A Very Russian Christmas (5 page)

“I wanted something pretty but didn’t have the money to waste on something so frivolous. You can’t eat a purse or pay the light bill with it, you know?” She shrugged. “So I started playing around with fabric and duct tape and empty drink containers. Eventually I figured out I could make a cool looking purse with a hollowed-out book and a wooden handle. There were some girls at school that liked them so I managed to sell a few and make enough money for us to have Christmas that year.”

Her entrepreneurial spirit impressed him.

“I started going to that big flea market—”

“The one on Eldridge?”

“Yeah. Have you been there?”

“It’s been a while for me.”

The massive trading village with thousands of vendors was a place that attracted the best bargain hunters in search of attractively priced new and used merchandise—but also a criminal element that needed to get rid of hot items. He decided not to tell her that he had once been part of a crew that had sold all sorts of cheap, imported and stolen goods there. Bootlegged DVDs had always gone fast. The year Kostya had gotten his hands on a pharmaceutical shipment that had
fallen off
a truck had been a particularly good one…

“Do you still sell there?”

“No. It was good business while I was in high school. Now I have an online store. The overhead is cheaper obviously.”

“I would imagine.” He finished his tea and eyed the plate of delicious cookies.

“Would you like to take some with you?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” She rose from her chair and fetched a small container from one of the cabinets. “I always bake too much for two people so I’m always handing out containers of cookies or muffins to our neighbors.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Just under three years,” she said. “It’s not as nice as some of the apartment complexes closer to the university but it’s pretty safe and the neighbors are mostly quiet. Plus the rent is cheap.”

He bit his tongue instead of offering his opinion. Searching for a safer topic, he thought about her business. “Why did you choose leather?”

“I met Larry at the flea market. He’s an old school leather goods guy. Belts, wallets, boots—he’s amazing. He let me work in his store and taught me the tricks of the trade.”

“Why don’t you work there anymore?”

“He closed down. The economy tanked right after he found out he had lung cancer. He beat the hell out of that cancer, but the recession beat the hell out of him. He’s retired now and living with his daughter and her family up in the Panhandle. It’s better for him there, and he’s very happy to be surrounded by his grandkids.”

“I’m sure he’s happy, but it’s damned cold up there.”

She laughed. “You’re from Russia. It’s damned cold there.”

He watched the way she meticulously placed the cookies in the container and separated the layers with strips of wax paper she tore from the roll she had taken out of a nearby drawer. “I’ve acclimated to the Houston weather. I wouldn’t last a day in a Moscow winter.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“No.” The answer came swiftly. “That was my old life. This is the new one.”

“Just like that, huh?” She pressed the lid onto the container. “You draw that line and close that door and that’s that?”

“Yes.” He accepted the cookies from her. “It’s best not to dwell on things that become tiresome. Cut the problem out of your life and move on.”

She studied him for a moment. “And that’s your philosophy in life?”

“It’s worked well for me.” He picked up his cup and carried it to the sink. Cookies in hand, he headed for the door and slipped back into his coat. “Thanks for the tea and the cookies.”

“It’s the least I could do. You saved me from a run-in with Lalo and got me home safely.” Her sensual mouth curved with a playful smile. “It wasn’t quite the sleigh ride of Christmas carols, but it’ll do.”

He laughed. “I’m pretty sure the sleigh from those Christmas carols didn’t have heated seats or luxury leather.”

“No.” She grinned. “The heated seats were a nice touch.”

He chose not to make a flirtatious remark about heating up the leather. There was a reason Shay was so tempting to him—and it was because she was different. She deserved so much better than what he had to offer, and he wasn’t about to insult her by coming onto her and plying her with gifts and trinkets in exchange for a few hours of affection every week.

“Thank you very much for coming to my rescue tonight.”

Coming to her rescue? Jesus, he was nobody’s hero!

Still he couldn’t stop himself from offering help.

“If you ever need anything, Shay, you come to me first. I’ll take care of you—
it
,” he hastily amended. “If Lalo’s men bother you, I want to know about it. I may not be in that life anymore but I have friends who are.”

“Thanks, but I can handle it.”

“It’s good to be brave, Shay, but it’s better to be smart and safe. Let men like me deal with men like Lalo. You’re above that and should stay out of it.”

Her gaze drifted to the open neck of his shirt where the tops of the onion domed churches inked on his chest were visible. Did she know what they meant? He wanted to know what she was thinking but wasn’t courageous enough to ask because he feared the worst.

“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll come to you if I need help.”

“Don’t ever hesitate to ask me for anything. My door is always open to you.” He shut his mouth before he went too far.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

He opened the door and stepped out into the cold, dark night. “Merry Christmas, Shay.”

“Merry Christmas…Alexei.”

She spoke his name in that gentle voice of hers, and it did crazy things to him. It took every ounce of willpower to drive away from her house. His brain told him to keep his foot on the gas, but the lust and need unfurling within him like a blazing fire urged him to turn around, knock on her door and claim her with a kiss that would leave her breathless and trembling. A few sweet words and promises of money and pretty things would get him through the door and into her bed. That tactic had never failed him.

But he couldn’t do that to her.

He
wouldn’t
do that to her.

Shay had escaped an entanglement with a dangerous drug dealer tonight. The very last thing she needed was an ex-con and former mobster complicating her life and tarnishing that promising future she was working so hard to build for herself. She was going places, and he refused to be the millstone around that beautiful neck of hers.

