Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (17 page)

If he asked her to marry him and
stay in Belarus, they wouldn’t have to hide like teenagers on their first date.
She would share his mission and help him—of that he was sure. Cecile was a
thoroughly active person and a generous woman. She would become a real
Belarusian lady. His officers would overlook the fact she was a foreigner when
they’d discover her dedication to his cause.

Marry
? Had he said that he
wanted to marry her?

He closed his eyes and raised the
bottle of vodka to his lips.

What happened to his promise of
offering her only nights of happiness? How was he already jumping to marriage?
Deep down, he struggled with the naked truth that he refused to acknowledge. He
had fallen in love with her. She represented everything he wanted to find in a
woman.

He emptied the bottle of vodka
and smashed it against the wall. The glass shattered on the tile floor, broken
in a thousand pieces like his dreams of love.

Major General of Belarus, you can
only love your country. The rest is pure utopia. Wake up to your duty.

* * * * *

Cecile lifted heavy eyelids and
closed them again. The bright light invading her room shocked her as much as
the pounding that banged on her temples. Automatically, she retrieved the
blanket over her head and willed the tapping to stop, to no avail. Muddled
images from the previous day floated in and out of her memory. The long trip,
Sergei’s cheerful greeting, the pleasant ride in the Jeep, followed by the
stomach pain and misery.

Her tummy grumbled, loud and
clear, bringing back the picture of an officer handing shots of vodka. Had she
really drunk that much?

She patted her belly, didn’t feel
any pain there and chuckled. The vodka had knocked her out. His medication worked
wonders. While she slept her body had recovered. Nicouvitch’s treatment had to
be commended but the pain in her head was still acute. No wonder, after six
shots, she was suffering from a severe hangover.

She carefully raised her head and
braved the light to squint at her watch, three-twenty.

Three o’clock in the afternoon!

She bolted out of her bed and
held her head with both hands unable to believe she’d slept almost twenty hours
in a row. The banging continued. Oh damn it. It was coming from the door.
Approaching slowly in order not to lose her balance, she asked, “Yes?”

A Russian accent answered.
“Cecile, are you okay? It’s Nicolai. Can you open the door?”

A glimpse at herself assured her
that she was quite decent with the navy-blue sweater on top of her silk
pajamas.

She opened the door and stood
there. “Good morning, I mean good afternoon, Nicolai. I just woke up.”

A bright smile highlighted his
worried expression. “Good. Our grandmothers’ medication seems to have worked as
usual. If you feel up to it, would you like to come for a ride in my car?
Someone is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Oh my God, he’s here? Yes, I can
make it. Give me fifteen minutes I’ll join you.”

“Dress very warmly in case you
want to take a walk. It’s chilly outside.”

She nodded and backed into her
room. She donned layers of extra clothing under her mohair sweater and wool
pants, wore the high-heeled boots, added a sleeveless leather jacket and topped
it all with her coat and
chapka
.

In less than the time requested,
Cecile ran down to the lobby, strode out of the hotel to the little beige car
and slid into the backseat and into Sergei’s arms. Nicouvitch took off at high
speed, propelling them backward and away from each other. Like misbehaving
children, they edged away and held hands.

Nicolai stopped in front of his
own building. The two officers jumped out of the car. “Please, stay in the
backseat. We’ll attract less attention,” Sergei requested.

“Where are we going?” Cecile
asked without real curiosity. As long as she shared his company, the place
didn’t matter.

His cheerful voice surprised her.
“You’ll see. I have arranged a special afternoon for us.” His last word brought
a beaming smile to her face.

Nicolai handed him the Volvo key.
“Enjoy yourself,
moy drouk
.”

Sergei slid into the driver’s
seat. “I sold my car six months ago. As a Major General, I’m always chauffeured
around. I never thought I would need it so badly.”

He drove on the highway, leaving
the bustling city behind and exited to the countryside. They soon crossed a
park where brooks crisscrossed the frozen grassland and forests of tall barren
trees hid the horizon. The car meandered along an alley of well-trimmed pine
trees and circled around an icy surface. “I wish you could see the park in
summer or spring. A gorgeous place for family picnics. Now the pond is frozen
and no one would brave the cold to come here.”

