The Gift: A Novella (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

K
az cursed and
took off after her.

“Put it on my bill,” he told the startled hostess as he ran out the door… And stopped.

Now what?

Fifth Avenue was more crowded than the Long Island Expressway on a Friday night. Finding Katie would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Fear plucked at his gut. He told himself it was because she was his responsibility, that he had taken on the assignment of delivering her safely to her bridegroom—and, goddammit, there really was something wrong with using that word—but when he suddenly spotted her standing only a few feet away, he knew his fear had nothing to do with that.

It had nothing to do with his assignment.

It had to do with her. With a beautiful, strong, complex woman and the sorrow he’d seen in her eyes.

Kaz felt lightheaded, as if he were back in Afghanistan, standing on the edge of a mountain, looking down into a valley thousands of feet below. The age-old sensation that went with steep heights made his throat constrict.

One step, and he would fall.

Fall forever.

“Kazimir?”

He stared at her. Her eyes were tear-stained, her face pale. Her mouth was trembling.

He wanted to yell at her. Tell her she was not to run from him again. Tell her that if she didn’t behave, he’d tie their wrists together…

Liar.

What he really wanted was to take her in his arms and comfort her.

The realization scared the crap out of him and he dealt with it the only logical way possible: he closed the slight distance between them, grasped her by the shoulders, and hauled her to her toes.

“Dammit,” he said, “don’t try that again!”

She looked up at him. Despite her tears, he could see her spirit, her bravery, shining through.

“A thousand dollars an hour,” she said. “Is that the going rate?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about money. I’ll pay you to let me go. I’ll vanish into the crowd. You can tell my father that I deceived you.”

His hands tightened on her. “Stop it!”

“I have jewelry. It’s worth a lot. What I have on right now—my ring, my earrings, my necklace… And I have more. All you have to do is let me go and give me a little time to get at it.”

“Are you trying to buy me? Dammit, what kind of man do you think I am?”

Her eyes searched his as the crowd swept past them. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a bell ringing, a Christmas bell rung by a sidewalk Santa. It made everything that was happening even more surreal.

“That’s just it,” she whispered. “I don’t know what kind of man you are.”

“I am not doing this for money. I’ve already told you that.”

“Then, why? Why do it at all?”

“Because I said that I would. I gave my word.”

She laughed. At least, it sounded like a laugh, that choked little sound she made even as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Yes. And so did I. Forget what I said. You can’t let me go. Even if you did, I can’t run away. The betrothal ceremony, the marriage… They are my duty.”

“Jesus.” His voice roughened. “Ekaterina. Katie. I’m lost. You have to tell me what’s happening. Does your father know how you feel about this marriage?”

“He knows.”

“That you don’t want to go through with it?”

A shudder went through her. ”Yes.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice! This is America. And even if we were in Sardovia—”

“My father has told my mother that this marriage is everything she ever wanted for me.”

“Well, dammit, tell her the truth.”

“She is dying.” Her voice broke. “She is dying, Kaz, and I cannot break her heart. She would hate my father; she would die hating him and worrying about my future.”

The sorrow in her lovely eyes was like a knife to his heart. She began to weep. He felt his last bit of control slip away. It was gone, beyond his reach and he didn’t even try to get it back.

Instead, he slid his hands into her hair, lowered his head to hers, and kissed her.

For one terrible moment, he thought he’d made a mistake.

Then he felt the sweet sigh of her breath. Her lips parted, and she kissed him back.

* * * *

They walked to the Plaza.

It was only a few blocks away, and it was faster than trying to find an empty cab. Kaz kept his arm tightly around Katie’s shoulders, not to keep her from fleeing but because he needed the feel of her against him.

Crazy as it was, she belonged there, at his side, in the protective curve of his arm.

The hint of snow had gone from being a possibility to a reality. Feathery flakes drifted from the sky and fell lightly over Fifth Avenue and Central Park.

The hotel doorman smiled as they entered the enormous, elegant lobby.

Katie was cold, but she knew she was trembling because of more than that.

She had shocked Kaz with the story of what awaited her in Sardovia, but she had shocked herself even more. She had no really close friends—it had always been best to keep people at a distance—and even if she had, she’d never have told them the truth of what was happening to her.

