Christmas Tsar (Blood and Thunder 1)

“I know this. You’re a good man, but if you can’t see that, there’s no hope for me.”

“For you?”

“Exactly,” she said. “You can’t even see how I feel about you—because you won’t allow yourself to see.”

She had exposed his Achilles’ heel, and she had been merciless about it. It was time for Amber to understand that he wouldn’t change, and that he let no one in. He stood up, and so did she, and she was dressed before him. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, opening the door. “You are.” She stood back. “Good night, Alexei.”

Chapter Eight

It was business as usual the next day. The skeleton crew had returned from their Christmas break. The lines were cast off, and Russian Thunder, bustling with activity, set sail. Encouraged by fair weather and a following wind, they headed for Isla Celeste.

Amber was dressed immaculately in her uniform, ready to start her official duties for the day with her hair neatly tied back. There was plenty for her to do, but that didn’t stop her thinking and grieving for Alexei. People probably thought he was the last person on earth to feel sorry for, but she did feel sorry for him because he refused to change.

He shunned all affection, she mused as she set out his coffee tray. And who was she to come on board Alexei’s yacht and try to make him fit the mold she thought he should fit?

She hadn’t slept

last night after throwing him out of her cabin. She hadn’t wasted her time either. She’d propped Mr. Mouse up next to her laptop and had written her first article, which she’d delivered to Hard News this morning before starting work. Part One told the exciting tale of life on board a billionaire’s yacht. It was the sort of thing that fascinated her. She’d write the next installment when they reached Isla Celeste and she was introduced to the other part of Alexei’s life: his life in polo. Whatever she wrote, she would never betray his trust. He’d confided in her, and she valued that. She would perpetuate the myth of a mystery man who had sprung full-formed from the wild steppes of Russia. Any more detail and she might inadvertently put him in danger.

Anything more and her heart would be in even more danger than it was already, she thought as she lifted his tray of coffee to take it to him.

~o0o~

He was on the phone when Amber arrived on deck. He’d been lounging at the dining table, making a call too important to break off and look at her when she arrived. He pointed to where he wanted her to put the tray. He sensed Amber’s silent rage as he cut the call and finally looked at her. “Amber…”

“Yes, sir?”

“I missed you last night.”

“Would you like me to pour the coffee, sir?”

“No,” he snapped, irritated by her manner. “I would like you to look at me when I speak to you.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

“Stop this. I don’t know what happened last night, but I do know you’re overreacting again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amber—”

“My apologies, sir, but I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.”

He swore viciously in Russian. “You’re about as apologetic as a—”

“As a mouse, sir?”

Her tone had changed from studiously polite to seriously scathing. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’d like Amber back, please.”

She finally snapped. “Then don’t shout in my face, don’t order me about, and don’t point when you want something done. For once, try to treat me like a human being with feelings rather than a cold stone god like you. Whether I’m crew or just your latest fuck buddy, I refuse to be subjected to any more of your—”

“You refuse?” he cut in mildly.