“Oh how pretty.” Cecile glimpsed
a picturesque yellow house through the barrier of trees. Sergei stopped the car
in front of a terrace adorned with side columns. He helped her out. “Let’s take
a walk then we’ll go inside.”

“Is it open?”

“Usually not at this time of the
year but I rented it for the evening. This palace often hosts receptions and
weddings in the summer.”

He pulled a bag out of the trunk.
“You need to eat something to sustain you ’til supper.”

A smell of baked cake wafted in
the cold air. He handed her the rolls of sweet bread and she bit into one with
hungry eagerness. “Thanks. I haven’t eaten anything since we arrived in Minsk.”
Sergei always thought about her welfare. A warm feeling invaded her heart.

They strolled toward the pond.
Sergei pointed to the line of sculptures decorating the edge of the pond. “Our
czarina Katarina, as we called Catherine the Great, built this little mansion.
You can see her statue here.” Cecile ate her cake and listened to his
enthusiastic description of his country’s national heritage. “Over the years,
Katarina’s Palace became a vacation hideaway for the czar’s family. Later on,
Stalin used it for his summer soviet meetings.”

They sauntered around the pond
pausing every so often, here and there, to admire a statue or a fountain.

At four-thirty in the afternoon,
the pale daylight rapidly ebbed. The chill stung her face and tickled her lashes.
In spite of the amount of clothing she wore and the scarf wrapped around her
neck, Cecile felt cold. The twilight abated and soon darkness swallowed them.
Walking back toward the mansion, Sergei linked her arm with his, guiding her
steps along the bleak ridge lining the pond.

He paused at the bottom of the
terrace and gathered her in his arms. She hooked her gloved hands around his
neck.

“Are you cold, Cecilya?”

She cuddled against him. “Not
anymore. But we’re completely nuts to stay outdoors on such a cold night.”

“Lovers are always a little
crazy.” He cradled her face between his hands, pushing the scarf away and gave
her a heartbreaking kiss. Strolling with Sergei in the night, even in such
chilly weather, would be added to her album of beautiful memories.

“Let’s go inside.” He marched
toward the mansion entrance and pulled her in a fast crisp walk that warmed her
in spite of the cold.

He opened the door and let her
in. Cecile halted in the doorway stunned by the incredible luxury of the furnishings.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said as she scanned the antique chest,
needlepoint-covered chairs and gilded clock.

“This way.” Sergei preceded her
to a drawing room on the right side. A fire burned in the marble ceiling-high
fireplace. The opulent room felt cozy and warm. A room fit for a czar, indeed,
with plush sofas, French furniture and oil paintings of kings or queens.

Next to the fireplace, she
noticed a round table set for two. She arched her eyebrows. Sergei smiled.
“We’ll have dinner, now. It’s ready. I’ll get it from the kitchen.”

Flabbergasted, she opened her
mouth and shut it, not knowing what to say. He went to so much trouble for her.
She thought of the expenditure and wondered if he’d accept her contribution.
She’d hate to hurt his pride.

He yanked off his sweater. Her
gaze followed the dark curls at the base of his throat and the muscles that
stretched the knitted long sleeve shirt. A magnificent specimen of hard sturdy
masculinity tamed into the kindest, most gallant gentleman. For the moment, he
was all hers.

Sergei came back pushing a glass
cart. She watched in awe as he set two dishes filled with chicken, potato sauté
and mushrooms. He eyed her with a dubious expression. “Are you still cold?”

“No, no. I was admiring this
sumptuous room.” Cecile laughed and got rid of her winter paraphernalia,
gloves, coat, hat, scarf, even her sweater, keeping only her turtleneck.

“Please have a seat.” He held a
chair for her and then poured wine in the glasses. “To us.” Sergei raised his
wineglass and she clanked her glass against his, a sheen of moisture wetting
her eyes. For the second time in the evening, he’d referred to them as a
couple.

Cecile tasted the food.
“Delicious. I can’t thank you enough. I never imagined I would eat dinner in
the czar’s palace.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.
I heard the medication of Nicolai’s grandmother did wonders for you.”

