Chapter Seven

 

Staring up at the Grand Hotel on Tverskaya Street in central Moscow, I tried to calm the quiver in my belly.

What was I doing here?

This was crazy of the highest degree.

But for some reason I didn’t care. I’d been compelled to come here. I just couldn’t settle in my airport hotel room or face an evening of mediocre food and the company of my fellow stewards.

I needed more.

Much more.

I stepped away from the cab I’d just ridden and onto the gritty, damp pavement. The arctic wind nipped at my cheeks and tossed my hair over my shoulders as I hurried forward. My coat wasn’t quite thick enough for the sub-zero temperatures. Plus, I was tired and I always felt the cold when I was running on a low battery.

A doorman in a smart burgundy jacket and a beige peaked hat ushered me in with a smile and a semi-bow. He clearly felt sorry for the fact I had no hat and gloves like my fellow pedestrians.

Stepping past him, I was grateful for the warmth of the lobby. I paused to wipe my feet on a large mat that had a golden-colored crest embroidered on its surface. Quickly I reached into my purse, grabbed my Nokia and flicked it to silent. I didn’t want to be disturbed. An evening off from constant text chatter with the girls and social media updates was very appealing, especially since I had other items on my agenda.

The low hum of gentle classical music filled the huge area and danced around enormous pillars that supported an ornate ceiling. Large urns of flowers were dotted about, decedent and rich in color their heady scent perfumed the air.

I tightened my purse over my shoulder and walked toward what looked like a bar. The door was half-open and a plush, emerald green carpet with brass trim circled the entrance. It appeared dark and atmospheric inside.

I peeked through the doorway. Not a bar but a restaurant. A very elegant one with white linen tablecloths, candles and a hushed atmosphere.

Hoping I hadn’t got it all wrong, I circled the lobby. The Grand Hotel didn’t seem the type of place to have a sports bar and I wondered if Vadmir had made a mistake.

Perhaps he was just messing with me?

A receptionist looked up from her computer screen and smiled. I decided to take the plunge and ask her where I might watch hockey. My Russian was incredibly limited but I’d start out polite.

“Privet,” I said, placing my hand on the walnut desk between us.

Her smile broadened and she nodded, her neat, black bob swaying by her ears. “Good evening, madam, what can I help you with?”

I held in a sigh, was it really that obvious that I was a foreigner? I guessed it was.

“I’m looking for the sports bar,” I said, “I’m meeting a friend but I fear he may have been mistaken in the address.”

“No, not at all. If you follow this corridor ’round the back of the hotel you’ll find the Hero Bar. It overlooks the outdoor pool which, in case you were thinking of a dip, is currently out of season.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.” I glanced in the direction she was pointing. “And thank you, I’ll find it.”

“Have a nice evening.”

I wandered off, my heeled boots clacking on the floor. An elderly couple, arms linked, walked past me. She was talking in Russian and wore a simple, but beautiful floor-length black dress. He held his head high, as though proud to have her on his arm, and held what looked like tickets in his hand. Perhaps they were off to the Bolshoi later. I wondered what was showing. I’d been once, a few months ago. Harmony and I had sacrificed sleep to enjoy a wonderful performance of Giselle. Ballet wasn’t really my thing but the magic had captivated me, whisking me off into a fantastical fairytale world of passion and loss, ghostly figures and love stronger than death.

Continuing along the corridor, I admired the artwork. Austere and stern portraits in heavy, golden frames glared down at me. Unfamiliar landscapes and architecture, all appearing to be originals and protected by glass.

On rounding the corner, a faint scent of chlorine told me there must be a spa nearby with a pool; how nice a sauna would be to warm my bones and soothe my work weary limbs.

The rumbling sound of a commentator reached me at the same time as I spotted the entrance to Hero Bar.

So Vadmir had been right.

But was he here?

I stepped in, my feet quieting on the carpeted floor. The lights were dim, the place lit mainly by a big screen and spots behind a long, sleek bar. It wasn’t your usual spit and sawdust place. This was one screamed class and sophistication.

The booths around the edge were about half full and a couple of guys sat at the bar. To my right a pool table stood set up, the neatly arranged balls waiting to be fractured apart.

As my eyes adjusted I studied the screen. Hockey was playing, or rather war on ice. A tussle had broken out, gloves were flying off and sticks spinning outward from what looked like a full on fight. I noticed a helmet roll away as a couple of players bashed against the Plexi and one fell to the floor.