What was the point? No one could help her. They’d offer pity, and pity was the last thing she wanted.

And yet she’d told this stranger everything, this stranger charged with delivering her into the hands of the man who would control her life.

Why?

Was it something in his eyes, a way of looking at her as if he saw beyond the icy exterior that had always kept her safe? Was it that amazing combination of tough and tender in the way he spoke?

She didn’t know.

The only certainty was that they were alone now, that when he had kissed her a little while ago she’d wanted the kiss to go on and on and on…

He closed the door after them.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, drawing her coat away.

Her heart was pounding. What would happen next? What would he do? What did she want?

He tossed her coat on a chair. Swept her hair away from the back of her neck. She felt the warmth of his breath against her nape, then the whisper of his lips.

Her lashes fell to her cheeks.

“Kazimir,” she murmured.

He lifted his head. Turned her to him. His eyes were deep and dark.

He kissed her. Lightly. Gently. Then he stepped back.

“I’m going to phone down for something to eat. And something hot to drink. Coffee? Tea?”

It wasn’t what she’s expected. He could see that in the widening of her eyes. Well, hell, it wasn’t exactly what he’d expected, either. That kiss outside the restaurant had put a knot of desire in his belly that room service wasn’t going to assuage.

But she was frightened. Shaken and shaking. She needed time to think.

So did he.

He had accepted the responsibility of bringing her to her bridegroom. His uncle. Jesus H. Christ, his uncle, who had turned out to be as dissolute as his own father, but with an added touch of viciousness that made his servants cower.

Was what she’d told him true? Was this all her father’s idea? Was she what she now seemed to be, a gentle woman with a sweet smile and a kind heart?

Or was she the arrogant bitch Zach had handed over to him?

She was beautiful. And bright. He wanted her. The understatement of a lifetime. He had never wanted a woman as he wanted her.

But what was truth and what was fiction?

That kiss. God, that kiss…

Anything was possible.

For all he knew, the kiss, the tears were all an act. Maybe she was trying to win him over. Or misdirect him. Get him in her pocket and then take off.

Food. Something hot to drink. And, more important, time to try to sort things out.

Kaz forced a smile as he reached for the phone.

“Go on,” he said briskly. “Change into something warm. A sweater. Pants. Heavy socks.”

Katie stared at him.

What was this?

That kiss. Had it meant nothing to him? Had it been to gain her compliance? She was twenty- one, yes, but the truth was that she hadn’t been kissed all that many times.

The truth was more embarrassing than that.

She hadn’t been with a man. Ever. She’d never had sex, never slept in a man’s arms. Not even when she was away at college, supposedly on her own because she’d known damn well she wasn’t really on her own, that her father surely had people watching her. “Looking out for her,” he called it, but she knew it was more like looking out for himself. She was, always had been, a kind of commodity to him.

That was what she was now.

A commodity. A thing he was gifting to someone with power and wealth in exchange for even greater power and wealth—

“Katie.”

She blinked. Kaz was watching her, his gaze intense.

“Get into some warm clothes. You’ll feel better, sweetheart. You’ll see.”

She nodded, went into the bedroom, closed the door and stripped off her boots, her gray dress, everything but her panties, and put on, instead, a soft cotton T-shirt, a heavy white fisherman’s sweater that fell to her hips, black tights and soft knee-high black suede boots. She scrubbed her face, put her hair into a thick single braid that hung down her back.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

She was pale. She needed makeup. Some blusher. Lipstick.

But she wasn’t in the mood for makeup, for trying to look a way she didn’t feel. She reached for the doorknob, hesitated, took a breath and opened the door.

The room service waiter had just finished setting a small round table beside the window.

Automatically, she hurried across the room to sign the check, but Kaz pulled out his wallet, took out several bills and handed them to the waiter.

“You look beautiful,” Kaz said, once they were alone.

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I ordered sandwiches and salads.”

“That’s fine.”

“Come on,” he said gently. “Sit down. Let’s eat and watch the snow, and plan what we’re going to do next.”

He pulled out her chair. She started to slip into it, but he caught her wrist and when she tilted her head back and looked at him, he bent his head and kissed her.

