Luring a Lady Read online

  But when Sydney turned, Natasha saw that her eyes were wet.

  “Oh, please.” Quickly she moved to Sydney’s side to take her hand. “Don’t be upset. They don’t mean it.”

  “No. I know.” Desperately embarrassed, she blinked the tears back. “I wasn’t upset. It was just—it was silly. Watching them was something like looking at a really beautiful painting or hearing some incredibly lovely music. I got carried away.”

  She didn’t need to say more. Natasha understood after Spence’s explanation of Sydney’s background that there had never been softball games, horseplay or the fun of passionate arguments in her life.

  “You love him very much.”

  Sydney fumbled. That quiet statement wasn’t as easy to respond to as Rachel’s cocky question had been.

  “It’s not my business,” Natasha continued. “But he is special to me. And I see that you’re special to him. You don’t find him an easy man.”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  Natasha glanced outside again, and her gaze rested on her husband, who was currently wrestling both Freddie and Brandon on the grass. Not so many years before, she thought, she’d been afraid to hope for such things.

  “Does he frighten you?”

  Sydney started to deny it, then found herself speaking slowly, thoughtfully. “The hugeness of his emotions sometimes frightens me. He has so many, and he finds it so easy to feel them, understand them, express them. I’ve never been the type to be led by mine, or swept away by them. Sometimes he just overwhelms me, and that’s unnerving.”

  “He is what he feels,” Natasha said simply. “Would you like to see some of it?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to a wall of shelves.

  Lovely carved and painted figures danced across the shelves, some of them so tiny and exquisite it seemed impossible that any hand could have created them.

  A miniature house with a gingerbread roof and candy-cane shutters, a high silver tower where a beautiful woman’s golden hair streamed from the topmost window, a palm-sized canopy bed where a handsome prince knelt beside a lovely, sleeping princess.

  “He brought me this one yesterday.” Natasha picked up the painted figure of a woman at a spinning wheel. It sat on a tiny platform scattered with wisps of straw and specks of gold. “The miller’s daughter from Rumpelstiltskin.” She smiled, tracing the delicate fingertips that rode the spindle.

  “They’re lovely, all of them. Like a magical world of their own.”

  “Mikhail has magic,” Natasha said. “For me, he carves fairy tales, because I learned English by reading them. Some of his work is more powerful, tragic, erotic, bold, even frightening. But it’s always real, because it comes from inside him as much as from the wood or stone.”

  “I know. What you’re trying to show me here is his sensitivity. It’s not necessary. I’ve never known anyone more capable of kindness or compassion.”

  “I thought perhaps you were afraid he would hurt you.”

  “No,” Sydney said quietly. She thought of the richness of heart it would take to create something as beautiful, as fanciful as the diminutive woman spinning straw into gold. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

  “Sydney—” But the back door slammed and feet clambered down the hall.

  The interruption relieved Sydney. Confiding her feelings was new and far from comfortable. It amazed her that she had done so with a woman she’d known less than a day.

  There was something about this family, she realized. Something as magical as the fairy-tale figures Mikhail carved for his sister. Perhaps the magic was as simple as happiness.

  As the afternoon wore on, they ebbed and flowed out of the house, noisy, demanding and very often dirty. Nadia eventually cleared the decks by ordering all of the men outside.

  “How come they get to go out and sit in the shade with a bottle of beer while we do the cooking,” Rachel grumbled as her hands worked quickly, expertly with potatoes and a peeler.

  “Because…” Nadia put two dozen eggs on boil. “In here they will pick at the food, get big feet in my way and make a mess.”

  “Good point. Still—”

  “They’ll have to clean the mess we make,” Natasha told her.

  Satisfied, Rachel attacked another potato. Her complaints were only tokens. She was a woman who loved to cook as much as she loved trying a case. “If Vera was here, they wouldn’t even do that.”

  “Our housekeeper,” Natasha explained to Sydney while she sliced and chopped a mountain of vegetables. “She’s been with us for years. We gave her the month off to take a trip with her sister. Could you wash those grapes?”

