Her Russian Brute: 50 Loving States, Idaho (6 page)

W
here the heck was she
?

Scott shivered in the increasingly cool night. He’d been waiting on Sola’s porch since the sun was high in the sky. Now it had set, and she still wasn’t home.

Which had him worried. Had she gone to the police? Reported him? Jeez, that was the last thing he needed after what happened last fall. When the trashy girlfriend of a teammate hadn’t taken kindly to his suggestion that she take some pride in herself and dress a little classier.

He should have just walked away when she got in his face, yelling about how no man could tell her how to dress. He should have, but he loathed mouthy women. Always had. His dad had never tolerated any backtalk from his mother, and Scott found it grating, to say the least, that so many of his teammates seemed fine letting their wives and girlfriends speak to them in such a disrespectful manner.

So he decided to teach her a lesson. He’d hit that white trash skank—just like she deserved. Just like she’d been asking for. And all heck had broken loose. Luckily, they’d been alone in the nightclub’s unisex bathroom, so it was her word against his. But the teammate she was dating complained to upper management. And upper management got scared. It hadn’t been Scott’s best season, and the GM didn’t want to deal with any bad press, like the sort that would happen if someone leaked the incident about Scott and that girl to the media.

In the end, it hadn’t gotten out—probably because Scott was only a second-string running back. He almost never got recognized as an L.A. Sun most places he went, not unless he was with a few of the better known players. No one but that stupid girl had been hurt in the end, but unfortunately, the whole incident cast a shadow over Scott’s formerly pristine reputation within the organization.

After that, Scott decided to keep his mind on the game. Telling Sola not to come down to L.A. for a while, so he could concentrate on proving his worth to his team. But then Scott missed a pass that could have sent a playoff game into overtime, and all his hard work went down the drain. As it was, when it came time to renegotiate his contract, his agent had barely been able to convince the powers-that-be to trade him instead of cutting him from the team all together.

And now Sola was nowhere to be found. Scott’s heart pounded with fear. If she pressed charges, that other girl might come forward, too.

He’d seen this happen to one of his college teammates. One girl pressed rape charges against him, then other skanks started to come out of the woodwork, claiming he’d raped them, too. They were nothing but a bunch of bottom-feeders. But they’d ruined the poor guy’s career. No professional organization would touch him after that, all because he took what those slutty girls were putting on display.

If Scott’s football career had taught him anything, it was that the world outside Omaha was filled with big-mouthed women. Which was why getting drafted by the L.A. Suns had felt to him like being dropped into a cesspool of sin.

Finding his sweet Sola in a city full of mouthy harlots had felt like a miracle. A nice Catholic girl, and pretty to boot. She was a bit fleshier than he liked, and she insisted on living with those two faggots. But he’d been willing to put up with a few extra pounds, and he’d overlooked her living situation, since it kept her out of an even worst den of sin—those art school dormitories. He’d even forgiven her for cutting her hair, so that she looked like some kind of lesbo feminist—yet another type of degenerate found in California. After all, she’d been growing it back out ever since, and though it wasn’t nearly as long as it had been when they’d first met, in a few years he’d probably forget she ever showed up at his door with that awful haircut in the first place.

He’d thought moving to Omaha—a good city with people who knew right from wrong—would be a fresh start for them. And after the rough season he’d had, he wanted nothing more than to settle down into a nice, normal life with Sola. He’d even booked a marching band as part of his proposal plan and then spent all week imagining her tears of joy when she said yes.

But she didn’t say yes. In fact, she tried to break up with him. And when he’d tried to reason with her, she turned into his worst nightmare.

He shouldn’t have hit her. He knew that. She obviously hadn’t been thinking straight when she suggested they break up. Neither had he. For a while, he’d actually thought of letting her go after she’d proven herself not to be as docile as he’d originally believed. Also, she’d publicly embarrassed him when she turned down his proposal. Real men didn’t allow women to embarrass them like that.

After he hit Sola for mouthing off to him, he’d nearly walked away from the relationship altogether.

