“This is it! The final round. You go in there and fucking take him out, you hear me?! You’ve got a lot riding on this. It isn’t just you, you know; it’s about that woman of yours too. If you’re not around to protect her, she’s going to be back under Sambor Bogomazov’s thumb in no time, owing him that money or stripping for men in that club of his, or worse…she could end up dead.”
Kolya’s blood boiled at the thought of what Helena had already endured because of that greedy bastard. Being at his mercy again would be worse than death. He nodded in agreement, shaking his head against flashes of long-buried memories, vivid images of a dead man, bloodied and battered, on the mat.
He scowled and tried to concentrate, but the smell of his opponent’s blood and fear was overwhelming his senses. He was lost in the past, unable to hear anything over the animalistic roar of the crowd when the man had fallen back onto the mat like a mighty tree that had been felled with the single stroke of an ax.
He shook his head when the bell rang, signifying the start of the final round. The sound broke through the whispers of the past that haunted him. The sight of Helena in the front row ignited his protective instincts. His love for her was like a wildfire poised to destroy everything in its path.
He blinked several times, trying desperately to focus on his opponent and the task at hand, but all he could see was the face of a dead man. He remembered well how it had felt to end a life. It hadn’t even required that much force, really. He just needed to get the angle of his jab just right. As he moved in for the kill, he was stopped in his tracks.
“Kolya! Kolya! Baby, please, NO!!” Helena’s voice cut through the chaos that was clouding his mind. He could see her in his peripheral vision, standing at the edge of the ring, hanging on to the lowest ropes. He could hear her, could feel her trying to reach him. He staggered as he blocked a punch followed by a series of jabs that nearly sent him to the mat. He needed to end this. There had been enough death in his life. This woman was his lifeline; all he had to do was hold on.
The other fighter grew overconfident and sloppy. He never saw the knockout blow that sent him reeling into the ropes, only to land in a heap at the referee’s feet. And by the way he was sprawled out on the mat, he probably hadn’t felt it either.
Kolya’s job was done. He and Helena would live to fight – and love -- another day.
In a guestroom of the Glazov residence, Katya was getting ready for bed. Pavel’s heartfelt declaration had occupied her thoughts ever since the words had tumbled from his lips the previous afternoon. Her heart had pounded in her chest when he had joined her on the swing. The memory of his gruff voice speaking such heartfelt words would forever make her heart ache.
They had been circling each other furtively for weeks now, and yet she had been unprepared to confront the attraction she had fought for so long. She had panicked and come up with some inane excuse to scurry away like Cinderella trying to beat the clock. She hadn’t seen him much today and when she had, there had been no friendly banter between them; no animosity either, just a polite coolness that stung.
She was buttoning the last button on the collar of her flannel nightgown when there was a knock at the door. She frowned as swept her hair over one shoulder and padded across the room to see who it was. Mrs. Glazov had put her in one of the prettiest guestrooms in the house, but she hadn’t had a single visitor since arriving at the house nearly a month ago.
She opened the door and had to grab onto the doorjamb for support at the sight of Pavel towering over her. He was out of uniform – if his usual dark suit could be considered a uniform, that is. He had abandoned his suit jacket and tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing thickly muscled forearms covered in intricate tattoos. She had never seen him look so informal. It suited him.
“Pavel.” Her voice was little more than a gasp of air.
His jaw clenched as he looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her long, blonde hair as it cascaded over her shoulder. He was utterly still except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Katya’s eyes widened as she looked down at herself before retreating behind the door. She was ever mindful of her modesty in the Pakhan’s household, even though her conservative, high-neck flannel nightgown covered her from head to toe.
As she peeked out at Pavel from behind the door, her expression became stricken. She covered her mouth with her hand, gasping, “Oh, God, there’s something wrong with the babies, isn’t there? I’ll be right there--” She ran toward the bed to grab her robe.
Pavel stepped inside, closed the door behind him and, with a deep, resolute breath, locked it. It took him only a few strides to catch up with Katya. He grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “No, the babes are fine,” he rumbled. “I just wanted to bring you your book and…just see you and…find a way to tell you--”
He frowned as he placed her book on the bed. Her cheeks heated at the sight of the paperback romance novel. She must have dropped the book in her haste to leave the sunroom.
Her gaze traveled over his face. She loved his broken beauty. She could see the shadow of his younger self in his rugged face, how the handsome features of his youth had been altered and rearranged during the course of countless Bratva battles. She could easily imagine his face as it would have been if his nose had never been broken, if his eye socket hadn’t been fractured by a crushing blow delivered by a huge right hand decades earlier. Somehow she didn’t think she would have liked that face nearly as much as the current version.
She glanced down at his hand on her arm and marveled that it didn’t bother her. Such direct contact from a man would usually trigger a full-on panic attack, but not with him. Never with him.
“Tell me what?”
He stepped closer and cradled her face in his hands. She closed her eyes and couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch. His hands were strong and warm, and his callouses felt good against her skin. But she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer; she needed to set him straight. It was only fair that he knew why she couldn’t give herself to him or any man.
“Pavel,” she said brokenly, a frown knitting her brow as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “You make me feel…so many things. Beautiful things. But I can’t give you--”
“Shhh…” he said, leaning down and covering her lips with his. He made sure it was a gentle kiss, only a delicate dance of his lips against hers, because that was what she deserved. If he prevailed, there would be plenty of time to show her the depth of the passion he felt for her, to show her everything that could be between a man and a woman, but now was not that time. Not yet.
