Chapter Seventeen - EMMA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMMA
AFTER FIGHTING WITH Ivan yesterday and locking myself in my room here, I find myself going a little stir-crazy this morning.
I don’t like being told what to do, even if the one telling me is six-foot-five and sexy as sin.
I seriously can get lost in those eyes and not think twice about falling for him.
I may be in trouble if I have to stay here indefinitely.
I sit up in bed and notice there’s an envelope on the bedside table.
I wonder how long that’s been sitting there.
A note from Ivan is scrawled across the top, letting me know I can use the credit card inside for anything I want.
If I were super pissed with the current situation, I could do some serious retail damage with those instructions.
As it is, I’m not that petty. However, I do have an idea. I grab my phone and make a phone call.
“Privet, Emma!” comes a familiar voice after three rings.
“Privet, Boris! How are you this morning?” I greet Boris with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“I am old, but I am well. Marina misses you around the restaurant,” he replies. Telling me that Marina misses me is his way of saying he misses me, too.
“I hope I’ll be able to come back soon. I assume Ivan told you what’s going on?” I ask.
“He did. He is good man. Marina will help me in the restaurant until you come back to us.”
“Thank you, Boris,” I tell him. “I’m calling because I have some questions for you.”
“Anything for you, Emma. What do you need?”
“Since I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, I want to use the time to practice the Russian recipes you’ve been teaching me,” I tell him.
“Excellent! I send you recipes for Ivan’s favorite things.” Boris seems a little too excited by this prospect.
“Why don’t you send me recipes for your favorite dishes. I’m mad at Ivan right now,” I tell him.
“Marina will be angry if I do that,” Boris chuckles through the phone.
“Just tell me something easy to make. What about the cabbage rolls and the dumplings?” I ask Boris.
“That’s a good start. Do you have pen and paper?”
“No, but I have my laptop and can type quickly,” I tell him. I set the phone down and put Boris on speaker while I pull up a blank document. “I’m ready.”
Boris and I spend the next forty-five minutes on the phone. When we’re done, I have complete recipes and cooking instructions for cabbage rolls, dumplings, stroganoff, and dark rye bread. We covered a lot in that short time frame, and now I have a shopping list for groceries.
I find a grocery store that will deliver to Ivan’s house, and place a rather large grocery order with everything I need. I hope Ivan likes to eat, because there’s going to be a lot. Some people read or exercise for stress relief. I cook when I need a release.
Since I have some time to wait until the groceries get here, I hop in the shower and take my time under the hot water. I don’t know how Ivan ever gets out of the shower when there’s this kind of water pressure flowing through the pipes. It’s heaven in a contained space.
I get dressed and make my way downstairs to the kitchen where I find Ivan pouring some coffee.
“Good morning,” I say as I sit down at the kitchen island. I’m going to try and be friendly today.
“Good morning, lyubimaya,” he says as he hands me a freshly poured cup of coffee. I inhale the warmth of the coffee before taking a sip.
“I have a meeting to attend and won’t be home until the afternoon,” Ivan tells me. “Can I trust you to stay here and behave?”
“Maybe,” I say. I’m still mad that I can’t leave the property.
“When I return this afternoon, we will talk about your security and safety.”
“Okay,” I tell him. He passes me a plate of toast with some butter and jam before smiling and leaving the kitchen.
I sit at the kitchen island and drink my coffee while I think about this whole situation I find myself in. Never in my life did I think something like this could happen, but here I am.
I get up and place my dishes in the kitchen sink, then turn to familiarize myself with the layout of the kitchen. I find high-quality cookware in the cabinets and other ingredients in the pantry. Ivan’s housekeeper must love being able to work with these kinds of materials when she cooks for him.
I hear the doorbell ring, and a few minutes later, Yuri walks in carrying grocery bags. I notice the bruises on his face and the split lip. His cheeks are still swollen. My heart breaks, and I feel awful that he looks like he does. It’s not his fault I was kidnapped.
“Are you okay, Yuri?” I ask.
