Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2) (8 page)

     She felt his hot breath against her skin some more, felt him finally moving upward, and she heard soft murmurings that didn't make sense, English or Russian, she didn't know, didn't care, she only wanted him...

     His mouth finally closed on her, hot and wet, licking and tasting, his tongue teasing and probing. Her hips arched against him as her body demanded more, a sharp gasp ripped from her as she felt the first tremors begin to travel outward from her deepest core.

     She reached out with her hands, searching, needing to feel him, to hold him. One strong hand grabbed hers and she twined her fingers with his, needing that connection, squeezing tightly as his mouth and tongue continued exploring, delving, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.              

     And still the pressure built, rising, spinning, swirling higher and tighter until, finally, with one last thrust of his tongue inside her, one final arch of her hips against his mouth, she exploded into a million fragments, wet heat escaping her as his name was ripped from her lips, as spasms racked her entire body and she arched and twisted against him.

     She heard her name being called but couldn't focus, her mind as fragmented as her body, floating and splintering out of control as wave after wave rushed through her. Nikolai's mouth crushed against hers and she tasted her own salty warmth on his soft lips, opened her mouth to him and drank greedily, arching her body against him, against the hand pressed tightly against her and the fingers that continued exploring, that continued sending shock waves racing through her body.

     "Nikolai, please..." Her plea was barely a whisper against his mouth as her body arched even more, seeking. She wanted him, needed him to be inside her, needed him to fill her, to make her complete, to find his own release deep inside of her.

     His hand left her and she immediately felt bereft, empty, even as smaller aftershocks coursed through her and her hips surged upward, seeking. Even as she cursed his absence she realized he was smoothing a condom over his rigid shaft before settling himself fully against her.

     He brought his arms against her, holding her tightly as both of his hands cupped her face. He whispered her name in a hoarse voice, demanding that she look at him. Her eyes slowly opened, her vision swimming before slowly focusing on his face, on the searing gaze of his eyes that refused to let her look away.

    
"My beautiful one. You are mine. And mine alone. Just as I am yours, and yours alone."
The Russian words were ripped from him in a hoarse growl, and Bobbi shook her head, denying understanding even as her heart leaped in acknowledgement. Nikolai cleared his throat, claimed her lips in a searing kiss, and thrust himself deep inside her.

     Her breath hitched at the heated intrusion even as her body arched against him, her legs wrapping high around his waist to invite more of him, pulling him deeper into her. Nikolai thrust once more then held himself away as he broke the kiss and stared down at her.

     "You are mine," he said, this time in English. His gaze held hers, searing in its intensity, searching her face for an answer. Because no matter that he phrased it as a demand, there was no doubt in her mind that it was a question.

     She reached up and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, her thumb caressing his lower lip as she slowly nodded. Her voice was shaky, ragged as she spoke a single word.

     "Yes."

     He turned his face into her hand and delivered a single kiss to her palm, then thrust even deeper inside her, his rhythm marking her, branding her as his with each movement.

     Their touches became more frantic, more demanding of the other with each passing minute, giving, seeking, taking. Bobbi felt herself tightening again, raked his back with her nails, grabbing him and pressing him even more tightly against her as she rose to meet each thrust. She splintered into a million pieces, his name ripped from her lips in a ragged cry. Her mouth searched for his, claiming him in a demanding kiss as his thrusts quickened.

     He pulled his mouth from hers and raised himself on his elbows, his gaze hot and possessive. "Mine," he growled in Russian, then raised himself to his knees. His hands closed around her hips and he pulled her more fully against him, ran his hands down her legs and wrapped his arms around her knees, thrusting even deeper, eliciting a cry from her as the movement hurled her over the edge. One thrust, then one more, and he cried out with his own release as he pumped himself into her.

     Seconds that lasted an eternity went by before he collapsed against her, his arms tightening around her, holding her, protecting her. Bobbi felt the call of his touch through the haze of pleasure still consuming her, her body instinctively meeting his, succumbing to his touch.

     Minutes more went by before Nikolai shifted off of her, and she uttered a sleepy moan of protest at his loss. He pulled her to him, settling her tightly beside him and wrapping his arms around her, reaching for her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. His lips rained gentle kisses on her face, his breath warm against her ear.

     "Sleep well, my beautiful one, and know that I am here."

     Her hazy mind couldn't tell if the words were spoken in English or in Russian, but her heart carried the comfort of them with her as she drifted off to sleep.

     Nikolai grinned to himself, knowing he was being foolish and not caring. Why should the foolishness bother him after last night? No, he would allow himself to grin, to smile at the memory of Bobbi clinging to him, of her body yielding to him...of his body yielding to her. They became one last night, and she was his as much as he was hers. She did not realize it yet, but they were one together. His body—his heart—had known it as soon as he took possession of her.

     As soon as she had taken possession of him.

     He pulled the pan from the stovetop and slid the eggs onto the platter, already filled with sliced sausage and thick slices of black bread. The tea was ready, strong and black. With a nod, he grabbed the platter and pot and pushed through the door into the dining room, carefully placing them in the middle of the small table.

