from Stella May New Horizon, the final book in her moving Rostoff Family Saga series.
A promise. A warning. A vow.
Though hundreds, even thousands of miles lie between her and those she loves, Natasha is convinced one of them is in great danger. She knows it with a certainty that triggers brutal migraines and a premonition of disaster that sets her heart thundering.
Which one is it? Who is about to be torn from her life without the chance to say goodbye—or ask for forgiveness?
Maybe Katia, a talented artist, an independent woman, who still believes the lie that Natasha is dead.
Or Peter, an FBI agent in a dangerous job, who’s burdened with a secret that’s destroying his soul from the inside out.
Or Dmitry, the man she once promised never to leave—until she was forced to abandon him and his children.
With the reading of the evil and vindictive Elizabeth Rostoff’s will fast approaching, Natasha’s day of reckoning is at hand. And so is the sense of danger she just can’t shake. Sick with guilt and secrets, she must gather her courage and face reality. And banish the spectre of Elizabeth Rostoff’s ghost for good. No matter what the cost.
Natasha forced her hand to let go of the doorknob. The shock of seeing
Dmitry on her doorsteps paralyzed her. Lightheaded, she clutched the round
metal handle like an anchor, and just stared at him.
Dear God, Dmitry…
His pictures failed do him justice. He now appeared more attractive than
eighteen years ago. Arresting. Movie-star handsome. More salt than pepper, his
hair remained thick and gorgeous; the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed
more prominent, but none of it spoiled the overall picture. If anything, they
added more character. More substance. Success and wealth poured from every cell
of his body like a powerful fragrance. The arrogant tilt of head, that stubborn
chin, those silver eyes — so painfully familiar. She sucked in a breath, unable
to tear her gaze from him. His hard cold stare held her captive. Immobilized,
mesmerized, she wondered what he saw as he studied her. Did he compare her to
the image of the young woman in his memory? Did he find her lacking? She
changed, as did he. But in women, the aging seemed more noticeable, and more
unpleasant. Unforgiving. Even though her body remained slim and healthy, her
skin bore the telltale signs of years no amount of skincare or exercising
seemed capable to erase.
So silly to feel
self-conscious about your appearances, Natasha. But darn it, I am woman.
A sudden overwhelming urge to smooth her hair or tug her T-shirt
overcame her.
What am I wearing?
Oh, God, she completely forgot what she put on that morning. She
chanced a quick glance.
And what does it matter, you
fool?
Like in a stupor, she stood frozen, gazing at him, listening to the deep
rumble of his voice. How many times had she heard that voice in her dreams? The
low timbre of his baritone washed over her now like a sensual caress. Her brain
tuned out his words, concentrating on the sound of his voice alone.
Only when he spoke about Jim— carelessly, mockingly— that Natasha
snapped out of her spell.
What? A poor schmuck? The nerve of him.
He can say anything degrading about her, but Jim? He didn’t deserve it.
How dare Dmitry insult a man he didn’t even know. Propelled by anger, fuming,
she let go of the doorknob and glared at him. Her initial shock after seeing
him on her doorstep evaporated in a flash, replaced by bubbling fury. She
opened her mouth to rip into him, then stopped. Damn, they were still outside.
No way am I dealing with the
arrogant bastard in plain view of my neighbors.
She opened the door wider, clamped her teeth, then lifted her chin.
"Come in. Or do you prefer to insult me outside?"
"I don't plan to insult you at all. " Dmitry stepped inside,
then closed the door. The faint click of the lock echoed in her ears like a
cannon blast.
"Funny, you could've fooled me." She will congratulate herself
on that show of a fake bravado later. If she survived the meeting, that is.
Ignoring Dmitry, she turned in the direction of the kitchen. The short walk
down the hallway seemed like a mile-long hike. Her legs turned into the
overcooked noodles. She became a bundle of nerves. Jittery. Jumpy. Edgy. She
sincerely hoped it didn’t show on the outside.
