Instinctive Male (5 page)

Still, a child needed protection. Mikhail rubbed his hand across his jaw, and the sound of flesh against stubble matched his irritation. Above all, he wanted Ellie as a woman, and she would be a disaster.

E
llie awoke the second time to a click of the big solid door. She lay quietly trying to pull herself from sleep into the harsh reality of Mikhail Stepanov…and the rejection he was certain to give her. Rest had brought the truth to her:
Mikhail was not likely to jeopardize the Amoteh.

She caught his scent, felt him near, his presence almost pulsating around her, and her skin felt that prickle—like the hair of a cat sensing danger—just as it had last night. She didn’t want to face him this morning, not when he had seen her stripped of pride, had seen her cry, and knew that she was practically penniless, with a child she couldn’t support. Ellie had humbled herself to him, practically begged him. Tanya needed his protection, but on a more intimate level, Ellie resented being so helpless and dependent upon his decision.

And in her sleep, she had actually undressed in front of him, cuddled him as she would Tanya. Mikhail wasn’t a
man to cuddle; he was all taker, a man who moved methodically to get his way.

All pride fell beside the question. “I know you’re there, Mikhail. Will you help us?”

“
We
are here,” he said quietly, warning her against any further discussion about the child. “Tanya came to see where you slept last night. She was worried about you.”

Ellie opened her eyes to see Tanya, in her favorite blue sweatsuit, seated on Mikhail’s shoulders. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt and worn jeans, still bearing the night’s stubble on his jaw.

In a business suit, he looked too intense, danger streamlined into quiet, groomed power. But dressed casually, the sweatshirt stretching across his broad shoulders, he was raw male.

Ellie trusted the man in the suit—the predictable, cold, methodical man—not this relaxed one. His hair was rumpled by the child’s hands that circled his forehead. But too quiet, too watchful, Mikhail’s sea-green eyes held Ellie’s as if warning her not to speak of the problem in front of the child. Then that long slow prowl of his gaze down her body, beneath the comforter, tugged at her senses, taking away her breath.

She was still wearing his shirt, but she had just felt as though those big hands had moved over her bare skin. His eyes had glittered just that once, possessively, and the hair on her nape rose. Whatever primitive and intimate thing it was that sizzled in the air between them frightened and warmed her.

A passing glance at a walnut-encased clock told her it was eleven o’clock, and the late morning hour redefined Mikhail’s expression—he had always considered her spoiled. “I was tired, okay?” she snapped at him.

“Evidently. Was the bed all right?” Mikhail’s deep, sensual voice curled around her, reminding her that they had shared the bed…that she had aroused him, that he had seen her undress….

This time it was her turn to blush, her senses prickling as their eyes met and the quiet air sizzled between them.

And then she knew for certain that Mikhail wanted her now; not a sweet, loving need, but a raw passionate one to be filled and forgotten.

Ellie braced herself for another trade-off; she’d made a deal with one man that had failed, and if she had to—

Deep inside a warning voice told her that Mikhail wouldn’t be easy to forget.

She breathed quietly, unsteadily, aware that her body had already reacted to him, her breasts tightening, that poignant clench in her lower stomach.

“Mama?” Tanya’s uneven whisper said she needed reassurance, and Ellie instantly lifted up her arms.

Mikhail lowered Tanya to the bed and watched her slide into Ellie’s waiting hug. As she always did, Ellie gave Tanya her full attention, soothing her fears. The girl cuddled close. “Good morning, pumpkin. Did you like that great big bed?” Ellie asked.

“I wasn’t scared,” Tanya whispered as her little hand smoothed Ellie’s hair. “The man said you were very tired and needed to rest last night. You look all sort of rosy, Mommy. He was afraid if you came out in the rain, back to sleep with me, you would catch cold. And Fadey woke me up this morning. I think he likes me, just like a grandpa would. He showed me these pretty wooden eggs, all painted with people, and when you open one, guess what? There’s another one inside.”

“Of course,” Mikhail said quietly, still watching Ellie, the tension of last night alive between them.
Would he help them?

Ellie smoothed Tanya’s blond silky hair and prayed that he would. “Have you made up your mind?” she asked quietly as, fascinated with the showroom, Tanya slid from the bed to wander around the room.