     His grin faltered and he looked around the room, trying to see it as Bobbi would. Regret filled him. Regret, and something like shame. For eight years, he had lived like this...meager, simple, plain. For eight years, he had refused to let it bother him, had accepted it. He had no choice, and told himself it didn't matter. It couldn't matter. What was done, was done. He had made his choice, his decision, and he could not regret it, could not regret the reasons for it.

     But suddenly he wished, he wanted...more. Was it so bad of him to feel this need? To have what he should so he could take care of...

   Nikolai shook his head, firmly. No, this was at it should be. As it had to be. He was taking care of what was important, and would continue to do so. He would not allow himself to want for more, because it would lead to futility, possibly to danger. No, this was as it should be.

     Soft steps sounded behind him, pulling him from his senseless train of thought. He forced a smile on his face and turned to face his guest. The smile turned real as he gazed at Bobbi, dressed casually in dark slacks and a light sweater, looking hesitant and shy as she stood in the doorway of the dining room.

     "There she is,
moe krasivejshee
. And just in time." He walked over to her and grabbed her hand, leaning down to give her a lingering kiss good morning. Her fingers tightened around his hand, and the barest whisper of a sigh escaped her lips when he lifted his mouth from hers. And yet the faintest blush tinged her cheeks, making Nikolai chuckle.

     He pulled her further into the dining room, noticing the way her eyes brightened at the food on the table, appreciating the genuine smile she offered him as he pulled the chair out for her. Bowing with a flourish, he helped her slide closer to the table, then reached over and poured her a cup of tea before taking his own seat. He motioned at the platter sitting between them, and nodded at the cup steaming in front of her.

     "You must eat and drink. The food is hearty, and we have a long day ahead of us." He pushed the platter toward her, indicating she should serve herself, and winked. "And a long night behind us."

     Nikolai barely refrained from patting Bobbi on the back when she choked on the tea she had been sipping. Instead he just sat grinning at her, appreciating the deep flush that fanned her cheeks as obvious embarrassment filled her. She put the cup down and looked around her, her eyes flitting from one place to another before finally resting on him. Her green eyes studied him, soft and serious, almost hesitant, before sparkling with amusement and laughter.

     "Yes, well...I'm glad you thought of that!" Her voice ended in soft laughter and she reached for the platter, carefully transferring food to her plate. Nikolai was gratified to see that she didn't hesitate, that she took more than just a small spoonful of each. She placed the plate in front of her, shook the napkin into her lap, then took a bite of the black bread. Her eyes closed in appreciation, bringing another smile to Nikolai's face.

     He filled his own plate, taking satisfaction in her enjoyment of the food, letting her smile and voice fill him. Yes, he had been hungry for friendship, for companionship, and the woman across from him satisfied the hunger in his soul as much as the food satisfied the hunger in his belly.

     Nikolai grunted, softly so as not to attract her attention. He was amusing himself with his thoughts, and wondered when he had become such a soft romantic. At the same time, he quietly cautioned himself against getting too close, against trusting too freely.

     He could caution all he wanted, but he was wise enough to admit the truth: he was already too close to this woman.

     Too close, yes. So instead he would caution himself to tread carefully in letting her know just how close.

**

     The inside chill swept over Bobbi again and she shifted on the cold metal bleacher seat, rubbing her hands and wishing for warmth. She hadn't thought to bring a jacket to wear, not with the early Spring weather outside, but then—she hadn't given much thought to how much cooler the rink was compared to her closet office.

     She shifted again, wondering at the lack of intelligence and thought behind putting metal bleachers in an ice rink, and huddled closer into herself, trying to get warm. Her gaze darted around the practice arena, studying the faces of the few dozen people who were here. The crowd consisted mostly of kids, and Bobbi wondered whatever happened to school. It was, after all, the middle of the week.

     Her attention turned back to the rink, her eyes automatically seeking and finding Nikolai. He was doing sprints up and down the ice with a handful of other players, his muscular legs propelling him across the smooth surface with power and grace.

     Heat curled in her stomach and blossomed outward, pushing back the chilled air that blanketed her. A vivid image of all that power and grace being used to pleasure her filled her mind and she shifted against the hard bench as a blush fanned her face. The last several nights had been, without a doubt, the most intimate, sensual experiences of her life.

     Nikolai was a considerate and very talented lover, an exciting mix of gentleness, playfulness, power and possession and sacrifice. He demanded and coaxed responses from her body but gave as much as he took. More, even.              

     Bobbi's toes curled and her stomach did a small roll as she tried to hide the smile she could feel forming on her face. Loud banging coming from the ice in front of her caught her attention and she looked up to see Nikolai a dozen feet away, hitting the glass with his stick. Her eyes met his, and she saw the same smile on his face as he waved her down.

     Bobbi grabbed the bag from beside her feet and climbed down from the bleachers. Nikolai pushed the butt end of his stick against the latch and swung the door open, then reached out and grabbed her hand with his gloved one and pulled her as close to him as possible without actually yanking her onto the ice. Heat rolled off him in waves, and she could literally see steam drifting from his shoulders.

     "You are blue with cold. Why do you not have a jacket on?"

