Instinctive Male (19 page)

Mikhail paused on the edge of the forest, watching Ellie as she slowly undressed, dropping her clothing to a blanket.

There in front of Kamakani’s grave, she stood tall, her arms raised to the sun, her body swaying, her feet moving gently over the lush grass.

It was an ancient dance, Mikhail knew, one that came from a woman’s heart. Amid the silky swirl of her hair, the earrings he had given her caught the sun, sending out shards of gold.

And then Ellie turned to him, her body pale against the green trees. Her eyes were huge and solemn, holding a woman’s wisdom and mystery. Her breasts were full and ripe and he’d known the pleasure of their soft weight, the taste. He’d known the curve of her waist, the jut of her bones, gentle flaring of her hips, the intimacy between her thighs, and the strength of her legs and arms.

He walked slowly toward her, jarred by the sensuality in the clear bright air, the primitive desire to take her instantly. His body throbbed almost painfully, needing hers, and then he caught her scent on the pine and salted breeze, arousing him even more.

Ellie’s eyes were dark with passion, color riding her cheeks and yet she stood still and silent.

In his mind, he knew it was a woman’s ritual he couldn’t understand; he could only follow.

In his heart, he knew it was right—here and now and forever.

He undressed, his eyes never leaving hers. His hands trembled as they framed her face.

She tasted of woman and strength and love, moving against him, finding him with her thighs, lodging him there as they stood.

He tried to think, wanted to give Ellie the right words, and yet—yet he knew it was not the time. It was the time to become one, burning away everything else….

Ellie looked up at Mikhail as she lay on the blanket, welcoming him to her body. Mikhail was fierce and strong and gentle, always so gentle, even in his passions. Sunlight burnished his broad shoulders, his skin smooth over strong muscles and cords as he braced his full weight from her. His chest eased against her breasts, those searing green eyes traveling down to watch as her hips rose and they became one.

When he had undressed, his eyes never leaving hers, she’d known that their paths had always led here. She’d recognized the movements of his powerful body, the almost feline grace of a hunter, the slow, deliberate stride, his eyes as dark as the sea, his jaw locked as if nothing could keep him from her.

She needed this cleansing, here in the fresh scents of earth and pine and ocean, where the breeze would sweep away the clutter of life and leave the reality of their love.

Was she primitive? Demanding? Yes. Because he was hers. If there was a curse, she’d known her own heart, and she’d take Mikhail as her own.

There would be tender times—there had already been—between them, the quiet aftermath of love. Yet now, she wanted the cleansing fever, the burning away of the woman who had hurt him, and who would never touch their lives
again. Ritualistic? Yes, but she needed this closure, to put the past away in lieu of a new life—together.

Whatever the other woman had taken from Mikhail, Ellie would fight fiercely to replace—because she loved him.

This time was different,
Mikhail thought briefly, his body and heart already flowing with Ellie’s, her dove-gray eyes locked with his as though she were fighting with all her strength, determined to win whatever war she waged.

Then he couldn’t think anymore, his blood beating almost to primitive drums, the fiery storm begun as Ellie’s fingers dug into his back, her body flowing, moist and hot against his. A song ran between them, their hearts pounding as they gave and took and feasted on each other, man and woman without shadows or the past….

The tempo had slowed, but Ellie’s fierce needs drove her on. She reached to fist Mikhail’s hair, tethering him. “Will you marry me?”

Mikhail’s fierce sensual emotions slid into tenderness. He had once told her that she would have to ask him. “Of course.”

“Will you give me a child?”

For just a moment, Mikhail’s expression was wistful, but his soft uneven answer was typical Stepanov arrogance. “Of course.”

And because she was Ellie, she pressed. “More than one?”

He could barely speak, fighting humble tears he did not want her to see. “A man can only try.”

“Try again,” she whispered and lifted to kiss him slowly, effectively. “I love you, you know.”

Later, he would be able to speak, but for now, he would only tell her of his love in the simplest, truest of ways—by making love with her.