But then he’d come to his senses the morning after their fight. He’d spent over two years building a foundation for a good marriage with Sola. He had a life plan for them. He wasn’t going to give up on their relationship or his plans just because she was being stubborn about his marriage proposal. That wasn’t how winners operated. And no matter what the Suns told his agent, Scott knew he was a winner. He just needed to try harder with her.

He’d forgive her for what she’d said, and he’d apologize for hitting her, and they’d move on from the whole thing, just like they’d moved on from the hair episode. That’s what he’d decided the morning after their fight.

So he’d driven all the way up to Valencia again. over to her guesthouse with a huge bouquet of lilies…only to find it empty when he rang the doorbell. At first he’d waited patiently on the concrete steps. But then after about an hour, he decided to let himself in with the key he’d secretly copied one weekend when she’d been visiting him in Los Angeles. Just to make sure she wasn’t inside and ignoring his knocks.

She definitely wasn’t there, but her closed laptop was parked right on top of her desk. Which meant she hadn’t gone to class.

Scott opened the laptop, and almost immediately, an IM rectangle from her best friend, Anitra, popped up on the screen.
Oh, BTW, how did the break-up with the douchebag go? Did he cry?

Acidic hatred almost cancelled out every good, peaceful feeling Scott had managed to muster up since driving up here. So
that
was why his sweet Sola had tried to break up with him! Her witch of a best friend put her up to it! He’d only met the girl once, when she’d come home to visit her family in California for the holidays, but Scott hadn’t taken to her at all.

During the dinner he’d magnanimously treated her and Sola to, Anitra had spent the majority of the meal taking everything Scott said the wrong way. She’d glared at him when he expressed concern over a girl her age going to school so far from her family.

“
Women
my age do just fine on our own, thank you,” she’d answered.

And she’d become downright hostile when he pointed out that it would be hard for her to find a good husband if she put in the same kind of hours as they did on those doctor shows. She’d decided she couldn’t handle any of Scott’s well-meaning observations, and now that she-devil was doing everything in her power to tear Sola and him apart.

Well, she wouldn’t get away with it, he decided, standing up from the desk. As soon as Sola came back, he’d talk some sense into her about that best friend of hers.

He was even willing to lie if that was what it took. Girls were always fighting over guys. He’d tell Sola that Anitra had tried to come on to him behind her back, and he’d turned her down. That was why she didn’t like him—because she was so jealous of everything Sola had: her beauty, her agreeableness, her lack of boastfulness—for example, Sola never went around showing off to everyone about how smart she was.

Sola would believe him. She would have to. He carefully tidied everything, like he always did when he checked in on her like this without her knowledge. Then he went back to the porch and waited for her to return.

But she never did, and eight hours after his arrival, his sense of determination began to sour.

Where could she be? At the police station? With another guy?

Both thoughts sent a rush of outrage through his body. She had better not have opened her mouth to anyone about their argument. That was
their
business. She’d been out of it when he left her on the living room floor yesterday, but next time he’d warn her. Just like his dad warned his mother. Opening your mouth when you weren’t supposed to always came with consequences. Eventually his mom learned better than to go the authorities every time Dad got a little too rough with her. And Sola would learn, too.

These things happened. But there was no reason to bring the police into private matters.

However, as the night wore on, Scott began to relax a little. But not much. If she wasn’t here, and she wasn’t reporting him to the police,
where was she
?

The sound of wheels coming to a stop over concrete cut off his suspicious thoughts.

Sola!
he thought, his heart soaring when he saw the Lexus she’d been driving the day before pull up into the driveway beside the main house.

But then the car’s real owner, not Sola, got out.

“Professor Krantz!” Scott called out, jogging over to him.

“Oh, Scott. Hello.” The professor said, his voice distracted as if he were in such a rush, he could barely spare three words.

“Have you seen Sola? I’m afraid we had a bit of a misunderstanding and I wanted to apologize.” Scott held up the flowers as evidence of his remorse.

