The Professional
Page 43

I whispered, “You let me in.”
He could only nod.
“Please don’t shut me out again. As long as you talk to me, I’ll never leave you.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
For what might have been hours, he held me like this. “Sevastyan, what happens now?”
In a voice hoarse with emotion, he said, “Now we go home.”
Epilogue
The Moskva River was almost frozen.
From the pavilion, I watched otters frolicking on blocks of ice. I’d seen a stoat, several hares, and a snowy owl. They were all thriving in these bitter temperatures—a damp cold even more biting than I’d known in Nebraska.
The pavilion was one of my favorite places on the property. I would come here whenever Sevastyan was working.
All around me, Berezka was covered in snow, pristine. Which helped me to forget the fight to the death by the boathouse, the war for control that had raged over these grounds.
Paxán’s untimely death.
Seamless white reminded me that wounds heal.
Though Paxán’s grave site was beautiful—a clearing atop a hill, surrounded by birch trees—I felt closer to him here.
His funeral had been somber, attended by so many who’d loved him. In front of others, Sevastyan hadn’t allowed himself to show grief. Later that night, in front of me, two tears had slid down his face, which might as well have been a thousand for a hardened man like him.
Every day that passed we could think of Paxán with less pain. I was thankful that I’d gotten to spend even that short amount of time with him. In just weeks, he’d changed my fate forever.
His dying wish had been fulfilled: my life was better because he’d been in it.
I glanced over and saw Sevastyan striding toward me, his long charcoal coat whipping about his legs; my heart sped up at the sight of him. I knew that it always would.
The winter sun caught his face as he neared. To look at him now, I would say he’d found some measure of peace. He appeared younger, that weariness I’d first sensed in him lifted. He smiled more often, and I could even make him laugh on occasion.
“Ready to go in?” He offered his arm for the walk back to the main house. We’d redone my wing for the two of us, moving his things from his house on the property.
“All set.” I took his arm with a gloved hand, glancing up at his flushed cheeks and brightened gaze. Sigh.
Over the last month since we’d returned, Sevastyan had been able to disentangle Paxán’s legacy from mafiya concerns; then he’d taken over as vor, though in a scaled-back capacity. Now he focused on protection for Paxán’s territory and people.
And, damn, did the job of protector suit Sevastyan.
“Your gifts for your mother and Jessica arrived from Buccellati today.” Boxes of extravagant jewelry.
Okay, okay, so the money was growing on me.
For Christmas, Sevastyan and I planned to visit Nebraska. I could only imagine what my family and friends would think about my ex-enforcer.
“Thanks for letting me know about the presents,” I told him with a grin. I was pretty sure he sometimes talked just to make some kind of mental “word quota.” I razzed him about that all the time. “Have you thought any more about your brothers?” I’d floated the idea of Sevastyan calling them on Christmas, a tentative start toward something more.
“I . . . haven’t ruled out anything. Though Maksim might think I’m leaning toward his proposal.”
“You have a point.” While I was angling for a mere holiday call, Maksim was angling to unite his might with Sevastyan’s and take over, well, Russia.
Sevastyan hadn’t agreed to anything, but his rivals had caught wind of the potential alliance and backed off considerably. Which meant he didn’t have to work so much.
Maybe he could leave his post this spring and take me around the world?
Or perhaps I’d enroll in school over here. No surprise: I hadn’t decided yet.
One thing I was certain of? I was determined to make this winter different for him, to have him associate it with our warm bed, our wicked lovemaking, and our hopes for the future.
“Oh, before I forget, Jess has kind of called dibs on your old place. She wants to fly back with us after the holidays.” And she might’ve vowed never to leave. As she’d put it: “If I get to live in my own mini palace, Imma be one borscht-eating bitch.”
“Then it’s hers,” Sevastyan said, surprising me. “As long as I get you to myself during the nights.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Siberian.” For the first time in his life, he was enjoying the long nights. We swam together, read together, and played chess by the fire. Or we tried to. Last night, we’d scattered the pieces when he’d tossed me atop the board to have his way with me.
Never had a queen been so happy to be taken.
Often, we talked into the night as he shared more of his burdens. With each one, I marveled at the loving and honorable man he’d become. He’d also been telling me all about Paxán, and I could see the kindly clockmaker’s hand in guiding him.
