Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6) (3 page)

Lost in my silent critique of his art, I didn't even realize he had finished Nikolai's tattoo until Tomi appeared next to me. He issued a little huff of laughter. "They aren't as good as yours, but I like them."

I glanced at him with surprise. "I think they're better than mine. Much better," I added softly and with a touch of envy in my voice. Gesturing to the street scene that had held my interest, I said, "Your style reminds me of Goncharova."

His light blue eyes widened noticeably. He glanced at his drawing and then back at my face. "You're serious."

"Of course." I tilted my head as I studied the scene again. "It's the way you've drawn the motorcycle that makes me think of her work."

"Would you like to take it?" Tomi gestured to the drawing.

As an artist, I understood what it meant for him to offer the framed canvas to me. "Yes, thank you. I'd love to hang it in my studio."

A smile brightened his face. He reached for the drawing and carefully took it down from the wall. With a surprisingly bashful tone of voice, the hard-looking man handed the framed piece to me and offered three words in Russian, "For the queen."

"Thank you." I hugged the drawing to my chest.

Shrugging into his shirt behind Tomi, Nikolai watched us with a pleased expression. When he joined us, he slipped his hand under the jacket draped around my shoulders and retrieved a thick envelope from the cleverly concealed pocket there. He exchanged the envelope and a handshake with Tomi and walked me out of the room.

I didn't miss Arty's curious glance as he tried to locate the new ink we both sported. My lips twitched with amusement when he gestured for Danny to take the lead. I glanced back at the captain as we walked down the hall and caught his surprised gape at the bandage covering the back of my neck. I had to bite back a laugh when he winked at me and made an approving thumbs-up gesture with the hand that still had all its fingers.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped. I slid into the passenger seat, and Nikolai reached down to gather up the hem of my skirt, clearing it from the door. He leaned in and captured my mouth with a playful kiss. I grasped his shirt, holding him hostage, and boldly flicked my tongue against his. He growled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest, and gently pried my hand from his shirt. His forehead touched mine. "Soon."

I practically vibrated in my seat as we made the drive back to our home. The dull ache along the back of my neck spurred thoughts of my friends and their reactions. Bianca would be aghast by the placement of the tattoo. She wouldn't come right out and call it tacky, but she would give me
that
look. Lena would probably frown and mutter something about gang tats. Erin would be her usual sweet-as-pie self and would probably gush over the romantic gesture. Benny would simply smile and call it beautiful.

The longer I thought about it, the less I wanted to share my new secret. Deciding to keep it discreetly covered by my wearing my hair down, I stared out the window and wondered what other surprises this night would bring.

We reached the house without any problems and parked in the converted carriage house in the rear of the property. Nikolai waved at Arty and Danny, sending the pair off for the evening, before escorting me across our backyard. He paused every now and then to inspect the newly blooming plants in the garden and flower beds he tended with such care.

Holding my hand, he led me through the side entrance and into the mudroom. He pressed a tender kiss to my temple. "I'll meet you upstairs."

Nodding, I rose on tiptoes and pecked his cheek. "Don't be long."

"I won't."

Trailing my fingers down his arm, I reluctantly parted from his side and made my way upstairs while my husband went through his usual nightly routine of making sure the house was secured. I paused at one of the upstairs windows overlooking the front yard and noticed two men talking on the sidewalk. One I immediately recognized as Kostya, but the other was unfamiliar. I assumed he was some new recruit, a young street soldier happy to stand guard on our home for the chance at gaining Nikolai's favor.

Some of the magic and excitement of our night faded as the reality of our life together hit me. Suddenly the tattoo no longer felt so romantic. It felt more like a public symbol of ownership and a sigil of protection. I could practically hear the thoughts of the underworld denizens who might see the mark still burning and throbbing on the back of my neck.
Don't touch that one. She belongs to Nikolai.

"Vee?" He appeared behind me on the stairs. When I glanced back at him, his brow knitted and his mouth quirked to the side with worry. "Do you regret it?"