M
ikhail poured pancake batter onto the hot griddle. The perfect mid-June morning outside the newly married Stepanovs’ rented home was bright and clear and inside, he was at peace.

Strange, how a man could feel so good, so wonderful, cooking for his wife and Tanya while they snuggled in bed and talked. Women made a man’s life good and rich and happy. He shrugged mentally, standing near the stove in his pajama bottoms that Ellie had sewn for him. He’d never asked what drove her to Kamakani’s grave, but he knew—she fought to remove Kamakani’s curse, to protect Mikhail and their love, just as other women had done before her.

While women had their secrets, Mikhail did not. The marriage he wanted as soon as possible was a flurry of preparation, with Ellie fussing over the dress she wanted, a traditional lacy Russian style, and Leigh, Bliss and Mary Jo in as much of a feminine flurry.

Their preparations gave the Stepanov men and Ed plenty
of time to consider house plans with a small pasture for Tanya’s new pony.

“It’s a house. Just build it and soon. Oh, wait. Plan now, we’ll rent somewhere, and then we’ll build it when business slows down,” Ellie had said as she rushed by him on the way to talk with the florists. “Or, we can have a fall wedding and—”

“No,” Mikhail had said firmly. “One week maximum.”

“I want this wedding to be done right. You’re pushing. It takes time, you know. Four weeks.”

“Two weeks, no more.” Mikhail had eased her into a storage closet and did his best to convince her why he wanted her in his bed every night, not just when they could find the time. “You’re not always going to get away with that, Mr. Stepanov,” she’d whispered huskily. “You’re sexy and you know it.”

“I want you in my bed every night, married as my wife. Is that so much to ask?”

She’d quivered and held him tight. “No, it isn’t. I want you, too.”

Strange, Mikhail thought as he turned the pancakes, how a woman gentled a man’s storms. How she could walk to him in the church, her hand in her mother’s, dressed in lace and love, and take away his breath.

He’d remember her like that always, even when they aged—walking toward him in the flower-decked church aisle, her eyes so soft and filled with tears. Or were those his tears?

Mikhail smiled briefly as he sat the table. Or maybe they were Fadey’s and Jarek’s tears, because he was not alone in his tender emotions.

He placed his hands on his hips and critically studied the breakfast he had prepared—butter, syrup, jam, coffee and juice.

In a few months, he would carry Ellie into their new home, filled with good Stepanov furniture, made to last. And the showroom bed where they spent their first night
together was already theirs, holding a special sentiment for Mikhail. “Life is good,” he said quietly. “I am a man who has everything—”

A tiny feminine flurry of tousled hair, a cotton nightie, arms and legs, Tanya ran into the kitchen and threw herself at him.

Mikhail laughed and picked her up, lifting her high the way she liked and then placing her on his hip. Tanya’s small hand patted his cheek. “Hey, Dad?”

“Mmm?” Mikhail answered, but his mind was spinning. “Dad” was a wonderful word, a glorious name.

“Dad, Mom has a surprise for you. She’s worried you might get morning sickness if she told you—you wouldn’t, would you? She said it’s a very nice secret that only she knows and very, very new. Something that got made on your wedding night. She’s going to tell me in about two or three months.”

“A Stepanov is never sick—Ah…” Mikhail slowly realized the impact of Tanya’s news. “I…uh…think I have to sit down.”

With Tanya on his lap, Mikhail felt woozy and delighted and—He looked up to see Ellie leaning against the door frame, smirking beautifully at him.

“I am delighted, of course,” he said very formally when he could speak.

“I love you, big guy,” Ellie said quietly and Mikhail couldn’t stop looking at her, his love, his wife.

“I’m hungry,” Tanya said, leaping out of arms and scooting into her place at the table.

“Life goes on, Stepanov. Food, babies, family, kids, and the pony has to be fed. We’ll conference later, okay?” Ellie came to pat him on the head, then bent to kiss him. “Feeling better?”

“Much better,” Mikhail said with a widening grin as he felt as if he could float, wallow in whatever life brought him with Ellie. “How could I not?”