The Siren's Touch (25 page)

Boris went pale. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Dmitri glared at Elena. Surely she would have the answer.

Her black bob of hair swung as she shook her head.

Damn it.

“Get the hell out!” He stood, not bothering with the sheet. Sonya clung to his arm.

Elena cast an anxious smile toward the pair and then offered Boris her hand. They hurried from the room.

Staring after them, Sonya squeezed his hand. “Wow. I didn’t see that part in the teapot.”

Dmitri dropped back onto the mattress. “Me either.”

She loosened her grip on his other arm and asked the question racing through his mind. “What if we stop touching?”

Instinct demanded he pull her closer. “What if we just never stop?”

Her answering laugh came out tight and high-pitched. “Um, I think you’d get sick of that pretty fast. Everybody needs some privacy.” She nodded in the direction of the toilet.

Yeah. That suddenly seemed a lot less sexy than he’d imagined. The tense smile on her face tugged at his heart.

“Maybe you’ll go ghost again. And our future will be full of countless wet nightgowns.”

“I could live with that.” Her smile widened and then faltered. “But maybe I will disappear for good, off to join my parents.”

The words hung thick between them, and he was forced to contemplate a life without her, when before he’d only had to decide to give his life up. This new possibility seemed far worse.

“I don’t want to put it off.” She pulled the sheet up to her chin. “I need to know now, if that is going to happen.”

“No.” The word flew out of his mouth and he yanked her to his chest.

She went limp, wrapping her arm around his side and stroking up and down his spine again. “You will be okay. You’ll make something good of your life. Maybe you’ll meet a nice girl. Promise you’ll try.”

The grief welled up inside, shaking him just like her teapot. He wouldn’t make that promise. He’d already broken another one to her tonight. With his chin pressed into her scalp, he shook his head.

“Then promise me you won’t forget me.”

“I won’t. Never.” He didn’t want to live without her, didn’t want to go back to the darkness of his life.

Her soft, warm hand continued its firm strokes over his back. In spite of the turmoil inside him, she soothed him. Exhausted, his muscles relaxed, and his grip on her loosened. She didn’t let up. She massaged and caressed him so long he almost dozed, unshed tears burning behind his eyelids.

Faster than he’d have thought possible, she wriggled free and broke their contact.

He opened his eyes.

She stood just next to bed, perfectly real and alive. He stared. Her chest rose and fell beneath her heavy breasts. Tears streamed down her beautiful face.

And everything from his past no longer mattered—Ivan, Dmitri’s shame and his guilt—all of it vanished. With her, he could begin again.

“Turn around, ghost.” The sound of his own voice surprised him—husky and choked with emotion.

A smile danced in her coffee-brown eyes, even though her lips remained straight. She cocked her hip and put her hand on it as if she didn’t like the command, but 180 degrees later, when her gorgeous ass faced him full-on, she shimmied just enough to tell him she was enjoying his attention while she continued to spin, completing the circle.

Could this possibly be real? Could she really be real, his to keep?

He hurled himself toward her, pressing her back into the wall. Her head banged a clunky gilt picture frame.

“Ow.” She rubbed the spot of impact.

“Sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. Good to be able to bang my head.”

He kissed her, nice and slow, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. She played her fingers over his chest and then slid her arms up to lace them around his neck. Opening her mouth, she deepened the kiss.

He held her pinned to the wall and stepped back. Dropping his hands, he drank her in—his Sonya, right here, real, all silky flesh, pink from living, hot blood pulsing under her skin. He bent to one breast, laving and then nibbling on its pert nipple. Then he moved back again, still needing to test her reality.

She huffed and cupped her breasts. “Dmitri,” she whined.

His lips curved of their own accord as he bent to the other breast and suckled. She moaned and tried to pull him closer, but he slipped out of her grasp.

From a luxurious half a meter away, he raked his gaze over her. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Her cheeks went rosier. She slid her fingers from her hip toward her sex, as if she would take things into her own hands if he didn’t quit teasing and deliver. Dragging his gaze slowly back to her face, he once again took in her creamy velvet breasts. Now he would have the chance to lose himself in them for hours, days maybe, to lick every inch of—

He froze.

“What?” A hint of fear strained her voice.

He reached out and smoothed his thumb over her chest. The scar was gone. The bullet wound no longer marred the thin skin under her collarbone.

She angled her head to see. “I guess it’s over.” She flattened his hand onto her chest. “The past is the past.” Then a frown ghosted over her face and she reached around him, stroking her palms over his back. “I wish yours were gone too.”

An old habit drew his fingers to the bridge of his crooked nose.

Her eyes went as wide as teacup saucers. “No. Never mind. I want yours to stay. They make you…you.”

Fireworks of emotion exploded in his heart, white hot and completely beyond words. Only one thing to do with feelings like that.

He crashed into her, hitching her up and parting her legs in one move. He slid into her in a long thrust. Moist and hot, she was heaven on earth.

She gasped.

Oh, hell. Had he hurt her? “Okay?”

She rocked her hips. “Much better than okay.”

Her desire, the feel of her—it was all too much. Urgency built in his balls, demanding he move inside her. But he took a long breath. They had a lifetime together, and he would not rush. He traced the delicate pink shell of her ear with his tongue before he whispered, “Thank you for staying with me.”

“Thank you for bringing me back to life.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and kicked her heels into his ass. “Now can you please focus, or I will have to take charge again.”

And so he did.

Two weeks later

Freshly showered and clutching his towel around his waist, Dmitri slipped into the room as quietly as possible. Sonya had been asleep when he’d left, and she had a big day ahead of her.