     "I didn't think about grabbing one." And standing as close as he was, his body thrumming with heat and power, his size almost overwhelming because of the pads, she was close to not being able to think at all, period. Already her earlier chill had disappeared, banished by his nearness. "Besides, I'm not really cold anymore."

     He pushed his helmet back and grinned down at her. "No?"

     She shook her head, smiling up at him, then let out a muffled shriek when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him, literally lifting her off her feet. Her body pressed fully against him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding on, fearing he'd lose his balance and they would both topple to the ice. "Nikolai!"

     "Shh,
moe krasivejshee
, I will not drop you." He dipped his head down and claimed her mouth in a deep kiss, quick but no less searing in its intensity. He laughed at her expression, then gently placed her back on her feet. She untwisted her hands from his jersey as she tried to catch her breath. "There. Now you will be warm."

     "Petrovich! Get back here! Five laps, now." The coach's booming voice echoed across the ice. Nikolai gave him an impatient wave of his hand, then winked at her before slamming the door shut and taking off, his powerful strides making easy work of the punishment.

    
Moe krasivejshee
. My beautiful one, he had called her. He had been calling her that instead of his annoying little pest since the first night she had slept at his place. She told herself not to make anything of it, not to read into it.

     Bobbi took several deep breaths, trying to calm her galloping pulse, then looked around to see if she was being watched. A few curious glances were cast her way but for the most part, the spectators' attention remained focused on the players.

     She returned to her seat, no longer mindful of the cold bleacher, and watched the players on the ice, doing her best not to lose focus. Several minutes went by before she noticed a shift in the air around her. Nothing obvious, nothing threatening, just a subtle change in the atmosphere. She straightened and looked around, then stiffened when she saw Denny approaching her. She turned back toward the ice, refusing to look at him as he slid onto the bench behind her left shoulder.

     "Slumming today?" She muttered, referring to his dressed-down appearance in jeans and a sweatshirt. It was obviously an attempt to blend in—nobody here was dressed in a suit and tie.

     "I could ask the same of you."

     Bobbi stiffened but said nothing, refusing to play into his manipulation. He was here for a reason. She would sit in silence until he was ready to share it with her.

     "You need to focus more on what's going on around you and less on getting laid, Bobbi. I could have taken Petrovich out several times already."

     His harsh words sent a chill of fear slicing through her, and she stiffened even further. "Then I would have gladly put a bullet through your head. And I'm sure your man back there would have done the same." She turned and nodded to the man sitting at the very top of the bleachers. "Unless, of course, you gave him instructions not to."

     Denny sighed and turned to face the man she had just mentioned. He gave a slight nod of his head, and the man stood up and walked away.

     "I don't need you to remind me how vulnerable Nikolai is, how easy a target he makes. So unless you've come up with a way to make him invisible, just shut up." She felt Denny stiffen behind her, and she knew the vehemence in her voice had shocked him. It had shocked her a bit, too. Her gaze went back to the ice and she saw the players skating to the center, huddling around the coaches. "Practice is almost over. What do you want?"

     "To drop off information." Denny leaned over and dropped several folded sheets of paper next to her. "Ask your boyfriend if he knows anything about the Ruskov Orphanage. We got some intel that says he visited there immediately after signing the contract with TBL."

     Bobbi slipped the paper into her bag just as the whistle signaling the end of practice blew. She caught Nikolai's gaze as he skated past and offered him a small smile even as his eyes darted behind her. A quick frown creased his face, but quickly disappeared.

     "Intel? From eight years ago? Nothing like being on top of things."

     Denny stood, his movements stiff and jerky behind her. "Just ask him."

     She turned around and watched him leave, noticing the angry set to his shoulders and stiff carriage as he jumped down from the bottom bleacher and headed toward the door. She recognized the controlled anger thrumming through him and wondered what was causing it. Deciding she didn't care, she climbed down from the seats and walked over to where the players had gathered to sign autographs.

     Her shoulders tightened with tension and her senses heightened, her eyes darting all around. Denny's man was back, surveying the scene from the upper bleachers. Seeing him, knowing there was an additional set of eyes searching, protecting, should have allowed her to relax but it didn't.

     She stepped closer to the small crowd, still standing off to the side, and watched Nikolai interact with the fans. He paid attention to any adults that approached him, but it was obvious that he was fonder of the kids. He laughed and joked with them, signed their souvenirs, gave them tips on how to play a better game. And he took his time with them. Never rushing them, letting them know that they had his full attention. She smiled as the last excited kid walked away, and knew without a doubt that Nikolai Petrovich was a fan favorite for very good reasons.

     "You're good with them," she told him as he walked over to her and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. "The kids."

     "They do not ask for much, and are easily pleased. It is easy to be good with them."

     "Not many people think that way, you know." She fell into step with him as he headed down the hallway toward the locker room.

     "I am not many people."

     She paused, looking up at him, her head tilted to the side. He stopped, one brow cocked in her direction as she studied him. "No, you're not. Do you have any kids?" She wasn't sure what made her ask the question, hadn't even known she was going to ask it until it spilled from her lips. But now that she had asked, she found herself holding her breath, waiting, watching him.