Free Her Russian Hero (International Romance Series) by Mona Risk

and eased away. “General, we’ll work together on this project,” she
managed to say, using his title as a protective barrier against his charm.
“You’re my client, a business colleague,” she affirmed through clenched jaws,
trying to convince herself as much as him.
    “Yes, we share an important
project. But I also want to know you.” Sergei raked his fingers through his
hair. His brows knitted as he captured her gaze.
    I’d prefer not to know you
better . Her heart thudded heavily as she leveled an uncertain look at his
noble face. His eyes reflected the same ache, the same longing. He bent and
whispered, “I wish I could take you in my arms right now, Cecilya .
Keeping my hands away from you is a greater struggle than fighting on a
battlefield.”
    Her heart jolted. Heat suffused
her cheeks and tremors flared in her belly at the intensity of his gaze. She
leaned her forehead against the windowpane to cool her face and her thoughts.
“Please, let’s go back with the others.”
    He slid a hand to her elbow and
guided her to her seat, sitting across the table to face her.
    Their host refilled the glasses.
More toasts followed. Cecile toyed with her shot glass. Her companions’
laughter and loud conversation reached her through a daze.
    Her gaze drifted toward Sergei.
He didn’t urge her to drink, didn’t touch her or talk to her. His eyebrows
arched in query. A searching look in his eyes sent heat seeping to her belly.
Unable to withstand the silent exchange, she heaved an inward sigh. Ignoring
the food on her plate and the alcohol in her glass, she struggled to regain her
composure.
    At the end of the dinner, Yelena
collected the dirty dishes. Cecile insisted on helping. She needed to get away
from Sergei’s burning gaze. “In America, we always share the cleaning when
we’re invited to a meal with family or friends. Besides, I’m curious to see a
Belarusian kitchen.”
    A stack of dishes in her hands,
Cecile followed Yelena to the small kitchen, furnished with white cabinets and
a marble countertop. Yelena hand-washed the china, trying to converse in a
jumble of Russian, broken English and expressive hand gestures. While Cecile
dried the dishes and silverware, she smiled and nodded, not sure she
understood.
    As Cecile put away the last fork
and turned to leave the kitchen, she froze. The general’s massive shoulders
blocked the entrance. He stepped in and spoke in Russian. Yelena edged around
him to the hallway.
    Cecile gasped, stunned by his
audacity. “You kicked her out of her own kitchen.”
    “I very politely asked her if she
would allow me a few minutes of privacy to discuss the contract.” Unperturbed,
Sergei chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischievous sparks. He closed the door
behind their hostess.
    Cecile raised her eyebrows.
“General Fedorin, the Nicouvitches invited us. We can’t just abandon them to
chitchat in the kitchen.”
    “Trust me. We will not be
missed,” Sergei assured her with a shrug. “You can hear Nicolai playing his
guitar. And John is so drunk he can’t remember his name right now.”
    She couldn’t suppress her
laughter. He’d locked her in the kitchen to discuss the contract? Her pulse
accelerated. She was afraid to guess his intentions, afraid and thrilled.
    Folding her arms, she tilted her
head. “Okay, what’s so urgent about the contract?”
    “The contract, hmm…” He hesitated.
“As far as I can see, the contract is starting well. I want to tell you how
much I appreciate the effort of the…of our lovely Program Manager.” He stumbled
on the words with a sheepish smile, then held her shoulders. “I like her
kindness. Her delicate beauty.”
    A warm tingling crawled between
her legs. Her calm assurance deserted her. She knew her assertive strength
would betray her in a second under the onslaught of his charm and she’d melt in
his arms like a solitary snowflake under glorious sunshine. “Please, let’s go
back.” She tried to disengage herself