NIKOLAI (Her Russian Protector #4) (6 page)

Voice gruff, he finally said, "You can't show
this one."

His words seemed to shake her out of her
stupor. "But I built the entire show around this central
piece."

"I don't care. This one isn't leaving the
studio." He glanced around for something, anything, to destroy it.
"It can't exist."

She raced forward and placed her body between
his and the painting. "Like fucking hell!"

The shock of hearing her curse rendered him
momentarily speechless. "Do you have any idea what you're risking
with this one?" He searched for the right words. "What if someone
recognizes those tattoos?"

"Good!" She shouted stridently. "I hope someone
does recognize them. I hope someone comes forward and fingers the
bastard who blasted me with a 9mm and sent me flying out of
second-story window."

Though he maintained his outward composure,
inwardly he flinched at the anger and passion in her voice. What
would she say if he broke down right now and told her the truth?
The whole awful, sordid fucking truth?

She would hate him. She would despise him. She
would run from him and leave his life forever.

And it would kill him. She was all that kept
him tethered, all that kept him from going completely into the
darkness of the underworld he inhabited. For her, he'd tried to
walk a very fine line and had kept his crew out of the seedier,
nastier forms of earning. Though running guns and shifting
narcotics cargo weren't things that would make her proud, they were
a hell of a lot cleaner than the sex trafficking that some of the
other syndicates in town ran.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he tried
to make her understand. "Vee, so much has happened since that
night. You can't drag up history. You have to leave it
alone."

She clicked her teeth and stomped her foot like
a child. "I'm so sick of hearing that from you. That's your answer
for everything—and I'm done with it."

"Vee—"

"No! You're not going to persuade me to do what
you want. Not this time." She swept her hands out in front of her.
"I worked so hard to get this show together."

His gut twisted as he realized what this was
doing to her and how he was hurting her. "I know you
did."

"I'm not just talking about the actual painting
either. From creating the concept to finding the subjects and then
snagging a show in the best damn gallery in Houston—that's hundreds
of hours of work on top of school and my job." She furiously jabbed
the air between them. "You're not going to ruin this for me. I'm
doing this show—with all the paintings."

He'd never in his life imagined there would be
anything he would deny her but he'd been wrong. "No, you're
not."

She gritted her teeth. "I'd like to see you try
and stop me."

"Don't push me, Vee." He let the harshness he
used to keep his men in line infiltrate his voice. It was the first
time he'd ever dared to use that tone with her—and he regretted it
instantly. He'd never seen such fury etched into her beautiful
face.

Without a second of warning, she jumped forward
and slammed both hands against his chest. Thrown off-balance by her
surprise attack, he stumbled backward and barely managed to avoid
hitting the floor after running into a stool.

Breathing hard, she asked, "Now
what?"

Nikolai straightened slowly. "You
can hit me and kick and scream and throw a fit but you're not
putting
that
painting in the show. Just be glad I'm not putting a stop to
the entire thing."

She fumed now, her face red and her
eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I
hate
you."

He winced as her furiously spoken words slapped
him right in the face. "I know."

Her jaw dropped. "That's it?
I know
. That's all you
have to say to me?"

He didn't know what else to say. A
painful silence stretched between them. Finally, she exhaled
raggedly and wiped at her eyes. Without another word, she spun on
her heel and stalked toward the door. Her high heels
clacked
against the
hardwood planks, the harsh notes hitting him like nails driven
through his heart.

With every step, she increased the
distance between them. He wanted to chase after her, to grasp her
by the shoulders and spin her around so he could claim her lips
with the kiss he'd so long denied them both. He wanted to crush
their mouths together and drink in her sweetness until they
couldn't breathe. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that he
hated how complicated her life had become, that he wanted to give
her anything and everything in the world, that he'd do
anything
to make her
happy.

But the lie standing between them prevented him
from moving.

Instead he stared at the painting that
threatened to ruin everything. Why, after all these years, did she
have to paint her recollection of that night?

The sound of Sergei's bellowing voice pulled
him from his troubled thoughts. In the next instant, he heard
Vivian shouting at the enforcer. Growling with frustration, Nikolai
wiped a hand down his face and rushed out of the studio. As he
hurried down the stairs, Kostya's irritated voice joined the fray.
From the sounds of it, Vivian was refusing to get in Sergei's
SUV.

By the time he got outside, Vivian was halfway
down the block. The cold drizzle fell even harder now, making it
hard to see her in the cold mist. He shot Kostya a look of
consternation. "What now?"

"She refuses to go home with you. She told us
to set fire to the warehouse and burn everything in there because
she'll never paint again."

He groaned at her melodrama. Playing the role
of tortured artist seemed to come naturally to her. "Give me the
fucking keys."

Kostya slapped the set of keys to the black
sedan against his palm. "Be careful, Boss. She already hit
Sergei."

The bear-sized man rubbed his arm and scowled.
"I think she's got a brick in that damn purse."

Cursing, Nikolai slid into the black car and
revved the engine. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked
racing down the block to catch up with her and beg her to get into
the car. She stopped to take off her high heels and ran barefoot
down the cold, wet sidewalk. Where the hell she thought she was
going he had no idea.

"Vee!" He shouted her name through the rolled
down window. "Stop being silly and get in the car."

"Leave me alone!" She threw her high heel at
the hood of the car and left a nasty gash in the paint that was
going to piss Kostya off big-time.