Hope springs eternal,
Natasha.
Deep in her heart she knew that her meeting with Dmitry was inevitable.
Sooner or later, he would find her. She just wasn’t sure when.
But it happened much sooner than she anticipated. Or wanted.
Here he stood, in her house, invading
her personal space, destroying the shield around her heart that took her
eighteen years to erect. He destroyed it in less than two seconds.
They walked into the kitchen. She turned to face him. Seemingly
unperturbed, he scanned the room, his face totally impassive. The silence
became deafening. Suffocating. Unbearable.
God, say something, Natasha.
She cleared her dry throat. "Drink?" Brilliant.
He turned his head in her direction, raised one eyebrow in a mocking
manner.
"How civilized. Well, I guess we could start with that. Water,
please."
"Ice?"
"Yes."
She stumbled to the fridge, took a bottle of water, then poured it into
a glass. Damn, her hands trembled badly.
Forgot the ice.
With a silent oath, she fished a tray of cubes, then dumped a few into
his glass.
"Have a seat." She pointed to the table, pleased that at least
her voice held firm.
"Ah, the perfect hostess,” Dmitry drawled sarcastically. “Drink, have a seat. What's next? Weather? Stocks? Bonds?”
Enough.
With a loud thump, she plunked the glass on the table.
“I don't care much for stocks or bonds, but if you wish, I can hold up
my side of a conversation just fine.” She glared at him with her head held
high. “And the weather is typical for
late May in New England. Warm and comfortable. But I don’t think you came all
the way here to discuss either of these topics."
A ghost of a smile danced on his lips without reaching his eyes.
"How perceptive of you."
"Just simple logic."
"Logic." As if tasting the word on his tongue, Dmitry
repeated, "Logic, huh? Well, let’s talk about logic, then."
Still standing, he picked up the glass of water she unceremoniously
plopped on the table and brought it to his lips. Her gaze followed his every
movement as if drawn by a magnet. After a single sip, he frowned into the
glass, then lifted his eyes.
"Tell me, Natasha— or is it Tallie?
— what logic can I draw from the fact that you, a woman who betrayed me for
money long ago, had suddenly and
conveniently resurfaced when more money beaconed on a horizon?”
Deceptively soft, his almost gentle voice set off the brutal meaning of
his words. She fought hard not to flinch.
"It’s Natasha. Frankly, I don’t care what logic you may draw from
it, but in your shoes, I’d wonder about something more important than money.”
Dmitry quirked a brow, all amused arrogance. "What's more important
than money?"
"Are you asking a rhetorical question, or wondering what’s more
important than money to me?”
He took a step closer. "What's more important than money to you,
Natasha?"
"Trust. Loyalty."
"Not love?"
She shook her head. “Without trust and loyalty, love is nothing."
"I cannot agree with you more.” Without taking his eyes from her,
he brought the glass to his lips again, took a long sip, then carefully put it
on the kitchen table. “So, tell me, Natasha,
if not money, what motivated you to betray me eighteen years ago?"
Oh, God. She held his gaze.
"Love."
"Same one that doesn't exist without trust and loyalty?"
"Yes."
"And what motivated you two weeks ago to contact my son?"
"Concern, confusion, and love."
"Admirable.” Dmitry chuckled without any mirth. “Please forgive me,
but I'm not buying it."
Incredibly weary, unbelievably sad, she lowered her eyes as she pulled
out a chair and sat. "Of course not. How can you buy something that has no
monetary equivalent? There are some things, Dmitry, that are more valuable than
your precious diamonds. But you wouldn’t understand.”
"Don't you dare to mock me!" A temper she had seen rarely, if
ever, now detonated like a grenade. "Don't you dare sit here and
mock me."
She lifted her eyes to the enraged man towering over her. Regret, deep
and profound, overshadowed all her feelings.
"I wasn't mocking you, Dmitry. I was feeling sorry for you."
Preordering is available on Amazon and Universal Buy Link
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