The answer cut through the shadowy air. “No. I have not.”

“When?” Already, she was thinking of how she could manage to drive away from Amoteh. Because if Mikhail decided against helping her, he would probably tell Paul their whereabouts.

“When I have decided.”

That arrogance grated; she had stripped away her pride, coming to him, asking for his help, and now he held her on tenterhooks, just as Paul would do. The men were too much alike, hard, impenetrable and looking for what a bargain could do for them.

And looking up at Mikhail from her vulnerable position in bed did little to soothe the nerves he had always scraped. Ellie clamped her lips against the words she wanted to let fly at him, and Mikhail’s narrowed eyes said he had read her silent message.

He reached to push a button on the wall intercom. “Georgia? Would you come here, please? There is a little girl who wants to meet you. Perhaps she would like to see your kitchen and eat those croissants you’ve just made. And please put together a breakfast tray for two, please—a carafe of coffee? I’ll be having breakfast in here with the girl’s…mother.”

“You could leave and give me a moment of privacy,” Ellie whispered in a furious tone she didn’t bother to disguise.

“No. You’re the one asking, not me. I would advise you to be civilized and to wait until the child is out of hearing distance before you yell.”

“Me? Civilized? Don’t you dare—”

Mikhail’s smile was brief and contained genuine humor, a notice that he had once more scored a hit. Then ignoring Ellie’s frown, he walked to crouch beside Tanya, explaining the collection of shells in the pottery bowl.

Georgia, a plump woman wearing a white apron and a hairnet that crossed her forehead, arrived with the tray. Mikhail replaced the previous tray with the fresh one, and
the scent of aromatic coffee and fresh croissants cruised the room.

In a heartbeat, Georgia had won Tanya’s confidence, and they left the showroom, leaving Ellie alone with Mikhail. He poured two cups of coffee from the carafe and leaned against a tall dresser, watching her.

Watching her like a big predator, assessing, waiting. She could
feel
him trying to put her together, like a puzzle. Then there was something else in him, brooding and male and resentful.

That look pushed all her buttons, her anger leaping. He’d seen her without her pride, inferred her poverty by the hole in her briefs. Ellie sprung from the bed, tossing back the covers. “Tanya is not used to very many people, and I don’t like you taking control of her. She gets frightened when she’s away from me too long.”

“And you resent that she isn’t in
your
control, dependent upon you. She isn’t a baby. She’s a young child with a natural need to have playmates other than you.”

That Tanya could be swayed so easily did bother Ellie. She walked to the tray and took the coffee cup he offered, splashed with the Amoteh’s strawberry logo. “I know she needs playmates. But we haven’t had time to settle in before they found us and we had to move again.”

“You’re angry with me. Why?”

Because he looked too rugged, as if he could withstand any fight, and because—“Do you think I actually like asking you for help? You’re determined to make me squirm, before you turn me down. Oh, I know the routine. Paul likes to play that game.”

She was shaking with anger, the scenes with her father too familiar. He would ask all the questions, make her answer, and then, when he was tired, he refused her needs. The whole process had served to humiliate her, even as a child. Emotional baggage? Yes, but she couldn’t allow that treatment again.

Ellie placed the coffee cup down on the tray with a click,
careless of the spillage. “Look. It was a mistake to ask you for anything. Now leave. I’m getting dressed and we’re getting out of here.”

Mikhail placed his coffee cup aside slowly, thoughtfully. “You haven’t answered all my questions.”

“No, and I’m not going to. If you’re not leaving, then I am.” With that, she walked to where she had shed her clothing. She frowned as she picked it up, remembering that Mikhail had seen her undress. She’d been so vulnerable with one man, and she wasn’t—

She had one hand on the doorknob when Mikhail picked her up. Surprised, she didn’t have time to fight before he tossed her on the bed. “Stay put.”

No one, not even her father, had ever manhandled her. Ellie pushed upward, only to find Mikhail’s hand on her forehead, pushing her back down. Frustrated and worried and tired, she’d come too far—Ellie struck out blindly, but Mikhail was too quick for her.

In a flurry of movement and cloth, he had cocooned her in the comforter, making movement impossible. She thrashed within the tight clasp of the cloth and finally, winded, spoke furiously, quietly. “If I could just get my hands on you…”

“If looks could kill,” he murmured as she tossed her head and blew a strand of hair from her face.

