Her Russian Brute: 50 Loving States, Idaho (42 page)

It was a strange magic, feeling him come. His strong body jerked above her, then went just as rigid as hers had, right before he released into her with a helpless yell. His eyes were squeezed closed, she dimly noted. As if however hard it had been for her to bear the onslaught of such a pleasurable climax, it had been twice as hard for him.

Obviously she wasn’t the only one who’d been overwhelmed by what had just happened between them, she thought with a small amount of pride, watching him weather the same storm of sensation.

It felt like eons had passed when he finally relaxed, his breath whooshing out as he dropped her leg. But it still wasn’t over. He released her leg, but recaptured her lips, scooping her up so her breasts were flush against his chest as he kissed her with such rough desperation, Sam could tell it had been just as good for him as it had been for her.

But then he said, “Samantha,” against her lips. “Samantha…” Over and over again. Like a prayer.

Sam froze.

She hated being called Samantha. She never allowed anyone to call her that. Not even Josie. No one. Hearing her full name on his lips completely vaporized the cloud of ultimate satisfaction she’d been floating on and she tumbled out of the sky. Falling down to Earth hard as she realized what she’d done. Exactly what she’d done.

She’d had sex with Nikolai Rustanov. Nikolai Rustanov! A man she barely knew and had only met a few days ago. And Pavel’s soon-to-be guardian.

Oh, God! Oh, God! This is bad, so bad.

She pushed against his chest in a panic, desperate to get out from under him. He immediately stopped kissing her, and lifted up.

“What is wrong?” he asked her, his accent even thicker than usual as he pulled all the way out of her. “Did I hurt you, Samantha?”

“Don’t call me that!” she answered, scrambling to sit up. Only to freeze again when she felt something that shouldn’t have been there.

And that was when the real horror of what they’d just done hit her as hard as a tractor trailer with a full load. No, he hadn’t hurt her, but even though he was fully removed from her now, not even touching her, she could still feel him. Inside of her. So much of him that he was leaking out onto her thighs.

Sam cursed and covered her face with her hands. They hadn’t just had really inadvisable hot sex. They’d had really inadvisable hot sex without a condom.

N
IKOLAI had assisted
in helping his father kill over a dozen men by the time he turned fifteen, but he’d never done anything as hard as listening to his mother cry in their apartment bathroom.

It had been a bad month for Natasha. One filled with a stomach flu that wouldn’t abate. His mother, who had always been a generally healthy person, complained bitterly at first. Not used to being waited on by her sons, who cooked dinner and cleaned while she recovered.

But then the stomach flu, which Natasha had assured them would only last for a couple of days, lingered for a couple of weeks. By the second week of her illness, his mother grew quiet, her complaints coming to an abrupt stop. Eventually she’d called Nikolai into her room while Fedya was in the bathroom. She told him to walk with Fedya to school, but to leave halfway through the day and take the bus to a smaller town about an hour away from theirs. One of the ones the Rustanovs didn’t bother with because it was known as a place where older people went to live out the rest of their lives in cheap apartments. His mother insisted Nikolai must go there to get the test she needed, to a place farther away where no one would recognize him as the bastard son of Sergei Rustanov.

Getting the test hadn’t bothered Nikolai. Much like when he accompanied his father on hit jobs, he froze himself on the inside, divorcing his actions from his emotions. He’d refused to feel anything as he did exactly as his mother said. He delivered the test to her in a white paper bag and he’d watched her disappear with it into their shared bathroom with the dispassion of a morgue clerk.

However, the scream that came from the bathroom a few minutes later, followed by wild sobbing and a long wailing, “
Nyet
!” —those sounds he’d never forget. He could still hear them sometimes, when things got too quiet inside his head.

And he could hear them now, over two decades later, as he once again stood outside the bathroom door, this time dressed in the Polar robe he’d so quickly discarded in order to get Samantha underneath him.

