Prince Voronov's Virgin Page 6

  “Don’t be a fool, Paige. It pleases me to buy this for you. You do not need to pay me.”

  She looked away as, ridiculously, her eyes filled with tears. When was the last time she’d gotten a gift for no reason whatsoever? Not since before her mother died. Mama had loved surprising her daughters with small trinkets—until she had the accident and every penny they had went toward her care.

  Paige couldn’t accept such an extravagant gift from this man. It wasn’t right. “I’ll give everything back when you return me to the hotel.”

  Alexei swore in Russian. Or so she assumed by the expression on his face. “Very well,” he said, stony-faced. “Whatever pleases you, Paige Barnes.”

  And now she felt ungrateful. She’d hurt his feelings, and it bothered her. She was Southern—and like all Southern women, she’d been inculcated with graciousness and sensitivity to others’ feelings from birth. She’d failed miserably just now.

  Paige touched his sleeve. “Thank you for the coat, Alexei. It was kind of you.”

  He swung around to look at her, his brows drawn down over his remarkable eyes. Why did he have to be so breathtaking?

  “I do not understand you, Paige.”

  She blew out a breath. The air in the car was warm, and she was feeling toasty and comfortable. “I’m not sure I understand myself,” she said with a shaky smile. “But I’m sorry I was rude.”

  He waved a hand, as if dismissing the last few minutes from his mind. “And I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention.”

  Paige’s gaze dropped. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I have to admit I’m uncomfortable simply being with you,” she said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “There will be no trouble.”

  “If I were your employee, and you saw me with Chad, would you be angry?”

  “Truthfully? Yes. But,” he said before she could interject anything, “I would not fire you simply because of that. Far better to keep you close.”

  She frowned. “Really? Why?”

  He leaned in as if he were imparting a secret. “Because you might know things that could be valuable to my enemies.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. “You’d be mistaken,” she said softly. “I don’t know anything. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. If that’s why you’ve gone to all this trouble, you’re wasting your time.”

  Alexei grinned, and her insides melted in spite of her wish not to react. “Such a little teegr, Paige. This is why I like you. You are loyal, even when he has hurt you deeply.”

  She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I’m not hurt. I was simply surprised. And concerned for my sister.”

  “Your sister is old enough to take care of herself, don’t you think?”

  Paige frowned. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t really explain it. “That’s not the point. I feel responsible for her, and I love her. I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

  “Of course you love her,” he said. “But you are not responsible for her.”

  “You don’t know anything about us,” she protested. “It’s easy for you to sit there and pronounce judgment, but until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, you have no right to tell me how to feel.”

  He took one of her hands in his, rubbed stomach-flipping circles in her palm. “I am not telling you how to feel. But a twenty-one-year-old makes her own decisions. You are not responsible for what she chooses.”

  Her breath left her on a long sigh. “I know. But you don’t stop worrying about someone just because they become an adult. I raised Emma. In some ways, she’s like my child.”

  She’d never said that aloud to anyone, she realized. It was shocking to voice it to this man she barely knew. Of course people back in Atkinsville knew she’d raised Emma after their mother’s death, but Paige had never told anyone how truly hard it had been. To open up would have been to admit she needed help—which might have led to Child Services intervening.

  “Ah, Paige, this makes so much sense now.”

  “What makes sense?” The circles in her palm continued. Her body was softening, melting, her core liquefying beneath his touch. My God.

  “Why you feel so responsible, why you would sacrifice your own happiness for hers.”

  “I didn’t say that. Emma doesn’t need me to be unhappy just so she can be happy.”

  His eyes were sympathetic, understanding. “You must have been very young when you had to become her mother.”

  “Eighteen,” she said.

  “It was difficult for you, yes?”

  Paige sighed. Why was she telling him this? And yet it felt somewhat comforting to do so. Like her tears the other night, it was cleansing to finally let it out. “Of course. I was still a kid myself and I didn’t always know what to do. I didn’t get everything right.”

  “Yet you did enough. She is grown and independent. You must allow her to sink or swim on her own.”

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, but you have no idea—”

  “I had a sister,” he said very suddenly, his eyes shadowed. “She was three years younger than I. I protected her fiercely, Paige. But I could not save her in the end. I only wish she’d lived long enough to be able to drive me insane with her choices.” He squeezed her hand then. “Celebrate your sister’s ability to do so, and stand by her when she falls—but do not ever feel as if you must cease to live your life in order to always be there for her.”

  Paige couldn’t speak. Shock—and fear—had frozen her vocal cords. How did he see inside her like this? How did he know what her fears were, and what she’d given up over the years without her actually telling him the details? It was disconcerting.

  And yet she also ached for him. For the loss that clearly still affected him. She wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to ask what had happened, but before she could find her voice again, his phone rang.

  “You will please excuse me, I must take this,” he said, frowning at the display. Paige nodded—but she needn’t have bothered because he was already talking.

  He spent the next thirty minutes on the phone as the car glided through the city. The farther they drove from the hotel, the more Paige started to wonder if she’d made a mistake. She usually deliberated before she made decisions. She did not act on impulse.

