The Marriage Ultimatum (City of Dreams Series) (7 page)

So he’d named Pieter after the port city they were escaping and for himself he chose Vladimir. To the boy he was, Vladimir seemed a powerful and strong name, not a plain, bread and water name like Ivan. And, most important, it was a name he gave himself, not the one foisted on him without any say from him.

Vladimir and Pieter were the names he gave the Captain of the tanker
Grigory
when his sailors hauled them out of the hold days later. By then, they were starving. They’d managed to eat what Vlad stole from the galley at night, and by then they were too far out to sea for the Captain to want to wait for the Coast Guard to return them to St. Petersburg.

By the time they reached port in Finland, Vlad convinced the Captain they could be of some use working on the ship and they’d stayed aboard; Vlad saved every cent of their modest wage since they’d beds and three square meals provided for them.

Years later, when applying to university in England, he’d concocted a story of losing all of his vital records in a fire. At that moment, Vladimir Grigory was born.

****

Sabrina stirred slowly, unwilling to give up the sweet sleep of exhaustion. But Alex was awake, and he sounded upset, a bad dream no doubt. She fought through the heavy waves that kept her anchored to the warmth of her bed. She’d settle him and snuggle back under the covers in a moment.

Sabrina opened her eyes to the unfamiliar space. It took a second before rational thought reminded her where she was.

He lay on the sofa at a right angle to hers, muttering loudly in his sleep with arms stretched wide. His eyes remained closed. The quilt had tumbled onto the rug, and she could see his chest, covered in only a T-shirt, heaving with each breath he took. As she watched, he grew more agitated, arms flailing, speaking—was that Russian?—until she knew she had to awaken him. She couldn’t bear to see him in such turmoil.

“Vlad, hush, you’re having a bad dream.” She knelt next to the sofa, repeating the words, small hands stroking his hair and his forehead, hoping the action would pull him back from his nightmare. She smoothed her hands lightly along the corded length of his arm and across his tense shoulders until the insensible words faded.

Then she sat in the corner of her sofa, knees drawn up under the blanket, and stared into the flickering embers of the fire, contemplating what demon chased the big, strong, mysterious man beside her.

Chapter 6

Tell Me No Secrets

The watery gray light had filtered through the curtainless windows by the time she awakened, minutes or maybe hours later. She was alone. The fire was roaring in the fireplace, so Vlad must have seen to it. There was no way for her to know the time with no cellphone and she didn’t own a watch. For all that, she’d slept in for the first time in too many months to count; she felt oddly unrefreshed and on edge. The rain continued its monotonous clatter outside. Aside from the rain, the house echoed quiet.

Away from the fireplace, the air was so chilly she could see her breath. She hurried up to the bathroom to wash up then made her way back down to the kitchen. She found matches and lit the gas stove then put the kettle on for coffee and oatmeal, warming her hands near the flame as the water boiled.

All the while, Sabrina couldn’t get the picture out of her mind.

Vlad’s eyes when he’d finally opened them during his dream: inky blue, unfocused, and stark with fright. Almost the same look Alex got coming back to himself after a nightmare. Wherever his subconscious had taken him, it was far away from this beautiful home.

The night he fired her, after Lacey went home and she’d scanned the online job listings with dismal results, she’d googled him. Second, after the shock of being fired, was the embarrassing realization that she knew nothing about the top management of the firm where she worked for three years. She knew so little about VGI’s leader she mistook him for a fellow employee.

The internet search yielded not much more than the predictable outline anyone could see on a résumé.

Vlad studied economics while at university in London and then took a second degree in engineering in the states. His Ivy League degree had been followed by a rapid rise in the leadership of a small shipping concern from which had spawned his own VG Industries. There was a small article, dated several years back, documenting when he became an American citizen and a slew of red carpet type photos with glamorous women at charitable functions.