She sighed; her lips parted. She brought up one hand and wrapped it around the nape of his neck and he turned her fully toward him and drew her close.

His body was hard. Wonderfully hard. And aroused. She’d never felt a man’s arousal against her, she’d never let a man get close enough for such a thing to happen, and though she’d had some curiosity about it, she’d never been tempted to do anything to satisfy that curiosity.

Now, feeling the pressure of Kaz’s erection against her belly, she wanted to wrap herself around him. Her arms. Her legs. All of her, every inch of her in contact with him.

A soft moan escaped her throat. Kaz groaned. He drew her even closer; she could feel the race of his heart or perhaps it was hers; she could feel the tension radiating through his body.

She had to stop this from going any further.

But she didn’t want to stop it. She wanted this. Wanted to learn. Wanted to come alive under his touch…

He clasped her hand. Drew it from his neck. Kissed the palm, then folded her fingers over the kiss.

And eased her into her chair.

Her heart was beating wildly. It was pounding. She wondered if he could hear it, because she certainly could; the drumming of her pulse rang in her ears.

“You’re going to eat something,” he said as he took the chair across from her. “And we’re going to talk.”

He put things on a plate. Tiny crustless sandwiches of smoked salmon, crème fra
î
che and capers; thinly sliced cucumber and watercress on wafer-thin crackers; rounds of toast topped with caviar.

“It looks delicious.”

He handed her the plate. She ate one sandwich. Ate another. And then she tucked into the rest.

She ate everything. Delicately. Neatly. But she ate every bite, except for the time she looked up and saw him holding a tiny sandwich in his big hand, and laughter burst from her lips.

“What?” he said, puzzled but smiling, and then he looked at the sandwich almost hidden between two of his fingers and he started to laugh and she laughed even harder, until her belly hurt and she was gasping for air.

It was the first time she could remember laughing since her mother had fallen ill.

No, she thought in amazement, no. It was the first time she could remember ever laughing that freely and openly in her entire life.

And in that instant, she knew that everything she’d heard her father and his friends say about Kazimir Savitch was a lie.

He was not a thief; he was not immoral. He was an honest, hardworking man.

Her laughter faded. She wiped her fingers on a linen napkin, blotted her lips. And she gathered all the courage she possessed.

“Everything I told you is true.”

Kaz put down his sandwich.

“I didn’t say I—” His cell phone rang. The last thing he cared about right now was answering that phone. He pulled it from his pocket, shut it off and set it aside. “I didn’t say I doubted you.”

“
I
would doubt anyone with a story like that. It sounds like a modern version of a fairy tale. Rapunzel, locked in the tower. Snow White, under a spell cast by a witch—”

“Sleeping Beauty,” Kaz said in a low voice, “waiting for the kiss of the prince.”

Their eyes met, and he said her name. Rose to his feet. Reached for her hand.

The world stood still.

There was nothing but the two of them and the falling snow and then—

And then, she was in his arms.

CHAPTER SIX

T
he bedroom was
all gold and white. A crystal chandelier hung over the bed.

There was no reason to turn it on.

This was a moment that deserved soft shadows. The falling snow, the glint of street lamps that had just come on, lent the room all the light it needed.

Kaz lowered Katie to her feet. Her eyes were wide and dark, the color of amethysts. Her mouth was the palest rose. He could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.

The need within him was hot and urgent. He had never felt anything like it. He wanted to strip her bare. Ravish her.

Every instinct he possessed warned him against it.

“Katie.” His voice was low. Rough. He framed her face with his hands. “Are you sure?”

Katie stared at him. Her head was spinning. Was this what it felt like if you’d had too much champagne?

She didn’t know. She’d never had too much to drink. Never had too much of anything. Safety lay in being cautious.

“Sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

She looked into the face of this stranger.

“You,” she whispered, and she rose on her toes, lifted herself into his kiss.

He groaned as he swept his arms around her. She felt delicate. Fragile. And yet he knew her strength, understood that in her own way she had overcome what life had dealt her just as he had.

He slid one hand into her hair, tilted her face to his and captured her lips.

There it was again, the taste of honey and vanilla and cream, the satin softness, the sweetness that was her mouth.

She moaned.

He deepened the kiss.