“Ms. Murphy, your grocery order is here,” Yuri says, avoiding my question and keeping his eyes facing downward. He places the bags on the kitchen counter and quickly returns to the front door. Two minutes later, he’s back with some more bags.
“Thank you, Yuri,” I tell him as he places the remaining bags with the first ones he brought in. He nods silently before returning to wherever he came from in the house.
I organize and group the groceries by what I plan to make with them, and which order I need to make them in, so everything is done at the same time.
“Well, go big or go home,” I say to nobody in particular before getting started.
Hours pass, during which I have made traditional recipes from both Ireland and Russia. I may have needed recipes for the Russian dishes, but I know the Irish ones by heart. In a way, I was able to process some of my grief over losing Gran through cooking today.
I’m checking on the Irish stew simmering on the stove when I hear a noise behind me.
I turn around, and my heart thumps when notice Ivan leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed and looking like he’s trying to figure me out.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, giving me a dreamy display of the ink on his forearms.
“Hi,” I say softly. “I ordered some groceries and made a few things.” I gesture to the dishes simmering on the stove.
“It smells great,” he said, straightening himself as he pushed off the doorframe. “I thought Mrs. Ivanova stayed late to make dinner. Is anything ready to eat?”
“It is. I was just going to make myself a plate,” I tell him as I pull the tray of cabbage rolls out of the oven.
Ivan walks out of the kitchen and returns a few minutes later. He has shed his work clothes in favor of something a bit more comfortable. I’ve set two places at the kitchen island and placed hot pads down for the dishes.
“What did you make?” Ivan asks as he sits down.
“Cabbage rolls and dumplings,” I say, pointing to those dishes in the middle. “I also made some soda bread and Irish stew. There’s Irish shortbread cookies for after.”
“What is soda bread? I haven’t heard of this,” Ivan comments, looking over the dishes on the kitchen island.
“It’s bread made with baking soda instead of yeast. When I get stressed or sad, I like to cook,” I tell him as I scoop some stew into a bowl for myself.
“It’s comforting and relaxing. Since my Gran was originally from Ireland, she taught me all our family recipes when I spent time with her.
This is the stew recipe she learned from her grandmother. ”
“I’ll have that first,” Ivan tells me, holding out his bowl.
I ladle a heaping scoop into his bowl and top it with a slice of soda bread.
Ivan takes a bite and lets out this groan of pleasure like it’s the best thing he’s eaten in his life.
That sound travels straight to my core where it warms me from the inside.
“I called Boris this morning, and he gave me the recipes for the cabbage rolls and the dumplings, sharing some tips he uses in the kitchen,” I explain to Ivan while pointing out the rest of the food.
“You spent the whole day making all of this?” Ivan looks at me with surprise on his face.
“What else am I going to do? I’m stuck here with nothing to do,” I tell him, putting a cabbage roll and some dumplings on a plate. I add a dollop of sour cream to the side.
“If you weren’t here, where would you be?” Ivan asks, finishing his bowl of stew before piling some dumplings onto his plate. He must have really enjoyed it, because he practically inhaled what I gave him.
“I’m not sure. I’d probably be working and visiting Gran if she were still alive,” I tell him.
“How did you come to be a waitress?” he asks.
“I needed the money. My parents died last year, and Gran needed help because she became more sick,” I start explaining. “I had to drop out of school because there wasn’t enough money left after my parents died to continue my studies, and Gran needed me more.”
“What were you going to school for?”
“I was majoring in food science. I want to eventually start a non-profit that helps improve food quality for the homeless population or be involved with a foundation that works to improve food quality for those in lower economic circumstances,” I explain to him.
“Very ambitious,” Ivan remarks.
“I guess I’m an ambitious girl.” I shrug.
“My housekeeper would be jealous if she could smell this. It reminds me of my childhood in Russia,” Ivan says.
“You were born in Russia?” I ask him. I’m a little shocked he’s sharing something so personal. I like it.
“Yes. I am the only one of my brothers born in Russia. My parents moved us here when I was three-years-old,” he explains.
“I see. Where did you go to school?”
“Boston University. I finished in three years and then joined the military. My father thought it would be good for me to get some training before taking over the family business,” Ivan explains, but I sensed some hesitation.
“Did you not want to do that?” I question.
“I’m glad that I did it, even if I didn’t want to do it at the time. When my military service was over, I went back to school for an MBA and then started integrating into the family business so I could take over from my father.”
“Now you’re the man in charge,” I tell him. I put some butter on another slice of soda bread and take a bite. I want to keep him talking so I can learn more about him.
“It’s something I always knew that I would do, but I thought I’d have more time. Then last year, my father decided to retire and hand everything over to me.”
“What exactly do you do, Ivan?” I ask him.
“Real estate development,” he says, mildly avoiding the question.
“Okay,” I tell him. I don’t know how many real estate developers can infiltrate a kidnapping and take all of them out, so clearly he’s hiding something. I stand up from the kitchen island and take my dirty dishes to the sink.
“What are you doing?” Ivan asks me as he also stands from the kitchen island.
“Cleaning up. What else would I be doing?” I shrug and return to the sink. There’s honestly not much to clean up as I was cleaning up while cooking.
“Sit down and I will clean,” Ivan insists. He takes the sponge out of my hand slowly while looking me in the eye. I’m a little surprised because Ivan doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would clean his own dishes, let alone someone else’s.
I find some glass containers for leftovers and pack up the parts of the meal that we didn’t eat. I put the rest of the pots and pans next to the sink and then finish putting the leftovers away.
When Ivan is done with the dishes, he makes us both a cup of coffee and we sit together to enjoy the shortbread cookies.
“These are delicious,” Ivan says around a mouth full of shortbread. It’s kind of cute and funny how some crumbs fall out of his mouth and try to stick to his chin stubble.
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking a bite out of a cookie.
Ivan reaches over to take my hand and gently rubs his thumb across my knuckles. I feel a shot of electricity shoot straight up my arm and a warm feeling start pooling in my belly.
“I want you to be comfortable here,” Ivan says.
I take a deep breath. “I’m scared. I was terrified when I was taken and thinking that nobody would come for me. I’m all alone in Boston now that Gran is gone. Would anyone have missed me?”
“I would miss you,” Ivan says, standing up to hug me against his chest. He’s got me wedged between his body and the counter. “I would search to the ends of the Earth if you disappeared.”
I wrap my arms around him, getting lost in his body heat and his scent. Leather and woods are now two of my favorite things, and he wears those scents like they were made for him.
I look at up him to find him already looking down at me with something resembling heat mixed with softness.
He uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt my chin up a little higher before leaning his head down and pressing a kiss to my lips.
It’s a soft kiss, only lasting for about two seconds before Ivan pulls away to look at me again.
He looks at me like he wants to do it again.
I give him a small nod as I smile, and Ivan takes that as a cue to use his hands and angle my head in just the right way to kiss me again.
When he teases my lips with his tongue, I open for him so easily.
The feel of his tongue tangling with mine has me letting out a tiny moan from the back of my throat.
Fireworks ignite inside me, and I know I’ll be having some personal time later to the memory of his lips on mine.
Ivan doesn’t know I’ve never been with a man before, but from the unspoken emotion being poured into this kiss, it may not be long before I surrender my v-card. He pulls away, searching my face.
“Tvoi guby takiye sladkiye,” Ivan whispers, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Your lips are sweet too,” I reply, trying to catch my breath. Who would have thought that one kiss could leave me so breathless? “I think we should finish our conversation before we get too sidetracked.”
“Agreed,” Ivan says, letting out a breath and smiling.
We spend time going over how things will look moving forward. I still don’t like being restricted to the house even though my brain knows it’s for my own safety. Ivan also says that I’m not getting Yuri back, and he’ll have a new bodyguard assigned to me tomorrow.
I give Ivan a hug before taking myself to my room and crawling into bed. That personal time will have to wait until the morning, because as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m drifting off to sleep with thoughts of that kiss at the front of my mind.