Married By Christmas: His Pregnant Christmas Bride / Carter Bravo's Christmas Bride. Christine Rimmer
path. Ivan stiffened as he saluted them without stopping, but they surrounded them, gushing in excitement over him and looking curiously at her.
Turned out they were waiting for Ivan to consider investing in their start-up. Having his ear in person was like a windfall they were ready to prostrate themselves for.
Realizing Ivan wouldn’t give it to them, she turned to him and murmured for his ears only, “Apart from the president, it would be nice to meet live Russians who aren’t your reverent employees.”
His breath heated her neck as he whispered back, “You’ll find those who wish for my favor are even worse sycophants than those already on my payroll.”
But true to his ongoing quest to grant her every wish, he accepted the group’s eager invitation to sit at their table.
Taking the plunge, she sat across the table for eight from Ivan, so that she could talk to others for a change. Not that there was much talking at first. It seemed the others were at a loss what to do with Ivan now that they’d gotten his attention. It was clear they’d expected him to turn down their invitation, had probably hoped at most for an invitation to call him directly. Now that he shockingly sat among them, they were as clearly overwhelmed by the godlike brooding entity who dominated the whole restaurant.
They grew more flustered when they ventured to speak, doing it in Russian, only to have Ivan answer in English. They tried to accommodate him, but none of them could hold more than a basic conversation in English. For some reason, Ivan never spoke Russian to her except in endearments though he knew she was fluent. She’d left Russia at only two, but her parents and Alex had continued to teach her. Wanting to put the others at ease, she spoke up in Russian, inviting everyone, starting with Ivan, to follow suit.
After that, to her surprise, being among a group of people, strangers but young and spirited, turned out to be far easier than she expected. It was an even nicer surprise to find herself falling back into the ease of her previously sociable self.
And all the time, she felt Ivan’s gaze on her, even as he interacted with everyone, letting them court his favor but generally taking control of the gathering. And though he did it all smoothly, masterfully, every time one of the men had an aside with her, she felt a spike in the heat of his focus on her.
Basking in what she chose to label as jealousy, something she hadn’t felt from Ivan before, she turned to the guy on her right. The man she was introduced to as Mikhail Popov was around her age with boyish blond good looks. He had been the funniest throughout dinner, and the easiest to read. His expression mixed blatant admiration of her with extreme awe and maybe a little envy of Ivan. More than a little tipsy now, he’d tapped her forearm to catch her attention. She turned to him and he stared at her blankly as if he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say already.
Suddenly he blinked, then exclaimed, “Ah, yes. I heard that Mr. Konstantinov bought a mansion fit for a czar. Does it really have nine bedroom suites, two wine cellars and two indoor pools, not to mention thirty acres of gardens and grounds and a twenty-car garage?”
Anastasia smiled at his slurred, list-like question. “I haven’t actually counted the suites, or the maximum occupancy of the garage, but that sounds about right.”
Mikhail sat back in his chair, looking stupefied. “Now that’s putting his money to good use, getting a place large enough to accommodate all of his mistresses at once.”
His words fell on her like a kick, hitting her where she’d been shot, cut open and put back together. Not even the bullets or the post-operative wound had hurt that much.
To suppress her reaction, she turned blindly to yet another man who drew her attention on her other side. She didn’t really hear what that other man said, didn’t know what she said in answer, her stomach churning harder as she felt the intensity of Ivan’s gaze flare up. She had no doubt he’d noticed her condition.
Then without preamble, he stood up and threw down his napkin, silencing everyone at the table at once, not to mention almost the whole restaurant.
He beckoned to the maître d’, who came running, muttered instructions about settling everyone’s bill. He walked around the table to her and her heart thudded at the barely leashed wrath in his predatory approach. For a moment she dreaded being alone with him. Yet to resist would probably cause a bigger scene than the one already unfolding, so she rose silently to her feet.
She wasn’t sure if she managed an acceptable goodbye to their stunned and apprehensive companions, but she doubted they even noticed. They were too busy shivering at the malevolent glare Ivan turned on Mikhail. Ivan had noticed the blond man had been the one to upset her, and seemed to be calculating appropriate retribution. The poor drunk man probably had no idea what he’d said wrong, and most likely wouldn’t even remember saying it at all when he sobered up.
Grabbing Ivan’s arm, she tried to rush him away. She could have sooner moved a concrete pillar. As her nerves screamed in dread that he’d escalate right here and now, it seemed her mortification got to him. He suddenly turned his gaze to her, his eyes probing, solicitous. Taking advantage of his distraction, she tugged at him again and this time he let her steer him toward the entrance, where their coats and car were brought over.
The moment they were in the car, he insisted on knowing what Mikhail had said to upset her so much, but she managed to dodge his questions all the way back to his mansion.
Once inside, she tried to rush up to her suite, the one he didn’t share. Whatever intimacies he’d been drowning her in, he’d always ended up leaving her to sleep alone.
As she started climbing the marble stairway to the upper level, he caught her hand.
“If you don’t tell me what the man said, I’ll have to go back and get it out of him myself.”
She turned on him, her heart twisting in alarm, her voice sharpening. “You leave that poor guy alone.”
“Not if he said something that disturbed you so much. Your face contorted as if what he said caused you physical pain.”
How could he read her so accurately? And not at all at the same time?
It was she who gripped his hand now, needing to abort his aggression. “Promise me you won’t go near him. Mikhail would probably drop dead of fright if you walked up to him and gave him one of those terrifying stares of yours.”
“Tell me what he said!”
Wincing at his thundering demand, she let go of his hand as if it burned her. “He said nothing, okay? I just felt nauseous all of a sudden. It seems I didn’t notice how much I ate while I was talking to so many people.”
The muscles in his formidable jaw bunched, worked. “So that’s the story you’re coming up with to protect him. Now tell me the truth.” When she only stared at him defiantly, he exhaled forcibly. “I promise I won’t do anything to him if you tell me.”
Hating to repeat Mikhail’s words, furious with Ivan for trying to force her to, she stood her ground, took a challenging pose. “You’ll promise you won’t do anything to him regardless. And I don’t have to tell you anything I don’t want to.”
Unable to chart his reaction, this man who expected obedience as his right, a moment passed in charged silence, as their gazes clashed.
Then, finally, she felt the tension gradually leave his tightly coiled body, the vicious fire in his eyes abating, until they were again the pools of cool emerald she now knew hid fathomless, roiling depths.
Finally conceding that she’d won, he sighed. “I won’t do anything. And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’m asking you to please tell me. I can’t bear knowing something hurt you, and I don’t know what it is, how I can erase it, how I can stop it from hurting you ever again.”
Reaching for her hands again, he pulled at her stiff body, brought her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his hard perfection. Immediately the body he’d serviced and pleasured for ten long weeks wept for his ownership.