The Master (The Game Maker #2)(64)

The first one murmured, “Ma’am,” with undisguised interest.

Máxim’s hand tightened on mine. As we passed the trio, I glanced back to see him giving them a lethal look, which the men didn’t notice because they were still gazing at me.

Outside in the courtyard, the Russian seethed. “Those f*cking farmers were staring at you? Is it not obvious you’re with me?”

“It was my fault for running into them.”

He scanned me.

“What?”

“This is going to keep happening.”

“No, no! No more locking me up, Ruso. Remember, this Cat’s out of the bag. Weren’t we going to do a cab sign . . . ?” I trailed off when a flake wafted right in front of my face.

At the edge of the courtyard was a snowy yard, beyond that a vast leafless forest. White drifts piled up against trunks and blanketed limbs. The sun was coming out, but I forgave it; icicles in sunlight were spellbinding, like diamonds on the ocean. “Oh!” I hurried into the yard, and my boots crunched!

Máxim followed me, retrieving black gloves from his pocket.

“It’s . . . it’s so amazing.” It was a winter wonderland.

He frowned, as if we were looking at two different scenes. “If you say so.” His phone rang.

“Dmitri?” I asked.

“Da. Look around for a bit. I’ll try to keep this short.” He turned from me to take the call.

His shoulders tensed up, all relaxation gone. As he would say: unacceptable. Scooping up a big handful of snow, I made my very first snowball and beaned him in the back of the head.

He stiffened even more, as if his body disbelieved. A couple of barked words ended his call. He shook out his hair as he turned to me. “Run.”

With a laugh, I did, sprinting toward the trees. My heart raced when his footsteps crunched behind me.

I’d just made the tree line when he seized my waist, swinging me up, and we went tumbling into a snowdrift.

“Is that any way to treat your man?” He maneuvered on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head. As I caught my breath, he gazed down at me. “You are so bloody beautiful.”

I grinned. “I’ve seen less handsome men.” Amid all this white, the blue of his eyes was even more piercing, his smile even more glorious.

“Have you, then?” He used his free hand to tickle me, making me squeal with laughter.

“I should never have mentioned tickling to you!” I squirmed, trapped.

“As if I wouldn’t have found out eventually.”

Eventually? How long, how long, how long?

Soon his touches turned less playful. His lips slanted over mine. He slipped his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss into a thorough taking. . . .

Yet then he broke away.

“Why’d you stop?”

He levered himself to his feet, helping me up. “We have an appointment.” He brushed snow off my back, then adjusted his jacket to conceal his erection.

Hand in hand, we started on a path that meandered along the forest’s edge. “Where are we going?” We were heading away from the lodge, cresting a small rise.

“Patience, solnyshko.”

“What does sol-neesh-kah mean?”

“An endearment. You need to start learning Russian.”

I parted my lips. Why would I? Unless? Cool yo jets! Still, I was about to ask him to expand on his comment when I spotted a stable down the hill. The building was enormous, with red painted walls. Corrals flanked it. “Oh! Can we stop at the stable?”

“I suppose.”

As we neared, I said, “Am I going to get to pet a horse?” My eyes went wide. “I—can—hear—them, Máxim. I want to pet all the horses!”

He chuckled as he ushered me inside. “You heard them, did you?” The air smelled like oats and leather. “We’re going riding.”

“En serio?” I clapped my mittens.

“Look at your excitement. For my Katya, snow trumps a private jet. Horseback riding trumps jewelry. Singular creature.”

Pleasure still coursed through me whenever he called me his Katya.

“I don’t know how to ride, but I don’t care.” Laughing, I said, “Shove a helmet on me, Ruso—let’s do this.”

He was grinning. “We will go together. They ride Western here, so I’ll put you in my saddle.”

“Where are we headed? To an igloo? To the North Pole? To a place where St. Bernards serve brandy?”

He laughed, looping an arm around my waist. “Not far. I’ll give you a taste, or else your thighs will be sore all weekend.”

I quirked my brows. “Don’t hold back on my account. I’ve been riding you like Seabiscuit at least twice a day for over a week.”

The stable hand, a bearded older man, chose that moment to appear.

He cleared his throat, even more red-faced than I was. Oh, but he was leading the most striking chestnut horse! “What’s her name?” I crossed to pet her.

The man said, “Chestnut, ma’am.”

“Of course!” Love!

Máxim talked with the guy about the trail and some sights; I wasn’t listening, too busy petting the horse and crooning to her: “Poni bonita. Mi yegua casta?a. Yegüita . . .” Pretty pony. My chestnut mare. Horsey.