Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) (26 page)

His lips traveled from her mouth, along the delicate line of her jaw and he buried his face in the softness of her neck and hair. She released a low moan, and brought her hands to his shoulders, her fingers cool against his skin, pressing into him. He slid his hands inside her open coat, to glide across the contours of her small muscular frame. Pulling her closer, he wrapped his arms around her waist, but the cold scrape of her jacket’s metal zipper made him pause.

This was as far as he wanted to go, here anyway. He stepped back, out of reach. Her face fell, just a little. Not taking his eyes from hers, he removed his belt and popped the top button on his jeans. Quickly, he shed the rest of his clothes and walked to the edge of the pool, wearing nothing but a smile.

He dove in and warm water sluiced across him. He glided to where he could stand on the bottom of the pool and surfaced. Water lapped at his shoulders and he brushed wet hair from his eyes. When he called to her, his voice echoed in the cavernous room. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m definitely coming.” Her face brightened with a mischievous smile as she shed her coat. A moment later, she stood at the pool’s edge, naked and lovely as a nymph. From the top of the metal ladder, she dipped one small foot into the water.

“Not too cold, just right. Jump in, you’ll see.” Smiling, he held out his hand.

Heedless of her usual aversion to cold water, she leaped gracefully into the air, dropping into the pool just as she caught his outstretched hand. He brought her close, just as he did that day in the rink pool. Only this time, no impatient coach waited at the other end.

No clothes to get in the way, either.

Her small, perfect breasts crushed against his chest, and her nipples tightened into tempting little rosebuds. Holding her with one arm, he trapped one between his fingers, rolling it gently as she sucked in a gasp. The water made her almost weightless as he lifted her to capture it in a kiss. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as her head fell back and her hair spread in a golden fan on the water.

Cradling her, he pushed against the bottom of the pool and they glided through the water, to the pool’s edge. He stopped near one of the jets, where a gentle stream of warm water pulsed between their legs. With his back against the rough tile wall, and his legs braced against the bottom, he settled Carrie in his lap, hands bracketing her small waist. Her wet hair, rosy cheeks and petite build made her seem innocent and vulnerable, but in her eyes was the strong, alluring woman he’d loved from the first moment. She bent over to bestow a long, wet kiss and press her forehead to his. When she looked up, her sweet lips curved into a smile that sent his pulse racing.

“
Ya lublu tebya
, Anton.”

“I love you too, Carrie. Always.” His throat tightened on the final word.

He stroked her breasts and toned little stomach, moving down between her legs. He slipped one finger inside, pleasuring her in the slow, gentle way she liked. Her eyelids fluttered and her breath came in short gasps, flavored with low moans of pleasure. She arched her back, and grasped his shoulders, digging her nails into his wet skin.

As her passion neared its peak, she braced her feet against the wall on either side of him, and he guided her down over his stiff cock. Joined together, he moved in and out, slowly at first, then faster, as Carrie dropped her head back and wet strands of her hair tickled his hands. Friction built, and fire seemed to pound through his veins. Her muscles tightened around him, and she cried out just as he surrendered in pure, explosive pleasure.

Sense by sense, he locked each detail into memory; the soft motion of the water, mingled scents of chlorine and Carrie’s floral shampoo, the warmth of her body wrapped around him. Even if it was all taken away, he would forever treasure this moment of perfect happiness.

He held her for longer than usual, letting the warm water lap against their entwined bodies, as Carrie laid her head against his shoulder. He caressed her back, and felt their hearts beating as one. She was his perfect partner, on and off the ice.

After, they swam and splashed like children, and as she floated beside him, Carrie looked over and smiled. “Just when I think I couldn’t possibly feel any happier, you surprise me and do something amazing. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

He laughed, imagining several possibilities. “Our life together will be full of surprise, I think.” Sending up a silent prayer that it would be so, he kissed her again, and his body stirred in response.

The night was young and the water was delightful.