Samantha hadn’t been nearly as dramatic as his mother, merely covering her face before running into the bathroom without a word. The shower had come on just a few seconds after the door closed behind her. But that hadn’t been enough to keep him from going to the door, from standing outside of it like her useless dog. He looked over his shoulder at the digital clock on the bedroom’s nightstand.

She’d been in there for over twenty minutes, the shower running at full blast. Meanwhile, he’d been standing there, trapped in the memory of what would turn out to be the death nail in his mother’s coffin.

Just as he was thinking of going to check on her, the shower finally stopped, and soon after he could hear her moving around, probably drying off. Nikolai drew himself up and waited. But then, nothing. Everything went quiet. And somehow that made it even worse than the wild sobs that had come from his mother.

He knocked on the door. “Samantha, come out,” he commanded.

“No thank you, and please don’t call me that,” she answered through the door.

He didn’t pound on the door, but his voice was fist enough as he said, “Come out and talk to me. I will wait here for you and this will be hard to explain to boy when he wakes up.”

There were a few moments of silence, during which he could almost see her on the other side of the door, weighing her options, maybe wondering whether he was serious about standing out there until Pavel woke.

He was serious. Dead serious. And perhaps she sensed that, because a few seconds later the door opened and she reappeared, now dressed in a red bath towel, her long twists pulled into a large ball on top of her head. And holy shit, as his American teammates might say, but he was glad to be wearing a robe, because his cock responded badly to the sight of her in a bath towel. He was once again achingly hard and ready to take her again. Despite the circumstances, despite the fact that he’d already had her and she should be well on her way out of his system. With other women, he’d had to resist the urge to move to another room when it had been too late to send them home for the night. With Samantha, he had to resist the urge to reach out for her, to unwrap that towel from around her body, and once again bury himself in her warmth.

He forced himself to focus on her face. And was surprised to find she wasn’t crying like his mother had that fateful night. In fact, her expression was totally composed, a serene work of art that put him in mind of vintage photos of Mother Teresa.

“Hi,” she said, her voice calm and soft. “Sorry about that. It took me a while to clean up and process my thoughts.”

“Over twenty minutes,” he said.

“And I apologize,” she answered automatically. “For everything. I’m fine now. You don’t have to worry, though it was considerate of you to do so. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep before Pavel wakes up.

Nikolai stared at her. It was like she’d pushed a personality button, one that made every carefully considered word that came out of her mouth sound calm and gracious.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

“You are upset. About our sex… without condom.”

He was upset, too. A man in his position—the owner of a team, and formerly a hockey player who’d been targeted by groupies and gold diggers alike. He’d never in his life, slept with a woman without a condom and he was deeply disturbed he’d been so caught up in getting to her, to getting inside her, that he’d violated his number one rule.

“I’m sorry,” he told her now.

“I’m sorry, too,” she answered. “But what’s done is done. I don’t need to talk about it and you don’t need to worry about it.”

The words, obviously meant to be reassuring were anything but.

His eyes narrowed. “If you are pregnant, what will you do?”

His question caused a momentary crack in her calm façade and she shifted in obvious discomfort. “First of all, I’m not pregnant.”

“You cannot know this,” Nikolai said.

“I’m not,” she insisted, her voice pleasant but tight. As if all one needed to keep from getting pregnant was the right attitude and the right tone of voice. “But if I was, it would be my choice.”

Nikolai’s heart constricted with the thought of her…

“And your choice would be what?” he asked, needing to know.

She averted her eyes. “Well, if I was—which I’m not, but if I was, I’d, um… I’d, um…”

Nikolai braced himself to hear the ugly truth.

“I’d have to… keep it,” she said quietly.

Nikolai stared at her, his mouth open.

“I’m over thirty now and though I fully support a woman’s right to choose under any circumstance at any age, I—I…” Somehow this part seemed harder for her than her fierce defense of abortion rights. “When it comes down to it, I want to be a mother. I have for a while now. And if you want to be a mother like I do, you don’t exercise that option.” She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. “No matter who the father is.”

