Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) (3 page)

“
Robota
. You’re not
married, Dr. Lornier?”

“No.”

“You should have some fun in the
evening, after a whole day of
robota
.” Tania shook her head as she
folded a beige turtleneck.

Cecile shrugged, preferring not
to discuss her social life—or lack of it. The excitement of the trip was enough
to alleviate her loneliness and break the monotony of her work.

“You wouldn’t understand. I
really love my work.” Ignoring her driver’s puzzled frown, Cecile watched the
icy rain batter on the windowpane. After her extraordinary encounter with the
general, nothing could be boring about work and the new project. She just hoped
he wouldn’t interfere in her professional decisions.

“But still, a pretty woman like
you should have a special man,” Tania insisted boldly.

Wrapping her arms around herself,
Cecile remembered brawny arms and a steel chest. A special man? Hadn’t she met
one a few hours ago? His sensual mouth had fanned a warm breath close to her
face, scalding her all the way to her toes.

Cecile lowered her eyes,
recalling the feeling of his body against hers and the smell of his
after-shave. He had been gallant and courteous.

Actually too gallant.

His lips had lingered on her
hand, long enough to melt her apprehension and boggle her mind.

The image of her virile savior
danced behind her closed lids, increasing her anxiety. A special man. None
other than the Major General, the hero of Belarus she’d have to impress with
her work.

She pursed her lips in defiance.
Whether he liked it or not, the general would have to work with this woman.

* * * * *

Major General Sergei Fedorin sat
at his desk and pulled two pictures from the drawer. He gazed with love and
longing at the faded photo of a lively seventeen-year-old with long hair and
twinkling eyes. Sofya, his pretty neighbor, who used to meet him behind the
stairs of their building to cuddle and kiss.

He flipped to the other picture.
His breathing caught in his throat. The image of a sick Sofya, already affected
by cancer, smiled back at him. His wife of fifteen years, blonde and pale, with
blue eyes too big for her face and a yellow dress too loose on her frail body.

“I will keep my promise, Sofya. I
will purge our country of the Chernobyl pollution that cost you your precious
life.”

On the day she died, five years
ago, he was detained on military duty three hundred miles away. His heart still
gnawed with the pain and guilt.

Their country was poor, too poor
to feed its citizens, let alone start an environmental cleanup program. He
inhaled deeply. “I will decrease the rate of cancer in Belarus. Now, the
American delegation will help me,” Sergei vowed as he closed the drawer on the
pictures.

A knock on his door jolted him
from his deep thoughts. “Come in.”

Colonel Nicolai Nicouvitch walked
in and saluted him. “
Dobroye Pajalavat, Generalle
. Welcome back. Good to
see you, Sergei.” His assistant and good friend clapped him on the back. “How
was your trip?”

“Not bad. The return was even
more interesting. I met the American delegation. Why weren’t you at the airport
to receive them?”

“I am sorry,
Generalle
.
Roussov convinced our Minister of Defense to let him go instead of me.”

“I see. Another of Roussov’s
manipulations.” Sergei’s jaws clenched tightly as he wished his antagonist to
hell and away from the American delegation.

“What’s your first impression?”

His impression? Or the reactions
he would never confess to anyone? The tightening of his muscles when her
fingers had trembled on his arm. The surge of protectiveness overwhelming him
as bewildered hazel-green eyes had locked on his. The racing of his blood when
her generous breasts had crushed against his chest.

And the shock he’d experienced at
the introduction of the tall, gorgeous American he’d held in his arms as the
Program Manager of his contract.

She had instantly metamorphosed
from a delicate beauty to a serene ice queen—the assertive Dr. Lornier,
modestly garbed like an older woman.

“Well?” Nicolai’s voice pulled
him out of an interesting contemplation. “What do you think of the American
scientist? Will he be amenable to a change of plans?”

Sergei narrowed his eyes on his
officer. “The Program Manager is a woman.”

“A what?” Nicolai’s jaw dropped.

“Dr. Cecile Lornier is a young
and pretty woman, although she manages to project a very serious image. Nothing
like our local beauties in bright colors and heavy makeup. Colonel, how did you
allow such an error to occur?”

