Married By Christmas: His Pregnant Christmas Bride / Carter Bravo's Christmas Bride

“I wanted to see you again before I went back to Russia.”

* * *

Anastasia didn’t even remember the drive back home.

Her brain registered nothing until she saw him sitting in his car outside her family home, like a predator lying in wait. He got out as soon as she neared, looking like a god descended to earth with the setting sun behind him. Even from a distance she felt the tension radiating from him. It swamped her as she drove past him into the garage, as he opened her door and helped her out.

Her throat tightening, her heart hammering, she invited him into the house. Every nerve fired with his nearness, with the intensity blasting from him.

Needing air, she led him all the way out back to her favorite part of her mother’s garden—the gazebo. It was where she’d sat alone countless times with her laptop or a book, where her mind had always ended up dwelling on the man she’d loved and lost. She turned to him now.

He towered over her, his eyes that hypnotic green she’d always drowned in, his expression singeing her blood with its heat. And she just couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t let him say goodbye. Not yet.

Not before she said what she’d called him to say.

“Anastasia—”

“I could have died, Ivan.” Her quavering words cut off what he’d begun to say. “But I didn’t. Because you saved me. Now I need one more thing from you.”

He took a step closer, tight, barely leashed power in the move. Power she felt could move mountains, as he’d done for her and Alex. “Anything, Anastasia. Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to show me that I didn’t just survive, Ivan. I need you to prove to me that I’m still alive.”

His eyes flared with such a blaze of emotions, she almost needed to shield her eyes. “Anastasia...”

This time he said her name as if it hurt, the inflection filled with seething hesitation. And she knew he wouldn’t make a move. Either because he couldn’t credit what she’d asked him for, or because he was taking it upon himself to protect her from any recklessness in her weakened, needy state.

But she couldn’t take no for an answer. This was the one thing she needed. The last thing she’d have of him.

He’d nurtured her back to physical health, but she now needed a salve for her emotions, a reviving dose of passion from the only man she’d ever been intimate with.

Her move ate up the distance between them as a trembling hand rose to his face. The moment she cupped his rugged jaw and felt his strength fill her palm, overflow into her being it was like the years apart evaporated. Nothing remained inside her but longing, and it had taken only this contact to break the dam and have it all come pouring out.

“I need this, Ivan,” she whispered. “I need you.”

His flesh buzzed beneath her hand, electrifying her. “How could you? I left you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you did or why you did it. The past is gone. Alex is gone.” She stifled a sob that threatened to tear through her. “But I’m still here. And it’s terrible, Ivan. Terrible to be alone, to know I’ll always be alone because I’ll never be able to share what happened, what changed me forever, with another person for the rest of my life.”

“Bozhe moi, Anastasia.”

He’d only ever spoken Russian when he’d lost his hold on his rigid control in the throes of passion and pleasure. But now different emotions compromised his control, eliciting his tormented “My God.”

Her hand trembled around his neck, her fingers plunging into his luxurious mane. “But I share it with you, Ivan. It’s only because you know everything, that you’ve lived it with me that I’m able to go on. And I want to share more with you, what might bring me back to life. The past is gone—”

“The past may be gone, but there’s tomorrow—”

A finger on his lips stopped his protest, her tear-soaked voice breaking. “There’s only now. And you said you’d do anything. That’s the only thing I need. The one thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

His chest expanded, as if bracing under an insupportable burden. Not only wasn’t he unfeeling, as she’d once thought, she now realized he probably felt too much, had to close himself off, to protect himself, and maybe the whole world from the power of his emotions. She’d seen him when a measure of these emotions—the violent, vengeful ones—had been let loose. He’d been lethal. She no longer doubted that he’d wreaked far more destruction in his life, that what she’d witnessed had only been the tip of the iceberg. And now she was chipping away at the barrier that restrained his devastating potential, and it was about to crack.

Not that it worried her. She wanted him to demolish her with all the ferocity of his fervor. He’d only ever hurt her when he’d deprived her of it.

