Instinctive Male. Cait London
Читать онлайн книгу.
placed a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down to sit on the bed. “Talk now.”
“I don’t want to talk now,” Ellie said bluntly, tiredly. “I’m not up to fighting with you. Give me a break, will you?”
“No. Talk…now.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face, and Mikhail noted the absence of her usual perfect but light cosmetics—no mascara, no glossy, sexy lips. His gaze ripped down her body, and found, for the first time, the missing button on the leather jacket, the slightly frayed collar of the sweater, the worn seams of her jeans and her scuffed boots.
Ellie noted his closer inspection and turned her face away. “I’m not at my best,” she admitted shakily and sank back down on the bed. “I’m just so tired.”
What could have made her swallow her pride and come to him? Whose child had she borne…or otherwise acquired? Had the man deserted them? Mikhail folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the sturdy walnut armoire he had helped to build. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“You will.” He reached to turn on an elegantly crafted brass lamp, lightbulbs hidden in the almost realistic bouquet of tulips. The lamp was a product of a local craftsman, just like the woven table runners on the dining room table. Mikhail smoothed the mauve-colored glass petals with his fingertip, admiring the skill of the artist. More than one family in Amoteh depended on the resort’s success and the display of their crafts. His goal was to provide work in a community he loved—and he wasn’t going to let Paul Lathrop’s willful daughter spoil the resources the Amoteh could provide for local artists.
In profile, Ellie’s head lifted, her gray eyes shadowed into black. Even exhausted, the defiance and the skill of holding her own with a powerful man like her father was there. “I’ll deal with you when I’m ready.”
Mikhail didn’t want the night watchman to interrupt. Ellie had brought a child to his parents and she had asked for his help. It must have cost her pride, and he had to have answers. What could have driven her away from her social set to the isolation of Amoteh? Why were her clothes worn, when Ellie had always dressed perfectly? Who had fathered her child?
He resented the need to know more, and his instincts told him that he should resist curiosity.
His instincts told him that she desperately needed him.
Mikhail reached to hang a Do Not Disturb sign to the outside of the showroom. Though his apartment was just down the hallway, he sometimes relaxed in this room filled with furniture his family had made. Occasionally his brother, Jarek, used the showroom to romance his wife away from their new home. The Do Not Disturb sign meant the Stepanovs were in the showroom and did not want to be disturbed. He clicked the lock on the showroom door closed. “I can wait.”
“You would.” Ellie was on her feet, stalking the room filled with the heavy walnut furniture. A restless woman, she stopped to smooth the wood admiringly, to open a drawer, closing it smoothly, to trace the intricate hardware of a dresser.
Mikhail dismissed the too-tense sensation prowling his body as he watched her move gracefully, a pampered woman whose only obsession had been her own indulgences.
She turned on him like a tigress, fists clenched, her hair and body softly outlined by the lights from the parking lot. “You’re amused. I see it in your expression. I don’t like being your entertainment du jour. Au revoir, bud.”
With that, she walked past him to the door and reached for the lock.
Mikhail studied her. Ellie Lathrop was too tense, too brittle…and she had cried. What game was she playing?
“Walk out that door and you’re not getting a second chance.” He watched her hesitate and her slender hand slid from the lock. What could be so important as to make Ellie sacrifice her pride?
Why did he want to tug her back to him, hold her safe and warm against him?
He tossed that thought aside. It was only natural for a Stepanov man to want to protect a woman in dire need.
The tingle at the back of his neck warned him that his own instincts could endanger him.
With her back to him, Ellie shook her head, and a spill of sun-lightened hair caught the soft light in sparks. “You’re so much like Paul—my dear old dad. No wonder my mother left him as soon as she was able, leaving me, too, of course. My half sister’s mother did the same. It seems that maternal instincts don’t run in our family. You know that I’m tired—dead tired—and you’re pushing. You pick others’ weak moments like a shark scenting blood… anything to get your way. I should have expected no less. You’re not going to make this easy.”
She turned slowly, leaning back on the door, her hands behind her. In the soft lighting, her face was pale, her eyes huge and shadowed. She spoke in an uneven whisper. “I have a child. She needs protection. And you are my last resort. I’ll do anything you say to keep her safe. Just help me—rather help her. If I have to beg, I will.”
The honest plea in her voice struck him…a tired, desperate mother seeking shelter. She seemed to sag then, against the dark heavy wood of the door, her head down. “I can’t run anymore, Mikhail. I need your help.”
“Details,” he demanded roughly to cover his unsteady emotions. He didn’t know if he should trust this submissive Ellie. “You were married. Less than three and a half years ago, wasn’t it? I received an invitation to the wedding.”
“And I received your gift. Crystal, wasn’t it? I forget. It brought a nice price when I sold it. I’ve sold a lot of things in the past few years.”
He’d chosen the crystal vase because it reminded him of the woman—glittering, perfect and hard. “He’s the child’s father?”
She scrubbed her hands together now, as if trying to dislodge a cold that came from her bones. “I wish he were. Mark would have been a wonderful father, but he couldn’t accept someone else’s child. We’re divorced. I took back the Lathrop name, just to torture Paul, to remind him that he does have a daughter…. Parental obligations and all that. Or let’s just say I’ve inherited Paul’s perversity. By the way, has my dear father called?”
Mikhail nodded, remembering Paul’s brisk, slightly angry tone. “Several times in the past six months. He wondered where you were.”
“That’s why I didn’t let you know that we were coming. I didn’t want him to know until I’d—until I’d talked with you.”
Ellie sat on the bed, shoulders slumped, and then with a sigh, settled against the back, legs outstretched. She sent him a glance that could only be labeled as resentful. “It’s not easy to talk with you, you know. You don’t inspire easy conversation. You give nothing away—do you have feelings, Mikhail? Do you? Or are you just made of wood, like the totem poles outside?”
A homage to the northwest Native Americans, the totem poles were huge and savagely painted masks created in wood, unsoftened by the tall pine branches enfolding them. The carved symbols represented the Hawaiian chieftain enslaved by whalers and dying far from his beloved homeland.
“I might be slightly more attractive,” he said quietly and watched her frown at his dry humor.
In one of those lithe, lightening quick movements, she was on her feet and standing near him, looking up. “I’m going to do something that may frighten you, Mikhail, but I really need this.”
With that, she slid against him, her arms circling his waist. She placed her face against his throat. “Could you just hold me? Just hold me, and let me feel safe and not alone for just one minute?”
Mikhail held very still, every nerve taut, warnings leaping inside him. Ellie was shivering, reminding him of a little wounded seagull he’d once found. He’d seen Ellie lean close to men before, casually, flirting with them, but this was different. This was desperation.
“What game are you playing?” he asked rawly