Conflicting emotions collided inside of Nikolai’s chest like gladiators in an arena. On one hand, joy that she would go through with the pregnancy no matter what. On the other hand, it was clear she was upset that he was the father.

Him. Not her boyfriend, the police officer.

His heart, which had thawed for a few moments when they’d come together in a tangle of fire and ice, hardened again.

“In one month, I will ask you question again. If you are pregnant, you will tell me.”

She looked up at him, her eyes aggressively calm, like two dark, placid stones inside her pretty face.

“I’m not pregnant,” she assured him.

“If you are you will tell me,” he insisted back.

“Yes, I will,” she finally agreed. “But I’m not pregnant, so this conversation is, you know… pretty moot.”

He wasn’t sure what “moot” meant, but the promise was all that mattered. Samantha was strange, and at times infuriating, but he didn’t think she was a liar.

As if reading his thoughts she said, “But again, all of this is just hypothetical. And none of it matters, because I’m not pregnant.”

S
AM stared
at the three pregnancy tests resting on top of the staff bathroom’s toilet seat.

“Damn!” she whispered. “Damn, damn, damn!”

She was totally, undeniably pregnant.

If the constant queasiness that had set in a couple of days ago hadn’t made it clear enough, the fact that she was four days into her usually clockwork cycle with still no period made it crystal clear. And just in case that wasn’t evidence enough, she now had these three over-the-counter pregnancy tests: one with two lines, one with a cross, one stating in letters bold and plain, “Pregnant.”

So no, there was pretty much zero doubt. She was pregnant.

Sam slumped back against the wall, her stomach roiling with more than morning sickness. How was she going to tell Nikolai about this?

She had to tell him. She promised she would. But, oh God, this would make things so awkward. Even more awkward than things currently were, with her tenuously serving as a sort of de facto nanny to Pavel, two weeks after Nikolai had officially been awarded custody of his nephew. Normally, it would have taken longer than that, but the hockey star with the newly discovered half-black nephew had made front page news in Indiana, and magically, the case had been heard in record time.

So now she was only living under his roof because he hadn’t kicked her out. Yet. And also because he didn’t seem all that interested in raising Pavel himself. Other than insisting he be sent to St. Peter’s, an all boy’s school. It was one of the best private schools in Indiana, but Sam suspected his insistence on sending Pavel to this particular school had to do with them being willing to have a security guard posted outside Pavel’s classroom at all times. Per Nikolai’s request.

But other than that, Nikolai seemed content to let Sam deal with all his nephew’s before and after school needs. Nikolai often worked weekends, too, traveling to out of town games with his team. So she and Pavel had been left to navigate Saturdays and Sundays—and any other days the team traveled—on their own with the occasional assist from her intern, Nyla. The grad student was currently working at Ruth’s House for free, and was therefore happy to pick up extra babysitting hours when Sam needed to put in weekend time at the shelter.

But other than hiring a former marine named Dirk to oversee Pavel’s safety outside his home, Nikolai seemed less than interested in the fact that there was now a child underneath his roof. He didn’t make any effort to spend his free morning hours with Pavel, and he often worked so late that he got home after Pavel had gone to bed. Some seriously dickish behavior on Nikolai’s part, Sam thought. But having made the monumentally stupid decision to sleep with him without a condom, it wasn’t like she had much of a moral leg to stand on… or like she could even look him in the eye these days.

No, instead, she’d focused on doing whatever she could to help Pavel adjust to his new, luxurious lifestyle while keeping her head down as she did so. Maybe if Nikolai didn’t notice she was still around, he wouldn’t ask when she’d be leaving.

But now she was pregnant and that would definitely throw a big ass hitch in her “out of sight, out of mind” plan of action.

A knock sounded on the door, interrupting her panicked thoughts.

“Sam, you in there?” came Nyla’s voice through the door.

Sam hastily disposed of all the sticks, sweeping them into the small wastebasket beside the toilet. “Yeah, I’m here. Do you need something?”