“You need this, too, Ivan. You lost him, too.” His flinch was proof that Alex’s loss did hurt him. Her hand twisted in his hair in answering agony. “I need to share his loss with you, the one who knows, the one strong enough to live with it. And I’m the only one you can share it with, the one who understands, who’s been part of it all.”

The torment that blazed on his face solidified her belief.

He mourned Alex, almost as deeply as she did.

“Anastasia, you don’t know what it takes for me to be like this.” Like this? In control? Holding back? “You don’t know what you’re risking.”

“I have nothing more to risk, Ivan.”

His head tilted back against her hand, a growl rumbling deep in his chest, as if there was a trapped, starving beast there. He was resisting because he feared he’d hurt her.

She had to make him believe he wouldn’t, had to make him stop holding back. Her other hand slipped around his neck, coaxing his face down to hers. “The only injury I could have sustained was letting you go without being with you one more time.”

She lowered her arms to hug all she could of him, a breath she’d been holding for seven long years flowing out of her in tortured relief. Until he stiffened in her embrace as if she’d electrocuted him.

Oh, God. This could mean she’d gotten it all wrong. That he didn’t need comfort, at least not from her. That when he’d said he’d give her anything she needed, he hadn’t thought it would be him—the one thing he hadn’t offered.

Before she could withdraw in mortification, his formidable body surrendered to her hold. He still didn’t embrace her, but he gave her license to hug him. So she did. Hug him and hug him. His sighs were the very sound of agonized enjoyment. They reverberated deep in her marrow as he rested his forehead on hers, swaying with her to the erratic cadence of their heartbeats.

Then suddenly he was pushing away. Before letdown burned her to ashes, she was swept up in his arms. Where she’d despaired of ever being again.

Forgetting to breathe as he strode inside the house, she savored the weightlessness, the powerlessness, the soaring he always made her feel when he carried her like this.

His effortless steps paused halfway up the stairs to the upper floor and he looked down at her, his eyes probing hers. “This is what you want?”

Instead of answering him, she nestled her head more securely against his chest. “My bedroom is the last door in the corridor.”

That rumble of voracity that had always melted her revved beneath her ear. He hurried through the upper floor that was all her living space, crossing inside her bedroom in seconds. The moment he closed the door, he let her slide down on his hard body and pressed her against it, letting her feel how the tremors shaking her body echoed in his.

Unable to wait another heartbeat, her hands convulsed in his hair, her lips gasping for his. The moment she reached them, she took them in a wrenching kiss, every moist glide and thrust of her tongue confessing how much she’d longed for him. It reminded her how much she’d lost, how much she’d lose again.

But she had him now, and she would hoard all she could of him.

She’d barely started when he tore his lips away. Crying out, she surged up, desperate for his breath so she could breathe, for his heartbeat so her heart wouldn’t stop, needing his taste to fill her up for the desolate future without him.

But he’d only broken the kiss to melt more down her neck, her breasts. His growls of pleasure and need were elemental, set off jolts of hunger in her core.

He wanted her now. She knew he did. With all his indomitable, magnificent being. For now. And she wanted to have every spark of his desire, needed it. Had to have it. If even for one hour.

Too weak still to climb him and wrap herself around him, she could only stand on tiptoe and arch back, offering all of her. Her legs buckled when his erection pressed into her core through their clothes. Moaning, she ground against him, pressing his head harder into her aching breasts. He opened his mouth over her sweatshirt-smothered flesh, nipping one of her nipples.

A cry tore from her as she bucked with pleasure, losing all coherence. “Ivan, please, just take me.”

With another growl, he picked her up again and carried her where she’d never thought she’d have him—her bed.

His gaze raked every inch of her, igniting her skin wherever it lingered, then he came down over her, his arms a prison of muscle around her. She breathed in the scent of his maleness and protectiveness, fiery and clean and musky. Her mouth watered then her stomach rumbled.

“You’re hungry.” He pulled back, gaze sharp, tone accusing. He’d constantly worried she didn’t have enough food, kept urging her to eat more.

