The Russian's Acquisition

“I understand.” He sat back, his mouth curling with self-deprecation. “I knew you weren’t proper mistress material— Clair, that’s a compliment,” he hurried to say when she gasped and stood, impaled by the remark.

She began clearing the food they hadn’t touched. “No, you’re right,” she rushed out, clattering dishes. “I know I’m not good at this.” She was breaking into pieces on the inside but refused to let him see it. It would only make this worse. “When we met, I was afraid of every type of relationship. I was so terrified I’d get hurt, I didn’t let anyone near me. Now I know it doesn’t actually kill you to be close to someone. Literally, physically close, I mean.” Her smile was brittle. “I’ll be able to take that forward…”

She stumbled to a halt, unnerved by the way his eyes went black. Jealousy?

Ducking her head, she let her hair fall forward, hiding her confusion. Hiding the way her face wanted to crumple because she was so full of longing and so unsure.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself and lifted her chin. “Still a long way off before I risk falling in love, but…” She trailed off, bravado tank on empty. “I’m just sorry I’m not—” Her throat began to thicken. What you wanted. “I’m going to pack.”

She rattled dishes onto the bench and left.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IF ALEKSY’S WORK ethic had suffered when Clair was waiting at the penthouse for him, it downright evaporated when she wasn’t there at all. He told himself that sinking into new challenges would allow him to leave this gut-knotting anguish behind, but nothing seemed to bury it. He didn’t really care about the outcome as his legal counsel cut a deal with a union   to keep a factory operating and when a stock market correction dented his worldly holdings. His only concern was whether it had affected the portfolio he’d put together for Clair.

He went through the motions of living, but nothing drove him. He’d never been at such a loss. Genuine hunger, guilt, thirst for revenge… They’d all motivated him to face the next challenge and the next, and now he had no goal. No purpose. The only thing that meant anything to him now was gone.

Clair.

He’d done the right thing, he kept telling himself. She deserved to be loved. He, at least, had known the feeling at one point in his life. He’d subverted his need for it, determined to avenge the lives of his parents, but they’d made sure he knew what it was. Clair hadn’t experienced that, and if she could find a man who loved her even half as much as he did—

The thought flashed through his mind like lightning, and then a million others crowded in a rumble behind it.

He loved Clair. He loved her with the kind of devotion that would move him between her and a knife or a gun. He would die for her.

A second jolt of stunned clarity went through him. That’s what his father had done. He’d only ever seen his father’s death as something he’d caused, but his father had stepped into the fight because he’d loved his son too much not to protect him.

No other man would ever love Clair as much as he did.

Did that make him worthy of her? No. But as it sank through him that he hadn’t even told her how deeply she was loved, he felt like the smallest man on earth. Her husky “Not with me” continued to ring in his ears all day, every day, but maybe if she’d known how thoroughly she occupied his heart, she would have felt differently. If nothing else, surely she’d realize her own worth and never again settle for anything but wholehearted devotion in a relationship.

Stirred from apathy for the first time in weeks, he sought out her new contact details.

And quickly learned she’d disappeared.

* * *

Clair made a note in her calendar, then traced the capped end of the pen over her upper lip, pleased with the number of “yes” responses she’d had to her invitation.

The home usually had a decent turnout for volunteer drives. Clair was one of the diehards. She had expected a few of the people she’d seen during the annual clean to be willing to sit on her committee bridging the foundation funds to the most-needed programs in the home, but she was thrilled to hear all of them eagerly agree.

Things were finally coming together. The home had cleared out an old cloakroom to make an office for her. One of the cooks had offered Clair the use of her mother’s house while the woman visited relatives in Australia. Clair only had to feed the cat and pay the utilities. She wasn’t taking a wage from Brighter Days, but she’d interviewed for a clerk position with a notary in the village. It was only a temporary maternity cover, but it would keep her on her feet until she figured out her next step.