Brian, however, just frowned at the flowers. “What kind of misunderstanding?” he demanded, his eyes going sharp with reproach. “I saw her face, young man, and she doesn’t need some barbaric football player—”

He suddenly cut himself off. “But oh dear me, why am I bothering with you? I have to go inside to Eddie and then figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

“What mess? Is it something I can help with?” In Scott’s experience, old people loved when you took an interest in their problems. And Sola considered this man to be like her second father, so if helping this gay guy was the way back into her affections…

But Brian only glared at him and said, “No, I highly doubt you could be of any help to anyone in this situation. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Scott watched as the professor headed toward the main house’s back door, then disappeared through without so much as a backwards glance at Scott.

Which meant he completely missed the murderous look on Scott’s face.
Batty old faggot
, Scott thought angrily. He thought he could just dismiss him? Scott didn’t think so. He’d come back here every day until Sola returned. He’d get her back, and when he did, he’d make sure she never saw that hateful witch Anitra or that faggot professor ever again.

And Sola
would
come back to him. It was only a matter of time.

I
t was only
a matter of time.

That was all Ivan could think as his body ate up another lap in the house pool. His twentieth of the day. But definitely not his last.

It was only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time before his body gave out. Only a matter of time before his mind stopped replaying her words, over and over.

He swam faster, as if the words he’d been trying not to think about were chasing after him.

I don’t care about your face.

Why did her words matter? They did not—could not—matter. They were only words, after all.

But Ivan wanted her. From the moment she’d had the temerity to yell at him about his treatment of the old man, he’d wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone or anything but revenge in a very long time. And six days later, he still couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her compact curves, the way her eyes had blazed at him, despite her bruised face. Her skin, so warm and tawny. He knew she’d be soft to the touch, soft beneath his hard body…

This couldn’t go on
. Swimming and running, then swimming and running some more. His body, strong as it was, couldn’t handle it. Neither could his mind.

He hit the slick tile wall of the pool and pushed off again, making the water churn around him.

But what could he do? She clearly hated him. The old Ivan would have taken that as a challenge. Pursued her with lavish gifts, and expensive dates—unrelenting in his chase, all the way up until the morning after he bedded her. Then he’d leave and she’d never hear from him again.

But he was no longer the old Ivan.

And more importantly, he didn’t have the old Ivan’s face. Negotiating her up against a wall and sweet-talking her onto his dick wouldn’t work the way it used to.

Also, this woman was…different. He had to wonder if even the old Ivan would have been able to claim her. She was less than impressed with the manor house and all its perks. And she showed more interest in the town’s strange full-moon curfew than anything else he’d told her.

As it was, she’d barely come out of her room all week, even going so far as to take all her meals there. Hannah mentioned she’d been spending a lot of time in the solarium, but otherwise, Sola really only left her room to go down the hill to The Thirsty Wolf for an hour or so every night.

Ivan had taken to watching her leave the house from his diamond-paned study window. Though he kept swearing he wouldn’t wait up for her, each night after she left, he’d somehow end up in the set of armchairs in the small alcove beneath the front entryway’s main staircase, drinking the vodka he’d ordered at great cost from his homeland. Wondering if a woman, fresh and fiery as her, would find one of the town’s resident males to walk her home.

But so far, every night Sola returned—alone—to Wolfson Manor around ten every night, bundled in the Lands’ End jacket, gloves, winter beanie and snow boots Hannah had procured for her at the local supply store. Looking cuter and sexier than any short little brown girl in tortoiseshell glasses ought to in such an ensemble.

“Hey,” she’d say when she spotted him in the front foyer with his vodka.

“Hello,” he’d answer, as if he’d just happened to pick this particular place to drink his vodka and hadn’t, in fact, been waiting up for her.

And that would be the end of their exchange. She’d walk toward the stairs. Sometimes he’d catch the faint whiff of tequila—a smell he recognized easily, since Cuervo had been one of his official sponsors when he’d been in the EFC. Then she’d climb the stairs back up to her room.

