RUSSIAN HEAT. Chapter One

 

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. They always come out of this door. Trust me.”

I looked at Harmony, wondering if this was worth my while. We only had a twenty-hour layover in Orlando and hanging around the back door of an ice rink wasn’t my idea of spending the time wisely. I’d much rather be perusing the malls and outlets for designer bargains. But she seemed obsessed with the Vipers, and one goaltender in particular.

“Jackson is just so sweet,” she was saying, twisting her hands together beneath her chin, her long fuchsia-pink nails tapping together. “I know he’s still a rookie, but wait ’til you meet him. He’s destined for great things, really he is. You can see it in his eyes.”

“Mmm, that’s nice.” Ice hockey wasn’t my specialty. As a native English girl working for an American airline US sport did this to me on occasion—threw me into an alternative universe that I didn’t quite understand.

“Nice,” she said. “Seriously, Samantha, you need to clue up on this kind of stuff. He’s so much more than nice.”

The heavy red door pushed open and a couple of huge guys with sports bags slung over their shoulders wandered out. One had jet-black hair with dense stubble tracking down his jawline and over his throat. The other was blond, the thick strands were just starting to form cherub-like curls that somehow didn’t match his enormous width and bulging biceps.

“Ladies,” the blond said with a grin and a wink.

“Hi,” Harmony simpered. “How’s it going?”

“Be better when I’ve been fed,” he replied with a laugh and continued to walk past us.

“That’s all you think about, Brick,” his teammate said in a gravelly voice. “Your damn stomach.”

“No, there’s another thing that plays on my mind regularly,” Brick replied, slapping the taller man on his shoulder and laughing again. “I’m sure you can guess what.”

“Yep, and no doubt she’s waiting for you at Ciao.”

They both chuckled in a sinful, rumbling kind of a way and headed into the lot.

I leaned back on the railings and watched them wander off—two seriously cute denim-clad butts that almost made it worth hanging around in the sun.

Almost.

“That was Brick,” Harmony whispered. “He’s so cute, and the other one, that’s the captain, Ramrod. Phew, I wouldn’t push him out of bed on a cold night.” She giggled. “Or on a hot one come to think of it.”

When her dirty laughter died down, I said, “They go for strange names, don’t they?”

“They’re not their real names,” Harmony replied, tutting. “Just nicknames, you know.”

“Mmm.” I watched as Brick climbed onto a large orange motorbike, shoved on a black helmet and revved the engine. The sound reverberated around the hot asphalt and a haze of sizzling air shot from the exhaust.

Harmony returned her attention to the door that had closed itself on a heavy spring. She pushed her long, dark curls behind her ears and licked her glossy pink lips. She’d really had got herself in a flutter about meeting this hockey player. I wondered what she hoped would happen with him. He’d probably just nod hello like the previous players then be on his way and that would be that.

Whatever, I just hoped he wouldn’t take too long about it. I was ready for a tall, cold drink. I shifted the strap of my purse on my sun-hot shoulder and crossed my ankles.

The door opened again.

Harmony perked up, puffing out her chest and cocking a hip.

A cleaner, carrying several swollen refuse bags, ambled past us. He was whistling a repetitive little tune and staring at his dirty sneakers.

“Duh, hurry up,” Harmony muttered at the door.

“Shall we just go?” I asked. “They’ve probably gone home already.”

“No, my inside source told me that they practice ’til three most days, it’s only just past that now.”

I held in a sigh and watched as the orange motorbike raced around a large black wagon then out of the lot. Either Brick was a speed junkie or he really was in a rush to get to whoever was waiting for him.

A slight rattle alerted me to the door being opened again.

As I turned, Harmony drew in a sharp little intake of breath.

Again two big guys walked out. One in gray sweats, the other in jeans. Both were carrying sports bags.

“G’day,” said the player with dark curly hair and wearing the sweats.

“Hey, Jackson,” Harmony said.

She pulled in a deep breath and her breasts barely stayed contained within the tight, red vest top she was wearing. We’d had to buy it on the way to the rink, especially for this moment, as it had a small Viper logo over the right nipple.

Jackson stopped in front of Harmony and pulled a pair of Ray-Bans from the v-neck of his t-shirt. He opened the slim arms and slid the shades on. Harmony’s reflection filled the black lenses

“Ah, so you know my name,” he said, “how about telling me yours, sugar? Even up the score.”

She twitched her eyebrows and a rosy flush crept over her cheeks. “It’s Harmony. Harmony Dale.”

“Harmony.” He grinned. “I’m sure you and I could make sweet, sweet music together.”