He started to get up and she clutched his hand, the hand that had snatched her from death’s jaws, that had taught her what pleasure really was. “Not for food, Ivan.”

“Anastasia...” he groaned as he sank back into her arms.

She singed her lips with his heat as she ran them over his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck, loving the feel of the few days’ worth of beard he now wore.

At its soft abrasion, she moaned into his skin. “All I want is to feast on you.”

And she did, trembling with the enormity of having him in her arms again. Her hands roamed the breadth of his back, reveled in the leashed power of his arms, her lips and tongue delighted in skimming every inch she could reach, every touch and taste everything she’d craved for years. Years.

But he broke away from her again, to blaze a possessive trail down her body. He had her writhing in pleasure as he seemed to melt her clothes off. It was only when she found herself naked beneath him in what felt like seconds that self-consciousness assaulted her.

Dr. Balducci had done a masterful job on the scar that traversed her abdomen. It reminded her she’d been taken apart and put back together inside, but she’d gotten used to seeing it, mostly dismissed it. But having Ivan’s hands and eyes on it, she felt as if it was the ugliest thing ever, and that it covered her from head to toe.

On a mental level, she knew Ivan would sympathize. But on the sensual one, the male in him, what she knew from ecstatic experience was ferociously carnal and exacting, had to be put off by it.

But as she tried to reach for her comforter to cover herself, Ivan, still fully clothed, captured her wrists. He pinned them beside her head, his knees imprisoning her thighs.

“Don’t hide from me, moya dusha.”

At hearing him call her my soul, one of the extravagant endearments he’d used to lavish on her, she sobbed, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Letting go of one of her wrists, his hand went to her chin, making her meet his gaze. “This scar?” His other hand shook as it traced it. “It pains me to see it, as a reminder I could have lost you. But it’s also precious because it’s proof you survived. And it’s beautiful, like every other part of you.”

Unable to bear him taking pity on her, she turned her head away as tears of inadequacy slid down her face onto the sheets.

One hand pressed her head persistently, making her look back at him, as his other one took her hand and slid it down his body until it reached the potency tenting his dress pants. Feeling him, so hot and hard and huge, made her whimper.

“That is how beautiful I find it, and you,” he whispered.

Arousal overcoming distress, she twisted restlessly beneath him, moaning, “I don’t even have words for how beautiful I find you. Please, Ivan, don’t take it slow. Show me how much you want me, make me grateful I’m still alive.”

His gaze filled with storms, but it was absolute care that filled his hands as he settled her back and slid down her body. Realizing what he intended, she was overcome by memories and, weirdly enough, embarrassment.

When she tried to keep her legs closed, he raised his head, his chiseled face flushed, his eyes coaxing. “Open yourself to me, Anastasia. Let me feast. Let me heal you.”

“I’m healed,” she cried out. “Please...”

“Your injuries, yes, but you’re far from strong enough to withstand me.”

The words withstand me unleashed a flood of memories, every sensation of every time he’d ridden her to screaming satisfaction. Though she was dying for him to do so now, to hold nothing back, she knew she wasn’t ready for that.

“You can be gentle.” She knew he could be, as he had been, heartbreakingly so, that first time he’d taken her. And every time, after their first explosive arousal had been assuaged, when he’d savored her in thorough, tender leisure.

But she saw it in his eyes. He had no intention of taking her that way. He came up to silence her protest before she uttered it, his mouth on her lips as his fingers sought her entrance. She lurched with stimulation as he dipped in, each slow inch a red-hot probe of mind-melting pleasure.

But though she was going to pieces with arousal, after her trauma and after being so long without him, her body felt too tight. Even two of his long, thick fingers felt like too much. He held her eyes as he pumped them fully inside her, drawing the admission that there was no way she’d accommodate him right now.

Rising to singe her in the possessive flames of his gaze, he started sliding down her body again, burned his way in licks and nibbles and ragged words down to her core. Her efforts to pull him up ended when his magnificent head settled between her thighs. Every nerve in her body loosened as his lips and tongue soothed and scorched the intimate flesh she could surrender to no one but him.

