Amber met his warning stare steadily and with determination.“Yes, how?”she repeated.
“Rival gangs.My father was a petty criminal.”He paused and exhaled heavily.“When things heated up, my mother smuggled me out of the city and took me to my grandfather’s in the country.But then she went back to my father and paid with her life.”
“She must have loved your father very much, and you,” she said.
“Much good it did her,” he remembered bitterly.
“So that’s why your life of horses and justice is all intertwined?”Her eyes sparked as she fit another piece of the jigsaw into place.
“Maybe,” he agreed.He didn’t want to say any more, but she was still curious.
“And your grandfather?”she pressed.
“Was the most wonderful man—he shaped my life.He was a good man, a widower, but an old man when I was orphaned.That didn’t stop him taking me in and raising me like a son.He worked on my homework each night with me after a long day’s work in the fields, and he lived long enough to see me join the forces.I only wish he’d lived long enough to see the multinational corporation that grew from the oil that was discovered on his land.”
“You must have loved him very much.”
His face softened briefly, remembering.“I went back when he needed me when oil was discovered.He needed my strength then, not my love.”
“Everyone needs love, Alexei.”
“Not me, evidently.”
“Or perhaps you’re frightened to love, because everyone you loved as a child was taken from you—”
“Spare me the amateur psychology.”He moved abruptly, startling her.“I’m a hard man in a hard world, Amber.Don’t try to make me out to be something I’m not.”
He should have known she wouldn’t be in the least put off.Rolling over to face him, she rested her chin on the heel of her hand.“Do you still have a home on the steppes?”
“I have homes everywhere.”And stayed nowhere for long.
“I’d love to see your home on the steppes one day.I know that’s not possible—”
A tense silence fell between them, which she broke.
“So you live here onRussian Thunder.”
“As restless as a Cossack on the plains.”He huffed a humorless laugh.
He was always moving.It was the only way he could find peace.The only home he could remember was with his grandfather, and he would never recreate that.
“So, these other homes?”she said, perhaps in an attempt to lighten his mood.
“Covered in dustsheets, for all I know.”All of them were fully staffed, and all of them neglected by him, though they could be made ready for him at a moment’s notice.
“So with all those properties, you’ve got nowhere to call home,” Amber observed, frowning.
“I’m not exactly suffering,” he said dryly.
“No,” she agreed, and with her keenest observation yet, she said, “You’ve got everything and nothing.”
He hummed as he swung into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me more about your grandfather,” she begged, coming to sit at his side.“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
The pain of loss came flooding back.He shrugged it off and replaced it with anger—anger was always easier to handle than the pain of knowing he couldn’t bring his grandfather back to enjoy what should have been his.
“The stress of the growing business killed him—that, and the vultures circling.My grandfather wasn’t equipped for the cutthroat, big-city world of high finance.People thought I was young and no threat, and they could walk over me and take his money.”
