The Russian's Tender Lover (The Sisterhood) (12 page)

“We can’t do this here,” he said and stood up, taking her with him, his arms cradling her as he walked up the beach.

“Do what?” she asked, confused and not liking the way he’d stopped kissing and touching her.

Sergei shook his head, “Whatever you want to call this, we’re not doing it here on the beach. Sand isn’t romantic no matter what those trashy novels say and I prefer my privacy when having sex so I don’t particularly want the servants either accidentally or on purpose catching a glimpse of our activities.”

Darcy shook her head at his words and the shivering that had previously been from his touch was now a shaking to her core because of his words. “Is that what this is? We’re having sex?”

Sergei looked down at the woman in his arms and knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. He couldn’t help it though. Wrapping up a physical activity in pretty words of love just wasn’t his style, no matter how turned on he was. “Yes. We’re going to have sex, Darcy. You and me and there’s nothing wrong with it. You can call it ‘making love’ or some other euphemism for mutual enjoyment of our bodies, but it all comes down to the same thing. Sex in its most basic and fulfilling form.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her hands wrapped around the muscles of his upper arms as she considered his statement. She understood that he wasn’t emotionally involved but she realized that she was. For some bizarre, stupid and ironically hilarious reason, she actually cared for this man, cared about what he thought of her.

“Would you put me down,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.

He obliged, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to argue with her but was being too gentlemanly to do so.

“Thank you,” she said as she straightened her clothes, unable to look at him as she pulled her wet shirt back on. “I apologize for leading you on. That was very…” she couldn’t think of a correct, polite phrase for what she’d just put him through but settled on, “inconsiderate of me. Please accept my apologies and I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible.” With her shoulders straight but her head bowed in shame, she walked into the house, then raced down the hallway to her bedroom, almost tripping on the puppies who thought she was ready to play. She waited all of five seconds for the momma dog and the puppies to follow her into her room, then slammed the door, sliding down to the floor and burying her face into the momma dog’s soft fur, grateful when all the puppies wiggled around her, licking at her face in their sweet, innocent effort to console her.

Chapter 9

“Call!” Manuel demanded, his eyes stern as he looked across the table. “Two pair, kings high! Beat that, little lady!”

Darcy chewed on the end of her straw, looking back at Manuel with a satisfied grin. “Is that all you got?” she quipped. Laying down her cards, she fanned out her three of a kind, all eights and chuckled as Adele tossed her cards onto the table with a disgusted sigh while Tim guffawed, already having folded his hand several minutes earlier as the stakes increased beyond his comfort zone.

“Come to momma,” she laughed as she pulled the thirty five cents into her growing pile of pennies, already worth more than fifty cents she calculated.

“We should never have let her into the game,” Manuel laughed to Adele and Tim. “She knew nothing two hours ago and now she’s smacking us down.”

Adele laughed as well. “She seems to have a knack for it. Who would have known?”

Tim was already shaking his head. “You should have seen it in her eyes, my friends. And now, I have to be off. The sunrise waits for no one,” he said as he shifted his chair back.

Adele also sighed heavily as she too got up from the table. “He’s right. I’d better be off to bed. Special breakfast tomorrow morning.” She looked at Darcy and noted the extra few pounds. “You’re looking much better, my dear. But a few more mornings of my healthy breakfasts and you’ll look great.”

“But it’s only nine o’clock,” she cried. “You can’t leave me now. The night’s still early.”

“I’ll take their place,” Sergei’s deep voice said from the doorway of the kitchen.

Darcy’s head spun around to look at him and no matter how hard she tried, there was no way to stop the blush that crept up her neck as her eyes collided with his grey ones.

The others disappeared and Sergei walked in, sitting down across from her, watching as she became more and more flustered. He really liked that about her, he thought, that he could affect her just by walking into the room. And damn, when he touched her, she went up in flames for him. That was a heady feeling and he’d wanted more of it ever since this morning on the beach.

The problem was, he didn’t understand her. She definitely wasn’t the kind of woman he’d originally thought she was so who was she? The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit and he hated a mystery, always needing to uncover the truth of any situation.

And if he were completely honest with himself, she fascinated him. He wanted to know why she stiffened up at odd times, reverting to painful politeness or retreating behind a façade of ice princess. He wanted to break down those barriers and see what lay underneath. The glamour was washed away with the island casualness but there were so many other layers that didn’t make sense. He’d peel them away and find out the truth. Then he’d be satisfied, he told himself.

“What are the stakes?” he asked, watching her facial features, curious as to why a party girl who hopped from night club to night club in all the most glamorous cities of the world and wore dresses costing thousands of dollars each time, would be holed up in a kitchen playing cards with the servants. And enjoying it, no less.

Why wasn’t she complaining about her confinement, demanding to be entertained like his previous mistresses had always done? This tiny slip of a woman simply found ways to entertain herself, learning a new skill, helping out where she could, laughing it up with people she was supposed to deem unworthy of her attention. And her reading materials certainly didn’t fit with the flighty, aimless image she projected. Her tears over a working class woman’s pain were completely out of the realm of party girl topics to discuss.