He strummed her to one body-and soul-racking climax then another, and another, holding her eyes all through. She was lying stunned, sated, unable to move a muscle when he finally came up to stretch against her, cupping her, crooning to her, completing her bliss.

But she felt every inch of him like cabled steel, coiled on his unspent arousal. Needing to give him relief, she started stroking him, but he captured her hand. Burying kisses in her palm, he tucked her more securely against his massive body before taking her lips.

“Shh, zvezda moya.” Murmuring another endearment into her mouth, my star this time, his tongue mated luxuriantly with hers. “I only want to hold you.”

She moaned and burrowed deeper into him. “At least let me feel you. I need your flesh on mine.”

His caresses stopped, then he rose partially, started shrugging off his clothes. As his body came into view, she realized she’d been right. He had become a full-fledged god.

Then she looked down on his promise of endless pleasure lying thick and long and heavy against his chiseled abdomen and nothing mattered but having him inside her.

She tried to wrap her legs around him in silent supplication, but he subdued her with extreme gentleness, wrapped his arms around her instead, letting every inch of his flesh imprint hers.

His lips flowed over her from neck to cheek, his whisper hot and soft against her prickling skin. “Let yourself take what I need to give you, dorogoya moya. Let go.”

When she finally did, sank into his being and giving, the one thing left in her mind was that he was the only man who had ever made her feel this incredible, this protected and cherished. This man alone had the power to revive her. Or finish her.

* * *

Warm, wonderful sensations coasted over Anastasia, making her surface slowly from oblivion. Her eyes cracked open to light peeking between blackout curtains. Blinking, she expected to see herself back in her hospital suite.

In the next second it all came back to her. Everything that had happened since she’d come running home to see Ivan. Ivan, who was still stretched out against her, drenching her in caresses.

But maybe it had all been a dream, and still was. She’d seen and felt him like this on countless nights. And each time she’d woken up empty and alone.

“I’m here.” As if he’d heard her unspoken question, he reassured her of his presence. He smoothed the hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, the heartbreaking tenderness in his caress twisting her heart, spiking desire in her loins.

He’d taken her to bed at sunset. With the sun out again, she’d slept for at least twelve hours. Which might mean that...

He again completed her thought for her. “Your parents came to check on you. They were more than surprised to find me in bed with you.” At her embarrassed gasp, something she hadn’t seen since he’d come back played on his lips—the tiniest of smiles. “Don’t worry, I’d already made us...decent.”

It was only then she realized she was in a nightgown, her favorite one, a deep burgundy silk that felt like a second skin. He’d somehow picked it out of all her sleepwear and put her in it while she slept. He was fully dressed again.

“Did they...?”

“They just asked if you were okay. I assured them you were, and your mother insisted I have something to eat.”

“Yeah, that’s my mom for you. Though she is a scientist, the cure to everything in her opinion is a good meal.”

“I ended up accepting tea and a huge slice of delicious homemade apple pie. She served them to me right here.”

Her cheeks flamed as she imagined that scenario. With her being a recluse, her parents had never had to deal with any man in her life. Her liaison with Ivan had been a secret, even from Alex. It had been the one thing she hadn’t confided in him. And just as she’d thought it time to do so, Ivan had disappeared.

There’d been no one else since. It had been the main reason she’d never moved out of the family home. She’d had no personal life that she’d wanted privacy for.

Suddenly the indulgent gleam in his eyes dimmed, tension replacing it as he got out of bed.

He was going to say goodbye now.

She sat up, her heart suddenly thudding so hard she felt it rattling her whole body.

He looked breathtaking yet haggard. Longing almost stopped her pounding heart as his heavy-lidded gaze raked her, filled with disturbed and disturbing emotions. And she realized.

He didn’t know how to say goodbye.

But neither did she. She couldn’t say it. She needed him. In whatever way she could have him.

Not knowing how to tell him that, she rose on stiff legs, tried to postpone the inevitable. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep all this time. And it doesn’t seem you’ve had any sleep.”

His jaw clenched. “Anastasia, we need to talk.”

