His statement was another shock, so oddly protective when her head was screaming at her that he was a danger to her. For some reason, her stupid brain stumbled on that I won’t touch you as if it were a trip wire that sent her metaphorically splatting onto her face, pride bruised. She should be relieved, but she just felt rejected. Again.
Words crowded her mouth, but her throat was too thick to voice any of them.
“I have security posted at all the doors to keep the paparazzi out.” He stepped back. “They’ll also keep you in, so you might as well give in. I really don’t need the extra humiliation of carrying you kicking and screaming to the helicopter.”
He walked away to his room, presumably to pack, leaving his words repeating in her head. Extra humiliation. As if she were in a position to injure him. Cause further injury even, because he was already hurting.
Was he hurting? She rubbed where her breastbone felt as if it were coated in acid. For a long time she stood in the lounge, arms wrapped tight around herself, confused. Frightened, but not by Aleksy. By herself.
She wanted to trust a man who’d just confessed to murder.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CLAIR HAD HEARD Russians talk about their dachas. She had gathered they were a type of summer cottage retreat, usually rustic and far enough out of the city to offer a garden plot and a return to nature. The buildings were often little more than shacks, but they were kept in families for generations.
If this was Aleksy’s dacha, he needed to work on his definition of shack. The minute she saw it, her mind heard, Welcome home.
They’d flown over nothing but trees once they’d left the outskirts of Moscow, leaving little to distract from her inner turmoil until she’d glimpsed a palace surrounded by a groomed park. The fountains were off, the canals frozen, but she’d realized they were nearing St. Petersburg. This was a place so beautiful even czars chose to summer here.
Far from summer now, the day was overcast, late afternoon flakes beginning to fall. The fresh dust of snow only made the expansive estate they touched down on look fresh and new. Untouched.
It was very new, she realized, looking at the bare, young fruit trees and nut groves that embraced the charming house. The two-story structure was built along old-fashioned lines with a wraparound porch, shuttered windows, pretty gables and a romantic turret. It was big enough to host a crowd, yet cozy and inviting. Not threatening and not something she would have expected Aleksy to build or buy.
As the pilot prepared to lift into the forbidding sky, stirring up a cloud of powdered ice, Aleksy reached onto a porch beam. “The agent said—here.” He showed her the key, then opened the door, pressing her inside before the man-made storm hit.
The interior smelled of paint, freshly cut wood and newly laid woolen carpet. All the surfaces gleamed. It was tastefully decorated in masculine colors, spacious and unfussy like its owner, but welcoming.
It struck her as a fresh start. A promising one.
Clair swallowed, reminding herself why she was here and who she was with, but choice and logic had been left back in Moscow where the apartment building had been surrounded by long-lens cameras. She really would rather take her chances with this lone wolf than the pack of coyotes baying at those doors.
And this house felt safe, drawing her in despite her misgivings. The main floor made a circle from front parlor to the dining room, passing a staircase that climbed to an inviting landing. Upstairs, a quaint powder room with a jetted tub overlooked what might be a stream if spring ever did arrive. The bedrooms with their gabled windows begged for cradles and rocking horses and train sets.
Did Aleksy harbor fantasies of a family? she wondered with a clench in her chest.
She silently followed him as he inspected everything, pausing at the threshold to the master bedroom, taking in the huge space and vaulted ceiling from the door.
He noticed her hesitation but covered his reaction with an impassive assessment of the enormous bed, the dark blue coverlet and the walk-in closet. She supposed an equally spacious en suite existed beyond the door on the interior wall.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She thought she was in love but didn’t think it would be judicious to say so. “It’s beautiful. You’ve never seen it? Is it yours?” she added as it occurred to her this could be leased as a bolt-hole.