As he let himself inside his house and moved through the quiet, empty space, Alexei tried to avoid the painful conclusion about his life that lingered in the far reaches of his brain. Like the house, he was empty inside.

Alone.

After splashing some whisky into a glass, he dropped into his favorite chair and switched on the news. He had just gotten comfortable when his phone started to ring. He glanced at the screen and saw Marissa’s smiling face. She was a breathtakingly beautiful woman and looked so utterly tantalizing in that photo, especially with the tanned swell of cleavage peeking over the red fabric of her dress. Any other night, the sight of her photo would have revved his engines and had him thinking about sex—rough, sweaty and hard and exactly the way he liked it.

Now? Well…he felt only irritation. He didn’t want another empty encounter. Marissa was a nice woman, and they had had some truly fun times together but she was only in it for the perks. He wasn’t innocent in that, of course. His predicament was one of his own making.

Not wanting Marissa stuck inside waiting for him when she could be out enjoying herself with friends, he sent her a quick text message.
Not tonight
.

She didn’t answer.

Tossing aside his phone, he eyed the container of cookies he had placed on the bar. Unable to help himself, he got up to grab them and poured more whisky into his glass. He examined one of the sugary snowflakes and thought of Shay. Beautiful, talented, smart, determined to better herself and a skilled baker? Of course, Shay had to be the whole fucking package.

Loosened up by another two fingers of scotch, he considered asking the janitorial company to take the two sisters off his contract and give him a different cleaning team. Men, he thought sourly. He needed a team of men cleaning his establishment. There would be no temptation that way.

Despite the attractiveness of that solution, he acknowledged it was the wrong one. He simply had to keep his distance. No more late nights when she was due to clean the dealership. If they had to interact, he would keep their conversations short and light.

Thinking of the car he had arranged for Nikolai, he decided that was the template he would follow. He could keep an eye on Shay and make sure she stayed out of trouble. If that sister of hers was intent on hanging with the cartel crowd, Shay would need his help sooner or later. He might not be a hero, but he could step in when necessary to shield and protect her.

Taking another bite of the delicious cookie, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Shay’s smiling face flashed before him. After all the terrible things he had done in his life, maybe Shay was his chance to do something truly good…

Catch up with Alexei and Shay in ALEXEI (Her Russian Protector #8) to be released in Summer 2014!

From Russia, With Love

VASYA

Smile. Laugh. Pretend
.

Ty Weston repeated the silent mantra as he mingled with his parents’ guests at their annual black tie Christmas Eve gala. The boozy bash was the hottest ticket on Houston’s holiday event calendar. It was a who’s who of Houston’s elite. The old money oil barons, the new gas tycoons from all that fracking going down in the Eagle Ford Shale and the Permian Basin, the athletes, the tech whizzes like Bee Langston, the shipping magnates—everywhere Ty looked he spotted dollar signs.

If it hadn’t been for the new crisis PR firm he was starting in the New Year with Lena Cruz, he would have bowed out of this schmooze fest, but it was the cost of doing business. With Lena out of the country on a whirlwind winter vacation with Yuri, that deliciously sexy Russian oligarch she had wrapped around her little finger, the burden of finding clients fell on him.

Despite wanting to be anywhere but here, Ty accepted his duty to their fledgling firm, plastered on a megawatt smile and move around the room. He zeroed in on the group of newly minted gas millionaires because he knew the lot of them were tied up in media scrutiny over fracking practices. Considering his dad came from very old oil money and their wealth was tied up in the energy sector, Ty had all the necessary contacts and knowledge to go after those types of clients.

Though the men welcomed him warmly, he had long ago learned to spot the ones who were uneasy around a gay man. The tightness in the jaw, the smile that never quite reached the eyes, the stiff laughter—he mentally checked the boxes as he chatted with the group. Of the five men, two would never be clients and he crossed them off hist. The other three seemed receptive so he made sure to hand out his business cards and encouraged them to stop by the new offices or drop him a line via email.

On the prowl for his next mark, Ty spotted his baby sister Caitlin stuck in a corner with the football player their mother had arranged as a date. Poor Cait had that nervous smile on her face, the one that told him that she was about to have a freaking panic attack. Her sensitive ears hated loud music like this, and she struggled so badly in social situations. The protective streak within him ignited. Wanting to save her from yet another terrible setup, he weaved his way through the crowd.

“Don’t even think about it, Tyrone.” His mother’s hissed voice dinged his ear as her icy hand gripped his wrist.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth rather than shake off her hold. Fully aware they were surrounded by the eyes and ears of the society press, he affected a smile and embraced his mother in a way that seemed loving. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he murmured, “She’s miserable. She needs to be rescued.”

“She’s never going to learn how to be normal if you’re always running interference for her.”

His lips twitched as he smothered a snarled reply. Normal? What the fuck was normal anyway? “She’s doing the best she can.”

“She could do better.”

Deftly untangling himself from the woman who had given birth to him but who had shown him so little love, he ignored her order and continued his trek across the hotel ballroom. Issuing commands might work in D.C. where his mother was one of the most powerful U.S. senators, but it didn’t fly here. Her power over him had ended many years ago. Now if he could only free Cait…

“Sugar,” he swept in and pecked her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve met your friend.” He knew the football player by sight and reputation but wanted to be polite.

“His name is Quade Dykstra.” She relaxed into his brotherly hug. “He’s a line receiver on the football team.”

Quade frowned. “Wide receiver.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked mortified at her gaffe. “He’s a wide receiver.”