The Unwilling Bride Page 8

  She buttoned her camel coat, swung a scarf around her neck and joined him at the door.

  “You are much reassuring me,” he told her.

  “Good. We’ll have a great time, and that’s that.”

  “I am in full agreement.”

  He might be in full agreement, but even though she’d reached his side, he seemed to have stopped dead—he made no move to open the door.

  “What’s wrong? Are you nervous about something else?”

  “No, not worried about anything else, toots. I was just thinking, lots of snow outside. Might be best,” he said tactfully, “if you wore shoes.”

  She looked down. Stocking feet. No shoes.

  The chances of her surviving this evening, she figured, were about five million to one.

  Six

  “Now listen, Stefan, I know you use certain expressions with me, like lambchop and toots and babe. But that’s different because I know you don’t mean anything by them. You want to be careful not to use expressions like that around other women.”

  “Yes, Paige.”

  “And I know how much you like to try out your slang. And that’s a great idea, because I can tell if you’re using something wrong, and how else would you know unless you tested it?”

  “Yes, Paige.”

  “But around other people, it would be better if you forgot, um, any sexual references you ever heard. I mean, like ‘hit the sack.’ Or ‘I want to get it on with you.’ No matter what your friend taught you, that just isn’t the standard way a man talks to a woman around here.”

  “Yes, Paige. Um, Paige?”

  “What?”

  “I must confess that I find these rules confusing. It is clear that being able to talk about sex is important here. They use these phrases on TV shows, in ads, in the newspapers and magazines. I thought this was accepted practice. I thought it was required. In fact, I spent one whole day carefully watching daytime TV and-”

  “Holy kamoly! You stay completely away from those soap operas, Stefan! The last thing you need to do is get any ideas about American real life from them.”

  “A big no-no, huh? Good thing I have you to ask these frank questions. How else could I learn?”

  Well, that was just it, Paige thought glumly. He didn’t seem to have anyone else to ask these questions. Left alone, God knew what assumptions he’d come up with about American culture, and she couldn’t deny feeling increasingly protective of him.

  She didn’t deny the uncomfortable, disturbing feelings Stefan aroused in her, either, which was one of the prime reasons she had agreed to this dinner. Further time with him would surely help her sort out those strange emotions. She was an adult; she’d never run away from the truth. She wanted control over her feelings again; she wanted her natural, normal perspective back. Stefan needed a friend and she was determined to be one.

  She didn’t feel like a friend, though, when he ushered her into Palmer’s with a possessive hand at the small of her back. The restaurant was a converted house from Revolutionary War times. There were a half-dozen rooms, all intimately small, each dominated by a stone-blackened fireplace and sooty-dark beams. No one else was seated in the room where the maitre d’ led her and Stefan. The tall skinny windows had velvet drapes swagged with tassels, the tables were covered with dark red damask, and the only source of light was the roaring fire and candlelit sconces.

  A waitress in eighteenth century garb served them red wine and steaks on pewter platters. She was a darling, with peaches in her cheeks and huge, dark eyes, yet Paige noted that Stefan didn’t call her lambchop or babe. During dinner, the chef made a customary visit to make sure they were happy, and two old friends paused in the doorway to say hello. She didn’t hear a word of slang from Stefan either of those times.

  She had cautioned him about his language, of course. But it still seemed amazing how quickly he dropped that tendency when he had such a hard time conquering those endearments with her. She had also never suspected that her uncivilized and unruly bear had the impeccable manners of a gentleman… except when he looked at her.

  For some reason he paid no attention to the waitress—who was adorable. And he barely glanced at an old school friend, Mary Wilkins, when she stopped to chat—even though Mary was striking enough to turn any man’s head. Stefan was only looking at her…as if the rest of the people in the world were a nuisance. As if he’d rather have had her for dinner instead of the T-bone. As if her face by candlelight was damn near mesmerizing.

