The Professional (46 page)

Other times, he would make love to me with touches and kisses so worshipful, I couldn’t decide which side of him I craved more.

“And until we can get to the
banya
,” he said in a husky voice, “what should we do for our health?”

“A chess rematch? Or maybe a hot shower for two?” We conserved water whenever possible because we were responsible citizens. Who liked sex in the shower.

“I have an idea. But it’d be better if I showed you. . . .” He trailed off, his expression filled with sensual promise.

At that look, a puff of breath escaped me. “Can we walk faster, Sevastyan?”

Instead, he stopped, drawing me even closer. “As much as it pains me to say this, my brother was right. You should call me by something other than my last name.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Anything. Pick something out of a hat.”

“Wow, so many options.” Decades ago, he’d chosen Aleksandr for himself. Maybe I’d shape it up a bit. “It could be that I’ve got a name already picked out. Perhaps I’m just waiting for the right time to tell you.”

“Why wait?”

“Are you being . . . impatient?” In a saucy tone, I countered, “Okay, then why are you waiting to propose to me?”

Sexy grin. “I can’t much longer—I know you’re going to want to marry when we go to Nebraska.”

Busted.
Our first night together, he’d mentioned my wearing
“his gold.” Who knew I’d first wear it in the form of a wedding ring? I quirked a brow. “Pretty confident I’ll be your wife, aren’t you?”

He removed his glove to smooth the backs of his fingers over my cheek.
“Eto dlya nas neizbezhno, milaya.”  
It’s inevitable.

W
e lay in our bed that night, catching our breath after a round of bone-melting sex. Sevastyan was still softly thrusting, brushing kisses over my face.

I was utterly sated, basking in heavy-lidded bliss as the nearby fire crackled. Outside, snow pelted the windows and winds howled, but all was cozy within.

Tonight, I’d decided that there was nothing better than watching his body move by firelight—and that this man possessed a never-ending bag of carnal tricks.

When he trailed his lips down to my neck, I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, arching to his mouth.

Between kisses, he rasped against my damp skin,
“Ya lyublyu tebya.”  
I love you.

A log popped in the fire; I grinned like an idiot.

He tensed when I didn’t answer, raising his head with an alarmed expression. “What is it?”

Still grinning, I said, “It’s nice to hear those words.” I leaned up and kissed the bridge of his nose.

His lips curled. “I can only imagine.”

With all my heart, I told him,
“Ya lyublyu tebya,
Aleks.”

“Aleks?” He cupped my face with his rough palms, eyes lively. “Of all the names, this is what you’ve decided to call me?”

“You don’t like it?” I asked, though I could tell he did.

Molten gold.
“I like it.” Then he leaned down to give me a lover’s kiss like no other. . . .

The night I’d met Aleks Sevastyan, I’d wished for someone to snuggle up with through the winter.

I’d never imagined that the winter nights would be this cold—or that the warm arms around me could be so strong.