My stomach clenched. "What?"

"The tattoo," he said, coming to join me and taking the jacket from my shoulders. He dropped it onto one of the nearby slipper chairs before sliding his hands around my waist and embracing me from behind.

I relaxed when I understood what he meant. "No."

He nuzzled into the side of my neck and breathed in deeply. "I should have talked to you about it first. It was wrong of me to spring it on you like that. You're not one of my men champing at the bit to be branded as one of my soldiers. I should have given you time to consider it."

I laughed at that. "You do remember your proposal to me, right?"

He growled against my throat. "Not my best or most romantic moment," he conceded.

"No, but it definitely set the tone for us." I reached back and caressed his jaw. "We seem to make our best decisions relying on gut instinct."

His wide palm rested against my abdomen. He splayed his fingers against the front of my evening gown and playfully nipped at the fleshy spot where my neck curved into my shoulder. I let loose a mewling sigh and pressed back against his hard, powerful body. "Kolya…"

He tugged on the zipper running along my left side and pushed the empire-waist gown off my body. It pooled around my feet in a billow of purple chiffon. With one hand, he unsnapped my strapless bra. The other was busy drawing ticklish circles on my bare stomach. Standing in only a seamless nude-colored thong and high-heeled sandals, I felt acutely undressed. My nervous gaze flitted to the window. "Nikolai, they'll see us."

The possibility of one of his men getting a peek at me momentarily cooled his ardor. He hoisted me up in his arms, kicked aside the outrageously expensive dress and carried me to our master suite at the end of the hall. Placing me down on the bed with surprising reverence, he tapped the tip of my nose. "Stay."

Leaning back on my hands, I watched him slowly strip. My greedy gaze roamed his naked and heavily tattooed body. He had the natural physique of a swimmer. Where I had to run every morning to keep fit, he needed only a few mornings a week at Ivan's gym to look that damned good.

My gaze drifted along the myriad scars, some of them puckered and pink and others thin and white, marring his skin. The reminders of the pain and violence he had known in his life always saddened me. He had escaped the horrors of a sickeningly abusive orphanage and survived as a homeless child on the streets of Moscow with Ivan at his side. Later, the two men had brutally conquered those same streets before coming to Houston to make inroads for the Prokhorov family.

Sitting up all the way, I lingered on the fresh scars from the December attack that had nearly killed him. The stab wounds he had sustained hadn't healed correctly, not after he had slipped out of the hospital in the middle of the night with my cousin Eric, a Houston detective, as his accomplice. Instead of resting and recuperating, Nikolai had gone to great lengths to save me that night and in the weeks that followed.

He brushed his hand over the black eight-pointed star sitting just beneath his left collarbone. "Do you know what these mean? What I did to earn these?"

My gaze flicked to his somber eyes before settling on the frightening star he touched. They were the tattoos only a man who had reached the highest and most secretive echelon of the Russian mafia earned. Voice soft, I nodded and whispered, "Yes."

He stalked toward the bed with that predatory grace I found so thrilling. Standing so close I could feel the heat waves radiating from his skin, he asked, "What else do these stars on my chest and my knees mean?"

Focused on his pale eyes, I didn't miss the dangerous flash in his icy irises. "That you will kneel before no man."

"
Da.
" Then, deliberately and with glacial slowness, he slid to the floor and knelt in front of me. I held my breath as he peppered light yet stunningly erotic kisses along my thighs. He lifted his head and pinned me in place with a scorching look that made my heart swell and my stomach wobble violently. "Only you, Vivian. You are the only one in the entire world who can bring me to my knees."

His bold confession struck me as both an incredible compliment and a reverent warning. I wielded an immense power over him, the sort of power other men dreamed of having, and I had to be careful in the way that I used it.