  Since that was poppycock, Paige decided the dim lighting was responsible for tricking her imagination. Either that, or the wine. By the time they’d finished dinner and the plates were cleared away, Stefan had refilled her glass twice now.

  “You sure you don’t want dessert, lambchop?”

  There. She knew a lambchop would slip out sooner or later—but her mind was on another subject entirely by then. She was determined to get to know him better, determined that these incessant, unsettling sexual vibrations around Stefan would disappear if she just understood him better. And he was making that job so easy. They’d been talking as naturally as old friends. “No, honestly, I’m too full to try dessert. Tell me more about your growing up years. You were really taken away from your parents?”

  “Not ‘taken away’ in a cruel sense. It was how education was done. Six days a week—and the school day so long that a child would have had to commute very late at night. It just made more sense to board at the school. And this was not automatic for everyone. I tested high in mathematics when I was very young, so I was put in an educational program suited especially for that.”

  “Well, that part sounds great. But I’d have died growing up without my mom and dad, without my sisters. My family was everything to me. Who patched your scratched knees? Taught you to ride a bike? Dosed you with medicine when you were sick?”

  “There were all kinds of caretakers. They just weren’t family.”

  “It sounds like a very lonely way to grow up,” she said quietly.

  “Da, that it was.”

  “Your mom and dad—they’re still in Russia?”

  “My mother caught pneumonia when I was twelve. The virus went out of control and we lost her. My dad, though, is still there.” Stefan wrapped his palm around the wineglass. “I can’t say that we are close. Many harsh words between us. He’s…an emotional man. We are peas in the same pod. He cannot compromise what he believes. Nor can I. I recognize that we are the same, where he can only see where we are different.”

  Although the subject of his dad was obviously painful, Stefan had willingly brought it up. Paige groped, unsure how far he wanted to pursue it. “Was your dad…angry with you for coming here?”

  “More than angry. I am not sure forgiveness from him will happen,” he admitted shortly. “I am his only son. He sees me as a traitor.”

  “Oh, Stefan. No wonder you’ve had such an unlivable conflict of loyalties. You didn’t even have support from the home front, did you?”

  “I never expected support, but I’m sorry for both of us that he could not understand. I’ve written him. And will keep writing him. Some say that enough time can erode the hardest stone. Best I can do.”

  “You have plans? For what you want to do here?”

  “Oh, yes.” His shaggy eyebrows arched in surprise at the question. “I had definite plans long before I left Russia. Coming here was not difficult like before the Berlin Wall went down. Anyone can travel. But it is still no piece of cake to permanently leave. My American cousins gave me contacts, and the American Embassy went to bat for me. I would have had difficulty with visas, travel arrangements, all the legalities without help. There were Americans who helped me with this from the start. I want to teach.”

  Paige dropped her napkin. “A teacher? You want to be a teacher?”

  Her startled expression produced an immediate response. “Paige, trust me, I am qualified. I have beyond Ph.D. education in mathematics and physics. And before I stepped foot on Ame
rican soil, I had offers from three of your universities to—”

  “Stefan, I wasn’t doubting your qualifications. It’s just going to take me a minute to, um, think of you as a teacher.”

  “This blow your mind in someway, lyubeesh?”

  “No, no. I just…” She swallowed hard. Her mind wasn’t blown, but it was definitely humorously spinning. For years, she’d envisioned a teacher-type as the only kind of man who would ever work for her—a nice, quiet academic type, someone who was driven by work, someone comfortably absentminded and not really emotional. Like her. And it wasn’t that she thought all teachers fit that stereotype, but Stefan was boisterous and impulsive and sexy and as physical as a caveman. Sure, he could teach. But it was sort of like starting a dream with a nice, safe monk turn into a leather-jacketed motorcyclist. A definite mental adjustment. “Tell me more about your plans,” she said swiftly.

  “Well. Working for government, working on areas like weapons and security, is automatic consideration for someone with my educational background. I was steered relentlessly in this direction in Russia. For me, this is no good. It is against my heart. I will not. So even when help was first offered to me, I made clear—I am honest—that I will not work on weapons. I want to work with young people. I love kids.” He paused. “You like kids?”

