Read Online Stone Cold Knockout (House of Pain Book 1) by Lavender Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Lavender Parker
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catching up with him, but she was damn sure going to try.
***
Mikhail pushed until his muscles ached but he didn't care. He could feel Gennifer beside him, her energy egging him on. He was so used to doing his workout regiment alone, it was strange to have someone beside him. It was strange, but he liked it. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been in New York. He had Vadim, of course, but his brother was busy with the restaurant and he was busy as well. He hadn't had a trainer since Serge died, so there had been no one to push him except for himself. But Gennifer's competitiveness matched his own. She didn't want to lose and neither did he. He liked that about her.
He liked a lot of things about her.
However, she didn't like Elvis, which was a serious strike against her. Glancing over, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was slow and her technique needed work, but she was getting better. She was a fast learner. He dove deep and did a flip, turning to go back. He hesitated a moment under the water, watching her legs kicking, the muscles in her thighs flexing with each move. Her toenails were painted black, he realized, as his eyes skimmed down her leg to her feet. Something in his chest squeezed tight. He pushed off of the wall and sliced through the water. He surfaced and gulped in air, his concentration thrown off.
Earlier, she asked him why he touched her. He touched her because he couldn't help himself. Russian men didn't bother with formalities and polite conversation. When they saw a woman they wanted, they didn't hesitate to let her know it. And he wanted Gennifer. The irony was not lost on him. Before she died, his mother's only dream in life was for her sons to marry devout Orthodox girls and have stocky Russian babies. Katya Ivanhof never would have approved of a dark-skinned American girl for her son, but Mikhail left the Motherland for a reason. Russia had begun to feel like a prison of tradition and corruption. The freedom and diversity of New York City was the anti-thesis of St. Petersburg's claustrophobic society. Besides, he was drawn to Gennifer and he didn't give a fuck.
He wasn't looking for a wife anyway.
When he reached the end of the lane, he draped his arm on the edge of the wall and watched her swim back toward him. He ran his finger over the tattoo of his mother's name on his chest, feeling his heart beating hard underneath his skin. At the end of the lap, she grabbed ahold of the wall as well, her fingers gripping the cement.
“ Good?” she asked, breathlessly, pushing her new goggles up onto her forehead.
“ Good.” He nodded and she smiled. Then she skimmed her hand over the water, spraying him with drops of water. She squealed as he dipped under the divider and into her lane. She pushed off of the wall as he advanced on her, kicking her legs in front of her to fend him off.
“ That's what you get for throwing me in,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“ You were wasting my time. With coffee and endless questions.” He swam toward her slowly, stalking her through the water.
“ Asshole,” she muttered, but she was smiling. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him. Her thighs opened, and he took advantage, slipping between her legs so she was forced to straddle him. She threw her arms around his neck to steady herself and her eyes widened as he pulled her close, her breasts smashing against his chest.
“ You think I am an asshole?” he asked.
“ Definitely,” she said, her gaze trained on his lips.
“ I may be.” He dragged his eyes down her face, studying her. She was a natural beauty surely, with big brown eyes, high cheekbones, and disarmingly full lips. She exuded confidence and strength, but her beauty was hard, like a cut diamond. She was intimidating at first glance, not soft and warm and welcoming like a woman should be. Her stance said 'don't fuck with me' and she had probably scared off many
***
Mikhail pushed until his muscles ached but he didn't care. He could feel Gennifer beside him, her energy egging him on. He was so used to doing his workout regiment alone, it was strange to have someone beside him. It was strange, but he liked it. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been in New York. He had Vadim, of course, but his brother was busy with the restaurant and he was busy as well. He hadn't had a trainer since Serge died, so there had been no one to push him except for himself. But Gennifer's competitiveness matched his own. She didn't want to lose and neither did he. He liked that about her.
He liked a lot of things about her.
However, she didn't like Elvis, which was a serious strike against her. Glancing over, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was slow and her technique needed work, but she was getting better. She was a fast learner. He dove deep and did a flip, turning to go back. He hesitated a moment under the water, watching her legs kicking, the muscles in her thighs flexing with each move. Her toenails were painted black, he realized, as his eyes skimmed down her leg to her feet. Something in his chest squeezed tight. He pushed off of the wall and sliced through the water. He surfaced and gulped in air, his concentration thrown off.
Earlier, she asked him why he touched her. He touched her because he couldn't help himself. Russian men didn't bother with formalities and polite conversation. When they saw a woman they wanted, they didn't hesitate to let her know it. And he wanted Gennifer. The irony was not lost on him. Before she died, his mother's only dream in life was for her sons to marry devout Orthodox girls and have stocky Russian babies. Katya Ivanhof never would have approved of a dark-skinned American girl for her son, but Mikhail left the Motherland for a reason. Russia had begun to feel like a prison of tradition and corruption. The freedom and diversity of New York City was the anti-thesis of St. Petersburg's claustrophobic society. Besides, he was drawn to Gennifer and he didn't give a fuck.
He wasn't looking for a wife anyway.
When he reached the end of the lane, he draped his arm on the edge of the wall and watched her swim back toward him. He ran his finger over the tattoo of his mother's name on his chest, feeling his heart beating hard underneath his skin. At the end of the lap, she grabbed ahold of the wall as well, her fingers gripping the cement.
“ Good?” she asked, breathlessly, pushing her new goggles up onto her forehead.
“ Good.” He nodded and she smiled. Then she skimmed her hand over the water, spraying him with drops of water. She squealed as he dipped under the divider and into her lane. She pushed off of the wall as he advanced on her, kicking her legs in front of her to fend him off.
“ That's what you get for throwing me in,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“ You were wasting my time. With coffee and endless questions.” He swam toward her slowly, stalking her through the water.
“ Asshole,” she muttered, but she was smiling. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him. Her thighs opened, and he took advantage, slipping between her legs so she was forced to straddle him. She threw her arms around his neck to steady herself and her eyes widened as he pulled her close, her breasts smashing against his chest.
“ You think I am an asshole?” he asked.
“ Definitely,” she said, her gaze trained on his lips.
“ I may be.” He dragged his eyes down her face, studying her. She was a natural beauty surely, with big brown eyes, high cheekbones, and disarmingly full lips. She exuded confidence and strength, but her beauty was hard, like a cut diamond. She was intimidating at first glance, not soft and warm and welcoming like a woman should be. Her stance said 'don't fuck with me' and she had probably scared off many
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