The guestroom at Elena’s was nearly too small for the two of them, but neither owned much of anything. Still, they’d need their own place eventually. Setting down roots—he shuddered. He’d been strangely restless since Gregor had left.

Sonya was his home, and she wanted to stay in San Francisco. But Kiev still pulled at him.

Morning light had crept around the curtain, turning the room gray. Under the blankets, the lush curves of her body remained still. He should probably wake her, but the hint of a smile on her plump lips was so sweet, he couldn’t stand to disturb her. He could barely even look away, but he did, running his hand over his nicotine patch as he turned to hang the towel over a hook.

“Come here, now.”

The voice was all sex. Low and wet, like a deep kiss. His cock went rigid and his pulse panicked, skyrocketing his heart right into his throat.
Oh God, please don’t let that monster be back.

“I said now.”

Slow with dread, he turned on the balls of his bare feet. She’d cast off the blankets, baring her glorious body, and spreading her legs in invitation. Her eyelids were heavy, too low for him to see the color of her irises. He took a cautious step, his stomach twisting and clenching, nerves screaming a thousand times louder than they ever had before he’d ducked into a boxing ring.

“Sonya?”

She snorted and then curled up on her side, lost in a fit of giggles.

“Christ! Don’t ever do that to me again.” But he was already laughing, lifting her up and cradling her to his chest. “Do you know what naughty women who pretend to be rusalki get?” he asked against her soft neck.

“Exactly what they want?” She reached between them and grasped his cock.

“And more, sweetheart. And more.”

He tossed her onto the bed and parted her legs, burying himself in her. Her eyes went wide, her smile vanished, and what he saw on her face was grave—the purest, most intense look of love he’d ever seen. He didn’t deserve it, but he would bask in it as long as God let him.

Later, when she’d showered and dressed in a new outfit she’d picked out all alone in a dressing room, she appeared in the kitchen. Dmitri sat at the table, eating scrambled eggs and reading a day-old issue of
Uryadovy Kuryer
next to Elena, who tapped away on the keyboard of her laptop.

Boris poured Sonya a cup of tea. He’d settled into Elena’s house the first night they’d reunited and never left. Dmitri understood. They’d had enough time apart. Any lingering grudge he felt against the man had vanished when his bright idea had freed Sonya from her need for vengeance.

Sonya picked up her new leather messenger bag, the one he’d bought her when Elena had pulled strings to get Sonya into the fashion design program at the Art Institute. She’d studied magazines, bustled around—a buzzing hummingbird of excitement—so beautiful and alive. Meanwhile, he’d gone stir crazy with nothing to do.

He didn’t really need to work. Gregor had always paid him well and hadn’t bothered to cut off his access to the corporate credit card either. But he did need an occupation. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could sit around and read the paper and play chess with Boris all day.

An idea had begun to gnaw at him, born in that speck of meager sympathy he felt for his bastard uncle. It was a horribly selfish idea, since Sonya was so excited to begin school, for her chance to realize her dreams.

She looked adorable, like a young woman should on her first day at fashion school. Only she worried her lower lip, freeing it from her pretty teeth only to sip the tea.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Oh, nothing.” She set the cup down on the counter and stared into it, as if reading leaves left in the bottom.

“First day jitters?”

“Sure.” She shrugged.

Cute. She was a terrible liar. He folded up the paper and set it on the table. “Tell me.”

She set her teacup down. “I feel guilty even thinking it…”

“But?”

“I want to go home and look for Anya.”

He could have burst with relief, but he waited a beat. Women could flip on a
hryvnia
. Was she just testing for his reaction? “Are you sure?”

She nodded and took another sip of tea.

“Because I want to go home and see Gregor.”

She stood and took a step closer, her lovely lips turning down at the edges. “You want to go back to work?”

For a moment, her worry stung. Did she doubt him? But he let it go—she had to ask.

“Yes. But on my own terms. No more killing.”

She settled on his lap. “Really?”

Her ass was ripe and full, and for a moment, it was all he could think about. Her power over him was intense—but not scary supernatural power, just plain old sex appeal, and deeper than that, the offer of unconditional acceptance. He sniffed at her silky hair, running his nose along the side of her neck.

Elena’s teacup clanged in its saucer, jarring Dmitri to awareness of his surroundings. His aunt and Boris both stared at him.

He could sense their disapproval and he cringed. “Bad idea?”

Elena glanced at Boris before answering. “Can you really take over the business without…violence?”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it in every spare second that Sonya wasn’t distracting him. He’d also be lying if he said he was sure. “I think so.”

“Then, Dima, you must go. You are a Lisko. Our surviving heir.”

Boris took a sip of coffee and nodded. Dmitri took it as a vote of confidence.

Then the old man turned to Sonya. “We’ll do all the research we can about rusalki to help you find your sister.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she smiled.

Dmitri hadn’t expected their blessing, but once they gave it, his certainty jelled. He smoothed away a tear from her ivory cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

Amber Belldene grew up on the Florida panhandle, swimming with alligators, climbing oak trees and diving for scallops…when she could pull herself away from a book. As a child, she hid my Nancy Drew novels inside the church bulletin and read mysteries during sermons—an irony that is not lost on her when she preaches these days.

Amber is an Episcopal Priest and student of religion. She believes stories are the best way to explore human truths. Some people think it’s strange for a minister to write romance, but it is perfectly natural to Amber, because she believes the human desire for love is at the heart of every romance novel and God made people with that desire. She writes paranormal, historical and contemporary romance in every spare moment, and she lives with her family in San Francisco.