"That's not going to happen—and you know it."
His gaze jumped between her and the road. He was thankful this area
was nearly totally owned by him and mostly empty. There wasn't any
traffic to get in the way. "What's your plan, Vee? Are you going to
walk all the way back to your apartment?"

"Maybe," she spat back angrily. She fished
around in her purse as she walked. "Or maybe I'll just call Erin.
She'll send Ivan to come get me."

"And then what? Huh? You're going to drag Erin
into this mess with your father?" He threw the car in park and
jumped out of the driver's seat. Desperate to get her in out of the
cold, he begged, "Please, Vivian, get in the damn car. Let's go
home and talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about,
Nikolai. You think you can just bark orders at me, but this isn't
the restaurant and I'm not part of your
family
. You don't get to order me
around."

He exhaled roughly. "You're right. I'm
sorry."

She titled her head to study him. "Are you
really? Or are you just saying that because you want me to stop
causing trouble and get into your car."

"Both," he admitted. His gaze fell to her bare
feet. The street lights illuminated the bright turquoise polish on
her toenails. "You're going to get hypothermia and lose your
toes."

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't
Siberia."

Pressing his hands together in front of him, he
pleaded, "Please. Get in the car?"

She still held that other shoe in her hand. He
wondered if she planned to hit him with it or if she'd had enough
denting the hood of the car. "Fine. Whatever. Just take me
home."

He didn't remind her that she was coming home
with him. Later, when she was safely buckled in her seat and her
ability to flee was impeded, he'd make sure she remembered that
she'd agreed to stay with him. "Thank you."

Without asking her permission, he scooped her
up in his arms and hurried her to the passenger seat. She'd managed
to stay mostly dry with her coat on but her legs and feet were
soaked and chilled. He opened the glove box and found a pile of
napkins from the fast food joints Kostya loved.

"I can do that." She tried to stop him as he
clasped her slender calf in his hand.

"I've got it." Crouched down next to the open
door, Nikolai made quick work of drying her cold feet and bare
legs. It took every ounce of his self-control not to let his hands
glide along her silky flesh any more than necessary.

When it was done, he balled up the soiled
napkins and shoved them into the pocket of his jacket. He closed
her door and walked back the dozen or so yards to retrieve her shoe
from the middle of the road.

Glancing back at the warehouse, he spotted
Kostya and Sergei watching him with some amusement. By morning, the
story of what had happened tonight would be embellished so much it
would bear no resemblance to the truth. In his experience, men were
the very worst about spreading those kinds of tales.

When he dropped into the driver's seat, he felt
the warm blast of the heater. It felt nice against his chilled
skin. "Thank you."

"Whatever." She kept her gaze fixed on the
passenger window.

With a tired sigh, he eased away from the curb
and down the road. The silence suffocated him but he didn't know
what to say to make it all better.

"I always thought you were
different."

He frowned. "Different how?"

"From everyone else," she said quietly. "They
all assume I'm some naïve, emotionally damaged baby who needs to be
coddled, but I thought you saw me differently."

"I know that what happened to you when you were
little doesn't define you. You've survived more than most people
can even imagine, and I respect you all the more for
it."

"But you don't trust me to make my own
decisions." She finally turned in her seat for a better look at
him. "I knew exactly what I was doing when I started that series of
paintings. I was careful. I made sure to destroy all of my notes. I
only took pictures from the neck down. Everything that was told to
me was told in confidence."

"I don’t doubt that you were careful, Vee.
Sometimes being careful isn't enough."

"I'm so sick of this life." She rubbed her
face. "I'm so sick of my whole existence being dictated by the
stupid mistakes my parents made and these insane rules." She made
an irritated sound. "Maybe Bianca was right. Maybe I should leave
Houston."

Fear gripped him but he pushed down the selfish
emotion. He'd only ever wanted the best for her. Though it made him
feel like his guts were being ripped out, he said, "Maybe you
should consider it."

Her gaze snapped to his face. "Do you mean
that? Do you really want me to leave?"

They were approaching an intersection now.
"What I want isn't important. It never has been."

"That's not true. I—"

"Shit!" At the last possible second, he noticed
the bright headlights rushing toward them as they crossed the
intersection. Thinking only of Vivian, he thrust out his arm to
hold her back against the seat. The crushing impact of the SUV that
slammed into the front edge of the car spun them around violently.
Amid the splintering metal and bursting glass, he heard Vivian's
terrified scream. The sound chilled him to the very
bone.

When the car finally lurched to a stop, he
blinked and tried to clear his dazed mind. He put a hand to his
aching temple and felt the blood trickling along his skin. Vivian's
low moan of pain drew his attention. He'd locked his elbow trying
to hold her in place. Now it throbbed terribly. Bending his arm
proved nearly impossible.

Vaguely, he was aware of other cars rushing
onto the scene, their tires squealing as they stopped, but he was
focused solely on Vivian. She grimaced with discomfort but looked
wholly uninjured. His bleary gaze raked her body for any hint of
blood but he found none.

"
Angel
moy
." He reached for her hand. "Are you all
right?"

"I think so," she answered in a
whisper. She blinked a few times and turned her gaze toward his
faze. Her eyes widened with sudden panic. Her hand flew out and
snatched the front of his shirt. As she jerked him toward her, she
screamed, "
Nikolai
!"