The man kept his private life private. Any other wizard of industry would have scores of photos across the internet detailing his every move in circles both financial and social. The blurbs about Vladimir Grigory were sparse and measured. What was he hiding? As an expert in keeping her own personal information to herself, Sabrina sensed he was equally adept. Which was quite a trick when you owned and led a multinational company and were forced to be in the public eye constantly, like it or not.

He’d gone ballistic at the media claim he’d fathered a child out of wedlock. Some guys, the players of the world, took that kind of accusation or revelation as a badge of masculine prowess. But then again, they were saying she was the baby mama, an office worker from the most junior level of his firm who lived in a tenement walk up. Not the kind of relationship he would want to publicize.

But there was more to it than that. He believed she was setting him up with that baby daddy story at the behest of others. The more she thought about who those others could be, the more her head ached.

Coffee mug in hand, she wandered to the back door in time to see Vlad striding up the path through the teeming rain like a warrior come home from battle.

After he pushed through the door, he pulled off his raingear, achingly vital in jeans, with his shirtsleeves rolled up over muscled forearms.

Sabrina barely resisted the urge to loop her arms around his neck. Shocked at that wayward impulse, she stepped back straight into the marble center island that bisected the kitchen.

“How is it out there?” She gulped, trying to get a grip on her senses, all of which had gone from groggy to overload in a matter of seconds.

“Lines down, still raining, ground saturated,” he said, helping himself to a mug of black coffee into which he liberally spooned brown sugar. “This property is safe enough right now. But as you walk along the shore, trees are down everywhere.”

Sabrina flashed on an image of their row house in Brooklyn. They were so close to the docks. Would the water reach them? Was it still storming in Brooklyn?

It was as if Vlad could read her mind.

“I’ve been in touch with my assistant who I’ve deputized to advise me of any developments. Good news is your child’s fine. Bad news is we’re still very much in the news, maybe as the frivolous counterpoint to the hurricane.”

He shook his head as he said the word
frivolous
. Clearly, he thought the situation anything but.

He rubbed at the beard darkening his jawline. The soft rasp of his stubble against the palm of his hand sparked a wicked arrow of feminine response deep inside her, and Sabrina pulled in a sharp breath.

His mouth quirked up in that way he had. “Going to go clean up.”

Sabrina just stood there. She could not have taken her gaze off his face for all of the chocolate at Godiva.

“What?” he said. His eyes darkened to navy.

“I…” Rarely at a loss for something to say, Sabrina was having trouble making her mouth form the words. “I like it.” There, she’d said it.

“You like?” he said the words slowly as if he were defusing a bomb.

“I…I like your beard, your stubble, whatever you call it.”

Her face burned and she was babbling, but the words were out.

In one long stride, he closed the gap between them, stopping only when his boots brushed her bare feet, and folded his arms across his broad chest. Sabrina’s back pressed against the center island, her pounding heart pushing her chest against his voluminous sweatshirt.

Sabrina held his gaze as he reached out one long finger to stroke along her jaw. Nothing had ever felt better than the sensation of his calloused finger moving slowly along her skin, and she inched closer to that source of pleasure.

“I like that you like it,
moyo malenki
. But your skin is tender, and I would hate to mark it.”

He delivered the words in a low growl shifting against her as he spoke. She felt the hard press of his erection against her stomach, and she knew he wanted her too.

His head lowered, and then she let her lashes fall down at the welcome touch of those hard lips on her own.

A sweet fire swept through her, and she reached up to circle her arms around his neck, as she’d needed to do since he walked through the door. It was a feeling of coming home, the sense of all being right with the world as long as she was in his arms.

Vlad gathered her closer, demanding, and gaining entry into her eager mouth. She pressed herself into his rapidly hardening body. She wanted more.

Her arms were already wrapped around his neck so it was a simple matter for him to lift her up onto the center island. Once she was sitting there, he eased the sweatshirt over her head. His lips skated over the skin of her neck then skimmed further down into the V-neck of her T-shirt. The scent of jasmine permeated the cold air and he inhaled deep as he pushed the T-shirt and bra up in one motion and found her breasts.