The commentary, in Russian, was excitable and fast. I couldn’t pick up any of the words, the jabbering one long string of sounds. Eventually a linesman broke two players apart, almost falling himself, and a referee whizzed over, blowing his whistle.

I unbuttoned my coat, warmer from my walk through the hotel and searched for Vadmir. He was so big he shouldn’t be hard to find. If he was here, that was.

The commentary stopped and in its place an advert with a high-pitched jingle sang around the room.

My gaze fell on Vadmir. He was sitting alone in the booth farthest from the screen. He had his cap on, as usual, and was staring out of the window into the darkness.

I paused, making the most of seeing him before he saw me. It was an unguarded moment that had my breath hitching. He really was beautiful in a rugged, tough-as-nails kind of a way.

Apparently lost in thought he removed his hat, rubbed the flat of his hand over his hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He shut his eyes, screwing them up tight, and pressed his lips together.

A shard of guilt shot through me. I shouldn’t be observing him like this, without him knowing. It wasn’t fair. I should go to him and make my presence known.

But something held me back. Vadmir was a man of strength and passion yet here, seeing him alone like this with a pained expression, I was reminded of the vulnerability I’d seen earlier.

What was he worrying about? It wasn’t whether or not I’d turn up, surely? Did he have more going on in his life? Perhaps it was something to do with the Vipers? Were they losing? And why was he here and not in Orlando playing for his team?

I found myself drawn to him and, before I knew it, I was standing at the end of his table not really remembering walking there.

He opened his eyes and the hand that had been squeezing his nose reached for his beer.

He saw me and stopped with his fingers wrapped around the bottle. “You came?” he said, his lips losing that stern, worried tension of moments ago.

“Yes.”

He treated me to a full-on smile that filled me with a honeyed glow.

“I am glad,” he said.

His full attention did strange things to my knees, chest and everywhere in between. Quickly I sat opposite him, glad to be off my feet.

“You won’t be able to see from there,” he said.

“See what?”

He smiled. “The game.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“No it isn’t. We’re having a beer and watching the game, that was the deal.”

“The deal?”

“Deal, date, whatever you want to call it.”

“I don’t have a beer.”

He held up his hand and called over to the bar, “Yeshche piva.” He then looked back at me. “It’s on its way.”

“Thank you.”

“Sit next to me. I’ll explain what is happening.”

I sighed and stood, but it wasn’t really a hardship to sit next to him and as his cologne seeped into my nostrils my beer arrived.

“So who is winning?” I asked, sipping the malty drink.

“Penguins, it is not a good game and it doesn’t end well.”

Maybe that was why he’d been looking so fed up? This was a rerun, he’d obviously found out the final score already. “Was there a fight a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, Brick got into a ruck with a Penguin defenseman. He’s in the penalty box now for two minutes.”

“That’s not long.”

“Long enough for the opposition to score, which is what happens next. Cute wrist flick apparently but damn, Jackson should have stopped it.”

“Ah, Jackson,” I said. “Perhaps he’s tired after his night with Harmony. Not up to the job today.”

He laughed and his shoulder jostled against mine. “Yeah, I think she probably did drink him alive.”

I giggled. “Do you mean eat him alive?”

He shrugged, our shoulders touching again. “I don’t know, do I?”

“Yes, that’s the saying.”

He twirled his index finger near his head. “I am still learning all of your…sayings.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“There are so many of them and they make no sense.”

“They make perfect sense.” I paused. “You must have sayings in Russian.”

“Yes, of course.” He tipped his head. “Te, kto v ssorakh vstavit', chasto prikhoditsya protirat' krovavyy nos.”

Oh, I loved the way he spoke in his native tongue. He’d done it last night, too, but then I’d been otherwise engaged. But hearing him now, with his throaty voice and watching his lips move, it set a slow burn of lust simmering inside of me.

“What does that mean?” I managed.

He nodded at the screen. “It means, people who get involved in others’ arguments often wipe a bloody nose.” He shrugged. “And it’s not unknown, particularly in Russia, for a linesman to get an elbow in the ribs or a stick around his ankles. Best to leave two fighting men alone.”

“I like it. Tell me another.”

He frowned as though concentrating and sipped on his beer. “Mmm, okay. Tam net nikakogo sposoba dlya dve smerti priyti k vam, no ot odnogo vy nikogda ne budete bezhat'.”

I smiled and rested my hands on the table. “What does that one mean?”

“There is no way for two deaths to come to you, but from one you will never run away.”

“That’s true, death and taxes are two things we must all face with certainty.”

“Yes.” Again he sipped his drink though this time he turned to the dark window. “We all must die.”