Nicolai cursed. “A woman? Er…I
assumed…” A muscle twitched in his cheek. He cleared his throat. “I mean I
could not guess… The name Cecil…” Embarrassment dripped from his colonel’s
voice. “Remember, my
Generalle
, the first American movie we saw in
Belarus was by Cecil B. DeMille. It never occurred to me that the American
Program Manager handling such an important responsibility would be a woman.” He
looked to the heavens. “This has never happened before in Belarus. A woman. Who
could have guessed?”

“She is too young for this job.
Thirty. Thirty-two at the most,” Sergei declared. “Much too young.” And much
too pretty for his peace of mind. The shoulder-length light brown hair, in
disarray from her fall, had partly shadowed her lovely face but he had admired
at length her dainty profile and the stubborn chin, lifted in defiance. Her
full lips, tightened in aggravation, had beckoned to him like forbidden
fruit—an unwelcome distraction to his mission.

Nicolai’s sigh sent warning bells
jangling in his head. “What are we going to do about her? She may ruin
everything.” The colonel lit a cigarette and inhaled nervously.

Sergei pushed his chair and
stood. For the first time in his life, he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
He paced to the window and studied the blanket of clouds darkening the
afternoon. His mood was as gray as the sky.

Had John Gordon lost his mind,
signing over the contract so precious to Sergei’s heart to such a young woman?
“I don’t know, Nicolai, I don’t know. A complex situation, a real problem.”

Blood pounded at his temples. The
difficult project, his mission and the citizens’ dream of a country free from
pollution would rest on her delicate shoulders.

“
Generalle
, we can’t let this
young woman waste the U.S. aid on a laboratory when thousands of Belarusians
are dying of cancer.”

“Perhaps I can turn the situation
to our advantage. Instead of installing a useless lab, I will convince her to
ship to Minsk the equipment needed for the environmental cleanup.”

“What about the sample analysis?
It is required by the contract.”

“We will ask her to collect soil
samples from Belarus and send them to Boston for analysis at her laboratory. It
would be much more efficient anyway.”

Nicolai shook his head with a
condescending smile. “If she’s young, she’s probably inexperienced. Persuading
her to change her plans shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Don’t be so sure. From what I
have seen so far, she is quite an independent lady. Not used to following a
man’s lead.”

“
Svenya!
Is she going to
question every one of our decisions?”

Sergei cracked his knuckles. “Who
knows?” Irritation thundered in his groan. “I will have to ask John to send us
a seasoned male Program Manager to coordinate the actual cleanup.” It was the
only way to keep his promise to Sofya and help the multitude of Belarusians who
counted on him.

“
Generalle
, about the
entertainment…” Nicolai muttered.

Sergei almost choked, remembering
the gentlemen’s spa and its usual activities. “Cancel. Cancel the whole
evening.”

The colonel shrugged. “As you
say,
Generalle
.”

“Tomorrow, try to keep her away
from Roussov. You should have seen that son of a
dourak
at the airport.
His smiles, his friendly behavior. Disgusting.”

“Friendly? Roussov?
Svenya!
The man is up to something.”

“I won’t let him interfere in our
mission.” If only he could prevent the damned colonel from attending tomorrow’s
meeting. Exasperation pummeled his heart and dried his throat. “Pour us a
drink,
moy drouk
.”

His friend opened a closet and
uncorked a bottle of vodka. He filled two shot glasses and handed one to
Sergei. They raised their glasses and clanked them against each other. “To our
mission,
Generalle
.”  

“To a clean Belarus.”

Of course, Sergei didn’t mind the
lovely Cecile staying in Minsk as an assistant.

Forget the laboratory, Cecile.
Help me clean my country and I will make it up to you
.

Chapter Three

The van passed through a wrought
iron gate and navigated a paved driveway. Cecile got a glimpse of an imposing
structure surmounted by a golden cupola.

 “We are here. The Hall of
Officers.” Tania stopped in front of a terrace surrounded by a colonnade and
gestured to the white mansion protected by two black cannons. “In the old days,
it was the summer residence of the Prince of Belarus.” A proud smile
highlighted the young woman’s lovely features. Cecile listened attentively
while John seemed more interested by the pretty driver than her historical
information.

