A Very Russian Christmas Page 3

  With the experience of many years living in the underworld and even now existing right on the fringe of it, Alexei sized up the scene before him with speed. There were at least two other men inside the SUV and two of them standing outside it, one of them with his arm draped around Shannon. Shay stood close to the white car, arms crossed as she shook her head and argued with her sister. Over what he couldn't say but Shay's body language was clear to him. She didn't want to get in that Escalade—and he sure as hell wasn't going to let her.

  Quickly tugging on the knot of his silk tie, he ripped it free and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat before flicking open the top buttons of his shirt. With the collar wide open and the fabric gaping, the heavy prison and mob ink he usually kept hidden was on clear display. From this distance, he couldn't be sure if the men from the SUV were affiliated with a gang or not, but he figured they would have no problem recognizing the ink emblazoned on his skin if they were. If they weren't, it would scare the shit out of them.

  "Shay?" He raised his voice as he stalked toward her. "Is there a problem?"

  Embarrassment flashed across her pretty face. She gestured toward the broken-down vehicle. "Our car is having problems."

  "I can see that." He moved close to her, standing near enough that he could grab Shay and throw her behind him if it got violent. Holding the gaze of the man who had laid claim to Shannon, he asked, "Do you think that music is loud enough?"

  The man glanced at his car and flicked his fingers, the movement giving Alexei a clear view of the gang sign tattooed on the guy's neck. He recognized the mark of the Guzman cartel and deduced this was one of their street-level pushers. The dealer held up a hand. "No hard feelings, mano. We were just about to leave as soon my girl gets her sister in line."

  "Come on, Shay." Shannon was all smiles as she pleaded with her sister, but he wasn't fooled. "Ruben came all the way out here to get us so we can go to this Christmas party. It'll be fun—and Lalo really wants to meet you!"

  Lalo? Alexei might have been out of the street life but he kept his ear to the ground and knew all about Eduardo "Lalo" Contreras. He was the top enforcer for the cartel here in Houston. There was no way in hell he was letting Shay get mixed up with that man.

  Not breaking his gaze with the dealer, Alexei extended his arm to prevent Shay from taking even one single step. "Shay, get your things. I'll take you home." He glanced at Shannon. "If you would like a ride, I'm happy to take you."

  Shannon frowned at him. "No, thanks. I actually like to have fun—unlike some people."

  Shay didn't take the bait. She turned back toward the car and gathered up her things.

  The boyfriend dropped his arm from Shannon's shoulders and took a cautious step forward. He had a conciliatory air about him. "Oye, mano, I didn't know that she was your girl. I'll make sure Lalo knows that she's on the Red team. We won't bother her again."

  Shay wasn't his girl and she wasn't playing for the Russian team, but Alexei wasn’t about to correct the gangbanger's misconceptions. It was safer for Shay if the cartel crews in town thought she was safely tucked under the umbrella of Nikolai's guardianship. "I would appreciate that."

  The boyfriend nodded and hustled Shannon into the middle row of seats. Alexei stood back and watched the SUV drive away before turning his attention to Shay. With a backpack on one shoulder and her purse clenched in the other, she chewed her lower lip and looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.

  "Hey," he said gently and came to stand in front of her. "It's all right. Those men can't hurt you."

  "I am so sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For dragging you into that messy situation," she explained in a voice wavering with anxiety.

  "You didn't drag me into anything. I could have walked away or ignored it."

  She fidgeted with the handle of her leather purse. "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I've been around long enough to spot trouble," he said, taking a look at the engine. It seemed to be a straightforward radiator problem. Closing the hood, he promised, "I'll have the guys in the garage take a look at this as soon as possible. We'll get you a rental car until it's finished."

  "Oh, um, I don't think my car insurance will cover it."

  "Then it will be my Christmas gift."

  "No, Mr. Sarnov, you don't have to do that."

  Fighting the urge to reach out and caress her cheek, he replied, "It's Christmas. Let me do something nice for you." He motioned toward the building. "Come on. Let's get you home. It's freezing out here."

  Not letting her protest the gift, he placed his hand against the puffy back of her jacket and gently pressed her forward. When they reached his SUV, Shay seemed taken aback by the simple action of opening and closing her door. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of men she was dating if a man opening her door was such a surprise. The wrong ones, he surmised as he slid behind the wheel.

  "Punch in your address." He pointed to the navigation screen mounted to the dash. "Do you need to stop anywhere before I drop you off?"

  "No."

  "You're sure?" He fastened his seatbelt as she tapped at the screen. "It will be nine or ten in the morning before I'm able to get a rental car to your house. If there's any errands you need to run, I'll take you tonight."

  "I did all of the grocery shopping earlier this week. I'm good but thank you. For everything," she added with a smile that dazzled him.

  He tried to ignore the stirring of attraction and focused on the map that popped up in front of him. The area where she lived wasn't a very nice one, but he kept his opinion to himself. God only knew he had lived in some terrible places during his life. Even so, he didn't like the idea of Shay and her sister living alone there. It was a neighborhood that was constantly on the news because of drug and gun raids and worse.