Sabrina jerked, her breath leaving her body in a whoosh, as he teased the pebbled nipples.

“You smell good, and you taste better,” he said.

Sabrina was incapable of speech. Her body ruled her head—no, Vlad controlled her body and mind; his hot mouth and wicked hands making their way down the taut arch of her torso to the opening of her jeans. She wanted to touch him in turn, but she could only reach his head, so she sank her fingers into the thick hair at his neck and pulled him in to her.

“Patience, little one.” He laughed then and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll.

Sabrina pressed her face into the side of his neck as they ascended the stairs, hanging onto his broad shoulders, and thought,
Yes, give me more.

Then they were in his bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed positioned with a perfect view of the churning sea.

Vlad set her down in the center of the bed and with no fanfare began unbuttoning his shirt. Sabrina thought she could look at the hard planes of his face forever, but soon she couldn’t help lowering her gaze to take in the feast that was Vlad; six-packed, tanned stomach, massive shoulders, and the line of black hair arrowing down the center of his belly to his jeans.

“Stop doing that,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice.

“What?” Her voice was a panicked little squeak. Was she doing something wrong already?

“Looking at me like I’m your favorite flavor ice cream.”

Oohh, he liked it. Reflexively, she ran her tongue along her lower lip. “Maybe you are.”

“Keep it up and you’ll find out,” he promised.

She bit her bottom lip. “Will there be a taste test?” She smiled back looking up at him from under her lashes.

****

This was outside of his considerable experience with the females he dated, slept with. Sabrina was actually making him smile when he was so turned on he wondered how he would get his jeans unzipped. He had almost ten years on her and hadn’t had so much fun with a sexy woman since, well, since, ever. Sex had been sex.

He growled and fell on her, stroking that bottom lip with his tongue and set about divesting her of the rest of her clothing.

“I get the first taste,” he said.

He slid a hand into the waistband of her jeans, and he loved that he made her tremble at the stroke of his rough fingers along her belly.

His fingers encountered the lace of her thong and he just about lost it then. He wanted to enjoy the moment, but he didn’t think he would last.

He pulled his hand back trying for some control in a different approach. He took in her bare feet, ponytailed hair and realized he had never seen anything more seductive. Slowly, he slid the jeans down Sabrina’s long legs. He pulled the band from her hair, loosening the silken waves upon the pillows and over her breasts. God, this was no better. He couldn’t slow it down now even if he wanted to. And why should he?

Because she had a quality to her that made him want to cherish the moment. If only he could. He rose up to capture her lips again and he tormented them both with slow drugging kisses. Leisurely, as if his heart wasn’t thudding out of his chest, he tongued a deliberate path down from her ribs to her navel, watching her muscles go taut with each inch he traversed.

She caught her breath on a low sob as if she were trying not to cry out and then, “Vlad, please…” She moaned.

“Please, what little cat?” His tongue and lips were right there, almost there, teasing the skin of her thighs making little forays onto and under the lace that covered her mound.

“Is there something I can do for you?” He replaced his lips with his hand and reached back up to cover her lips with his own. When her mouth was swollen and red from his kisses, he whispered in her ear.

“Tell me what you want.” It was a demand.

She tossed her head on the pillow, and her skin was hot and ultra-responsive to his touch.

“You know, what I want. Please.” She tormented him with her panting plea.

His fingers scraped along the thin fabric of her thong right at her center, and she bucked upward in reaction.

“Yes, ah, yes, there, yes.” She gasped.

His fingers moved inside the lace, unerringly finding the heart of her, hidden between the wet folds of soft skin.

On a moan, she reared upward again, and his fingers went deeper. She groaned, eyes wide and unfocused on his before she squeezed them shut and shuddered. She pushed into his hand sobbing and climaxing instantly as she poured her silky essence over his fingers.

He had never been with a woman so responsive. She made him feel like a god. He had to be inside of her, now. He couldn’t, wouldn’t wait another second.

He yanked himself free of his jeans, his erection so large it scraped along the zipper in his haste. He cursed.