“Later on, the Soviet Supreme
used it as a meeting hall,” Tania added.

After they climbed out of the
vehicle, an officer met them on the terrace. “Colonel Nicolai Nicouvitch.
Dobroye
outroh
, good morning.” He shook hands with them. “Dr. Lornier, welcome to Minsk
and the Hall of Officers. John, good to see you again.”

“Nice to meet you, Colonel. I’m
very impressed,” Cecile said with a chuckle. “You can’t beat this. A historical
palace to host my first business meeting in Minsk.” Cecile turned toward Tania,
still in the van. “Please pass on this suitcase.” She reached inside the van.
“John, can I count on you to hand out my company’s folders?”

“Sure, sure.” John nodded his
approval and she relaxed. By distributing the gifts himself, John was not about
to forget the generous gesture of EnviroAnalytical Laboratory. Cecile’s boss
would be pleased.

“Allow me.” The colonel grabbed
the heavy piece of luggage containing the folders and carried it with as much
ease as if it was an empty bag.

Cecile couldn’t say whether it
was the cheerful welcome of the colonel, or the glorious sunshine warming her
face that lifted her spirits. In contrast to the last evening and her harsh
arrival in Minsk, the kickoff meeting promised to be hospitable, perhaps even
pleasant.

A light breeze ruffled her hair
as she squinted at the three-story edifice and snapped her first picture of
Belarus. Ushered by Colonel Nicouvitch, she and John ascended two flights of
marble stairs. Endless corridors and successive waiting rooms led them to the
famous Red Hall.

Combing her hair with her
fingers, Cecile halted at the door and scanned the unending gallery. “Awesome,”
she whispered, overwhelmed by the majesty of the place. The red-carpeted room
easily covered three thousand square feet. She recovered her voice and asked,
“May I take pictures here?”

“Of course. Notice the Seal of
Belarus.” Colonel Nicouvitch pointed to a wall decorated with a mounted knight
in the center of an enormous medallion. An orange and green flag hung next to
the seal.

With the colonel at her side,
Cecile strolled through the twenty-foot space separating two parallel tables
lined up along the length of the room. “Do you often meet in this hall?”

“Only on important occasions. We
gathered here three months ago when our
Major Generalle
was put in
charge of coordinating the Belarusian-American project.” Colonel Nicouvitch
fixed a glittering gaze on the seal adorning the wall. Was he reliving the
previous meeting?

“A momentous event for Belarus?”

“Oh yes, Dr. Lornier. You could
have heard the applause that greeted the happy news all the way to the street.”

Such pride suffused his voice.
She could almost picture the Major General receiving a standing ovation from
his loyal officers. The general was a hero. A real hero. Long buried memories
of another hero flooded her heart.

A commotion at the door attracted
everyone’s attention. Several officers strutted in, a magnificent display of
male perfection.

She was the only woman present.
Excitement and worry fluttered in her heart.

A congenial smile on his lips,
Colonel Roussov waved at her. She hardly had time to return his greeting and
reached her chair.

“Lady and Gentlemen, please take
your seats,” Colonel Nicouvitch ordered over the microphone. When everyone was
seated, he announced, “The
Major Generalle
of Belarus, Sergei Fedorin.”

The Major General marched in, his
stance regal. His shoulders seemed to widen as he reached his place at the
center of the table facing her. The officers stood and saluted.

Cecile remembered him as tall and
handsome. Now, he appeared so imposing, so vibrant…and just yesterday, he’d
held her in his arms.

The general returned the salute.
A fleeting smile shaped his lips and a hint of a bow acknowledged her presence.
She clasped her hands in her lap to prevent them from shaking. The general
reminded her of the picture she carried in her purse like a good omen. The
young hero in uniform with whom she compared every man she met—her father.

This was not how she’d imagined
her first business meeting in Minsk. Damn it, she’d attended hundreds of
meetings and conferences during her ten-year career, always assertive and
prepared. Today, her emotions were wreaking havoc with the cool composure of a
scientist and businesswoman.