  They drove in silence at first. As they idled at a light, he noticed the way Shay clutched her purse. The white-knuckle grip disturbed him, especially when he remembered the way she had reacted to him standing over her in his office. "Are you that afraid to be alone with me?"

  "What?" Her gaze snapped to his face. "I'm not afraid of you."

  "No?" He glanced at her hands. "Then why—?"

  "It's the weather," she interrupted. "I don't like icy roads. They make me nervous."

  "It's hardly icy. They haven't even needed to sand the roads yet."

  "Yeah, well, I'm sure that's what my dad was thinking when he got in his truck to go to work the night he died."

  He silently cursed himself for the flippant reply. "I'm sorry about your father. Was it very recent?"

  "No. I was only seven when he died."

  Mindful of her fear, he eased on the gas when the light turned green and drove more cautiously so as not to upset her. "What about your mother? Is she still alive?"

  "I guess."

  "You guess?" He glanced at her. "How do you not know if your mother is alive or dead?"

  "She walked out on us when Shannon turned seventeen. Just…left." Her grip loosened on her purse, and she shifted in her seat so she had a better line of sight on him. "I know you probably think Shannon was really irresponsible back there, but she had to give up a lot to help raise me after Mom split. She deserves to go out and have fun every now and then."

  "Not with men like that," he interjected gruffly. "You were smart enough to know not to get in that vehicle."

  "It wasn't Ruben and his friends who scared me. I grew up with most of them."

  "What scared you?" He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from her lips.

  "Lalo Contreras."

  "The drug dealer."

  She nodded. "The drug dealer."

  "He's interested in you?" He hated the sharp edge to his voice. Jealousy wasn't an emotion he was used to feeling. Why the hell was it zipping through him now?

  "Unfortunately," she said softly. "I made the mistake of letting Shannon convince me to go out to a Halloween party with her. He was the host, and I guess I caught
his eye."

  Alexei didn't find that the least bit surprising. He could only imagine how tempting she would have looked in a sexy little Halloween costume. The vision of her in a naughty French maid's outfit sent a white-hot blaze of heat right through him. Hoping to cool his raging lust, he turned to more serious issues. "You should stay away from men like that."

  "I have no intention of getting caught up with a man like Lalo."

  "Good."

  She didn't speak again until they were sitting at another red light. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable earlier in your office."

  "Uncomfortable?"

  "When you stood up, I mean."

  "Oh. That."

  "Yeah, it's not you. Really," she added quickly. "It's just—I saw the tattoos on your hand, and I had this weird flashback to uglier times."

  "A boyfriend?"

  "Not my boyfriend," she murmured and turned to look out the window.

  The way she said it slashed at him. He kept his gaze focused on the windshield and the crystallized droplets hitting the glass and melting almost instantly. "Your mother's boyfriend?"

  She waited a moment to answer. "Yes."

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his fingers were numb. "Did he—?"

  "No," she hastily interjected. "He never touched me like that."

  He exhaled a pent-up breath. "But he hit you."

  "Yes."

  Glancing at her, he took in the silhouette of her face. The red brake lights and the shimmering Christmas lights decorating the building on the corner illuminated her honey brown skin. A warm sensation invaded his chest. "Do you want me to track him down and hit him a few times?"

  She snorted with amusement and smiled at him. "No, but thanks."

  "You're sure? I wouldn't mind. Hell, it might be fun."

  "I'm sure." Her gaze moved to his hands. "You were a fighter, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Underground?"

  "Yes. How did you know?"

  "People talk."

  He didn't even want to think about what people said about him behind his back. "That was a long time ago. I'm not that man anymore."

  "Do you miss it?"

  "The fighting? Sometimes," he admitted. "It's the other part—"

  "The mob?" she bravely asked.

  His gaze flicked from the road to her face and back again. She was the first woman who had ever come right out and asked about his past. "Yes. That's the part I don’t miss."

  "For what it's worth, I think that the life you've built for yourself is amazing. You should be extremely proud of what you've accomplished."

  He swallowed hard and couldn’t meet her gaze. The kindness of her remark unsettled him. "Thank you."

  They fell into a comfortable, easy silence for the remainder of the drive. When he pulled into the mobile home park where she lived, the navigation instructions ended. She pointed out a left turn and then a right into the narrow gravel driveway.

  He eyed the single-wide mobile home with its faded blue shutters. The SUV he drove probably cost two or three times as much as her home. Even so, the yard was immaculately neat. Simple white Christmas lights decorated the porch where potted poinsettias lined the steps. A festive wreath adorned the door.

  Unlatching his seatbelt, he said, "I'll walk you inside."

  She shot him a bemused look. "Why?"

  "Because you're alone and this neighborhood is—," he caught himself before he said something that would hurt her feelings, "—very dark. You can never be too cautious."

  "Well…okay." She hopped out of the front seat before he could make it around to her side. His lips settled into an irritated line as he shut the door and followed her up the sidewalk and onto the porch. The fact that she didn’t expect a man to do nice things for her annoyed him. Didn't she realize she was worth that and so much more?

  The enticing scent of cinnamon and the warmth of the house were so inviting. He shut the storm door behind him and hesitated just inside the threshold. He had seen her safely inside. It was time to go.

