The Last Kolovsky Playboy. Carol Marinelli
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no!’ Aleksi said, and then he changed his mind, because maybe he did need something different. ‘Won’t I disturb her?’
‘She’s awake,’ Kate pointed out.
‘I thought they were supposed to cry.’ He knew nothing about babies, had no intention of finding out about babies, and yet he was curious to hold her—and so he did.
Big hands went into the clear bassinette and lifted the soft bundle. Kate’s immediate instinct was to remind him to support her head, yet she bit on her lip and silenced the warning, because he already had, and for a stupid blind moment she wished the impossible.
Wished, from the tender way he held her baby, that somehow her baby was his too.
‘My dad’s sick,’ he told her. It was top secret information, and he knew she could sell those words for tens of thousands, yet at that moment he was past caring. He held new life in his hands and he smelt an unfamiliar sweet fragrance. He ran a finger over a cheek he could only liken to a new kitten’s paw—before it was let outside to a world that would roughen and harden it.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No one’s allowed to know,’ Aleksi said, still looking down at the baby. ‘What’s she called?’
‘Georgina,’ Kate said.
‘Georgie.’ Aleksi smiled at his new friend.
‘Georgina!’ Kate corrected.
‘I wonder if I was this cute.’ Aleksi frowned. ‘Imagine two of them.’
Kate rolled her eyes. Two identical Kolovskys in a crib—they’d have had the maternity ward at a standstill!
‘I can’t imagine you cute,’ she said instead.
‘Oh, I was!’ Aleksi grinned. ‘Iosef was the serious one.’ He put Georgina down and his grin turned to a very nice, slightly pensive smile. ‘You’re going to be wonderful as a mother.’
‘How?’ And whether it was hormones, exhaustion or just plain old fear, tears shot from her eyes as her bravery crumbled. ‘I want it to be wonderful for her, but how will I manage it?’
‘It will be,’ Aleksi said assuredly. ‘My parents had everything and they managed to completely mess us all up. You, on the other hand…’ he stared into her soft brown eyes and didn’t see the bloodshot whites, just tears and concern and a certain stoicism there, laced with kindness too ‘…are going to get it so right.’ And then it was over. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Thank you.’
She braced herself for him to stand, tightened up her non-existent abdominal muscles as he went to stand, anticipating pain but getting something else. His arms came around her, that gorgeous face moved in and she smelt him—smelt Kolovsky cologne and something else, something male and unique that made her blush just as it had on that first day, just as she knew it always would.
‘Let’s leave your audience with no room for doubt.’
And then he kissed her.
Terribly, terribly tenderly—she was, after all, just twelve hours post-op—but there was this taste and this passion and this heaven that she found on his lips…this gorgeous, delicious escape that was delivered with his mouth and then the cool danger of his tongue. And to the nay-sayers on the ward he proved this wasn’t a duty call.
‘I have to get this flight.’
He should have been on the stage, Kate thought, because there was regret in his eyes and voice as he walked out of the ward. She lay back on the pillow, eyes closed, but basking in the glow of the curious looks from the other mothers and their oh, so plain partners.
Only she didn’t get to enjoy them for very long.
Lost in a dream, still basking in the memory, she was very rudely interrupted as a porter kicked off the brakes on her bed.
‘You’re being moved.’
‘Where?’
Oh, God—she so didn’t want this. Didn’t want to start again with three other mothers—or, worse, maybe she was being moved to an eight-bed ward.
‘You’re being upgraded.’
Five years ago, on a business flight to Singapore, her stingy boss had been overruled by ground staff and she had been invited to turn left, not right, as she stepped onto the plane.
It happened again that afternoon.
Her bed slid easily out of the public section, over the buffed tiles, and then stuck a little as it hit the soft carpets of the private wing, as if warning the porter—warning everyone—that she didn’t really belong there.
But who cared?
Not the staff.
Aleksi Kolovsky had covered her for a full week.
It was bliss to move into the large double bed.
Heaven to stare at the five-star menu as Georgina was whisked to the nursery to be brought back later for feeding.
It was, Kate reflected later that night, as a lovely midwife took Georgina for the night and clicked off the light, the second nicest thing that had ever happened to her.
The first nicest thing had been his kiss.
Chapter One
IT DIDN’T hurt as much as everyone said that it should.
His leg, fractured and mangled in a road accident, would, he had been told, mean six months of extensive rehabilitation—and then perhaps he might walk with an aid.
Four months to the day since the accident that had almost taken his life, Aleksi Kolovsky waded through the glittering Caribbean ocean unaided. The doctor had suggested two fifteen-minute sessions a day.
It was his third hourly session, and it was not yet midday.
Whatever he was advised to do, he did more of it.
Whatever the treatment, he headed straight for the cure.
After all, he had done this once before—under circumstances far worse than this.
He had been a child without doctors, without physios, without this stunning backdrop and the cool ocean that now soothed his aching muscles. He had rehabilitated his fractured body himself—first in the confines of his room till the bruises had faded, and then, without grimacing, without wincing, he had walked and returned to schooling. Not even his twin, Iosef, had been aware of his struggles; Aleksi had privately continued his healing behind the closed walls of his mind.
Iosef—his identical twin.
He smiled a wry smile. He had watched a show last night on the television. Well, he hadn’t exactly watched it, it had been on in the background, and he had not paid it full attention. His attention had instead been on the skilled lips working on his tumescent length to raise it to its splendid glory. It had been a different attention, though. Normally he switched off, sex the balm—not any more. The television had been too loud as it spoke of telepathic bonds between twins, and the woman’s sighs had been grating. Since the accident, chatter annoyed him, conversation irritated him, and last night her lips had not soothed him. He had hardened, but it had been just mechanical, an automated response that, despite her delight, had not pleased Aleksi. Though he’d yearned for relief, he had realised he wouldn’t get it from her. However, there was a reputation to be upheld, so he’d shifted their position.
He’d heard her cries as he did the right thing, pleasuring her with his mouth, and then had feigned reluctance at the disturbance from his phone.
His phone buzzed regularly.
There had been no need to answer it—except last night he had chosen to. Chosen to make excuses as to why she must leave, rather than give that piece of himself