  “Sure. How can anyone not be crazy about kids?”

  “Da. I was sure you would feel that way.” His dark eyes suddenly glowed on her face with the power of moonbeams, and was backed up with a huge smile. “In long run, there is more work than teaching that I need to pursue. For certain projects, I need connection with other physicists. For this, I need computer and modem, the ability to travel from time to time. This work is important to me, too, but children are the world’s future, yes? So I see teaching as first priority.”

  “A teacher,” she echoed again. Surely this was going to strike her as funny by tomorrow. The curious thing was that she really could see him as a teacher, easily imagine him controlling a class but also winning over urchins of any age with his big, boisterous affectionate ways and humor. Kids sensed when they could trust an adult. Tarnation, so did Paige, but somehow she still couldn’t imagine feeling safe herself. Not with him. Not near him.

  “You don’t consider a teacher low-down, do you?”

  “Low-down? Good grief, no.”

  “Maybe teachers are turkeys in your eyes?”

  Obviously something in her expression must have given him a totally wrong impression. “I couldn’t possibly think more of teachers, Stefan. They’re up there near saint status with me…partly because a zillion years ago, I gave so many of them trouble that I’m embarrassed to remember. I was an awful teenager, rebellious and stubborn, real arrogantly sure of myself and blind to other people’s feelings—” She shook her head. “Never mind. Just believe me, I couldn’t possibly have more respect for teachers.”

  Stefan leaned back. “You were a rebel? I cannot imagine you ever causing trouble, lambchop.”

  “Thankfully, it’s history. I’m as straight as an arrow now.”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “It is clear to me that being straight like an arrow is important to you. You work at this hard, I think. Did something happen a long time ago?”

  Paige wasn’t sure how the conversation had so swiftly changed and focused on her. Vaguely she heard his question. More specifically she felt his gaze lasered on her face, studying her as intensely as if he could see shadows in her eyes, see memories.

  She could have told him what happened a long time ago. It wasn’t as if it were a deep, dark secret. But she was ashamed of it, ashamed of the girl she’d been then, and that wasn’t so easy to confess. Not with him.

  Candle flames flickered between the two of them. No one else had wandered into the small anteroom in some time. A log fell in the stone hearth, shooting sparks up the chimney. His profile made a clear shadow on the whitewashed walls, a cameo, she thought, of a man as basic as time. A fierce, bearded warrior with hooded brows and brawny shoulders. A man who was dangerous to his enemies, but who would protect his woman and his hearth from all danger.

  She mentally shook off the fanciful image, unsure where those silly thoughts were even coming from. The room was just so warm. And in spite of the huge and wonderful dinner, she’d definitely had enough wine. “Are you ready for a little walk in the fresh air?” she asked him.

  He had to notice that she’d ignored his question, but he just smiled—and agreed. It took a few minutes to pay the check, and another minute for them to bundle back up in winter coats and scarves.

  Outside, it was snowing white teardrops, slow, thick, fat flakes that lingered on the cheeks and stung. They meandered down Main Street, window-shopping at the bakery and Carlson’s Book Store and The Emporium. The sidewalks were shoveled clean, so wearing shoes instead of boots was no problem. Even after her toes started to feel numb and her face burn-cold, Paige didn’t want to stop walking. The night air was sharp, fresh and invigorating, and the whole walk felt like a time-out with Stefan.

  Seeing her town through his eyes was a whole different experience. So typical of him, he inhaled every thing he saw as if he were a thirsty sieve. Walnut Woods was a pretty ordinary Vermont town, with a white-spired church on the hilltop, the green commons in front of the courthouse, homes with yellow lights in the windows. Every morning there was a heated political argument at Simpson’s bakery—no one in Vermont was short of independent opinions. But if there was sickness in a family, it was still a neighborhood where friends showed up with a pie or a tuna fish casserole.

