Page 7 of Ruthless Salvation

I gasped, my hand flying to my chest. “Goodgrief, you ’bout scared me to death. I didn’t realize … I called out, but no one answered, and the door was unlocked. I hope I’m not intruding.” I suddenly realized I was rambling, and judging by the incredulous looks on their faces, they didn’t understand a word I said.

Once I took a second to truly see who was before me, my discomfort intensified. These guys looked meaner than a bunch of junkyard dogs, scarred and sneering with tattoos dotting what little skin I could see beneath their bulky winter layers.

That was when it hit me that I was trespassing.

I had barged in on some sort of meeting, and these guys weren’t the type to care about my sob story. At least, that was the case for three of them. The fourth man stood apart from the others in every way. His tailored wool coat fit his shoulders perfectly and hung to his knees, an expensive suit peeking out from beneath. He was clean-shaven with a curious glint shining from the most striking eyes I’d ever seen—so pale blue they reminded me of the hydrangeas Honey grew in her garden.

This man wasn’t a thug. He was sophisticated. Imperial. He radiated importance in a way that made it hard not to stare.

I focused my attention on him, hoping he was as genteel as advertised, and flashed my best pageant grin. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Do you by chance speak English? I don’t speak a word of Russian.”

One of the brutes grumbled something, but the blue-eyed Adonis cut him short with a smooth motion from one hand. Our gazes remained locked on one another. When his lips quirked upward in the corners and amusement shone bright in his cerulean eyes, I felt like the sun had seared a path through the heavy Moscow cloud cover and bathed me in its radiant glow. Warmth tinged my cheeks and pooled in my belly.

“How could such beauty and charm ever be an interruption?” His deep voice was comforting, despite the coarse undertones of his Russian accent. He extracted himself from behind the others and closed the gap between us with a few unhurried steps. “Please, what can I do to help you?”

My thoughts up and abandoned me. His proximity sucked the air from the room, leaving my head spinning, and my brain a vacuous bubble.

Come on, Stormy girl. Get yourself together.

“Yes, umm… thank you. I was looking for the orphanage that used to be here.”

“Ah, yes. I believe you are right. There was an orphanage here years ago.”

“I don’t suppose you know anything about what happened to it?”

“I do not, but I am sure we can find out.”

My eyes widened as he placed a hand at the small of my back and directed me toward the door. “How long can we expect to have the pleasure of your presence here in the city?”

Had I stumbled onto the set of a live-action Disney movie? All the telltale signs were present. Young woman, totally out of her element, rescued by the devastatingly handsome prince. Was I currently sidestepping the fact that he was buddied up to three classically villainous thugs? It sure looked that way.

I peered up at him, winded by the brilliance of his answering grin.

Yeah. I was totally ignoring the goons. They might have been part of a hired construction crew for all I knew.

“A couple of weeks. I just arrived yesterday.”

“That is wonderful news.” He grinned.

“Is it?” A coy smile teased my lips.

“Absolutely. That will give us time to acquire the information you seek, and in the meantime, I can show you around the city.”

I stilled. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

His hand raised to trail his thumb tenderly along my jaw. “I have never come across such an enchanting creature as you. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t spend every moment available to me by your side.”

Sweet mother-of-pearl.

I couldn’t move a muscle. Not even to blink.

Who was this enigmatic man? He was incredible—too good to be true—yet my ravaged heart wanted nothing more than to surrender itself to the comforting reassurance he offered. Having the help of a local would be an enormous relief. He could be the difference between success or returning home in defeat. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

“What did you have in mind?” I asked breathily.

We stepped through the door onto the landing outside.

“My driver is over there.” He pointed across the street. “We could start with a little drive to orient you before stopping for lunch. I know the perfect place in the heart of the city where you can get the best stroganoff. Others may claim to have the best, but there is no comparison.”

---