* * *

The shifting glow of the just-lit torch fell across the thousands gathered in Lake Placid Arena for Sunday night’s opening ceremonies. Standing among her Russian teammates in the infield, Carrie watched fireworks explode in the night sky of her homeland. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the stadium reverberated with the stirring trumpet fanfare of the Games’ familiar theme song.

She’d dreamed of this moment since childhood and now she was actually here—not in a way she’d ever expected, but the unlikely circumstances did nothing to lessen her joy. Perhaps, it was even more special. Fans from every nation had embraced her. Fellow athletes from her adopted country—with one notable exception—welcomed her. At her side, the man she loved gazed raptly at the light show, his lips pressed together. Moisture shone in his eyes, and she took his hand. Was he thinking about his mom, and how proud she must be? And somewhere, among the forty thousand spectators were her family, Sarah and Maddie, all here to share her triumph.

Long-buried wounds had begun to heal and the scandal that nearly destroyed her career was finally laid to rest.

Or was it?

As the ceremony ended, and she and Anton were separated in the press of the crowd, Cody stepped out of the past, and into her path.

The sight of her ex-partner standing in the swarm of celebrating athletes rocked Carrie like a cold punch in the gut. “Cody? Oh my God! What...what are you doing here?”

Her ex-partner was blonder than she’d ever seen him, and sported an orange-tinted spray tan. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the special correspondent for the Xposé Network’s Winter Games coverage. And after costing me a boatload of money when you blew off
Celebrity Detox: Intervention!
, you owe me an exclusive...Mrs. Belikov.”

He shoved a microphone in her face and tilted his head toward the nearby cameraman. Carrie tried to move away, but the surrounding crowd prevented it. The camera’s bright light turned on and Carrie felt like an ant about to be incinerated under a magnifying glass.

“Congratulations on your sensational comeback,” Cody said. “Tell us about last night’s confrontation with Olga Zelenskaya. Did you warn her to stay away from your man?”

She gave a harsh laugh. He was truly pathetic. “I didn’t say a thing to her. Nor do I have anything to say to you.”

“What about the tender moment between Olga and your husband? Witnesses say they were touching, and shared an intimate conversation in Russian, right in front of you. Odd, don’t you think?”

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t think it’s odd.” As her Russian had improved, Anton and the coaches spoke their native language more often, assuming she understood. Most of the time she did.

But not always.

Last night in the mobile studio lot, Olga had mentioned Americans—or
an
American—and Anton had replied “no.” She hadn’t asked him about it, not wanting to seem like a jealous, neurotic wife. But should she have?

Stop it!
Whom do you trust? Anton or this worthless sleazebag?
Inside her jacket pockets, she dug her nails into her palms, furious that she’d let Cody play with her mind.

His eyes narrowed, sensing he’d touched a nerve. “They also claim you were visibly upset by your husband’s ex-partner. I don’t suppose there’s any truth to the rumor he married you only to better his medal chances?”

The story was nothing new, but hearing it from Cody made her stomach drop. She responded with a mocking laugh she hoped was convincing. “I have no comment,” she said, darting her eyes from side to side, looking for an escape.

Suddenly, Anton came up behind her. “What are you doing here, deWylde? Didn’t I tell you to leave Carrie alone?”

“Why, yes you did. And followed it with a threat of bodily harm.” Cody made a tsk-tsk and wagged his index finger. “Temper, temper. Americans don’t look kindly on threats to journalists.”

“Then it’s good thing I didn’t threaten one. For you, I have no such concern.” He threw Cody a murderous look. “Carrie said she had no comment. You will leave now, yes?”

Her ex-partner chuckled and winked. “You got it, comrade. See you around.”

As Cody and the cameraman slipped away into the crowd, Carrie gazed up at Anton, a question dancing on the tip of her tongue. Then he smiled and put his arm around her shoulders.
Don’t. You’re being silly.

They walked back to Russia House arm in arm and Carrie tried to recapture the joy she’d felt during the ceremonies. But she couldn’t completely shake the uneasiness Cody planted in her mind.

Nor could she shake the feeling they hadn’t seen the last of him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tuesday morning as they left the rink following practice, Anton’s phone screeched in his pocket. Carrie stopped to wait as he silenced DDT while Ivan and Galina walked on ahead. Galina took off her jacket and gave it to Ivan. Her laughter drifted back on the balmy, winter breeze.