“Amazing! Cured by the vodka.
Soon I’ll be writing an essay on the benefits of potato fermentation.”

Sergei burst out laughing.
“You’re getting used to our national drink.”

“Can you believe I slept almost
twenty hours in a row?” A feeling of guilt nagged at her. She bit her lips and
threw him a lopsided glance. He had waited for her while she recuperated in
complete oblivion. “I’m sorry. I missed our date.”

“Well you had to make up for the
time you spent awake while traveling.” He smiled with understanding.

Cecile elaborated about her time
in Boston and the difficult trip back to Belarus. “The equipment is at the
airport waiting to be retrieved. I’ll arrange its transfer to the Belchem Lab
with Nicolai and Alexander.”

“Please, no more business talk. I
want you to relax.”

When they finished their dinner,
she tried to clear the table but he stopped her. “Don’t move. I’ll bring the
cake. We don’t need to clean the dishes. It’s part of the service.”

“Talking about the service and
you renting this place, can I—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need. We’ll enjoy it
together.” He bent and feathered a light kiss on her lips before exiting the
room.

 * * * * *

Sergei went to the kitchen and
brought back two small plates with chocolate cake. Mesmerized, he paused with
the plates in his hands.

Sitting on the Oriental rug, with
her feet tucked underneath her, Cecile resembled a porcelain doll, delicate and
deceptively frail. She had followed his advice and assumed a relaxed position.

“Dessert time.” He handed her
part.

She finished her cake and licked
her lips. “I love the local delicacies.”

“Good.” Sitting beside her,
Sergei gazed at her, fire burning in the depths of his blue eyes.

Her hair, a tumble of shiny gold
enhanced by the fiery glow, framed her lovely features. Her eyes sparkled like
emerald stones freckled with gold. Sergei forgot the cake, a different hunger
building in his groin.

“You’re beautiful.” He reached
and caressed her cheek. “How I missed you, my darling. First the long weeks
away and then last night. Will you ever forgive me for not coming to see you
while you were sick?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She
pulled away and waggled a finger at him. “Sergei, don’t ever think about such a
crazy act. Coming to the hotel would ruin your career. I have never, for a
second, resented you for not visiting. And I loved your flowers,” she added
with a smile that beamed and beckoned.

He claimed her lips and explored
the sweetness of her mouth. Cecile wrapped her arms around his neck. Her soft
body, cradled against his, kindled his blood with a heat more smoldering than
the fire.

Sergei lowered her on the rug and
followed, half lying on top of her. He kept himself in check, waiting for her
to encourage him.

Their gazes locked. In the green
flames of her eyes, he read the same longing. How he wished he could keep her in
his arms forever. One more time, he cursed the constraint of his position, the
high and mighty position that forced them to steal minutes of happiness like
guilty youths. Still, he didn’t want to rush her. He had promised himself he
would offer her a perfect evening.

Soft fingers played with the hair
at his nape, tickling and enticing. With the tip of his tongue, he contoured
her lips, tasting and teasing. Her body arched against him, jolting a spark in
his loins. He crushed her mouth, deepening his kiss and she responded with
urgency.

His passion overrode common sense
and logic. He hadn’t planned to love her on a rug but he wanted her and she’d
shown the same desperate hunger. His hands eased under the layers of clothing
until they touched bare flesh. He felt her relax in his embrace. His fingers
roamed freely across her back, then over her breasts and he fondled them with
care and love. Fire spread and raged within his body.

He heard a soft ragged breathing.
Cecile snatched her mouth and buried her head against his shoulder. “Oh Sergei,
I love you.”

Tenderness flooded his heart.
“Cecilya.” He trailed hot blazing kisses over her cheeks, eyelids and lips. “My
Cecilya, I love you too. I will love you forever.”

She smiled. Her fingers curled
around his neck. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips on his.

As they remained entwined, the
words of love spoken in the heat of the moment sank into his dazed mind. He
released her mouth and stared at her lovely face flushed with passion. His lust
forgotten, he only thought of his impossible dream.