Chapter 10 - Aleksandr

My driver made his way through the city streets toward my apartment while I kept a firm grip on Katie. It was closer, and we shared some very good memories there, so I hoped she'd come around once we were alone.

Taking her this way was completely out of the blue, but she consumed me. Her passionate responses to me were more honest than her reluctant refusal. I wouldn't give up as long as she let herself melt against me so eagerly, like she did every time I touched her.

"I still have to finish cleaning the kitchen," she wailed. She didn't seem scared of me at all, not even as we zoomed further and further away through the night.

"I've left someone behind to make sure everything gets done to the highest standard," I told her.

She jerked her hands, and I let go, trying not to grin as she sputtered at me. Her chef coat was no longer pristine white like at the beginning of dinner. Evidence of the delicious meal she'd served us was splashed here and there on the starchy white fabric. She had proved herself to be a talented chef and organizer, putting on such a great dinner at such short notice, and it was admirable that even in the middle of being kidnapped, she was only worried about finishing the job properly.

This evening had done nothing to shake my obsession with her. Every second that passed, especially now that we were together again, only increased it.

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she sat stiffly in the seat, sliding sideways when my driver took a left a bit too sharply. With a snicker, I leaned over to pull the seatbelt across her and lock it in place. She turned briefly to scowl at me, muttering about making sure the sliced lemons were stored correctly.

I pulled out my phone and waved it in front of her before calling the guy I'd left behind. He was no stranger to industrial kitchens, having worked at Max's restaurant for years. "Make sure the lemons are properly stored," I told him.

Katie's mouth dropped open as I ended the call and put my phone away. I couldn't tell if she was amused or still pissed off, but I liked the fire in her eyes.

When we pulled into the underground garage of my apartment building, the driver stopped at the entry to the private elevators.

I turned to Katie, reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt. She snatched it away from me with a scowl and pulled it off herself.

"Can you walk calmly to the elevator, or would you prefer I carry you up?" I asked.

She made an adorable sound. "I'll walk," she said begrudgingly.

"Calmly?"

Another flash of fire as she looked at me, then quickly looked away. "Yes," she sighed.

As soon as we were out of the car, I picked her up anyway, cradling her close to me instead of flinging her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Why?" she wailed as I pressed the elevator button. "I said I'd be calm."

"I like holding you."

After we got on, she relaxed in my arms but wouldn't look at me. I watched her in the mirrored walls, and her face was set with grim lines. Her hands told another story, reaching around my neck to hold on.

"I won't drop you," I promised. She only locked her fingers behind my neck, studiously not looking up at me.

It was a fight to stay focused and not slide her body down mine and begin kissing her senselessly, but I was determined to hear her give me the answer I wanted before I let us get caught up in the heat of the moment. And the heat we generated would create a much too distracting wildfire.

Once we were in my apartment, I held on for longer than necessary, carrying her all the way to the living area before letting her feet touch the floor. I raised an eyebrow at her, a silent warning not to bolt.

She rolled her eyes at me and sat down heavily on one of the overstuffed, pale gray sofas. The stiff collar of her jacket bunched up around her chin.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said. "Would you like a drink?"

She unbuttoned her chef coat and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you honestly offering me a drink after you kidnapped me?"

"I always adhere to the Geneva Conventions," I told her, pleased to see she tried to hide the glimmer of a smile.

I poured us each a glass of white wine and sat across from her, as if we were in a business meeting. Which, we were, of a sort. And if I sat beside her, I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off her long enough to talk. She still looked disgruntled, placing her glass on the coffee table and refusing to speak.

"What else can I offer you?" I asked.

"A phone call," she said, fire in her eyes. As I shook my head, she held up her hands. "Then you make it for me. Call that guy of yours. I have more instructions. It's not just putting the lemon wedges away."

She honestly looked so desperate I complied, pulling out my phone and tapping on the contact. When Erik answered, I handed it to her. She prattled off a list of questions, her eyes worried as she waited for each answer. I couldn't hide my laugh when she demanded he send her pictures. Only when they came through and she'd pored over each one, did she relax and begrudgingly ended the call.