“It’s from Dmitri,” Anton said, reading the text, his brow furrowed. A call from Valentin and Olga’s coach was definitely a surprise, especially a few hours before tonight’s competition. “He says he has something important he wants to discuss.”

“Something about the training center?”

“Probably.” He glanced left and right, and started to text a reply. “I’ll tell him I can’t make it.”

“No, you should go. I’ll be at lunch with Lolly and Sarah for the next hour or so.”

Anton cast a suspicious look at a nearby trash can. “I don’t know...that guy could still be skulking around here.”

She understood his reluctance to leave, but since Sunday, Cody had been busy reporting the shameful secrets that threatened to rip apart the Swedish women’s curling team. The curlers had her sympathy, though it was a relief to have Cody digging elsewhere for sleaze. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying attention.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Sarah and Lolly won’t let Cody get within ten feet of me. Go meet Dmitri and when you get back...we can take a nice long nap, to get ready for tonight.”

He grinned. Naps had become synonymous with delicious lovemaking. “Worked for us yesterday. We skate better after nap, I think. Or maybe swim?”

She rose on tiptoe, and kissed him, remembering. “Let’s save that for afterward.”

He waited with her until she boarded the shuttle for downtown Lake Placid, then went to catch one out to the hotels. On the bus, fans offered congratulations for last night’s short program, and just as she’d done a dozen times already, Carrie pinched herself as a reminder it was all real. No one had expected that they would be in second place.

They’d had the good luck to skate after Olga and Valentin and a Canadian sibling pair considered a lock for at least a bronze. The Canadians’ clean skate to a movie theme put them in first place, but Olga and Valentin’s “Requiem for a Dream,” was more like a nightmare. Olga fell on a throw triple axel. Valentin missed a rotation on a triple lutz and turned it into a double, sloppily landed.

She and Anton skated out of the gate, knowing they had a chance to move into the top three. At center ice, they joined hands and smiled. She faced him with her hand at his waist, and her head bowed. Gazing down, she focused on his black skates beside her white ones. Costumed to suggest the woods in early spring, she wore a flowing, winter-white dress threaded with thin ribbons of pink and brown, and tiny knots of pale green. Anton’s clothes were brown, accented with black, pale green and cream.

Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” began with deep, plucked bass notes, followed by delicate strains of the familiar melody. At precisely the same moment, she and Anton slowly raised their heads and arms, mirroring one another’s movements.

From the side-by-side triple Salchows to the throw triple loop, and the beautiful, dangerous star lift, every element was clean and lovely. Their skating was graceful and confident, flowing effortlessly from one move to the next. No nerves, no fear. Only she and Anton locked in perfect synchronization with each other and the beautiful music.

Her favorite moment in the program came at the end, with three haunting violin phrases, which recalled the Bach organ fugue in “Phantom of the Opera.” She and Anton grasped hands, and he swung her out at arm’s length into a death spiral. He pivoted on his toe pick, as she rode the inside edge of her blade; lying parallel to the ice with her back arched and her head back. Cold air off the ice washed over her face as they rotated. When she came up, slightly dizzy, he guided her in, and she placed her hand on his forearm. Together, they lifted their joined hands, and gazed up in a final, graceful motion that echoed the gentle rise of the music. As the last strains died away, Anton slowly opened his raised hand, a strong tree unfurling its first leaf, to shelter a delicate woodland flower.

Applause thundered through the arena. American and Russian flags waved. Cameras flashed, and stuffed animals were tossed onto the ice. Anton swept her into his arms. Moments later, the judges confirmed what they already knew. They had skated one of the best programs of their careers. A major upset was in the works, and her family was here to share all of it.

But this morning at practice, it was back to business. The Chinese and French pairs in third and fourth place had excellent long programs, and even in fifth place, Olga and Valentin were still a threat. “You must not be thinking of medals, only to skate as well as you did last night,” Galina cautioned.