He sat beside her on the bed, controlling her too easily—physically controlling her where Paul had once used other methods with a young Ellie. “Let me go, Mikhail.”

But those dark green eyes, as brooding as the ocean on a stormy day, were searching her face, touching her too intimately. His gaze darkened, locking on her lips, tracing them. She couldn’t breathe, feeling exposed with Mikhail too close and too powerful, and she resented the blush creeping up her cheeks. In her adult lifetime, she’d learned to protect herself, never letting anyone truly see into her. And now, she could feel Mikhail probing, taking her apart, appraising the pieces too thoroughly….

“Stop watching me.”

“Stop ordering me.”

He was breathing too quietly, intent upon her as he looked slowly down, then up her body. There was just that tensing of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils and the sense that he was too intimately dangerous to her.

“Is your ex-husband going to be a problem in this?” he asked quietly, searching her face, and again that tracing of her mouth, a sensual touch that shivered and warmed in the air between them.

“Mark thinks Tanya should go back to Hillary. No, he won’t be a problem. He’s remarried and has a child. He has the wife he wants.” She didn’t know why she whispered, only that the spacious showroom now seemed as intimate as a bedroom.

“Did that hurt you? That he would have a child with another woman?”

She blinked, trying to making the connection. “No…. Why?”

“If you loved him, it might hurt. Did you love him?”

She didn’t want Mikhail prowling too close to her emotions. Love wasn’t discussed in her family. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“I want to know how the players stand in this game. You practically raised Hillary, from what I understand. And now you have her child.”

“
My
child, Mikhail. Tanya is my child,” Ellie stated fiercely. “Are you going to call Paul?”

She sensed he was satisfied, if only a little as he spoke. “Not now. I want to know more. If you are playing a game with her to defy your family—”

“How can you say that? You know them.”

“Of course. For now, you and Tanya will stay with my parents—they’ve already asked.”

“You won’t call Paul just yet?”

“No.”

She could have kissed him. She badly needed rest and
thinking room, and Tanya needed even more—she needed the security of a home that the Stepanov family could provide, if only for a time.

She eased a hand up to press it against his cheek. She must have shown her gratitude, because Mikhail frowned slightly, then a slow warmth began to rise up his cheeks. She could feel it dance and pulse beneath her fingertips.

Mikhail’s hand curled around her wrist and removed it slowly, firmly. “I’ll want the list of places you’ve lived in the last six months.”

Business, she thought. Mikhail was good at details, but she had nothing to hide now. “I understand. You need confirmation.”

“Of course.” He stood abruptly, nodded and left the room.

Ellie lay on the bed, easing from the tight cloth, and tried to pinpoint Mikhail’s unsettling expression.

As she dressed to join Tanya in the kitchen, Ellie decided that he was embarrassed by her gratitude. She had reached inside him to where a human heart lurked.

She hummed a bit and served herself a buttery croissant, slathered with the Amoteh’s house strawberry jam. For the moment, she had sanctuary for Tanya. On a more personal and separate level, she had Mikhail in retreat, a possibility she couldn’t imagine. He’d actually blushed. All her taunting and playing had failed, and now, without trying, she’d scored a hit on Mikhail—she’d seen just that sliver inside him, the real man. The stakes now were too big to revel in the game or her win. Tanya had to be safe and Mikhail—

Well, Mikhail was Mikhail. Ellie didn’t understand him at all, but she knew she could trust him—on one level. He had said he wouldn’t call Paul, and that meant he wouldn’t.

With that, she inhaled the scent of lemon furniture polish as if it were fresh hope and slid a paper tablet from a lamp table. She began listing the places she’d lived with Tanya in the last six months. There were so many, and always, sooner or later, Hillary or Paul’s emissaries would arrive….

In the gray of early morning, with the fog curling around the tourist pier, the shops deserted now, Mikhail thought about the woman sleeping in his parents’ home. She had been too soft and warm from sleep this morning, cuddling Tanya beside her, the two looking so much alike, gray eyes and blond hair, almost mother and child.

He’d wanted her.
The idea shocked and repelled him. Mikhail knew what she was—spoiled, and a user; she had admitted to contriving her marriage to get the child.