he hid his face in the black veil of her hair.

"I do not think a lover should feel like they are someone's second choice" he answered, his breath filtering hot through the silken strands to warm her neck. "And that is all anyone but you can be -- my second choice."

"I wish..." Shaking her head, she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn't let her.

"Don't waste your wishes on the past, my Alina. Wish about the future then work to make them come true."

Rolling Alina onto her back, Mishka pushed the hair away from her face and cupped along her jaw line. Lightning flashed and she tensed, but he wasn't sure if it was in anticipation of the next crack of thunder or because she didn't welcome his touch.

He started to hum, imperfectly recalling the music from that afternoon. The rough purr of his voice seemed to sooth her. The windows shook and she didn't seem to notice.

His hand slid from her cheek to the front of her neck, his thumb and index finger lightly tracing the contours then lifting to return to a spot just below her chin and repeating the pattern. His back tingled with the knowledge that his bedroom door was open, but he didn't want to make her nervous by closing it.

In time, he would. Maybe not that night, but some future night. "One day at a time" he had once said to her. He had been both wrong and right. That was how they had survived her family, but it was no way to live.

Still caressing her neck, he kissed just below her ear. Her breathing sort of melted, her breasts slowly lowering until all at once her lungs bottomed out and she seemed completely relaxed.

It felt like surrender and his cock responded immediately.

Oh, the things he wanted to do with her and the long hours he wanted to take doing them. He had experimented with a girl or two to stave off his hunger for Alina before that night in New York, but he had been green then compared to the experienced lover he had become.

He wanted to please her, to drape a carpet of ecstasy over her body that smothered her senses, driving her to the brink of annihilation before his soft kisses resuscitated her.

Sliding his hand along her collarbone, he dipped under the robe and curled his fingers around her shoulder.

Tensing, she tried to shrink away.

He withdrew, his hand on the outside of the fabric once more as he resumed the gentle humming.

"I want to touch you, love," he said when she had calmed again. "I want to stroke and kiss your breasts, your thighs. I want to taste you as I did before."

"Please," he said, his fingers glossing over her collarbone again.

Feeling her hesitate, he stopped.

"Do you know," she whispered, "that the French military helped invent Braille?"

Confused, he still managed a smile. "No, I didn't."

"Napoleon wanted something that could be read at night, without a light. A kind of code. So one of his men came up with what was called night writing. It was too complicated because you couldn't feel a symbol all at once."

"I see," he said and pressed his cheek against the curve of her neck.

"Do you?"

"I think so."

She was trying to explain why she didn't want him touching her, at least not directly on her skin. He had a feeling if he stroked at her with the fabric separating them, she would surrender again.

Slowly easing his hand within the folds of her robe, he found her shoulder and traced one of the scars detectible beneath his fingertips.

"This is your night writing," he said. "Even though I can't see the scars with the lights out, you're afraid about what I might read while touching you, afraid of what someone else wrote on your flesh."

She let a shaky breath out that he took as confirmation.

Lifting his body up so that he leaned over her, his weight balanced on one elbow, he cupped her cheek with his free hand.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. The story your skin tells is one of love for our son and...I hope...for me. You were shielding our child, paying for your love for him when you weren't even allowed to acknowledge he was yours."

His thumb stroked softly at the corner of her mouth.

"Do you really think some woman in a magazine or on television could ever match that?"

When she started to tremble beneath him, he didn't know if his words had made things better or worse. So he stroked at her hair and hummed again, some peripheral part of his brain aware that the storm had died out.

Alina pushed lightly at his chest, urging him away.

He surrendered without protest. He had damaged her in the past week from pushing too hard. He wouldn't keep repeating that mistake.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and headed toward the living room. Reaching the doorway, she stopped. Her hand curled around the knob and she eased the door shut, the faint illumination from the window showing him she remained in his room, not out.

Turning, she walked back to the bed and slid out of her robe. Shyly, she climbed onto the mattress and laid next to him on her side. Heart hammering in his chest, he turned to face her.

"Promise this is because you want me," she whispered. "Not because you think it will fix me or because you think we should raise Bogdan together."

"On my life," he promised. "It is because I want you, desire you. It has always been you, Alina."

Her eyes glittered in the dark and he thought he heard her sniffle. She maneuvered one arm between his neck and the bed and curled the other arm around his opposite shoulder.

"You were my only kiss," she said, the catch in her voice implying what he already knew.

He was more than her only kiss, he was her only lover.

"Then let me remind you what it's like to be worshipped by a man who loves you, my Alina."

She relaxed her grip on Mishka. He guided her onto her back. Rubbing a soothing hand along her arm, he kissed softly at her cheek, starting near her ear and angling down toward her mouth.

He bit once at the point of her chin before capturing her bottom lip. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders. He slid on top of her, his legs straddling hers and his weight resting lightly upon her. Trying to control his hunger, he buried his face against her neck. She pushed upward, her body instinctively knowing how to move against him.

Coiling his fingers through her thick hair, he gnawed at Alina's throat. Between them, his cock began to throb painfully as more and more blood flooded the already erect flesh. Growling, he straightened slightly and claimed her mouth with a hungry kiss.

His tongue swept in, darted back out as he bit at her lips, then plundered deep inside once more. She moved against him, her hips rolling and straining to stay in a constant grinding contact with his body.

Her fingers smoothed down the sides of his stomach then gripped his ass through the fabric of his boxers.