Carrie knew she shouldn’t be thinking of medals, but it was very hard not to.

The street leading into Lake Placid was jammed with traffic and the bus crept along. At this rate, she would be late for her lunch date, though the road out to the resorts looked equally crowded. Chances were good Lolly and Sarah would be late too. She peered through the window at red-and-blue lights flashing in the distance, near the hotels. Police? What was going on out there? Anxiety intruded like a sour note marring a lovely song.

Lolly, Sarah and Maddie weren’t at the restaurant, and neither girl at the hostess stand recognized them. “I haven’t seated anyone like that,” said the blonde hostess as she gathered menus for a group of ten. “But I can put you down for a table. A party of four?”

“Yes, for Parker.”

The girl gaped. “As in Carrie Parker?”

“That’s right.” Carrie smiled, ready to accept well wishes from another fan.

But instead of requesting autographs, the girls exchanged glances. “Uhh...okay,” said the blonde, as the other hostess hurried off. “Have a seat over there.”

She took a seat on the scarred wooden church pew placed against the wall. The restaurant was casual but nice, with brick walls, wooden floors, high ceilings and TVs placed throughout. Right now, the screens all showed a winter sports-themed tire commercial. She grabbed a menu from a stack on the bench and glanced at the list of salads, sandwiches and pizza. Judging from the garlic and baking-bread aroma, that was the house specialty.

She checked her watch. They were now forty-five minutes late. Maybe they’d tried to call. She reached into her purse for her cell. Not there. She’d left it in her skate bag, which she’d given to Galina. Maybe she could use the restaurant’s phone. The brunette hostess was on it at the moment, a business card clutched between her fingers. Beside her, the blonde cast eager glances toward the door.

As if they were expecting someone.

Anxiety stirred, along with an urgency to reach Lolly and get out of here. She went to the hostess stand, trying to catch the eye of either the blonde or brunette. Then the TVs switched from commercials to playing “Baby, I Love You,” and Carrie was instantly cheered by the sight of her and Anton gliding gracefully across a half dozen screens.

Suddenly the image was ripped in half.

The music halted with the scratch of a record needle, followed by Cody’s mocking voice.

“Only on the Xposé Network, the truth behind Carrie Parker’s marriage and the shocking secret powerful politicians don’t want YOU to know.”

“Oh my God.” Her breath caught in her lungs, and her eyes were glued to the screen, unable to look away from the horror unfolding.

“Her ruthlessness disgraced figure skating, but in the Parker clan, cheating’s a family tradition.”
The screen showed old footage of Momma, belting “You Ain’t Gonna Break This Country Girl’s Heart.”

It seemed as though her heart might pound through the wall of her chest. Was this how it felt to die? She clutched the edge of the podium, fearing her knees were about to give way
“A source close to Carrie Parker reveals the tragic death of her mother, country music star Vicki-Lynn Bailey was actually a suicide, caused by her husband’s shameless affair.”
The wide face of Hughie Botts filled the screen, looking mournful. “People ’round McAllister County always knew somethin’ wasn’t right ’bout the way Vicki-Lynn passed. Course no one knew the real story ’til now, ’cause Les Parker covered it all up. But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Now, Carrie’s following in her father’s footsteps. After renouncing her country in a desperate grab for gold, she tried to destroy skating partner Anton Belikov’s ten-year relationship with fellow skater Olga Zelenskaya—by luring him into a fake marriage. But the reunited lovers are having the last laugh.”

The grainy footage of a hotel corridor could have come from a security camera or a maid’s phone, but it was clearly Anton, in the red Team Russia jacket he’d worn this morning, and Olga, in a silky black robe. She had her hands on his shoulders and looked as though she was about to cry. Then Anton took her in his arms and tenderly rubbed her back.

Carrie’s skin tingled with remembered sensation of Anton holding her that way. Her stomach rolled, and every cell seemed to ache with an agonizing sense of loss. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“...producers of the South American reality series
Frozen Hearts
are thrilled to have Anton join next year’s cast.”
A dark-haired man smiled for the camera.
“How exciting it will be to watch Anton free himself from this sham of a marriage and reunite with his true love.”

