Not Just the Boss's Plaything(36)

No matter how badly she wished otherwise. No matter how deeply, how terribly, how irrevocably she loved him.

"Is he?" she asked, hating herself. Betraying herself. "Is your son Nikolai's?"

And Veronika smiled.

* * *

Nikolai saw Alicia from the other side of the ballroom, a flash of    shimmering blue and that particular walk of hers that he would know    across whole cities.

He felt it like a touch. Like she could reach him simply by entering the same room.

Mine, he thought, and that band around his chest clutched hard, but he    was almost used to it now. It meant this woman and her smile were his.    It meant that odd sensation, almost a dizziness, that he found he  didn't   mind at all when he looked at her.

It meant this strange new springtime inside of him, this odd thaw.

At some point last night, it had occurred to him that he might survive this, after all.

Nikolai had lost track of how many times they'd come together in the    night, the storm in him howling itself out with each touch, each taste    of her impossible sweetness. All of her light, his. To bathe in as he    pleased.

And in the morning, she'd still been there. He couldn't remember the    last time any woman had slept in his bed, and he remembered too well    that the first time, Alicia had sneaked away with the dawn.

Daylight was a different animal. Hushed, he thought. Something like    sacred. He'd washed every inch of her delectable body in the steamy    shower, learning her with his eyes as well as his greedy hands. Then    he'd slowly lost his mind when she'd knelt before him on the thick rug    outside the glass enclosure, taking him into her mouth until he'd    groaned out his pleasure to the fogged-up mirrors.

He didn't think he'd ever get enough of her.

She curled her feet beneath her when she sat on the sofa beside him. Her    favorite television program was so embarrassing, she'd claimed, that    she refused to name it. She was addicted to cinnamon and licked up  every   last bit of it from the pastries they'd had at breakfast,    surreptitiously wetting her fingertip and pressing it against the crumbs    until they were gone. She read a great many books, preferred tea  first   thing in the morning but coffee later, and could talk, at  length,  about  architecture and why she thought that if she had it to  do over  again,  she might study it at university.

And that was only today. One day of learning her, and he'd barely    scratched the surface. Nikolai thought that maybe, this time, he    wouldn't have to settle for what he could get. This time, he might let    himself want...everything. Especially the things he'd thought for so    long he couldn't have, that she handed him so sweetly, so unreservedly,    as if they were already his.

Mine, he thought again, in a kind of astonishment that it might be true. That it was even possible. She's mine.

Alicia disappeared in the jostling crowd, and when she reappeared she'd    almost reached him. Nikolai frowned. She was holding herself  strangely,   and there was a certain fullness in her eyes, as if she  were about-

But then he saw the woman who walked behind her, that vicious little    smile on her cold lips and victory in her gaze, and his blood ran cold.

Like ice in his veins and this time, it hurt. It burned as he froze.

"Privyet, Nikolai," Veronika purred triumphantly when the two of them    finally reached him. As sure of herself as she'd ever been. And as    callous. "Look who I discovered. Such a coincidence, no?"                       
       
           



       

This, he thought, was why he had no business anywhere near a bright    creature like Alicia. He'd destroy her without even meaning to do it.    He'd already started.

This is who you are, he reminded himself bitterly, and it was worse    because he'd let himself believe otherwise. He'd fallen for the lie that    he could ever be anything but the monster he was. It only took a   glance  at Veronika, that emblem of the bad choices he'd made and with   whom, to  make him see that painful truth.

"Alicia. Look at me."

And when she did, when she finally raised her gaze to his, he    understood. It went off inside him like a grenade, shredding him into    strips, and that was only the tiniest fraction of the pain, the torment,    he saw in Alicia's lovely brown eyes.

Dulled with the pain of whatever Veronika had said to her.

He'd done this. He'd put her in harm's way. He was responsible.

Nikolai had been tested last night. He'd had the opportunity to do the    right thing, to imagine himself a good man and then act like one, and    he'd failed. Utterly.

All of his demons were right.

Nikolai moved swiftly then, a cold clarity sweeping through him like a    wind. He ordered Veronika to make herself scarce, told her he'd come    find her later and that she'd better have the answer he wanted, and he    did it in Russian so Alicia wouldn't hear the particularly descriptive    words he used to get his point across.

"No need," Veronika said, also in Russian, looking satisfied and cruel.    He wanted to wring her neck. "I had the test done long ago. You're not    the father. Do you want to know who is?" She'd smiled at Nikolai's    frigid glare. "I'll have the paperwork sent to your attorney."

"Do that," Nikolai growled, and if there was a flash of pain at another    small hope snuffed out, he ignored it. He'd see to it that Stefan was    taken care of no matter what, and right now, he had other things to    worry about.

He forgot Veronika the moment he looked away. He took Alicia's arm and    he led her toward the door, amazed that she let him touch her. When  they   got to the great foyer, he let her go so he could pull his mobile  from   his tuxedo jacket and send a quick, terse text to his personal    assistant.

"Whatever you're about to say, don't," he told her when she started to    speak, not sure he could keep the riot of self-hatred at bay just then.    She pressed her lips together and scowled fiercely at the floor, and   his  self-loathing turned black.

Your first response when you feel something is to attack, Ivan had said.    But Nikolai had no idea how to stop. And for the first time since he    was a boy, he realized that that sinking feeling in him was fear.

He slipped his mobile back in his pocket, and guided her toward the    front of the hotel, not stopping until they'd reached the glass doors    that led out through the colonnaded entrance into the December night.    Above them, the palatial stairs soared toward the former palace's grand    facade, but this entranceway was more private. And it was where his    people would meet them and take her away from him. Take her    somewhere-anywhere she was safe.

Finally, he let himself look at her again.

She was hugging herself, her arms bare and tight over her body. There    was misery in her dark eyes, her full lips trembled, and he'd done this.    He'd hurt her. Veronika had hurt him, and he'd been well nigh    indestructible. Why had he imagined she wouldn't do her damage to    something as bright and clean as Alicia, simply to prove she could?    She'd probably been sharpening her talons since the first picture hit    the tabloids.

This was entirely his fault.

"Your ex-wife is an interesting woman," Alicia said.

"She's malicious and cruel, and those are her better qualities," Nikolai bit out. "What did she say to you?"

"It doesn't matter what she said." There was a torn, thick sound in her    voice, and she tilted back her chin as if she was trying to be brave.   He  hated himself. "Everyone has secrets. God knows, I kept mine for   long  enough."

"Alicia-"

"I know what it's like to disappoint people, Nikolai," she said    fiercely. "I know what it's like to become someone the people you love    won't look at anymore, whether you've earned it or not."                       
       
           



       

He almost laughed. "You can't possibly understand the kind of life I've    led. I dreamed about a father who would care about me at all, even one    who shunned me for imagined sins."