Sevastyan still had shadows; now they were our shadows.
As for me, I’d been working on becoming more patient. To help with that, I was repairing my bátja’s clocks. Clock-making demanded patience.
When the wind whipped, Sevastyan said, “Come here.” He tugged me closer, shielding me with his big body. He always did that, just as he warmed my hands whenever they got cold.
I snuggled up to him, even though I was warm in my luxurious cashmere coat and sweater—that I’d paired with jeans and clodhopper boots.
I’d been making an effort to preserve my self ; Natalie was back—hopefully a little more patient and accepting. Maybe, just maybe, a little wiser . . . ?
When a white hare crossed our path, I murmured, “It’s so beautiful here.”
“Wait till you see it in the summer.” He’d started talking about the future, growing increasingly confident that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Probably because we’d taken to living together like a house on fire. “Hey, maybe we’ll have gotten rid of Jess by then.”
He flashed me an amused look.
The only thing missing between us? He hadn’t told me he loved me. Though he showed me every day, and he’d certainly convinced me of it in Paris, I needed to hear the words. Yet this was one thing I couldn’t ask him for; it had to come naturally. . . .
“Tomorrow we should visit the banya.” As he peered down at me, the sun struck his eyes, setting them aglow.
Molten gold: my new favorite color.
“I agree. It’s important. For our health.” Had I thought I would miss the thrills to be had at Le Libertin? Wrong. Sevastyan had already made me fly on several occasions since we’d been home.
Other times, he would make love to me with touches and kisses so worshipful, I couldn’t decide which side of him I craved more.
“And until we can get to the banya,” he said in a husky voice, “what should we do for our health?”
“A chess rematch? Or maybe a hot shower for two?” We conserved water whenever possible because we were responsible citizens. Who liked sex in the shower.
“I have an idea. But it’d be better if I showed you. . . .” He trailed off, his expression filled with sensual promise.
At that look, a puff of breath escaped me. “Can we walk faster, Sevastyan?”
Instead, he stopped, drawing me even closer. “As much as it pains me to say this, my brother was right. You should call me by something other than my last name.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Anything. Pick something out of a hat.”
“Wow, so many choices.” Decades ago, he’d chosen Aleksandr for himself. Maybe I’d shape it up a bit. “It could be that I’ve got a name already picked out. Perhaps I’m just waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“Why wait?”
“Are you being . . . impatient?” In a saucy tone, I countered, “Okay, then why are you waiting to propose to me?”
Sexy grin. “I can’t much longer—I know you’re going to want to marry when we go to Nebraska.”
Busted. Our first night together, he’d mentioned my wearing “his gold.” Who knew I’d first wear it in the form of a wedding ring? I quirked a brow. “Pretty confident I’ll be your wife, aren’t you?”
He removed his glove to smooth the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “Eto dlya nas neizbezhno, milaya.” It’s inevitable.
We lay in our bed that night, catching our breath after a round of bone-melting sex. Sevastyan was still softly thrusting, brushing kisses over my face.
I was utterly sated, basking in heavy-lidded bliss as the fire near our bed crackled. Outside, snow pelted the windows and winds howled, but all was cozy within.
Tonight, I’d decided that there was nothing better than watching his body move by firelight—and that this man possessed a never-ending bag of carnal tricks.
When he trailed his lips down to my neck, I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, arching to his mouth.
Between kisses, he rasped against my damp skin, “Ya lyublyu tebya.” I love you.
A log popped in the fire; I grinned like an idiot.
He tensed when I didn’t answer, raising his head with an alarmed expression. “What is it?”
Still grinning, I said, “It’s nice to hear those words.” I leaned up and kissed the bridge of his nose.
His lips curled. “I can only imagine.”
With all my heart, I told him, “Ya lyublyu tebya, Aleks.”
“Aleks?” He cupped my face with his rough palms, eyes lively. “Of all the names, this is what you’ve decided to call me?”
“You don’t like it?” I asked, though I could tell he did.
Molten gold. “I like it.” Then he leaned down to give me a lover’s kiss like no other. . . .
The night I’d met Aleks Sevastyan, I’d wished for someone to snuggle up with through the winter.
I’d never imagined that the winter nights would be this cold—or that the warm arms around me could be so strong.