Trembling and nauseous, her mind fought a war with her ears and eyes. Anton wouldn’t have done this. He couldn’t have. Yet there it was—her family’s deepest shame revealed to all, and Anton tenderly holding Olga.

“Why?” With fists clenched, she shouted at the screen overhead. People turned to stare.

The only answers came in more awful images. A pouty glamour shot of her, age seven. Halifax. Anton with Olga in his arms.

Could it be true? Had Anton betrayed her? Why would he do this, and on the same day as their competition? It made no sense. But he was the only person who knew the truth about Momma. He’d lied about going to meet Dmitri. Had her fears and hesitation finally pushed him away? Or had she simply misjudged him, seeing him as she wanted him to be, rather than who he really was? Hadn’t she learned the hard way that people weren’t always what they seemed?

No!
He loves me! He risked so much for me. He stood by me. What about our wedding day? The pearls? The snow globe? He wouldn’t do this!

There must be an explanation. Maybe it wasn’t Anton in the video. Maybe Olga had lured him under false pretenses. Maybe the on-camera embrace wasn’t the passion of illicit love. Maybe...
maybe it’s exactly what it looks like and he’s made a fool of me.

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. No. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Anton had shown faith in her when no one else did. She would find him and learn the truth, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Aware of low murmurs and curious stares from people in the restaurant, she turned to go. She was almost to the door when it opened and in stepped a TV news crew. The same female reporter who’d interviewed them in Moscow smiled triumphantly, just as happy to chronicle Carrie’s downfall.

“Carrie Parker, so nice to see you again. Could we have a word?”

* * *

In the elevator up to the Parkers’ suite, Anton hit speed dial for Carrie’s mobile. For the seventh time in the past fifteen minutes, he got voice mail. There was no answer at their room, nor had Galina and Ivan seen her. He left another message and prayed that this time, she’d call back.

Unless she’d already seen the story.

When he arrived at Dmitri’s hotel room to find Olga waiting instead, he’d almost turned around and left. But she’d grabbed his arm and begged him to listen. Something bad was about to happen, all because of what she told Cody deWylde.

“After you were so cruel, I wanted to get back at you and her,” Olga said, her eyes brimming with tears. “So I told him your marriage was a fake, and that you still planned to come on
Frozen Hearts
with me.” She sniffed. “Maybe inside, I still hoped it might be true. But I brought bad karma and last night, when I fell, was proof. So I had to make amends and tell you the truth, so you could stop him.”

How he was supposed to do that, he had no clue, but he’d think about it after he’d found Carrie.

He’d caught a cab to the Parkers’ resort, and as the lodge’s steep, sloped roof came into view, he noticed there were at least five news vans and almost as many police cars parked in front. Did that mean Carrie was here? deWylde must feel pretty damn proud of himself, though it was hard to believe there was so much interest in two ice skaters’ supposedly fake marriage.

“Can you turn around?” he asked the driver, as they inched their way up the congested driveway.

“Don’t see how,” the old man said, looking suspicious. “You know what all this is about?”

Before he could answer, a reporter on the curb glanced toward at the cab. Her eyes got big, and she hurried over. The rest followed, shouting loud enough to penetrate the cab’s rolled up windows.

“Anton! Do you have a comment?”

“Anton! Is it true you’re the source?”

“Anton! Have you spoken to your wife?”

Suddenly, he was thrown back against the seat as the driver hit the brakes and jammed the cab into reverse. “Hang on,” said the man, as they sped backward out of the driveway and drove around to the back of the resort. From there, he found his way up to the Parkers’ condo on foot.

A grim-faced Lolly answered the door. “Get in here before anyone sees you,” she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him into the room, where a TV was blaring. Sarah watched with a shocked expression. Beside her, the little girl was crying. His fear rising, he turned to Lolly. “Carrie? Is she here?”

Lolly pressed her lips together. “We never made it to the restaurant. We called there but they said she’d left. We don’t know where she is.”

Anton’s blood ran cold. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Les Parker grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs.