Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) (25 page)

She rushed to shower while Anton fielded questions from the kitchen, charming the reporter with his good looks and beautiful accent. Then he took his turn while Carrie got the treatment from the stylist who came with them. By the time the stylist had finished, Galina and Ivan arrived. Two hours later, their spontaneous, casual interview began.

“Carrie,” said the reporter. “Tell us what was going through your mind the day you left Worlds.”

She recalled the awful moment when Cody and Frank told her that her skating career was over. “It was one of the worst days of my life. For years, I’d trained and worked, then like that, it was gone. I disappointed my family, fellow skaters and my fans. I’d lost hope.” She turned and looked at her husband, sitting beside her. “But there were a few people who still believed in me, even after I quit believing in myself. Anton was one of them.”

The reporter turned to him. “Did you have any doubts?”

He smiled warmly and took her hand. “Not one.”

A week later, the interview was posted on the network’s website, and during a practice break, they gathered around Galina’s computer to watch. The profile was one of several that featured athletes who, according to the website, embodied “the true spirit of the Games.” There was a veteran German skier’s courageous comeback, a working-class Canadian family’s sacrifices for their speed-skater daughter. A humorous piece about the regular Joes who made up the American bobsled team.

The segment on Carrie and Anton was a love story.

It began with Anton in their kitchen, describing the breakfast he’d just prepared. He was a natural on camera, so confident he might as well have been dressed in a thousand-dollar suit, rather than an old Ramones T-shirt, dusted with flour. Then there was Carrie, in her soft green cashmere sweater and her wedding pearls, speaking candidly about the scandal that almost ruined her.

The reporter recapped their biographies, previous championships and segued into footage of them training with Galina and Ivan. Then there was a shot of Carrie skating alone. At rinkside, Anton watched. “We connect on the ice, we connect off it. We share the same dreams and not just for Lake Placid. Of course we hope to win, but even if we don’t, our lives are full because we have each other.”

Then Carrie. “It’s been a tough year, but if I hadn’t gone through what I did, I never would have found my perfect partner and the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.” The final shots showed them on the ice, smiling and laughing as they skated. Taking a cue from Anton’s T-shirt, the segment closed with the Ramones’s “Baby, I Love You.”

As the music faded out, she leaned against Anton and he put his arm around her. Galina sighed contentedly. Ivan cocked his head and chuckled. “Such convincing actors you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe it was real thing.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Why does our building have to look like barracks?” Carrie frowned, as they walked through the athlete’s village.

Anton gazed at the colorful buildings that housed the Italian, French and German teams. The Scandinavian building across the street looked like an oversize chalet. Russia House, on the other hand, resembled the
mnogoetazhka
all over Moscow. Bland, gray and a little foreboding. “Maybe they want us to feel at home?” he suggested. “We Russians are known for being very serious all the time, not smiley like Americans.”

“This from a man with a red bedroom and purple kitchen cabinets. You don’t exactly fit the grim, gray stereotype either.” She gave a sunny grin. “Maybe the world needs to get used to smiley Russians.”

She definitely made him feel smiley, even as they were on their way to meet her father and stepmother for dinner. The Parkers had accepted Carrie’s invitation to come to Lake Placid—which was good. She needed to heal the rift with her family in order to move forward with her life. With their life together. Yet worry lurked in the back of his mind. Once Carrie had her family back, would she still need him?

Outside the gates to the village, the crowds were heavy. Tomorrow night was the opening ceremony, but tonight, the party had started. They crossed the road that connected the athlete’s village to downtown Lake Placid and the competition venues. Carrie’s family was staying in a condo at a resort just outside town, near the ski slopes, and had made reservations at a restaurant nearby. They found the stop for the shuttle that went to the hotels, and got in line.

“Parker and Belikov?” came a nervous British voice.

Anton tensed. Outside the village, they were accessible to everyone, the media as well as the fans. Though he was more comfortable talking with the press than he used to be, on-the-spot interviews still made him uneasy.

But the older two behind them definitely weren’t reporters. The man fumbled with a pocket-size camera, the woman looked embarrassed. “I hate to ask,” she said. “But we promised our granddaughters that if we saw you, we’d take a photo. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Carrie said. She moved closer, he put his arm around her, and they smiled into another camera.

It had been like this since they arrived four days ago to practice and get used to the ice. Carrie gladly posed for photos and signed every Lake Placid mascot doll, jacket and body part thrust at her. Her warm encouragement to a young girl who competed as a figure skater in the Special Olympics had brought a lump to his throat. Olga had thrived on attention too, but soaked it all in, giving nothing back. Carrie’s kindness and generosity made it clear to her fans that they mattered as much to her as she mattered to them.

When they arrived at the steakhouse twenty minutes late, her exuberance quieted. The maître d’ escorted them to a table near the fireplace, where her father and stepmother waited. The couple stood as they approached. Les Parker was dressed casually, if one considered a sweater worn with a shirt and tie casual. His tan face was stern.