She whispered something. His name. She shifted against him, and he caught his breath.

“Easy,” he said.

She pulled back.

“No,” he said, “no, don’t move away.” He cupped her bottom, lifted her into him. She gasped at the feel of him and the sound of that gasp sent heat racing through him. “I only meant—if we go too fast… I want this to last, sweetheart. And if you move against me—”

He kissed her throat. Her head fell back and he kissed her throat again, but the sweater was in the way.

“Wait,” he said, and he eased the sweater up over her head, over her arms.

Better. So much better. The simple cotton T. The softness of it. And, oh yes, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Kaz cupped one hand over her breast.

She cried out. Her nipple jutted into his palm. He bent his head. Kissed her breasts through the thin cotton. Caught one nipple, then the other lightly between his teeth.

She sobbed. Her knees buckled. He caught her in his arms and took her to the bed.

He undressed her. Slowly. Slowly enough to make the blood seem to run thick in his veins. First her boots. Then her black tights. He drew back and looked at her, so lovely, so beautiful in low-cut white cotton panties and the little white T-shirt.

He could have looked at her forever, his gaze sweeping over the length of her legs, the curve of her hips, the swift rise and fall of her breasts.

“Now you,” she whispered.

He nodded. Rose to his feet. Toed off his shoes, took off his suit jacket, undid his belt, Jesus, his fingers felt thick, clumsy, and he thought
To hell with this!
and he tore off all the rest, left on only his boxer briefs because of the way she was looking at him, wide-eyed, her cheeks rosy, her expression a little fearful…

No. No, it wasn’t possible.

This couldn’t be her first time.

He wouldn’t want that.

Ah, God, he ached for that.

To be her first lover. The first man to know her.

It was a ridiculous thought, and why was he wasting time, thinking? He grabbed his trousers, dug out his wallet, prayed that he had condoms in it.

He did.

But he didn’t want one yet. Not yet. Not until she was ready for him, ready for him…

He sat down beside her and gathered her in his arms, kissed her until her lips were soft and yielding, until she was moving restlessly against him.

He sat her up.

Pulled the T over her head.

Her hands flew to her breasts.

“No,” he said, gently circling her wrists with his fingers, “no, sweetheart, let me see you.”

He brought her hands to her sides.

And looked at her.

His throat constricted.

Her breasts were small. Perfect. Rounded, with nipples the color of pale apricots. Did they taste like apricots? He bent his head to her, licked one nipple. She cried out, arched like a bow. He sucked the nipple into the heat of his mouth. Honey again, and cream, and vanilla, and a taste that was all hers, only hers.

“Kazimir.”

Her whisper was a plea. He lifted his head. Saw a wildness in her eyes.

“Kaz,” she said, “Kaz, please—”

“Please, what?” he said, but he knew the answer by the way she was reaching for him, by the way she was gasping for air.

Her hands swept over his shoulders. His arms. She touched his chest, ran her fingers over muscle and bone.

He groaned her name. Stripped off her panties. Tore off his briefs. Saw her eyes widen with shock at the size of him. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, it would be fine, but he was losing control, losing himself, losing the fight to make this last.

His fingers shook as he grabbed the condom, tore the packet open.

He started to sheathe himself, but her hand closed around him, soft and cool and trembling.

He looked down. Watched her holding him.

A sound tore from his throat.

He lifted his head. Looked into her eyes. Said her name.

She let go of him, but she watched as he rolled the condom on. It was as if she were doing it with him, her hands on his hot, hard length, her imagined touch bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

She reached for him again.

He caught her wrists. Brought her hands to her sides.

“Katie,” he said, and he entered her.

She flung her head back. Hissed softly as he went deeper. Deeper. Deeper…

God.

It was true. He was her first. Her first! He went rigid, fought for control. She sobbed his name.

“Don’t stop,” she said, “oh don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—”

She lifted her hips. He drove forward. She cried out; he felt her muscles contract around him and he held still, trembling, the sweat beading on his forehead.

She lifted up. Reached for him. Dragged his head down to hers and as she opened her mouth to his, he surged forward.

“Yes,” she said, “yes yes yes…”

Kaz slipped his hands under her. Together, they found the rhythm of the most ancient of dances.