“We’ve got two intake request from Hope House. I told them we were full, too, but they’re hoping we can squeeze two more in. Also, Marco’s here on rounds again, and I know you asked me to handle it when he stops by but he’s saying he’d like to see you.”

Sam sighed. So not only was she pregnant. Not only was Ruth’s House overbooked. But now Marco was literally at the door. She took a deep breath and came out to face her African-American intern, Nyla Weathers.

Nyla had five piercings in her right eyebrow, a lip ring, a nose ring, a laughing Buddha tattooed on the back of her neck, and long relaxed hair—which almost made her look traditional until she turned and you could see the hair was completely shaved off on one side. Yet she looked at Sam like she was the strange one when she came out of the bathroom.

“Hey, you okay?” Nyla asked with a worried frown. “You look, I don’t know. Kind of shook. If you want I can deal with Marco.” She gave Sam a rueful grin. “I’ve learned a lot about how to handle overbearing men since coming to intern here.”

That almost got a chuckle out of Sam. This was why she’d only been half-joking when she’d suggested to Josie that Nyla could take over Ruth’s House Indiana. The younger woman was capable and passionate about advocating for women and children. And like Sam, she didn’t back down when presented with challenging situations.

But in this case, she turned down the offer, telling Nyla she’d call Hope House back after she talked to Marco.

Marco’s face lit up when she came outside.

“Hey, long time no see,” he said, cupping her shoulders. “Why haven’t you been returning any of my phone calls?”

Sam desperately wanted to lie, to tell him she’d been busy, anything to not have to deal with Marco after just finding out that she was definitely pregnant with Nikolai Rustanov’s child. But unfortunately, she’d seen too many women stalked to let Marco go on thinking he had any kind of chance with her.

She leveled Marco with a frank look before saying, “Marco, I haven’t been returning your phone calls because I’m not interested in talking to you in a non-professional capacity. I don’t want to date you.”

Marco’s eyebrows went up, like she’d both surprised and insulted him. “Wow, that’s harsh!”

“I know,” she said. And that was all she said. These were the rules of relationships in the world she lived in. Don’t give men reasons, or anything that could be used against you later as a reason, to overstep boundaries. Be okay with them thinking you’re a bitch, if that meant they’d leave you alone.

Despite her harsh words, Marco still didn’t let go of her shoulders. “But I thought we had something, Sam. We’ve got a lot in common. We’re both doing good in the community. You’re cute,” he reached up and stroked one of her twists behind her ear, “…I’m cute.”

Sam had to work not to laugh. Marco, she noted, was still very charming. Just not a match for her. Plus, it showed how little Marco knew about her if he thought they had a lot in common. He was from a stable, loving, and close-knit Latino family. His desktop picture was actually one of him, his parents, and his four siblings, all smiling at the camera like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Sam was the total opposite. A do-gooder who’d worked crazy hours before Pavel had come along because the alternative to that was being alone since she didn’t have any family to take smiling pictures with. But Marco didn’t know just how different their pasts were because she’d done with him what she’d always done with the men she dated—kept every conversation focused mostly on him.

She didn’t blame Marco for not knowing much about her below the surface, but still she had to tell him, “We’re not a match, Marco. And I don’t want you to go on thinking we ever could be.”

Marco frowned and his hands tightened around her shoulders. “Is this because of Rustanov?” he asked, his face darkening. “You two got something going on now? Is that why you’re dumping me?”

She couldn’t help the guilty look that crossed her face but she said, “No, we’re not together.”

He studied her, his suspicion obvious. “But you don’t want to date me now.”

“No.”

His mouth flattened into an angry line. “Mind telling me what changed?”

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly why she didn’t want to go out with him, prepared to give him a no holds barred list of reasons if that was what it took. But she stopped when goose bumps suddenly sprang up on her skin. Her heart filled with knowing apprehension even before she turned to look. There was only one person she knew with a stare so intense, she could actually feel it.

And yes… yes, there was Nikolai Rustanov standing at the bottom of the steps with his hands jammed in his pea coat pockets, a thunderous look on his face.