"Why was that so important to you?" I asked.

She looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. I had picked her up and hauled her here against her will, after all.

"I was hoping that Chef Danello would be impressed that I was able to book a party at the restaurant and give back my old position. That kitchen has to be in spotless, perfect condition, or I'd probably get demoted down to dishwasher."

"Nonsense," I said. "You'd find another job before that happens."

She huffed. "Do you know how many people are looking for jobs these days? It's not that easy."

I leaned over, took her glass, and handed it to her. "Please, try the vintage. I'd like to know what you think. The wine selections at dinner were excellent."

For some reason, that made her go pale. "Uh, well, I actually called in an expert for that." She took a sip, nodded, and placed the glass back down, no warmer to me.

"Your boss is a fool if he doesn't see your talent," I said. "But I still fail to see why it's so important to you."

"You're a millionaire," she said through gritted teeth.

"Billionaire," I corrected mildly, trying to make her smile again.

Her lip barely quirked from its hard lines. "Oh, sorry. But most people aren't. I'm not even a thousandaire. I need to work to make money. And certain jobs pay more than others. So therefore—"

I held up a hand to stop her. "But you don't need to work," I told her. "Marry me. I've told you I'll take care of you. Anything you want. All your needs."

"You're really serious? This isn't some elaborate joke?"

"I assure you it's not. I don't play jokes of any kind, simple or elaborate. I want you, Katie. I want you to be my wife." She put her head in her hands, but not before I saw the glimpse of anguish in her eyes. Why didn't she say yes if that was what she wanted, too? "And, of course, I'll need you to have my child."

"Why is that such a big part of it?" she asked, face still hidden.

"I need an heir," I sighed.

Her face whipped up, eyes narrowed, and lips compressed in disappointment. She didn't speak, though something was clearly on her mind.

"Don't you want children?" I asked, curious why she looked so upset by this.

"Of course I do," she wailed. "But in the future. The far distant future. I'm sorry, Mr. Fokin, but I can't accept."

I grumbled at the distance she tried to put between us by not calling me by my first name. "It's Aleks," I reminded her. "Tell me why."

"I just can't."

She got up to leave, pure regret written all over her face, the way she held herself, and even the timbre of her voice. She wanted to accept my proposal, so why was she trying to run away as if the place was on fire?

I jumped up to block her way. When she tried to duck under my arms, I picked her up and carried her to the closest guest room. Kicking open the door, I dropped her on the lavish satin bedspread and stepped away. The room was opulently decorated since I gave the decorator free rein on the places I didn't have to look at. Seeing her in her stained chef coat amongst the eighteenth-century French furniture and gossamer curtains of the massive four-poster bed was a bit ridiculous, but hopefully, being surrounded by luxury would change her mind.

As far as I was concerned, she belonged here and in my other homes. She belonged with me, no matter what she was wearing.

"Stay here for the night. Think over the reasons you won't marry me and compare it with what I've promised. Anything you want, Katie. I can make it happen. Just think about it."

I backed out of the room, never taking my eyes off of her face. She was at war with herself more than me. I was willing to give her all the time she needed, but a negative answer wasn't acceptable.

She was already mine; she just had to realize it.

I closed the door gently and waited a few moments to hear if she was going to break any of the priceless antiques. Just as I was going to retreat back to the living room, she tore the door open again.

"I can't marry you. I truly, honestly can't."

Confused by her desperation, I asked, "Why? Why not? One good reason."

"You really don't remember me?"

I shook my head. "Why does it matter if I've met you before?"

She looked on the brink of tears, and I reached for her. She jerked away, eyes wide, almost fearful. But what was she so afraid of?

"Tell me why," I demanded, no longer patient.

"Because I know your daughter," she said, leaning against the doorway. "I'm Nat's best friend."

My heart slowed in my chest as the words sank in. She knew Nataliye? She was friends with my daughter?

Oh shit. What the hell?