I followed his gaze. Outside the pool was covered with tarpaulin and a few low lights were set around a statue of a female ballerina performing an arabesque. She held her arms high and her tutu puffed stiffly out behind her.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, turning back to me.

“No, not yet. We were late disembarking and then the trip to the hotel and then here, I—”

“What kind of man am I?” he said, shaking his head. “We should go and find food, or they do burgers here…no, the restaurant is much nicer.”

“Well, I don’t know, I’m only dressed in jeans and it looked very posh in there.” I smiled apologetically. “When you said sports bar I didn’t think it would be housed in a five-star hotel.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t explain it very well to you.”

“It’s okay.”

He reached out and his fingers, cool from holding his drink, slipped over my ear and into my hair. “Sammy,” he said quietly and his eyes softening. “There is another Russian saying that is perfect for you.”

“I…what is that?” My skin, over my head and down my neck, was tingling. I was becoming lost in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. When he looked at me, with such intensity, I felt like I was the only woman in the world.

“Malen'kaya iskra mozhet vyzvat' bol'shoy pozhar.” He stroked down my neck and rested his hand over my left collarbone, the palm flat as though feeling for my heartbeat.

“What does that mean?” I asked, swallowing and studying the way his pale brown eyelashes fanned out, casting small shadows on his cheeks.

He smiled, leant in close and hovered his lips over mine. “A little spark may cause a big fire.” He brushed his mouth over mine. “That’s what happened to us. One look, one spark and whoosh…inferno.”

“Yes…inferno.”

“I saw you, in the parking lot,” he murmured. “All sexy and cute with your fluffy hair and red lips.”

“You liked what you saw then?” Of course he had. He couldn’t have hidden it if he’d wanted to.

“Hell yes and that was some spark, a nuclear spark.”

I smiled. “I agree. Nuclear.” My nipples were straining against my bra. I was having to force myself not to squirm. Damn, I wanted him again. I wanted that raging furnace of lust to pour into my veins and be matched by his. “Russian boy,” I said, resting my hand on his thigh and sliding it upward, toward his groin.

“Yes?”

“I think we should get room service. Forget the restaurant or grabbing a burger.”

His nostrils flared and he tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, let’s go light some big fires.” I skimmed my hand higher, to the interesting creases and tempting bulges in his jeans.

“I’m glad this table is here,” he said, shutting his eyes.

I explored and found the length of his cock through the material. He was heading toward full hardness. “Yes, I guess it wouldn’t be right for a superstar hockey player to be getting felt up in public.”

“So far no one here has recognized me.” He paused and blew out a breath as I found the root of his shaft and gave a firm squeeze. “But…” he went on. “Hockey players are not exactly known for good behavior.”

“I can agree with that.”

“So maybe no one would be shocked.”

“Maybe not.”

He shifted a little and I cupped his balls. They were packed tight against the seam of his pants and I tickled my fingernails over them. Scratching the denim and sending vibrations through the fabric.

“Ah, yebat’,” he muttered. “I’ve been thinking about you as I’ve traveled half way ’round the world. Nothing but you and what you do to me… so be careful or I might embarrass myself here.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun.” I grinned and moved closer, so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“No, I think…” He spoke onto my mouth, his lips moving against mine and the taste of beer intensifying. “I think…it could be damn uncomfortable and really fucking embarrassing.”

“So shall we get out of here?”

“Yes.”

I tried to stand but he wrapped his arm around my waist and held me against him.

“Sammy.”

“What?”

“You really are something else, you know that?”

“What, because I can resist you?” I asked.

“You can?” He raised his eyebrows.

“On the plane.” I frowned. “I did then.”

“Ah…okay.” He tugged me closer, so our chests touched. “I meant that you’re beautiful and sassy and so fucking sexy.” A small muscle flexed in his cheek. “I don’t take women for granted, you know? I am very privileged that you came here tonight. I didn’t think you would.”

“You asked me to.”

“Mmm, but I could tell you didn’t want to.”

“I did, it’s just…”

“What?”

I hesitated. “It’s a long way across the city. I’ll have to leave in a few hours. Plus, cabs here are extortionate.”

“So if I’d been in an airport hotel you would have said yes straight away?”

I hesitated, unsure of the answer, then decided to keep him guessing. “I suppose that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” I disentangled myself from his grip and stood.

He gulped down the last of his beer then darted out his tongue to swipe it over his top lip.

“Come on,” I said, crooking my finger. “We don’t have long.”

“Long enough.” He slapped his cap on and stood. “Long enough, Sammy.”