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Not Just the Boss's Plaything(31)

By:Caitlin Crews


Nikolai had never seen her equal. He never would again.

She'd held on to his hand. To him. Almost ferociously, as if she'd    sensed how close he'd been to disappearing right where he stood and had    been determined to stand as his anchor. And so she had.

Nikolai couldn't concentrate on his duties tonight the way he usually    did, with that single-minded focus that was his trademark. He couldn't    think too much about the fact that Ivan had a child on the way, no    matter the vows they'd made as angry young men that they would never    inflict the uncertain Korovin temper on more innocent children.

He couldn't think of anything but that press of Alicia's palm against    his, the tangling of their fingers as if they belonged fused together    like that, the surprising strength of her grip.

As if they were a united front no matter the approaching threat-Miranda,    the pregnancy Ivan had failed to mention, the donors who wanted to be    celebrated and catered to no matter what quiet heartbreaks might  occur   in their midst, even the ravaged wastes of his own frigid  remains of a   soul.                       
       
           



       

She'd held his hand as if she was ready to fight at his side however she    could and that simple gesture had humbled him so profoundly that he    didn't know how he'd remained upright. How he hadn't sunk to his knees    and promised her anything she wanted, anything at all, if she would  only   do that again.

If she would choose him, support him. Defend him. Protect him.

If she would treat him like a man, not a wild animal in need of a cage.    If she would keep treating him like that. Like he really could be    redeemed.

As if she hadn't the smallest doubt.

Because if he wasn't the irredeemable monster he'd always believed-if    both she and Ivan had been right all along-then he could choose. He    could choose the press of her slender fingers against his, a shining    bright light to cut through a lifetime of dark. Warmth instead of cold.    Sun instead of ice. He could choose.

Nikolai had never imagined that was possible. He'd stopped wanting what he couldn't have. He'd stopped wanting.

Alicia made him believe he could be the man he might have been, if only    for a moment. She made him regret, more deeply than he ever had  before,   that he was so empty. That he couldn't give her anything in  return.

Except, a voice inside him whispered, her freedom from this.

From him. From this dirty little war he'd forced her to fight.

Nikolai nearly shuddered where he stood. He kept his eyes trained on    Alicia, who looked over her shoulder as if she felt the weight of his    stare and then smiled at him as if he really was that man.

As if she'd never seen anything else.

That swift taste of her on a gray and frigid London street had led only    to cold showers and a gnawing need inside of him these past few days,    much too close to pain. Nikolai didn't care anymore that he hardly    recognized himself. That he was drowning in this flood she'd let loose    in him. That he was almost thawed through and beyond control, the very    thing he'd feared the most for the whole of his life.

He wanted Alicia more. There was only this one last weekend before    everything went back to normal. Before he had his answer from Veronika.    And then there was absolutely no rational reason he should ever spend    another moment in her company.

He'd intended to have her here, in every way he could. To glut himself    on her as if that could take the place of all her mysteries he'd failed    to solve, the sweet intoxication that was Alicia that he'd never  quite   sobered up from. He'd intended to make this weekend count.

But she'd let him imagine that he was a better man, or could be. He'd    glimpsed himself as she saw him for a brief, brilliant moment, and that    changed everything.

You have to let her go, that voice told him, more forcefully. Now, before it's too late.

He imagined that was his conscience talking. No wonder he didn't recognize it.

Nikolai took her back to their hotel when the dinner finally ground to a    halt not long after midnight. They stood outside her bedroom and he    studied her lovely face, committing it to memory.

Letting her go.

"Nikolai?" Even her voice was pretty. Husky and sweet. "What's the matter?"

He kissed her softly, once, on that very hand that had held his with    such surprising strength and incapacitating kindness. It wasn't what he    wanted. It wasn't enough. But it would be something to take with him,    like a single match against the night.

"You don't need to be here," he said quietly, quickly, because he wasn't    sure he'd do it at all if he didn't do it fast. "Veronika will seek  me   out whether you're with me or not. I'll have the plane ready for  you  in  the morning."

"What are you talking about?" Her voice was small. It shook. "I thought we had a very specific plan. Didn't we?"

"You're free, Alicia." He ground out the words. "Of this game, this blackmail. Of me."

"But-" She reached out to him, but he caught her hand before she could    touch him, because he couldn't trust himself. Not with her. "What if I    don't particularly want to be free?"

Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated. But this was    Alicia. She'd comforted him, protected him, when anyone else would  have   walked away.                       
       
           



       

When everyone else had.

It wasn't a small gesture to him, the way she'd held his hand like that.    It was everything. He had to honor that, if nothing else.

"I know you don't," Nikolai said. He released her hand, and she curled    it into a fist. Fierce and fearless until the end. That was his Alicia.    "But you deserve it. You deserve better."

And then he'd left her there outside her room without another word,    because a good man never would have put her in this position in the    first place, blackmailed her and threatened her, forced her into this    charade for his own sordid ends.

Because he knew it was the right thing to do, and for her, he'd make himself do it, no matter how little he liked it.

* * *

"But I love you," Alicia whispered, knowing he was already gone.

That he'd already melted into the shadows, disappeared down the hall,    and that chances were, he wouldn't want to hear that anyway.

She stood there in that hall for a long time, outside the door to her    bedroom in a mermaid dress and lovely, precarious heels he'd chosen for    her, and told herself she wasn't falling apart.

She was fine.

She was in love with a man who had walked away from her, leaving her    with nothing but a teasing hint of heat on the back of her hand and that    awful finality in his rough, dark voice, but Alicia told herself she    was absolutely, perfectly fine.

Eventually, she moved inside her room and dutifully shut the door. She    pulled off the dress he'd chosen for her and the necklace he'd put    around her neck himself, taking extra care with both of them as she put    them back with the rest of the things she'd leave behind her here.

And maybe her heart along with them.

She tried not to think about that stunned, almost-shattered look in his    beautiful eyes when she'd grabbed his hand. The way his strong fingers    had wrapped around hers, then held her tight, as if he'd never wanted   to  let her go. She tried not to torture herself with the way he'd   looked  at her across the dinner table afterward, over the sounds of   merriment  and too much wine, that faint smile in the corner of his   austere mouth.

But she couldn't think of anything else.

Alicia changed into the old T-shirt she wore to sleep in, washed soft    and cozy over the years, and then she methodically washed her face and    cleaned her teeth. She climbed into the palatial bed set high on a dais    that made her feel she was perched on a stage, and then she glared    fiercely at that book Rosie had given her without seeing a single    well-loved sentence.

The truth was, she'd fallen in love when she'd fallen into him at that club.

It had been that sudden, that irrevocable. That deeply, utterly mad. The    long, hot, darkly exciting and surprisingly emotional night that had    followed had only cemented it. And when he'd let her see those  glimpses   of his vulnerable side, even hidden away in all that ice and  bitter   snow, she'd felt it like a deep tear inside of her because she  hadn't   wanted to accept what she already knew somewhere inside.