Carrie hurried over, apologetic. “Dad, Lolly. I’m sorry we’re late.” She brushed kisses on their cheeks. “There were people wanting photos and autographs. We seem to attract a lot of attention.”

Her father smiled tightly. “So I understand. You’re looking well, Carrie. And you must be Anton. I’m Lester Parker.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Parker’s handshake was firm to the point of being painful, and his greeting coldly formal. That was fine, preferable even. While Anton had no problem showing his father-in-law respect, the man’s treatment of Carrie made him difficult to like.

Mrs. Parker was attractive, and younger than he’d expected. She smiled graciously. “I’m Lolly. Carrie’s told us so much about you.”

Suddenly, Carrie gasped. A woman about their age, towing a little girl with a dark ponytail, rushed over. “Oh my God, you made it!”

This must be Sarah, the old friend Carrie had talked so much about, and to whom they had sent a pair of tickets to the figure skating competition. “We wanted to surprise you,” Sarah said. “Your dad and Lolly had an extra room in their condo, and offered it to us. My parents sprang for the plane tickets, and Suzy gave me the week off.” She laughed. “Provided I bring back a signed photo of the two of you to hang at the rink.”

Now Carrie was hugging Lolly, and the little girl came to Anton’s side. She wore a kid-sized souvenir training jacket with American and Russian flag patches on the sleeve. “
Privyet
, Mr. Belikov. Did I say that right?”

Her pronunciation was a little off, but a cute kid’s effort meant a lot. “You said beautifully,
spasibo
for learning to say in Russian,” he replied. “And please call me Anton. You are Maddie, the skater. Carrie had many good things to say about you.”

“She did?” Maddie gazed up, wide-eyed, and then pulled out a chair. “Would you like to sit next to me?”

Carrie and Sarah exchanged smiles and Anton was grateful for a break in the tension. “
Da,
Maddie. I’d like that very much.”

Carrie sat across from him, next to Sarah, as Les and Lolly took seats at opposite ends of the table. As the women shared travel stories, Parker spoke to the waiter, and Anton perused the menu. These past weeks, he and Carrie had been on a strict training diet of veggies, lean protein, no starch and no alcohol. Here, the options seemed to be meat and potato, meat and pasta, or meat and meat.

He doubted Parker would look fondly on a man who ordered a salad.

He glanced up just as a waiter placed a heavy tumbler in front of him. Amber liquid, over ice. Scotch on the rocks. Aside from the fact he wasn’t supposed to drink anyway, he hated Scotch.

The older man sniffed. “Don’t like it? Or I suppose you’re a vodka man.”

“Scotch is fine. Thank you.” Anton kept his eyes fixed on Parker’s steely ones, and lifted his glass in a salute. “To Carrie.”

“To my daughter,” Parker returned, coldly.

Whether his father-in-law approved of the steak and shrimp shashlik Anton ordered—called a kabob, here—he didn’t know, but the meal passed uneventfully. Carrie and her parents seemed amiable, though tension surfaced through awkward pauses and stiff smiles. At least the food was good, and surprisingly, so was the Scotch. Parker’s brand was much better than the cheap stuff he’d had as a student. Maddie dipped chicken tenders in ketchup and talked skating. “Carrie helped me with my spiral. She’s a really good teacher.”

“That I don’t doubt,” he said. “I hope she’ll consider teaching some of the skaters at training center where I’ll be working.”

Parker looked up from his steak. “Carrie mentioned you have a job at some school.”

“That’s right,” he said, proudly. Parker ought to be impressed that he was ready and able to provide for Carrie and their children. “After I retire from competitive skating, I’ll be the director of new training facility up in Lake Shosha. It’s an excellent position, good salary, in nice town to live and raise family.”

“Over there.” Parker glared.

Not exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. “Yes. Back home.”

“Your home. Not hers.”

* * *

After dinner, he and Carrie rode the shuttle back to Lake Placid, then followed a wooded trail circling Mirror Lake, which separated the athlete’s compound from the rest of the town. Though quiet, she seemed pleased with how things had gone at dinner. But Anton kept returning to his father-in-law’s cold eyes.

Your home, not hers.

Parker didn’t like him much, that was obvious. Broken relationship aside, the man saw him as the person taking his daughter away. He also had to consider the possibility that in the end, Carrie would change her mind and decide she’d rather return to her homeland. If that was the case, he had a choice to make; force the issue and insist they stay in Russia, find a way to fit into her life in America...or let her go.

Try as he might, it was hard to imagine them being happy in the Parkers’ world of private clubs and politics. Carrie hadn’t seemed happy in it, and after all they’d gone through, a part of him felt justified insisting they move to Lake Shosha. But, would it make Carrie resent him the way he’d resented Olga?

What kind of future did they have if Carrie truly wanted to be elsewhere?

The trail ended near the village’s rear gate, in a lot parked with mobile studios for the networks covering the Games. They threaded their way through the maze of trailers, only to see Olga and Valentin coming out of one.

Valentin greeted them with an elegant nod. “Congratulations on your marriage,” he said in English, for Carrie’s benefit.