  Obediently Sydney followed instructions, scrubbing fruit, fetching ingredients, stirring the occasional pot. But she knew very well that three efficient women were working around her.

  “You can make deviled eggs,” Nadia said kindly when she noted Sydney was at a loss. “They will be cool soon.”

  “I, ah…” She stared, marginally horrified, at the shiny white orbs she’d rinsed in the sink. “I don’t know how.”

  “Your mama didn’t teach you to cook?” It wasn’t annoyance in Nadia’s voice, just disbelief. Nadia had considered it her duty to teach every one of her children—whether they’d wanted to learn or not.

  As far as Sydney knew, Margerite had never boiled an egg much less deviled one. Sydney offered a weak smile. “No, she taught me how to order in restaurants.”

  Nadia patted her cheek. “When they cool, I show you how to make them the way Mikhail likes best.” She murmured in Ukrainian when Katie’s waking wail came through the kitchen intercom. On impulse, Natasha shook her head before Nadia could dry her hands and go up to fetch her granddaughter.

  “Sydney, would you mind?” With a guileless smile, Natasha turned to her. “My hands are full.”

  Sydney blinked and stared. “You want me to go get the baby?”

  “Please.”

  More than a little uneasy, Sydney started out of the kitchen.

  “What are you up to, Tash?” Rachel wanted to know.

  “She wants family.”

  With a hoot of laughter, Rachel swung an arm around her sister and mother. “She’ll get more than her share with this one.”

  The baby sounded very upset, Sydney thought as she hurried down the hall. She might be sick. What in the world had Natasha been thinking of not coming up to get Katie herself? Maybe when you were the mother of three, you became casual about such things. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the nursery.

  Katie, her hair curling damply around her face, was hanging on to the side of the crib and howling. Unsteady legs dipped and straightened as she struggled to keep her balance. One look at Sydney had her tear-drenched face crumpling. She flung out her arms, tilted and landed on her bottom on the bright pink sheet.

  “Oh, poor baby,” Sydney crooned, too touched to be nervous. “Did you think no one was coming?” She picked the sniffling baby up, and Katie compensated for Sydney’s awkwardness by cuddling trustingly against her body. “You’re so little. Such a pretty little thing.” On a shuddering sigh, Katie tipped her head back. “You look like your uncle, don’t you? He got embarrassed when I said he was gorgeous, but you are.”

  Downstairs, three women chuckled as Sydney’s voice came clearly through the intercom.

  “Oh-oh.” After giving the little bottom an affectionate pat, Sydney discovered a definite problem. “You’re wet, right? Look, I figure your mother could handle this in about thirty seconds flat—that goes for everybody else downstairs. But everybody else isn’t here. So what do we do?”

  Katie had stopped sniffling and was blowing bubbles with her mouth while she tugged on Sydney’s hair. “I guess we’ll give it a try. I’ve never changed a diaper in my life,” she began as she glanced around the room. “Or deviled an egg or played softball, or any damn thing. Whoops. No swearing in front of the baby. Here we go.” She spotted a diaper bag in bold green stripes. “Oh, God, Katie, they’re real ones
.”

  Blowing out a breath, she took one of the neatly folded cotton diapers. “Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound. We’ll just put you down on here.” Gently she laid Katie on the changing table and prepared to give the operation her best shot.

  “Hey.” Mikhail bounded into the kitchen and was greeted by three hissing “shhs!”

  “What?”

  “Sydney’s changing Katie,” Natasha murmured and smiled at the sounds flowing through the intercom.

  “Sydney?” Mikhail forgot the beer he’d been sent to fetch and stayed to listen.

  “Okay, we’re halfway there.” Katie’s little butt was dry and powdered. Perhaps a little over powdered, but better to err on the side of caution, Sydney’d figured. Her brow creased as she attempted to make the fresh diaper look like the one she’d removed, sans dampness. “This looks pretty close. What do you think?” Katie kicked her feet and giggled. “You’d be the expert. Okay, this is the tricky part. No wriggling.”