  Everything was new to Stefan, all the hundred things she took for granted about her town, her life and life-style. Freedom had a different taste when she was with him. He claimed she was opening his world, but Paige thought he was the one opening hers. Certain truths had always been there. She’d just never looked at them. The conflict of loyalties that had so dominated his life had never even touched hers. Choices she took for granted, Stefan had never had.

  Eventually they both admitted to being freezing and raced back to the car. Stefan’s rental car had a blasting, noisy heater that toasted her toes in no time, and they were still making comfortable, easy conversation the whole drive home. There seemed nothing he wasn’t curious about; he asked about neighbors’ names, what they did, seemed to take in every story she shared about them. When he pulled into her driveway, she couldn’t believe they were already home.

  Her house was dark. She’d forgotten to leave on lights. And when she bent her head to fumble in her purse for a house key, she couldn’t seem to find that, either.

  “Um, lambchop? I would guess that you do not need to worry about the key. I would strongly suspect that your remembering to lock the house, on a scale of one to ten, is about a negative fifty.”

  She stopped fumbling, and shot him a ferocious glare. “I’d better warn you, Michaelovich, that if you’re thinking about teasing me for being absentminded—”

  “No, no. I am a bright man, trust me. I want to live. The sky will snow green before I would suggest that you are even the smallest iota forgetful.” But she heard his irrepressible chuckle, just before he climbed out of the car.

  She followed him. “Are you laughing at me, Michaelovich?”

  “You bet your sweet bippy, lambchop.”

  Sweet bippy. God, where did he come up with them? “There wasn’t a reason on earth why I needed to lock the house. There hasn’t been a theft around here since I was a kid.”

  “This is good,” he said, still chuckling.

  “Just so you know, Stefan—I’ve leveled bigger men than you for teasing me.”

  “Ah. Is this a threat?”

  “I’m too much of a lady to make threats. It was just a general statement of fact. The sky is blue. The sun comes up in the morning. You risk your life if you tease me.”

  “Thank you for this helpful statement of fact. Once again, you have me shooking in my boots.”

  But he didn’t seem to
be “shooking” when his hand plucked her sleeve. And when she spun around, he was as close as a partner in a dance—a dance in which he was definitely leading. She didn’t even have time to correct his grammar about the “shooking” before he suddenly, naturally, easily swung her into his arms.

  There wasn’t a light on for miles, and it was darker than pitch under the front porch overhang. Even so, she could see his eyes glinting with laughter, and he was smiling when he ducked his head. He kissed her with that smile, his lips still curved, as if he were still teasing her and that kiss was only an extension of his teasing humor.

  That illusion lasted a second. Maybe two.

  The world was hushed. The snowflakes were soundless; the trees didn’t make a single rustle; no cars nor trucks had the courtesy to pass down the road and make nice, noisy crunchy tire sounds. The only thing thundering seemed to be her heart.

  Those whiskers of his tickled mercilessly. He smelled like an unbearably cold crisp night, and he tasted like wine and a butterscotch mint, and beneath those flavors, he tasted like him. His mouth was smooth and colder than snow…for a second. His lips warmed up fast, connected with hers.

  Okay, she thought, okay, as if she were bracing for a shot at the dentist. She’d been through this before and survived just fine. He’d stopped before, and he’d stop again. Pounds and pounds of winter coats were between them. There wasn’t a single thing she needed to worry could happen, not outside, not on a ten-degree night on her front porch…and she was hardly going to lose her mind and ask him in.

  Shots at the dentist only seemed to last forever.

  Like this kiss.

  Only not quite the same. This kind of kissing definitely hurt, but the hurt was…delicious. Heady. A sting-sharp yearning that started in her toes and moved up through her bloodstream, soft, silent, faster than a surprise and yet slower than she could sigh. It stabbed her heart with a piercing sweetness, but the real source of the hurt, the really unbearable nastiness, was the texture of his mouth.