  Until now.

  She’d signed on for a nice, authentic dinner in a real Russian restaurant with a man who fascinated her. She’d not expected to have her soul bared to him, or to experience the chink in her heart when she’d realized he’d also lost someone he loved.

  It was supposed to be dinner. Nice, simple, easy.

  But the car kept moving farther and farther from the city center. They passed from the densely packed buildings of Moscow into the outskirts before rolling along a congested highway. She wanted to ask Alexei where they were, but he was still on the phone.

  When they took an exit and made a turn, she suddenly realized they were approaching an airport. Her stomach dropped to her toes. Though it didn’t look like the same airport she’d flown into only a couple of days ago, it was still a large facility with a lot of traffic.

  “It is Sheremetyevo” Alexei said, as if he’d been reading her mind. He tucked his phone away. “You probably flew into Domodedovo, which is south of the city.”

  Paige tried not to panic. “Yes, but what are we doing here?”

  “I am taking you to dinner, maya krasavitsa.” His expression said it was obvious.

  “At the airport?”

  “No,” he said as the car hesitated for a moment at a security gate. The chauffeur exchanged a few words with the guards, and then they were through. A couple of minutes later the car came to a halt. The door opened and Alexei stepped out, then held out a hand for her. When she emerged, she realized they were standing in front of a hangar where a jet was slowly taxiing out into the open. The whine of the engines was loud, the wind whipping her clothes and making her wish she’d changed into jeans and boots instead of
her business suit and kitten heels. In spite of the gorgeous coat, the wind went up her pant legs and chilled her from the inside out.

  Alexei leaned into the car and grabbed the shopping bag with the accessories.

  “Alexei,” she shouted over the noise as he placed the hat on her head and wrapped the scarf around her neck, “I can’t get on an airplane with you! This is insane!”

  He didn’t let go of her hand, instead tugging her into the curve of his body and wrapping an arm around her to keep her from getting too chilled.

  “It is a short flight, Paige. I’ll have you back by midnight, I promise. Put these in your pockets,” he said, handing her the gloves.

  Her pulse skidded like an out of control ice skater. What had she gotten herself into? Agreeing to go to a restaurant with him was one thing, but getting onto a plane?

  “I can’t,” she said, shaking her head frantically. They both knew she wasn’t talking about the gloves.

  He turned her and put both hands on her shoulders. Then he leaned down until his face was only inches from hers.

  “You trusted me last night,” he said, his voice soothing in spite of the fact he had to practically shout. “I’m asking you to trust me again.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE WOULDN’T TELL HER where they were going, yet she’d still gotten onto the plane with him. Paige shook her head at her own folly, wondering what on earth had happened to her good sense. It had taken less than an hour for the plane to land at a different airport, but instead of getting into a car, they’d boarded a helicopter.

  It wasn’t her first helicopter ride, but it was certainly the most luxurious. The inside of the craft looked like a custom yacht, all white leather and sleek wood. Beside her, Alexei was on the phone. He’d taken at least six calls since she’d climbed into the car with him outside the hotel.

  But then, that’s what multimillionaire—or billionaire—tycoons did. They made deals over the phone, bought and sold entire companies and transferred millions of dollars, or rubles as the case may be, with aplomb.

  It was a world far outside her realm, in spite of the last few days as Chad’s executive secretary.

  Alexei tucked the phone back into his pocket. “I am sorry for the interruptions,” he said.

  Paige shrugged. “It’s okay,” she replied. “There’s a lot at stake.”

  His gaze sharpened as he studied her. “Yes, there is. And I intend to win, Paige.”

  A shiver skidded through her. She hadn’t been referring to any one deal in particular, but clearly the Valishnikov acquisition was the subject of his many calls. Apprehension was a tight ball in her stomach as she thought of her boss back in Moscow. “So does Chad.”

  He looked out the window behind her as the helicopter began to bank. “Look.”

  She turned to where he’d pointed, her breath catching in her throat. She felt him move behind her on the luxurious leather bench, felt his solid body pressing against hers. It was intimate, casual, but she burned nonetheless.

  Below, the land unfolded itself in a crystalline white blanket. A rich green and white palace sat in the center of the covering. Six massive white columns fronted the building, and ornate friezes clad in gold surrounded each of the myriad windows across the three-level facing. The domes of a small church nearby were a muted gold, though she imagined they would glint in the sun, while white trees reached with bare arms to the dull sky.

  Alexei’s arm was on her shoulder, his cheek near her other ear as he leaned in and pointed. “It is the Voronov Palace,” he said, “built in the early eighteenth century. Look there, at the fountain. It was a gift from Tsar Peter the Great.”

  The fountain in the front courtyard seemed made of gold, its cherubs and mythical creatures frozen in time, waiting for some sign only they knew in order to step down from their perches and frolic in the courtyard.

  The Voronov Palace was fairy tale beautiful, and she felt completely out of her depth being here. She’d been raised in a two-bedroom house with a tiny kitchen and a postage-stamp lawn. Hardly comparable.