When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were closed, her lips softly parted. She blinked several times, then looked up at him through her lashes and asked, “Pavel, I know you didn’t just come to drop off my book. Why are you here?”
He ran his hands slowly up and down her back, soothing her as he said what needed saying. “I came here to see you. I need to talk to someone about this and, honestly, you’re the only one I want to talk to about anything. I had planned to come here tonight to assure you that you wouldn’t have to worry about my…attentions. To tell you that I’m too old for you, that you deserve someone your own age. You’re 23 years old, hardly a child, but you don’t need a middle-aged man who’s more than twice your age and set in his ways…like me.”
“So you say,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t agree with you, you know. But that doesn’t change the way things have to be. I may be only 23, Pavel, but I haven’t lived a very typical life.”
“I know.”
“You know? What do you mean?”
“I know what you went through. Kathleen told me. Don’t be angry with her, she just sees something here and thinks I need all the help I can get. I would have to agree,” he chuckled. “I don’t know the details and I don’t need to, not unless you choose to share them with me someday. That is one thing I’m good at, you know; I am a good listener.” For a moment, the big, burly man almost sounded like a little boy earnestly pleading his case. He rubbed her upper arms, keeping his touch gentle and slow. There was no way he wasn’t touching her, even though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted from him. “I know someone hurt you in the worst way a man can hurt a woman. I don’t know who he is, but I want to kill him for it. I will kill him.”
She shook her head. “He’s dead. Been dead for years. But sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever truly be gone. I don’t care about our age difference, Pavel, but you deserve someone who can…be with you in all the ways a man needs a woman to be with him. I’m incredibly attracted to you, have been ever since the first time I saw you holding that silly bear. But I’ve resigned myself to a life without that kind of intimacy. I can’t handle it. It’s just not for me. It’s too difficult.”
He tilted her chin and pressed his lips to hers once more, lingering there in the hopes that she would have no choice but to acknowledge the profound chemistry between them. He lifted his head and looked down at her, scanning her features with warm, possessive eyes. “With any other man, that would be true. But not with me. The feeling, the intimacy, is already there, burning brightly between us.”
He wrapped his arms around her protectively, pressing his cheek to hers as he spoke low in her ear. “I have always been alone. I never questioned it until I saw you standing there like an angel with the sun shining on your golden hair. The ground moved beneath my feet that day.” He placed her hand on his chest and covered it with his own. Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his solid strength beneath her fingers. “I’m already yours, Katya. Touch me.”
She bit her lip as she tentatively slipped two fingers between the buttons of his shirt. As she stroked his skin beneath the fabric, she yearned to explore the scattering of silky chest hair that teased her fingertips and the muscles that flexed and quivered beneath her touch.
His voice was gruff as he continued, “I know I have more than my share of shortcomings, Katya. I imagine you will need to be patient with me from time to time, if you’ll have me.”
His hand trailed down the slender column of her neck until he encountered the first button at the base of her throat. He released it from the buttonhole and with patient fingers continued on to the second, then the third. He let the backs of his fingers graze her skin, letting her become accustomed to his touch. As the last button gave way just above her waist, he swept her hair over her shoulders before sliding his fingertips under the flannel at her shoulders. “You belong to me now. And, make no mistake, dorogoy, I belong to you.”
She swallowed hard at the tender endearment and breathtaking words, recognizing that he was presenting her with a choice…a choice that, deep in her heart, she knew she had already made. She slid her hand from his chest to rest at her side as she waited, barely able to take a breath. He slowly slid the flannel from her shoulders, pausing to press a kiss to her shoulder before releasing the fabric and letting it drop to the floor around her feet.
When he straightened and took in the sight before him, Pavel once again felt the earth shift beneath his feet. “Krasivaya.” The word was little more than a rumble deep in his chest.
She trembled at the compliment, at the profound pleasure of knowing that he thought her beautiful. A single tear slid down Katya’s cheek and came to rest in the dimple that accompanied her smile. He cradled her face in his hand and swept the tear away with his thumb before leaning down to press a kiss to the dimples that were so much a part of her.
His other hand rested on her narrow waist before moving up slowly to caress a breast, cupping and stroking the firm, velvety flesh. He delighted in her voluptuous curves, which she had concealed so thoroughly beneath her modest clothing.
He grasped the curve of her hip, softly squeezing and exploring the gentle slope. When his fingertips encountered the dimple at the base of her spine, he couldn’t help the muffled groan that escaped his lips. He wanted to put his tongue there and taste her, but he willed himself to be patient.
Pavel had come to Katya’s room to clear the air, but had had no clear idea of how the conversation would go. Claiming her this way was more than he had dared hope for, and everything he couldn’t live without.
He knew all too well the reasons why he should have left her alone. She was too young for him and had been through a horrible trauma; he was a brute and far too old for her. But if his Bratva life had taught him anything, it was to always trust his gut; it had never failed him. It had kept him alive, but it had been an empty existence. His gut was telling him now, in no uncertain terms, that this woman was his, that she belonged to him. And that it was time to truly live.
He caressed Katya’s lower back and pulled her toward him, his hand still warm on her breast. Any lingering doubts that had been between them scattered to the wind when she covered his hand with her own and stepped into his embrace.