  But he couldn't make his feet move.

  "Would you like some coffee or tea?"

  "Tea, please."

  "It'll be a few minutes. Please make yourself comfortable."

  After shrugging out of her jacket, she dropped her bags on a couch that had seen much better days. He wasn't fooled by the throw blanket draped over the back or the plush pillows artfully arranged to hide the worn upholstery. The shade of the carpet—a forest green—wasn't one he had ever seen anywhere else, but it seemed to match the accents on the walls that looked original to the trailer.

  Despite the age of the home, it was clear that Shay and her sister had taken very good care of it and had pride in their small space. Everything was super clean and neat. The photos on the walls drew his attention. He walked over to inspect them. Whatever hardships the sisters had faced, it was obvious they loved each other. In every photo, they were together and smiling or laughing.

  He heard the splutter of hot water hitting a coffee mug and glanced back toward the kitchen. Shay stood at the counter, eyes closed as she rubbed the back of her neck and waited for the single-serve machine to finish brewing his cup. An alien sensation traveled through him, starting right in his chest and heading straight to his head. It was a feeling he had never experienced before and one that troubled him.

  While he had always enjoyed spoiling the women he kept, he had never in his life been gripped by such an immediate need to protect and pamper one of them. He watched Shay finish his cup of tea and arrange cookies on a plate, all the while picking up on the little signals that told him she was downright exhausted. The desire to draw her a steaming hot bath and bundle her into bed was one that he had to fight.

  She's not yours. Drink your tea and go home.

  Silently repeating his advice, he shucked his coat, joined her at the round table in the kitchen and spooned some sugar into his tea. "Which university do you attend?"

  "U of H," she answered and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. They were delicate snowflakes with white glaze, silver sugar beads and a dusting of blue sprinkles. "I'm studying retailing and consumer sciences."

  "You want to run a store someday?" He picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. The slightest hint of citrus from the sugary glaze hit his tongue and offered a decadent after-note to the buttery cookie.

  "My goal is to have a brick-and-mortar boutique along with an online storefront to sell the purses and leather goods I design," she explained. "I've got a mentor who has taught me all about leatherwork so I figured that going to college to learn the ins and outs of running a business was a good investment."

  "It is. I had to learn the hard way and made quite a few mistakes that first year that really cost me. Luckily, I had friends and acquaintances who were willing to give me advice or send me in the right direction to professionals who could help me." He glanced at the leather purse on the couch. "You made that one?"

  "Yes."

  "It's very nice. What made you want to design purses?"

  "I wanted something pretty but didn't have the money to waste on something so frivolous. You can't eat a purse or pay the light bill with it, you know?" She shrugged. "So I started playing around with fabric and duct tape and empty drink containers. Eventually I figured out I could make a cool looking purse with a hollowed-out book and a wooden handle. There were some girls at school that liked them so I managed to sell a few and make enough money for us to have Christmas that year."

  Her entrepreneurial spirit impressed him.

  "I started going to that big flea market—"

  "The one on Eldridge?"

  "Yeah. Have you been there?"

  "It's been a while for me."

  The massive trading village with thousands of vendors was a place that attracted the best bargain hunters in search of attractively priced new and used merchandise—but also a criminal element that needed to get rid of hot items. He decided not to tell her th
at he had once been part of a crew that had sold all sorts of cheap, imported and stolen goods there. Bootlegged DVDs had always gone fast. The year Kostya had gotten his hands on a pharmaceutical shipment that had fallen off a truck had been a particularly good one…

  "Do you still sell there?"

  "No. It was good business while I was in high school. Now I have an online store. The overhead is cheaper obviously."

  "I would imagine." He finished his tea and eyed the plate of delicious cookies.

  "Would you like to take some with you?"

  "Do you mind?"

  "Of course not." She rose from her chair and fetched a small container from one of the cabinets. "I always bake too much for two people so I'm always handing out containers of cookies or muffins to our neighbors."

  "Have you lived here long?"

  "Just under three years," she said. "It's not as nice as some of the apartment complexes closer to the university but it's pretty safe and the neighbors are mostly quiet. Plus the rent is cheap."

  He bit his tongue instead of offering his opinion. Searching for a safer topic, he thought about her business. "Why did you choose leather?"

  "I met Larry at the flea market. He's an old school leather goods guy. Belts, wallets, boots—he's amazing. He let me work in his store and taught me the tricks of the trade."

  "Why don't you work there anymore?"

  "He closed down. The economy tanked right after he found out he had lung cancer. He beat the hell out of that cancer, but the recession beat the hell out of him. He's retired now and living with his daughter and her family up in the Panhandle. It's better for him there, and he's very happy to be surrounded by his grandkids."

  "I'm sure he's happy, but it's damned cold up there."

  She laughed. "You're from Russia. It's damned cold there."

  He watched the way she meticulously placed the cookies in the container and separated the layers with strips of wax paper she tore from the roll she had taken out of a nearby drawer. "I've acclimated to the Houston weather. I wouldn't last a day in a Moscow winter."

  "Do you think you'll ever go back?"

  "No." The answer came swiftly. "That was my old life. This is the new one."