  The helicopter made another pass, then began to hover before gliding softly down, its rotors lessening in speed until they were on the ground and a man opened the door and smiled at them. He said something in Russian. Alexei answered before turning and taking her hand in his.

  Then they were stepping out of the craft and hurrying along a path that had been cleared of snow until they reached the house. Alexei led her inside a grand entry where Paige came to an abrupt stop, her head tilting back and her jaw dropping open.

  The entry was vast, its gilt and alabaster walls rising to a dome that was painted all around with a scene from the bible. Three large crystal chandeliers were suspended from different points of the dome. The glittering crystals threw light into every nook and corner of the fresco, which gleamed with rich golds, deep blues, and vibrant reds.

  “It’s the Adoration of the Madonna,” she said in wonder. Mama’d had a print of a religious scene similar to this one on the wall in their living room. Paige had been so accustomed to it that she’d lost the ability to see it with fresh eyes when she was still quite young.

  But this was like seeing it again for the first time—though clearly this painting was far better. Not to mention real. Still, odd as it seemed, it gave her that wistful feeling of home.

  “Da.”

  She looked at Alexei, blinking back tears. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was there. What must it be like to live with this kind of beauty every day of your life?

  He came to her, his gaze filled with concern. “What is wrong, Paige? You are safe with me, I promise you.”

  It was too late to hide her reaction now. She gave him a watery smile, embarrassment creeping through her. “It’s silly,” she said, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes. “I always cry in art galleries. There’s just something about the ethereal beauty of old paintings that gets to me. It’s like the painter’s soul is inside, if that makes sense. It’s just so wondrous.”

  It was true, and yet she knew it was more than the beauty of this painting making her cry. It was that connection to the past, discovered in such an unusual place, that made her more emotional than she might have otherwise been.

  Alexei wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek. His handsome face was gentler than she’d ever seen it. “You are very refreshing, Paige Barnes. I do not think I’ve ever met a woman who cries in art galleries, though this is hardly a gallery.”

  She managed a soft laugh. Hardly a gallery? Who was he kidding? “Well, I’ve only been inside three in my life, not including this place, so maybe it’s not a phenomenon so much as the newness of the experience. I might grow positively callous with time.”

  He smiled. “I doubt that. And I think I had better not take you into the portrait gallery. You’ll never be able to eat dinner with your nose closed from crying.”

  “Maybe after dinner then?” How could she not want to see portraits of his ancestors?

  “After dinner is a surprise.” He took her hand and pulled her to his side. “Now come, if I’m not mistaken, a delicious meal awaits us in the library.”

  “The library?” she said as they moved deeper into the house.

  “The formal dining room is vast, whereas the library is far more cozy.”

  If cozy was a two-story room the size of a small department store, then yes, this room was cozy, Paige thought, as Alexei ushered her into a book-lined space with a giant fireplace burning at one end. A round table was set near the fire with crystal, china and snowy-white linens. A trio of uniformed servants stood to one side, near a cart from which glorious smells wafted.

  Alexei took her coat and hat and handed them to one of the servants. Then he piled his own on top and came to pull out a chair for her. Paige sank into the worn leather, wondering how many Voronov princes and princesses had used this very chair she was sitting on.

  Alexei took the chair opposite, and the food began to arrive. There were meat dishes
, steamy dumplings, fragrant vegetables and black bread. A dish of black caviar in ice sat to one side, along with flat pancakes she knew were called blini. One of the servants opened a bottle of white wine and poured it into their glasses. Paige started to ask for water as well, but Alexei said something in Russian and a glass of water appeared at her place setting immediately after.

  The waiters filtered out of the room and they were suddenly alone. Alexei lifted his wineglass. “To a fine evening of good food and great company.”

  Paige clinked glasses with him. She took a small sip of the wine, surprised to find it light and refreshing, and smiled back at him. Her pulse thrummed, and she wondered how she would get through this evening when suddenly she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  It was completely unreal, what was happening to her. She’d been whisked away from Moscow by a Russian prince, flown on his private plane to St. Petersburg and now she was sitting in the beautiful library of his ancestral home and eating a romantic dinner with him. These things happened in movies, or to beautiful models and actresses, but not to hardworking career women like her.

  She thought of Chad and Emma, and pushed away a spear of guilt that notched into her breastbone.

  “You are enjoying the pelmeni?” Alexei asked.

  “Everything is wonderful. But which dish is pelmeni?”

  “The dumplings. The filling is a mixture of beef, lamb, pork and spices.”

  Paige stabbed another. “It tastes amazing. You were right there’s more to Russian food than cabbage.”

  He followed the fork from her plate to her mouth, his gaze lingering while she chewed. She was beginning to feel self-conscious, but then he looked down at his own plate and resumed eating.

  “They were my sister’s favorite,” he said. “It is a recipe from the Urals. My mother made them for us quite often.”

  “I’m sorry that your sister is no longer with you,” she said carefully. And then she wanted to smack herself. Could she have sounded any stiffer? Any more uncomfortable?

  “It has been many, many years,” he replied. “But thank you.”