  Of course, she did. The more she wriggled and kicked, the more Sydney laughed and cuddled. When she’d managed to secure the diaper, Katie looked so cute, smelled so fresh, felt so soft, she had to cuddle some more. Then it seemed only right that she hold Katie up high so the baby could squeal and kick and blow more bubbles.

  The diaper sagged but stayed generally where it belonged.

  “Okay, gorgeous, now we’re set. Want to go down and see Mama?”

  “Mama,” Katie gurgled, and bounced in Sydney’s arms. “Mama.”

  In the kitchen, four people scattered and tried to look busy or casual.

  “Sorry it took so long,” she began as she came in. “She was wet.” She saw Mikhail and stopped, her cheek pressed against Katie’s.

  When their eyes met, color washed to her cheeks. The muscles in her thighs went lax. It was no way, no way at all, she thought, for him to be looking at her with his mother and sisters in the room.

  “I’ll take her.” Stepping forward, he held out his arms. Katie stretched into them. Still watching Sydney, he rubbed his cheek over the baby’s head and settled her with a natural ease on his hip. “Come here.” Before Sydney could respond, he cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her against him for a long, blood-thumping kiss. Well used to such behavior, Katie only bounced and gurgled.

  Slowly he slid away, then smiled at her. “I’ll come back for the beer.” Juggling Katie, he swaggered out, slamming the screen door behind him.

  “Now.” Nadia took a dazed Sydney by the hands. “You make deviled eggs.”

  The sun was just setting on the weekend when Sydney unlocked the door of her apartment. She was laughing—and she was sure she’d laughed more in two days than she had in her entire life. She set the packages she carried on the sofa as Mikhail kicked the door closed.

  “You put more in here to come back than you had when you left,” he accused, and set her suitcase down.

  “One or two things.” Smiling, she walked over to slip her arms around his waist. It felt good, wonderfully good, especially knowing that his would circle her in response. “Dyakuyu,” she said, sampling thank you in his language.

  “You mangle it, but you’re welcome.” He kissed both her cheeks. “This is the traditional greeting or farewell.”

  She had to bite the tip of her tongue to hold back the grin. “I know.” She also knew why he was telling her—again. She’d been kissed warmly by each member of the family. Not the careless touch of cheek to cheek she was accustomed to, but a firm pressure of lips, accompanied by a full-blooded embrace. Only Alex hadn’t settled for her cheeks.

  “Your brother kisses very well.” Eyes as solemn as she could manage, Sydney touched her lips to Mikhail’s cheeks in turn. “It must run in the family.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Well…” She shot Mikhail a look from under her lashes. “He did have a certain style.”

  “He’s a boy,” Mikhail muttered, though Alex was less than two years his junior.

  “Oh, no.” This time a quick laugh bubbled out. “He’s definitely not a boy. But I think you have a marginal advantage.”

  “Marginal.”

  She linked her hands comfortably behind his neck. “As a carpenter, you’d know that even a fraction of an inch can be vital—for fit.”

  His hands snagged her hips to settle her against him. “So, I fit you, Hayward?”

  “Yes.” She smiled as he touched his lips to her brow. “It seems you do.”

  “And you like my kisses better than Alex’s?”

  She sighed, enjoying the way his mouth felt skimming down her temples, over her jaw. “Marginally.” Her eyes flew open when he pinched her. “Well, really—”

  But that was all she managed to get out before his mouth closed over hers. She thought of flash fires, ball lightning and electrical overloads. With a murmur of approval, she tossed heat back at him.

  “Now.” Instantly aroused, he scooped her up in his arms. “I suppose I must prove myself.”

  Sydney hooked her arms around his neck. “If you insist.”

  A dozen long strides and he was in the bedroom, where he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. By the time she had her breath back, he’d yanked off his shirt and shoes.

  “What are you grinning at?” he demanded.

  “It’s that pirate look again.” Still smiling, she brushed hair out of her eyes. “All you need is a saber and a black patch.”

  He hooked his thumbs in frayed belt loops. “So, you think I’m a barbarian.”