She shifted from foot to foot and seemed to puff out her chest even more. “And we’d be perfectly in tune.” She giggled and held up a pen. “Can I have your autograph, please? I’m a big Vipers fan.”

“I can tell.” He took the pen and used it to point at the logo on her top, hovering it just an inch away from her breasts. “And I’m always happy to oblige a big fan, especially such a pretty one.”

I held in a sigh and fiddled with the St. Christopher pendent I wore around my neck. I glanced at the other player. He had a half-smile on his face and was playing with a set of keys, spinning them around his big fingers and catching them intermittently in his palm. His hair was super-short and white blond. His eyes, a soft blue velvet-color, sported light brown lashes and his mouth was wide, a bit too wide for his face, but it looked soft and sensual. His neck was thick and led to colossal shoulders and arms with such protruding muscles it appeared impossible for his upper limbs to lie flush with his body.

Damn, and what a body. A little frisson of interest fluttered in my stomach. It had been a few months since I’d enjoyed company in my bed—a one-night stand, who’d turned out to be a damp squib when it came down to business. He just hadn’t kept up with me.

I licked my lips. I’d bet my best pair of Jimmy Choos that this guy would be the complete opposite to that non-starter and more than capable of matching my pace. I could almost smell the pheromones oozing from him and wow, those jeans sat nice on his hips—they hugged his groin in all the right places and held some interesting bulges and creases.

“Oh, damn, I don’t seem to have any paper,” Harmony was saying, tapping the pockets on her short white skirt in an exaggerated manner. “How silly of me.”

“Then we’ll have to improvise,” Jackson said, sticking the pen in his mouth and pulling the lid off with his teeth.

“Oh, what do you suggest?” Harmony asked, batting her eyelashes.

He waggled the tip of the pen in the air and then angled it at her chest, speaking around the lid, “It may have to be a skin autograph.”

“Well that’s a good idea,” Harmony said, stepping closer and tugging her top so that the swell of her breasts, and the top arc of her nipple, were completely visible.

I resisted shaking my head. She really was incorrigible. But who could blame her? With our brief few hours on the ground, if she didn’t move quickly it wouldn’t happen. Nothing would ever happen. The life of an international flight attendant was one that required snap decisions and lots of action. Sleep was usually the priority so free time wasn’t something we had in abundance. Just as well I was due a weeks’ leave in two days. Bliss. I couldn’t wait. I’d head down to Miami for some fun, hit the malls and the pool big time.

As Jackson leaned in close and slowly scrawled his name on Harmony’s flesh, I looked at the tall player in front of me again. He was still kind of smiling at me but now he also had a sinful glint in his eye, one I recognized. He liked what he saw. He liked me, or rather, my tight pink top, denim Donna Karan hotpants and waist-length hair. A swell of triumph grew within me, because that was just fine—I liked what I saw, too.

“There we go,” Jackson said, replacing the lid on the pen. “How’s that?”

Harmony glanced at her chest. Her brunette locks fell forward and tumbled over the signature. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

Jackson shifted his bag over his shoulder and frowned. “What you gonna do when you shower?”

Harmony pouted. “I don’t know. I’ll be sad to see it go.”

“Then you should come home with me so I can redo it, later that is, after you’ve showered.” He held out his hand to her and raised his eyebrows.

“Well that would be a solution,” she said, smiling coyly and delicately resting her hand in his.

He raised her knuckles to her mouth and kissed them. “I’d hate to leave a fan wanting,” he murmured. “Or disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d never do that,” she said.

“Not a chance.”

Harmony giggled and turned to me. “I’ll catch you later, Samantha. I’m going with Jackson, so he can redo this and—”

“Yeah, sure.” I gave her a have-fun smile and waved her away.

She didn’t need telling twice and turned, tottering off on her patent-red Vera Wangs.

Jackson slipped his arm around her waist and she bumped hips with him before gluing herself to his side.

She’d have a wild evening, no doubt, and who could blame her for grabbing the opportunity? She was young, free and single and knew what she wanted—a woman of the twenty-first century.

“Vadmir,” the man in front of me said, holding out his hand. “My name is Vadmir Arefyev.”

I tore my attention from the departing couple and let his warm fingers wrap around mine. He had a few callouses on his palm and his nails were neat and square-shaped. “Samantha.” I paused. “But I guess you know that because my friend just said it.”

“Yes.” He grinned, a proper smile this time, not the half-amused curl of his lips he’d had before. “But you have lost your friend.” He spoke with an accent, Russian I guessed, having heard passengers speak that way.

He released my hand.