With a silent but meaningful look, he dropped his head and resumed the sensual trail of kisses along my thighs. Overwhelmed by arousal and love for this beautifully complicated man, I fell back to the bed and closed my eyes. My hand traveled down my own belly and didn't stop until I felt his thick sandy-colored hair beneath my fingertips.

A pleasured sigh escaped my lips when he parted my legs and began to torment me with that wicked, wicked tongue of his. "Nikolai…"

Chapter One

June

"Vivi, turn your webcam. I can't see the full piece." The staccato accent of Niels Mikkelsen's voice echoed in the sunroom Nikolai had converted to a home studio for me. "The easel with your new work is blocking my view."

"Hang on." I wiped the palette knife I had been using on the nearest rag, cleaning away the ridge of cerulean blue oil paint clinging to the metal, and dropped it on my worktable. I moved a few steps to the left and turned the stack of art books supporting my laptop and webcam so Niels could see the painting I had finished earlier that week. Sliding to the side, I asked, "Can you see it now?"

"Yes!" Excitement filled his deep, masculine voice. "My goodness, you've really grown since the last show." Rustling sounds filtered across the speakers as he moved aside the papers and files on his desk and leaned in for a better look. "But you're also returning to your roots, I see. Mixed media?"

"Layers," I said. "It's about the layers."

"Yes," he hummed his agreement. "You're maturing. I can see that you have found something very interesting to say."

The compliment from the Danish billionaire and world-renowned collector of modern art brought a smile to my face. Although he had enjoyed my show earlier in the year, Niels hadn't wasted the chance to deconstruct my paintings and encourage me with criticism that he delivered with an academic air. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do." He slid back into his seat, the leather creaking and the springs of the chair groaning. "I suppose I don't have to look very far for your muse."

"And who would that be?" I glanced at the screen to see him watching me rather intently. The handsome face filling my laptop screen could have easily been printed on the glossy front of a men's magazine or in a couture editorial. He had the strangest eyes, the hazel color an enthralling mix of whiskey brown with jade flecks, and sharp cheekbones. The intensity of his gaze made me glance away. If he had been an alpha wolf, I would have been a pack member who happily bared her neck in submission rather than risk being torn to pieces.

"That Russian of yours, of course." Leaning back in his chair, he interlaced his fingers behind his head. "Where is Nikolai? Usually when we have our chats, he's hovering in the background." He clicked his teeth. "Such jealousy."

I rolled my eyes at the way he tried get a rise out of me. Nikolai didn't hover, but there was no love lost between the man I loved and the Danish tycoon who was sponsoring my debut on the international art scene. "He's probably on his way home." I peeked at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of my screen. "We're headed to a barbecue with friends in a little while."

"How very domestic," Niels replied rather dryly.

"I rather enjoy domesticity."

"I'm sure that you do." There was no mistaking the slight tone of censure to his voice. "Playing house is all very well and good, but remember that you have other talents beyond flower arrangements, cooking dinner and keeping house."

I shot him an annoyed look. "You are so abrasive sometimes."

He shrugged. "What you call abrasive, I call truth. You have an amazing talent as an artist, Vivian. If you continue nurturing your gift and maturing in your art, you have a truly bright future ahead of you. Husbands and children have a bad reputation for ruining the promising careers of young women."

His words stung in a way he couldn’t have imagined. I fought the urge to touch the gentle curve to my belly that I easily hid with my painter's smock and loose dresses. Just days before walking the stage to accept my bachelor's degree, I had discovered that I was pregnant. It had taken only the simplest calculation to realize that we had likely conceived our first child the night we had marked our bodies with matching tattoos, the night Nikolai claimed me as his queen.

The discovery had filled me with elation and terror. Elation because I couldn't imagine anything sweeter or more wondrous than creating a beautiful new life with Nikolai. Terror because I secretly feared that the madness that had driven my mother to suicide lurked within me. Pregnancy had been the trigger that sent her down that long spiraling road of mental deterioration that included an attempt at drowning me before finally hanging herself in a motel room.