She groped for lightness, even though she was going to pieces. “That sounds ominous.”

He clenched his fists, unclenched them. Then he squared his shoulders and stood straighter, as if he was readying himself for a frontal assault. “I tried, Anastasia. Tried to leave you alone, so you can restart your life. But you can’t start again. Not yet. And I—I can’t leave you.”

Her heart did stop this time. Then it stumbled into a gallop of brutal anticipation. Did he mean...?

His next words ended all speculation. “Tell your family you need time to heal, which you do, and come with me.” Before elation took hold, he added, “Let me do all I can to heal you.”

The plummet from the heights of hope left her unable to breathe for long moments.

When she could finally draw breath, her voice was a rasp. “Is that what this is about? You feel responsible? Sorry for me? Guilty?”

He took an urgent step toward her, his eyes like emerald fire. “I sure as hell feel responsible. For your well-being. And I’m so sorry for what happened, I can barely breathe. And I feel so guilty it erodes my sanity. Guilty that I wasn’t good enough or fast enough to prevent it. I want you to come with me so I can take care of you to my obsessive heart’s content. But if you’re asking if that’s all, then no. I would want you with me without any of that. I’ve never stopped wanting you. I don’t think I ever can.”

Anastasia gaped up at him, this man she now needed more than life itself. Though he couldn’t want her nearly as much, she believed he did want her, as much as he was capable of.

And he was right. She couldn’t restart her life yet, couldn’t resume her research without Alex, couldn’t go back to the same place of work. He’d also been right to try to shield her from the world. It hurt even more being among her family now. And if there was anything she’d ever wanted, the one thing she’d been deprived of, it was being with Ivan.

His eyes seemed to seethe with anxiousness as he waited for her response. But before she gave it to him, she asked, “How long?”

“As long as it takes. As long as you want. Say yes.”

Was there really any other answer?

“Yes.”

His sharp inhalation said her acceptance took him by surprise. He’d actually expected her to refuse, or at least not to succumb right away.

“Don’t you want to know where I’ll take you?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m with you. If you want me...”

He gathered her to him, and she felt a tremor in those hands that were powerful enough to crush monsters. “I don’t even have words for how much I do.”

She fitted into his burning body, felt hers ignite. “Then I’ll be with you, for as long as you do.”

Five

A frisson of unease slithered down Anastasia’s spine.

With a last look at her phone after she ended her latest call with her parents, who called almost every day, she exhaled.

It had been ten weeks to the day since she’d come with Ivan to Russia. And the ten-week mark didn’t have a fond correlation in her mind. Not when it came to Ivan. It had been exactly ten weeks into their first relationship that he’d suddenly ended things. Just days before Alex and Cathy’s wedding.

Not that she thought he was about to end it now. This time Ivan seemed bent on being with her, being there for her, for as long as she needed him. His constant dedication to her well-being seemed to be unlimited and unending. She had to continuously try to dial down his indulgence, pull him back from extravagant gestures. To generally convince him she no longer needed any special care.

And though he now let her do things for herself, and for both of them—cooking dinner had become her enthusiastic responsibility almost nightly—she kept learning what it meant to be with one of Russia’s, and the world’s, premier oligarchs.

Sure, she’d known he was a billionaire, had seen evidence of his wealth and power in so many ways, but the more she saw, the more it shocked her all over again.

Entering his mansion had been like stumbling into a level of existence she’d only dreamed of. She made—or had made—what she’d considered a very good living being a top researcher for an elite private conglomerate, had lived her life in her parents’ million-dollar house, but this... This was just mind-boggling. His wealth had multiplied a hundredfold since she’d been with him in the past. And it made her...uncomfortable, feeling this unbridgeable gap between them.

This place alone cost forty million. When she’d said she’d never thought he would go for such extravagance, he’d confirmed that. He’d bought this baronial castle with its own lake, sweeping grounds replete with pine trees and a staggering forty thousand square feet of living space only after she’d agreed to come to Russia with him. So she’d have all the space and facilities to be entertained without leaving home.