  She let her gaze slide up his naked torso, over the wild mane of hair, the stubble that proved he hadn’t bothered to pack a razor for the weekend. To his eyes, those dark, dramatic, dangerous eyes. “I think you’re dazzling.”

  He would have winced but she looked so small and pretty, sitting on the bed, her hair tumbled from the wind, her face still flushed from his rough, impatient kiss.

  He remembered how she’d looked, walking into the kitchen, carrying Katie. Her eyes had been full of delight and wonder and shyness. She’d flushed when his mother had announced that Sydney had made the eggs herself. And again, when his father had wrapped her in a bear hug. But Mikhail had seen that she’d hung on, that her fingers had curled into Yuri’s shirt, just for an instant.

  There were dozens of other flashes of memory. How she’d snuggled the puppy or taken Brandon’s hand or stroked Freddie’s hair.

  She needed love. She was strong and smart and sensible. And she needed love.

  Frowning, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Uneasiness skidded down Sydney’s spine.

  “What is it? What did I do wrong?”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that strain of insecurity and doubt in her voice. Biting back the questions and the impatience, he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s me.” Turning her hand over, he pressed a soft kiss in the center of her palm, then to her wrist where her pulse was beating as quickly from fear as from arousal. “I forget to be gentle with you. To be tender.”

  She’d hurt his feelings. His ego. She hadn’t been responsive enough. Too responsive. Oh, God. “Mikhail, I was only teasing about Alex. I wasn’t complaining.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “No.” Shifting to her knees, she threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. “I want you,” she said desperately. “You know how much I want you.”

  Even as the fire leaped in his gut, he brought his hands lightly to her face, fingers stroking easily. The emotion he poured into the kiss came from the heart only and was filled with sweetness, with kindness, with love.

  For a moment, she struggled for the heat, afraid she might never find it. But his mouth was so soft, so patient. As her urgency turned to wonder, his lips rubbed over hers. And the friction sparked not the familiar flash fire, but a warm glow, golden, so quietly beautiful her throat ached with it. Even when he took the kiss deeper, deeper, there was only tenderness. Weakened by it, her body melted like wax. Her hands slid limp and usele
ss from his shoulders in total surrender.

  “Beautiful. So beautiful,” he murmured as he laid her back on the bed, emptying her mind, stirring her soul with long, drowning kisses. “I should be shot for showing you only one way.”

  “I can’t…” Think, breathe, move.

  “Shh.” Gently, with an artist’s touch, he undressed her. “Tonight is only for you. Only to enjoy.” His breath caught as the dying sunlight glowed over her skin. She looked too fragile to touch. Too lovely not to. “Let me show you what you are to me.”

  Everything. She was everything. After tonight he wanted her to have no doubt of it. With slow, worshipful hands, he showed her that beyond passion, beyond desire, was a merging of spirits. A generosity of the soul.

  Love could be peaceful, selfless, enduring.

  Her body was a banquet, fragrant, dazzling with erotic flavors. But tonight, he sampled slowly, savoring, sharing. Each sigh, each shudder filled him with gratitude that she was his.

  He wouldn’t allow her to race. Helpless to resist, she floated down the long, dark river where he guided her through air the essence of silk. Never, not even during their most passionate joining, had she been so aware of her own body. Her own texture and shape and scent. And his. Oh, Lord, and his.

  Those rock-hard muscles and brute strength now channeled into unimagined gentleness. The subtlety of movement elicited new longings, fresh knowledge and a symphony of understanding that was exquisite in its harmony.

  Let me give you. Let me show you. Let me take.

  Sensitive fingertips traced over her, lingering to arouse, moving on to seek out some new shattering pleasure. And from her pleasure came his own, just as sweet, just as staggering, just as simple.

  She could hear her own breathing, a quiet, trembling sound as the room deepened with night. A tribute to beauty, tears dampened her cheeks and thickened her voice when she spoke his name.

  His mouth covered hers again as at last he slipped inside her. Enfolded in her, cradled by her, he trembled under the long, sighing sweep of sensation. Her mouth opened beneath his, her arms lifted, circled, held.

  More. He remembered that he had once fought desperately for more. Now, with her, he had all.