your gift. Crystal, wasn’t it? I forget. It brought a nice price when I sold it. I’ve sold a lot of things in the past few years.”
He’d chosen the crystal vase because it reminded him of the woman—glittering, perfect and hard. “He’s the child’s father?”
She scrubbed her hands together now, as if trying to dislodge a cold that came from her bones. “I wish he were. Mark would have been a wonderful father, but he couldn’t accept someone else’s child. We’re divorced. I took back the Lathrop name, just to torture Paul, to remind him that he does have a daughter…. Parental obligations and all that. Or let’s just say I’ve inherited Paul’s perversity. By the way, has my dear father called?”
Mikhail nodded, remembering Paul’s brisk, slightly angry tone. “Several times in the past six months. He wondered where you were.”
“That’s why I didn’t let you know that we were coming. I didn’t want him to know until I’d—until I’d talked with you.”
Ellie sat on the bed, shoulders slumped, and then with a sigh, settled against the back, legs outstretched. She sent him a glance that could only be labeled as resentful. “It’s not easy to talk with you, you know. You don’t inspire easy conversation. You give nothing away—do you have feelings, Mikhail? Do you? Or are you just made of wood, like the totem poles outside?”
A homage to the northwest Native Americans, the totem poles were huge and savagely painted masks created in wood, unsoftened by the tall pine branches enfolding them. The carved symbols represented the Hawaiian chieftain enslaved by whalers and dying far from his beloved homeland.
“I might be slightly more attractive,” he said quietly and watched her frown at his dry humor.
In one of those lithe, lightening quick movements, she was on her feet and standing near him, looking up. “I’m going to do something that may frighten you, Mikhail, but I really need this.”
With that, she slid against him, her arms circling his waist. She placed her face against his throat. “Could you just hold me? Just hold me, and let me feel safe and not alone for just one minute?”
Mikhail held very still, every nerve taut, warnings leaping inside him. Ellie was shivering, reminding him of a little wounded seagull he’d once found. He’d seen Ellie lean close to men before, casually, flirting with them, but this was different. This was desperation.
“What game are you playing?” he asked rawly as a soft strand of her hair brushed his lips.
Because he knew the dangers of playing with Ellie, the effects she’d had on other men, tantalizing them, he reached to move that silky, fragrant strand from his skin—the texture was too feminine, too intimate. Then, instinctively, his fingers lodged in her hair, his fist crushing that softness as he drew her face up to his.
With his other hand, he angled her face to the light. She was thinner, her cheekbones sharply defined beneath that gleaming, damp skin; her lashes had spiked, those dark haunted eyes bearing the sheen of tears. Her body still shook against his.
She dropped her arms beside her body, seeming to hang there, suspended as he studied her, his hands holding her because Ellie seemed as if she would drop when he released her. “When was the last time you slept?”
Her answer came on a ragged sigh that had to be genuine, and she closed her eyes. “Days, it seems. I napped on the way from Albuquerque.”
Ellie never admitted personal weakness. She was all gloss and well-tuned, moving like a sleek tigress; he’d seen her glittering, flashing temper with Paul and playing games amid her jet-setter crowd, but not like this. A warning trickle that she might really need him frizzoned up Mikhail’s nape. “You’re thinner. Are you sick? Do you want something to eat…drink?”
“I’m not hungry.” Her lashes fluttered, as if she were trying to open her lids, and her words were no more than a sigh. “I’m so tired, Mikhail. Can we discuss this in the morning?”
Okay, so he felt like a brute, demanding answers of an exhausted woman. That’s what JoAnna had called him, wasn’t it? A low-class, cold brute without a drop of anything to make a woman happy.
Mikhail released Ellie’s silky hair at once. His other hand, cradling her upturned face, contrasted with that fine light skin, and he frowned as he noticed his thumb caressing the texture. He jerked his hand away and Ellie seemed to sag, her shoulders drooping. She didn’t move, her eyes closed, as if too tired to think, to taunt.
“We’re expecting a mix of weather tonight. It’s already started to snow, and the road back to my parents’ house is probably iced by now. You can sleep here. My parents will take care of the child. We need to finish this discussion,” Mikhail said roughly, surprising himself as he swept back the lush purple comforter to the fresh black sheets and the featherbed beneath. He turned off the lamp, but the rain on the windows caught light, seducing soft flowing pools into the room.
Ellie didn’t move.
“Ellie?” he asked softly, turning her to him.
Her eyes were open now, but not seeing. He knew that look; she was already asleep on her feet. Mikhail took a deep breath and helped her out of her jacket, tossing it onto a heavily built chair. “Sit,” he said and when she didn’t move, he eased her onto the bed, then kneeled to untie her boots.
The worn shoelaces had been knotted instead of replaced, the toes of the boots were scuffed.
Then she was tilting, eyes closed, already sleeping deeply before her head touched the pillow. Mikhail slid her boots from her feet and noted the worn, mismatched socks before stripping them away. He eased her legs up onto the bed and covered her.
Ellie snuggled into the luxurious featherbed and comforter with a sigh. Suddenly, she sat up, her eyes pleading with him. “Mikhail? Mikhail, you’ll see that Tanya is okay, won’t you? She wakes up at night, and she needs to know that I’m with her.”
She threw back the coverlet as though fear drove her. “I’ve got to go. She’ll need me.”
What fear could drive her so desperately? Mikhail recognized an exhausted mother who would give her last for her child. The image did not suit what he knew of Ellie. “If she needs you, my mother will call. You’re staying here.”
“You promise that she’ll call?” She sounded like a sleepy, hopeful child and not like the willful Ellie he’d known.
“Of course,” he returned with an arrogance typical of the Stepanov males. “I have said so, have I not?”
“Of course. When you say that, I know….” With as light smile, Ellie allowed herself to be tucked in again. She was soundly sleeping within minutes, and Mikhail was left with an uneasy sense that he was susceptible to her. What could have driven her so hard, so desperately, to him?
Asleep, one hand by her face, her hair splayed across the black satin pillowcase, she looked like a vulnerable child, her lips slightly parted.
No, she looked like an inviting woman and trouble, and after experiencing his ex-wife, he’d already had his share of spoiled society women. Mikhail jammed his hands into his slacks pockets, resenting the sensual tug Ellie could always draw from him. The need to hold all that fire in his hands, to possess her in a storm that would wash him free of her.
Or