As Valentin made small talk with Carrie, Olga cast a disdainful glance Anton’s way. Sparkly earrings and glamour-girl makeup were an odd contrast to her Team Russia warm-up jacket.

Months ago, she had mentioned their plans to stay at one of the area’s better hotels, rather than with the rest of the athletes. He’d hoped that meant he wouldn’t have to see her outside of the competitions, but no such luck. She stepped closer, and placed her hand on his arm. “You play the love-struck groom for the cameras, but I know it is only a desperate attempt to sway the judges,” she said, in a low voice.

“Think whatever you want. Truth is, I’ve never been happier.”

She looked surprised, but recovered quickly. Her red lips twisted in a cynical smile. “Liar. Once you tire of graceless Americans with fondness for roast yak, you will come back.”

“
Nyet
, Olga.” He chuckled sadly, and shook his head. He’d been right to end things with Olga, but Carrie watched, uneasy. He moved out of Olga’s grasp, and took Carrie’s hand.

Then a girl’s excited squeal broke the moment. “Chelsea, look! It’s
them
!”

Olga turned, ready to meet an adoring fan, but the girls ignored her and went straight to Carrie. Olga’s expression hardened into a red-lipped pout. She seized Valentin’s arm and stormed off.

After the Canadian teens came a pack of retired librarians from Munich, red-cheeked and rowdy after too many glasses of whatever German babushkas liked to drink. The women ignored Carrie, but couldn’t get enough of him. Still, she was a good sport, cheerfully snapping photos as overserved German ladies kissed his cheek and grabbed his ass. The moment he could break away, he hustled her across the street, into the nearest building.

Laughter danced in her spring-green eyes, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed a featherlight kiss across his mouth. “I can’t believe it! A big, strong guy like you, running from a bunch of
librarians
?”

He silenced her with his manliest scowl. “Who said I was running? I’m not running. I was hungry. I wanted some...falafel,” he said, spotting the almost-empty restaurant on the opposite side of the lobby.

“A likely story.” Eyes narrowed, she stopped to gaze at the eerily silent concourse. The only places open were the falafel stand and a McDonald’s. It was a marked contrast to the bustling atmosphere everywhere else. “There’s hardly a soul in this building.” She shook her head. “Such a shame for the poor athletes who trained for years and now won’t get to compete.”

About a week ago, several Asian and Middle Eastern nations had announced they would boycott the Games. He didn’t know the politics involved, but sympathized with those whose dreams were ruined through no fault of their own. Still, the almost deserted building offered an intriguing possibility. Taking Carrie’s hand, he led her past a shuttered souvenir shop. If this place was laid out the same as Russia House, he’d find what he was looking for in the rear of the building.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

To the left of the elevators, a lone security guard flipped through a
Sports Illustrated—
the Winter Games issue. The man scanned the IDs they wore around their necks, and waved them through a pair of frosted glass doors. At the end of the long hallway was the fitness center. Treadmills, bikes and weight machines sat in silent, shadowy rows, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. The air smelled faintly of chlorine, and at the end of the room was another pair of glass doors. Anton swiped his card, and the doors slid open.

The swimming pool cast a blue-green glow and subtle flickers of light danced across the water. Beside him, Carrie closed her eyes, and took a deep breath of steamy air, a lovely warm-weather flower brought into the greenhouse after too long out in the cold. She opened her eyes and smiled. A stray tendril of blond hair framed her face.

Heat rushed from his toes to his cheeks, and his skin prickled inside his clothes. Ready to be free of them, he slipped off his jacket and dropped it on a nearby bench. “Want to go for swim?”

“Now?” Her eyes widened. For all their fine qualities, Americans were shocked by the oddest things. He knew for a fact his ladylike wife had never visited a nude beach. Even so, he saw a little smile play at the corner of her kissable, rose-colored lips.

“Why not?” The longer he stood here, the hotter—and harder, he grew. Grasping the bottom of his sweater and T-shirt, he pulled them over his head in a single motion, and tossed them on the bench with his jacket.

Shirtless, he gave her a nice long look. She loved his upper body and the feeling of her hot gaze made him stiffen inside his snug jeans. She rubbed her fingers together and ran the tip of her small, pink tongue across her bottom lip, leaving it wet and shiny.

He took a step closer.

She brought her hand to his chest, and lightly brushed her fingers over his heart. Where Olga once left bruises, Carrie’s silken caress set his nerves tingling. He slipped his hand across the nape of her neck, to knead away the evening’s tension, and banish thoughts of Olga and the Parkers.

He brushed his thumb along the delicate shell of her ear. She sighed softly, and dropped her head back, as her inhibitions seemed to fade. He closed the distance, cupping the back of her head as he claimed her lips in a kiss.

She tasted like the melon she’d had for dessert and smelled of sweet, fresh flowers. Her lips parted and she welcomed him in. Reveling in the velvet warmth of her mouth, his tongue played, danced and teased, and he nipped gently at her bottom lip; showing all the ways he would please her.