want to accept it...but I knew just how much difference
the thick cashmere made because I could feel the wind
knifing through me as soon as I took it off. And the coat
was warm from my body...I saw her resistance melt and
she relaxed just a little, letting the coat fall over her, the fabric drowning her small body. She really was freezing:
the back of my hand brushed her bare shoulder as I
pulled my hands back and she was like ice. Just that
tiny contact, skin-to-skin, was enough to make her head
whip round and stare at my hand uncertainly but she
didn’t pull away.
Her friend skidded to a stop behind her, but Irina didn’t
even notice. And when she saw how we were looking at
each other, her friend slowly backed away.
I lowered my voice, making it as gentle as I could. But I
couldn’t stop the hard edge of lust that crept into it: I
needed her too much. “Irina,” I started—God, I loved
saying her name. “Why did you run? Why do you keep
trying to run?” I blinked. Glanced down at myself. Had I
gotten so used to intimidating people that…. “Are you
scared of me?” The idea sickened me.
She shook her head. And the weird thing was, I believed
her. She had every excuse to be scared of me, but she
wasn’t.
I took a deep breath. “You dance like a fucking angel,” I
said. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I
just want to get to know you.”
She stared up into my eyes and it was like all those
layers of ice were slowly melting away. I could see
deeper and deeper into her, down into her scalding,
molten depths—
And then she shook her head quickly and looked away.
“I can’t.”
The frustration boiled up inside me. “Why?” I’d studied
every inch of her so intently, I would have noticed a ring
but I checked her finger anyway. Nope. “Do you have a
boyfriend?”
She closed her eyes for a split second as if she’d given a
silent, bitter little laugh. “No.”
“Then let’s go for coffee!” I held out my hand towards
her.
She pressed her lips hard together and shook her head
again. And then she started to slip the overcoat from
her shoulders. I felt a sickening lurch of fear—that panic
again, like I’d felt in the theater. What the fuck was
going on? I’d never felt anything like this before. “Give
me your number, at least!” I said. “Tell me your last
name!”
Another shake of her head, and now she was tossing
the overcoat to me and turning to go. My eyes locked
on her wrist. I could grab her again...but then what?
Take her prisoner? “What the hell is the matter? Tell
me!”
She gave a sad little smile—just a tiny twitch of her lips.
God, it was heartbreaking. I wanted to find whatever
was causing her this much pain and batter it into
submission against the frozen path. “I just can’t,” she
said.
She turned and walked away, not even stopping to pull
her hooded top over her head, even though the wind
was like breathtakingly cold. I stood there helpless for a
second and then called after her, “Cafe Auben. I get
dinner there at eight, every Thursday. I’ll be there
tonight.”
She faltered, long enough that I knew she’d heard me.
But then she walked resolutely on and I stood there
watching her until she was out of sight, my chest tight
with the thought that that might be the last time I ever
saw her.
4
Irina
I didn’t get into my street clothes right away. I wanted
to put as much distance between Angelo and me as I
could because I was having to fight the urge to turn
around and….
Throw myself into his arms and let him devour me with
those lips. Press my body so hard against that hard
chest that my breasts flattened against him and every
inch of us was in warm, close contact, from my chin to
my ankles—
What the hell is wrong with me? I’d never reacted this
way to a man before. And I’d never had a man pursue
me like this, charging straight through every layer of ice
I threw out like a crazed bull. Doesn’t he know when to
quit?
I remembered that focus in his eyes, that drive. No, he
really didn’t know when to quit. He never would.
And part of me really liked that. I started to feel a pull in
my shoulder, an ache. I wanted so much to turn around
and look at him.
No! Starting something with him would be beyond
crazy. My uncle would never allow me to date an
American—a civilian. And as soon as Angelo found out
who I was, he’d be scared off anyway—and with good
reason. Either way, we’d be broken apart and I couldn’t
take that pain. Better to be numb and not feel at all.
I drew in a big lungful of freezing air. The warmth from
dancing had long since faded and, in only a leotard and
tights, I was getting seriously cold. It should have felt
good. It always felt good. But now….
Now I just wanted to be warm again. I wanted to be
wrapped up snug in his huge overcoat, the faint scent of
his cologne and the heat of his body enveloping me. I
wanted to wrap it around both of us and press myself
tight to him, let his blood and fire melt me into liquid.
My chest tightened. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
I shook my head and cursed myself. Slabovol'nyy
chelovek! Weakling!
I stopped and pulled on my jeans, then my Fenbrook
Academy hooded top. I’d be just fine. But when my
clothes were on, I didn’t feel any better.
I was on one leg, swapping my ballet slippers for
sneakers, when Rachel slammed into me like an
enthusiastic puppy. I yelped, flailed and managed to
keep us both upright.
“So?” Rachel asked. “Who is he?!”
I groaned and shook my head. “It’s not going to
happen. And please, don’t send any more men my way.
You know I can’t.”
Rachel knows that my uncle won’t let me date
Americans. She just doesn’t know why. She has no idea
my whole family are bratva—Russian Mafia. And if I
have my way, she never will. She’s my best friend and I
couldn’t take it if she was scared away.
“You could see him in secret,” said Rachel. “Your uncle
would never have to know.” A slow grin spread across
her face. “That would be so romantic! He could send
you love letters!”
For a second, I imagined Angelo writing love letters. He
did come across as romantic: the old school, hot-
blooded, sweep-you-off-your-feet kind. I’d never known
a guy like that. Then I sighed and shook my head.
“Leave it.”
“But he’s a total—” Rachel’s phone bleeped, thankfully
cutting the conversation short. She dug frantically in her
purse for it and almost dropped it twice getting it up to
her face. Then she read the email and punched the air.
“Yes!”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Is it—”
“Yes! Check your phone, see if they—”
At that second, my own phone bleeped. I grabbed it
and checked the screen. I’d gotten the same email
Rachel had: a callback from the audition for a TV
commercial we’d both attended the day before. “Yes!”
And the best part was, we were auditioning for different
parts so we weren’t competing.
Rachel put her arm around my waist and tugged me
forward, leading me out of Central Park and into the
street. “This is going to be awesome,” she said. “And
have you any idea how much they pay for those