The room spun.

And then Katie gave a high, keening cry.

Kaz thrust deep one last time.

And the world dropped away.

* * * *

Sometime during the night, he woke and drew the covers up.

They lay facing each other, Katie in the curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her leg thrown over his. Her breathing was deep and even. She felt warm and absolutely right, just where she was.

Kaz stroked his hand down her side. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer. He smiled. Then, still holding her, he rolled onto his back, folded his arm under his head and stared up at the chandelier.

Light from the street and the park glittered like fireflies in the delicate crystals.

He’d violated every rule of surveillance. Of protection. Every rule of whatever in hell it was he’d agreed to do for Ekaterina Rostov. Operations like this were not personal. You didn’t get involved. You sure as hell didn’t let your emotions take over.

He knew he should be pissed off. Not at her. At himself. Instead, what he felt was joy.

He’d liked a lot of women, enjoyed their company; he’d sure as hell enjoyed taking them to bed, but this—

This was different.

Something was happening to him. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked the way it made him feel. Happy. Content. At peace, if that made sense.

The other emotions inside him?

Not so good. Definitely, not so good.

Kaz’s mouth thinned.

He was hot with anger.

He knew of Gregor Rostov. The man was dangerous. He was a schemer. God only knew what kind of political alliances he had. A smart man would never turn his back on Rostov.

And now, he’d sold his daughter. To the highest bidder. To the king. Kaz’s grandfather. It was a brilliant political maneuver, marrying the Sardovian heir to the throne to the daughter of a man who might otherwise one day flex his muscle as an enemy.

Katie. Beautiful, spirited, bright, tenderhearted Katie, married to Prince Dmitri, Kaz’s dead father’s brother.

Kaz wanted to punch his fist through the wall.

But that wouldn’t help Katie.

And there had to be a way, there had to be…

“Mmm.”

Kaz rolled to his side. “Katie?” She sighed and he brushed his lips over hers. “Sweetheart. Are you awake?”

She wasn’t. Not really, and he knew that. But he wanted her. Needed her. He kissed her again, still lightly, held the kiss until he felt her lips cling to his.

“Kaz?”

Her voice was husky, rough with sleep. A good man would have done nothing more than draw her closer, stroke her until she drifted off—but he wasn’t a good man, he was a man in desperate need of tasting the honeyed sweetness of Katie’s lips, of hearing her soft cries as he drew the beaded tip of her breast into the warmth of his mouth.

She sighed. Her body shifted against his. “Kazimir,” she whispered.

He moved over her. Her arms rose, looped around his neck.

He kissed her. Parted her lips with his tongue.

Her sigh became a moan.

She sobbed his name as he kissed his way down her belly, to the apex of her thighs, put his mouth to her, and savored her sweet essence.

“You can’t,” she said, “oh God, you can’t!” She cried out. “Kaz! I’m going to—I’m going to—”

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you, I promise. I won’t let you fall.”

She came in a blinding rush, her cries of ecstasy rising into the snow-lit room. Kaz rose over her, scooped her into his arms, kissed her mouth, let her taste their mingled passion. Held her until she stopped trembling.

Then he entered her.

Slowly. As slowly as either of them could bear. There was such a thin line between the pain of holding back and the pleasure of claiming her.

She clutched his biceps.

Her soft cries thrilled him.

He started to move. Not quickly enough. She dug her fingers into his arms; he gave a low, wicked laugh, caught her wrists, used his hands to manacle them on either side of her body.

“Kaz. I need to touch you.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Not until you come again.”

She came on a long, high cry. Kaz let go of her wrists, rolled onto his back, his hands cupping her hips, his erect penis still deep inside her, never leaving her, never losing that tight, hard, silken contact.

She threw her head back. And began to ride him.

He groaned as he rose to her. Rose with her. His hands shaped her breasts and she sobbed his name and when she climaxed this time he let go, let go, let go and came in a blinding rush, heart pounding, blood racing, colors dancing behind his closed eyelids.

She collapsed on top of him.

When his brain cleared, he wrapped her in his arms, kissed her hair, whispered softly to her.

And knew that this mission—giving her to another man—was one he absolutely would not complete.