She’d only once stopped to talk to him on her very first night out.

“Since you’re being so generous with the terms of my stay, could I move into one of the downstairs guestrooms?” she’d asked.

Downstairs. Away from him.

The “No” had fallen out of his mouth with all the subtlety of a brick before he’d even had a moment to wonder why she’d made the request in the first place.

She’d looked stricken, dropping her eyes and tugging at one of her ear-length curls. Which made him angry. At her, for wanting to move further from him. At himself, for caring whether she did or not.

And then he became even angrier when she tried again with, “It’s just that it might make things a little easier for me. You see I—”

“How old are you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“How old are you, Sola?”

“Twenty-four,” she answered carefully.

“Do you have an illness, like your teacher’s spouse?”

“No, but I—”

“Then the answer is no.”

Again the stunned look, as if she were trying to process his cruelty. Which was quickly followed by a look of resignation, as if she were used to cruel people. “Okay, well…”

She started for the stairs.

“What happened to your face?” he’d asked her.

She raised a hand to her bruised cheek, as if only now remembering how bad it looked. “I…it’s a long story.”

He’d stared at her for a moment. Then said, “I would like to hear this long story, Sola.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m tired, and apparently we’re not trying to be pals right now, so I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”

That was the lengthiest conversation they’d had so far. But he’d waited up for her every night since. And every night, he’d watch her clump up the stairs in her snow boots and shut herself back in her room after her nightly trip to the town bar. No words of greeting, just a look of grim determination on her face. Like she was serving out a prison sentence, which made him feel even more like a head case for wanting her as badly as he did—

He stopped suddenly, moving into a strong tread in the middle of the pool. That tingling sensation was back. The feeling he was being watched. It had happened at least once or twice a day since Sola’s arrival. Usually when he was in the pool.

But whenever he stopped to look at the narrow band of windows off the long hallway at the front of the house, no one was there. Maybe it was just his imagination, but…

I don’t care about your face.

“Sir?”

Ivan started, splashing himself in the face. He took a moment to wipe the water from his eyes to find Gregory standing at the far edge of the pool.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked testily, wondering if he’d merely been sensing Gregory. Not Sola, the pretty young woman who didn’t care about his face.

“It’s nearly four, sir, and I wanted to remind you it’s a full moon night.”

Yes, another damn full moon night. He’d nearly forgotten about the town’s bizarre custom with their unexpected visitor now in residence. The entire town took off the full twenty-four hours of each full moon night every month—from sunrise to sunrise—with a hard curfew of 5:00 PM. According to Gregory, it was a very old tradition. One that dated back to when the town first began as a small Native American hunting village in the 1500s. Eventually, the village was taken over by a large extended family of white settlers—“the Wolfson line,” as Gregory referred to them—in the 1800s.

“Hannah will, of course, leave dinner for you and Sola in the kitchen,” Gregory told him. “Perhaps Miss Sola would like to join you tonight in the dining room, seeing as how Hannah won’t be able to deliver a plate to her room? Also, should I remind her not to go down to The Thirsty Wolf this evening?”

“Yes, yes,” Ivan agreed. “I’ll talk to her about dinner and tell her she can’t go to The Thirsty Wolf tonight.”

“Ah, maybe I ought to convey the message about dinner to her along with a friendly reminder about the town curfew?” Gregory answered, his tone worried.

Ivan narrowed his eyes, not liking what the older man was insinuating. Clearly he thought Ivan didn’t have enough charm in his arsenal to get a woman with no other meal options for the night, to have dinner with him.

“No, I will do it,” he repeated more firmly. He swam quickly to the side of the pool and lifted himself up and out. His arms screamed in protest, not appreciating the sudden movement after the workout he’d put them through.

But at least his erection was gone.

“Where is she?” he asked the older man, toweling himself off.

“In the solarium, sir, but perhaps—”

He didn’t give Gregory the chance to finish, just threw on his black terry cloth robe and headed toward the back of the house.