He walked home in the winter rain, not caring about the cold or that the wetness seeped into his clothes. He welcomed the idea of contracting pneumonia. Maybe then his chest wouldn’t feel so empty.
What was it about her?
Was it just the fact that she was elusive? Or was it something more? He loved talking to her. For the first time in years, he didn’t have to guard his words, and aside from the fact that she refused to reveal anything about her personal life, she spoke with a forthright honesty that called him on his shit.
He needed that.
She was strong and beautiful and intelligent. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was her. But he didn’t have the slightest clue how to win her.
The next morning, as he sat next to his father in church holding in his sneezes, he prayed to the Virgin for guidance. He didn’t know if she was listening, but he hoped like hell she heard his plea and took pity on him.
The Virgin must’ve been deaf that day. Mary didn’t show up at the bathhouse the next weekend. Had he scared her off? Was she finally done with whatever they were?
Sitting in the sauna, he placed his head in his hands. The door opened and he looked up with raptured hope on his face, only to be completely disappointed when he saw it was Sasha.
Igor couldn’t hold in a Russian curse.
“Good to see you too,” Sasha drawled before taking a seat next to him. “What’s with you? You’ve been in a mood all week.”
Igor hesitated. Though Sasha was his best friend and confidant, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to explain he was tied up in knots over a woman—a woman who’d refused to give him her last name, refused to give him her cell phone number, refused his dinner invitations, refused…him.
“Ah,” Sasha said, not taking his ice blue eyes off Igor.
“‘Ah’ what?” Igor growled.
Sasha grinned. “Who is she?”
He debated all of five seconds before coming clean. “Mary.”
“As in Virgin?”
“Shut up.”
Sasha laughed. “Tell me more.”
Igor explained how they’d met and been meeting every Saturday for the last month in the sauna.
“And she didn’t show up yet?” Sasha asked. “Day’s not over.”
“She’s not coming,” Igor lamented bleakly.
“You don’t know that.”
Igor rubbed a hand across his face.
“Are you worried about her?”
“No. I—last week we didn’t—I kissed her and asked her to dinner. She turned me down.”
“She must be insane. What woman would say no to you?”
Igor smiled without humor. “I’m touched by your loyalty. Mary doesn’t know my last name—and all that comes with it.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not the kind of woman that would be impressed by it.”
“Right,” Sasha scoffed. “Because women are rarely attracted to wealthy, handsome men.”
“How did I build that wealth?” Igor reminded him.
“She might surprise you,” Sasha said, ignoring Igor’s pointed question about the life they led. “Don’t make decisions for her just because you’re afraid to show her your true self.”
Igor’s fist shot out and connected with Sasha’s jaw. Sasha returned in kind. They wailed on each other, two grown men in swimsuits, decking it out in a sauna. When they’d finally exhausted themselves, they reclaimed their seats and pretended as though nothing had occurred.
“You’re acting like a victim,” Sasha said, gingerly touching his split lip. His finger came away bloody. “When you should be doing everything you can to find this girl.”
“We didn’t exchange phone numbers and last names for a reason.”
“I’ve never seen you this way over a woman.”
Igor said nothing.
“You do remember you own this establishment.”
“Da,” Igor said in understanding. He had access to security footage and account information. Those that used the facilities either had a membership or were given a guest pass. Either way, names and phone numbers were accounted for.
“Not a word of this to anyone,” Igor warned, rising.
“Iron vault,” Sasha assured him.
The writing was on the wall—he was acting like a lovesick lunatic, and he wasn’t going to do a damn thing to stop it.
Igor stood on the porch of a Long Island home, wondering if he’d made a mistake. The unassuming, modest Mary couldn’t possibly live here. Here was a gargantuan house that bordered on monstrosity. A light dusting of snow covered the lawns, the pruned and bare trees looked silver in the weak, winter sunlight.
He raised his hand to press the doorbell button but hesitated. What would she do if she saw him? Would she throw him off her property? How did a twenty-four-old woman have this kind of wealth? Unless it was family money.
Wanting answers finally overrode his worries. He pressed the doorbell and waited. The winter chill teased the back of his neck, but he refused to pull up the collar of his coat, not wanting to look like he was fidgeting.
The door opened, revealing a man with dark hair, a thin, wiry body, and a puzzled look. “May I help you?” he asked in heavily accented English. Igor couldn’t place the country of origin.
“I think I have the wrong house,” Igor murmured, staring into the man’s steady green eyes. Igor turned to leave when he heard her voice.
“Auggie? Who is it?”
“I don’t know yet, múzám,” the man named Auggie said, his eyes remaining on Igor.
He saw her blond head and that damn messy top bun that he loved so much. And then she was peeking out from behind the man’s side, her hand lingering on his waist. Her touch was intimate, familiar, rightful.
She never touched him that way.
Igor swallowed.
“Igor,” she exclaimed in genuine surprise.
“Ah, he’s a friend of yours.” Auggie smiled and stepped back. “Please, please. Come in.”
Bemused, Igor stepped through the doorway into the foyer. If he’d been paying more attention to the decor, he would’ve appreciated the rich and warm interior, the colorful walls, bright paintings, and comfortable furniture. But he wasn’t paying enough attention—his sole focus was on the woman. She wore a long, green silk robe that hugged her curves yet revealed no skin. That was her—modest vixen.
She was driving him insane.
“I would’ve called but I…” Igor trailed off. What could he really say?
“It’s fine,” she said distractedly.
The three of them headed into the expansive kitchen. High-end appliances graced the marble countertops, the white cabinets custom-made.
“Maybe your friend would like something to drink?” Auggie suggested to her.
She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at Igor. “Something to drink?”
“Water, if you please.”
After filling a glass with ice and water from the refrigerator, she handed it to him. He clutched it and forced himself to take a sip even though he wasn’t thirsty.
Auggie touched Mary’s cheek, whispered something in a foreign language, and then briefly kissed her on the lips. “Please excuse me,” Auggie said to Igor. “I’m in the middle of something and it cannot wait.” Igor nodded even as Auggie strode purposefully from the room.
The air crackled with tension as Igor stared at her, willing the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place and make sense to him.
She fingered a delicate gold chain at her neck, looking at a spot on the counter.
“So,” Igor said, his voice breaking the silence. “Who the hell are you and why have you lied to me?”