“I’ve only lost her for a few hours.” I knotted my fingers together, trapping the warmth infused from his palm. “Let’s hope she doesn’t eat him alive.”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckle that shifted his huge pecs beneath his t-shirt. “I hope she does. Jackson is still getting used to his new Viper fame and it might teach him a lesson. Knock him up a peg or two.”

“Do you mean down a peg or two?”

“Yes, yes, that is what I mean, down.” He smiled again and I noticed that his two front teeth were slightly crossed.

“Yes, he’s new, isn’t he?” Harmony had mentioned that earlier. “In that case, he might be a little worn-out at practice tomorrow.”

He rubbed his hand over his chin, creating a sharp sound over his dusting of pale stubble. “I’m not here tomorrow but it would be good to see.” He nodded at the parking lot. “So do you need a ride now?”

“I’ll grab a cab, that’s how we got here.”

“I don’t mind taking you somewhere. I’ve finished for the day.”

“No really, I don’t want to bother you.”

“It is no…er…bother.” He gestured to the lot. “Anyway, there are no cabs here.”

“I’ll call one.”

“That will take a lot of time, and standing in this heat.” He shook his head. “Not good.”

As he’d spoken, a small, hot breeze lifted my hair from my shoulders and wafted the scent of dew-coated moss and light herbs my way. He was wearing an unusual cologne that seeped into my nose and heightened my awareness of his magnetism. There was definitely something seriously sexy about Vadmir Arefyev.

Damn, I really should get a ride out of here.

In fact, better still. I should make him my ride.

“Well I guess you’re right,” I said, “there are no cabs, so yes, a ride would be cool. As long as you don’t mind.”

“I really don’t mind.” He adjusted his bag, his upper arm muscles straining against the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It’s this way.”

He turned to the lot and I fell into step beside him. I had to take two strides to his one but luckily my Hermes wedges were up to the job.

He swung his keys around his fingers again. “Samantha, that is a pretty name.”

“Thanks, yours is…unusual.”

“Not where I’m from.” He shrugged. “There are plenty of Vadmirs there.”

“Where is that, then?”

He glanced at me. “You are not a Vipers fan?”

“No, sorry, I was just hanging out here with Harmony. I’m more of a Prada, Gucci and Jimmy Choo fan. Don’t mind a bit of Donna Karan and Armani, either.”

He chuckled again. “I get you.”

“So you’re from where exactly?” I asked.

“Russia. North of Moscow. I’ve been here four years now.”

“Your English is good.”

“Thank you. I have worked very hard to get it right.”

“And do you miss home? Russia?”

He paused at a white convertible Chevy Camero and clicked his key fob. The car beeped to life and he tugged open the passenger door. “Yes, of course. I miss my family, my parents are not getting younger but at least, doing this, playing here, it means I can provide for them.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“They’ve always been very kind to me.” He smiled and gestured for me to get into the car.

I climbed inside and he shut the door. As he walked around the front, I buckled up and placed my purse down at my side.

“And you,” he said, dropping into the driver’s seat. “You’re not American. I can tell.”

“Ah, well spotted. No, I’m English, well, technically half-and-half but I grew up in England so that’s home. But my father lives over here, in Denver. America has been home, too for a long time now.”

“We played Denver last month. I liked the cold. The heat in Florida can be very…tiring.” He revved the engine and flicked on the air-conditioning.

“I won’t disagree with you there.” I crossed my legs.

His gaze drifted over my thighs and knees and I couldn’t help yet another small thrill. It seemed Vadmir was a leg man, which was just as well. I had great legs. Not by chance but by hours in hotel gyms and a healthy dose of good genes from my grandmother and mother. Right now my legs were also tanned to a milky-coffee shade of brown.

“Tell me if you get cold,” he said. “You’re…er…not wearing much.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “I’m fine, it’s a relief to be out of the sun.”

He looked me in the eye and my breath hitched. There really was something captivating about him, and being this close to him—his handsome face, his scent and his obvious interest in me—was hitting all my buttons.

I pulled in a deep breath, licked my lips and willed my heart not to race too much.

“So where do you want me to take you?” he asked, his attention dropping to my mouth and his eyelids getting heavy.

On a fast and sweaty one-way trip to Heaven.

“I’m staying near the airport,” I said, “so my hotel would be great.”

He blinked, long and slow and I studied his lashes. “How ’bout we grab a drink on the way, Sammy?” He paused. “Can I call you Sammy?”

“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance because I was Samantha without exception—well, apart from now. And for some reason I didn’t mind Sammy when he said it. Perhaps it was the accent. “And I guess we could grab a drink on the way, if that’s what you fancy Vadmir.”