Damn, she was beautiful, he thought as he shuffled the cards, enjoying simply sitting across from her and watching the emotions flit across her face. He knew the exact moment when she had come up with what she considered a viable lie to get out of playing cards with him.

“I don’t want to bother you and, the others were right, it’s pretty late.”

“Nonsense,” he countered, almost smiling at how predictable she was. “You slept in more than an hour later than they did, plus you fell asleep this afternoon. So you’re well rested.”

Her fingers fluttered in the air and he chuckled. “No…I…”

“You’re scared of being alone with me,” he said softly, leaning forward and dealing the cards swiftly with his strong, lean fingers.

She stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled and her shoulders drooped. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Why?”

She examined her nail as she considered how to answer him. “Because I’m afraid of you.”

He grinned, impressed that she was able to be honest even if that added another slight mystery to the puzzle. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Are you going to keep your distance from me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” she asked with a pained expression.

“Because of this morning.” He started dealing the cards rapidly, his fingers flying and the cards landing almost perfectly in a pile right in front of her.

Darcy picked up the cards, anger building inside of her. “That’s exactly why I want to keep my distance and for you to be considerate and keep your own as well.”

He tossed in ten pennies while shaking his head. “That’s exactly why I’m not going to keep my distance. And you don’t really want me to,” he countered, looking at his cards and shifting them about slightly.

“How could you bet ten cents when you haven’t even really settled your cards?” she asked with a grimace as she shifted her own, keeping her pennies right in front of her until she’d developed her strategy for this hand.

“I’d already seen my cards.”

“And you already knew exactly what odds you needed to play?” she asked sarcastically.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” she sighed. “Fine. Here’s your ten cents and give me three cards.” No way was she going to lose to this man.

She lost the next three hands, losing all of her gains from the previous card game.

“You’re not watching me,” he said calmly as he dealt the next hand and watched her fume at her losses.

“Why would I watch you?”

“Because then you’ll know when I’m bluffing. You don’t really play your own hand,” he said as the cards flew across the table once again. “You play your opponent’s hand.”

“Really,” she scoffed. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“By watching me. Analyzing my body language and noting anything different while I play.”

She glanced up at him and her breath caught in her throat. He was leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, his legs stretched out underneath the table and looking like an extremely large panther, waiting to pounce. That impression only increased when he looked up from his cards, straight into her eyes and she caught the intensity there, the patience that told her this was so much more than a card game.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked against her better judgment.

“You don’t want to know,” he said and tossed down two cards.

Darcy took the cowards way out and looked back down. “Perhaps its better I don’t know. I’ll take two cards,” she said and tossed them into the center of the table.

Picking up the new cards that he tossed her way, she bit her lower lip in excitement. “I fold,” she heard him say as soon as she set her two new cards next to her others.

“Why?” she asked, exasperated since she finally had a hand with which she could beat him. “Pick them up and play the hand you’re dealt.”

He chuckled softly. “No way. You can definitely beat me with whatever is in your hand. You take the pot and deal the next hand.

In a huff, she tossed her cards down and pulled the ante up to her now measly pile. Shuffling the cards, she looked across the table at him. “Okay, teach me,” she demanded.

He raised one eyebrow. “Teach you what?”

She shook her head at his response. “Not what you’re thinking. Teach me to play this game so that no one will know what I’m thinking.”

“Maybe I like knowing what you’re thinking and don’t want you to be a blank slate.”

She shuffled the cards one more time, then pushed them towards him to cut the deck. “Are you afraid I’ll win?”

He considered her words for a long moment, his eyes watching, considering. “What’s in it for me?”

She dealt the cards easily, but not nearly as efficiently as he had done. “What do you want?”

“You.”

She was startled by his overt answer and her face showed it, wishing it were otherwise. Looking down, she concentrated on her task. “What would be your second place prize. Not that you’re going to win, mind you.”

He laughed softly . “What are you offering?”

“My wonderful presence at your meals?” she offered with a cheeky grin.

“I get that anyway. How about some answers?”

That startled her and she looked across the table at him. “Answers to what?” She tossed five pennies into the pot as did he, starting the bidding.

“Answers to the mystery of Darcy DiAngelo.”

She shrugged and tossed three cards onto the table. “What you see is what you get.”

“Not even close.” He took four for himself, tossing twenty cents into the pot before he’d barely glanced at the cards.

“I’m not that mysterious,” she said.

“Stop biting your lip,” he ordered. “It’s a sign that you’re unsure of what I have.”

Darcy stopped immediately, hadn’t even been aware that she was doing it, but his words were accurate. She had two pair right now, which was a relatively good hand, but weak, since she only had two fives. Anything two pair above that would beat her.

As they played cards, bantering back and forth as the pennies and cards flew back and forth, he taught her some of her ‘signs’, indications she gave out that told her opponent how good of a hand she was holding. She learned quickly and tried to become more adept at hiding her emotions, but each time she had something good, he folded immediately. And each time she had a bad hand, he slaughtered her to the point that she didn’t even dare to bluff anymore, laughing as he told her each of the ways she’d given her hand away.

“I fold,” she said, placing her cards down on the table several hours later. “I think I’d better call it a night,” she said and swept her pennies up into her hand, irritated that he’d won almost all of her gains from earlier in the evening.