Page 49 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

Madame Pruitt shook her head. “He was never the same after that. It seemed almost as though a part of his soul had…died. He wouldn’t speak about her, and he swore off all women—until you came along.”

“Really?” Mira wondered aloud.

“Yes, my dear,” Madame Pruitt assured her, patting her hand. “And think about it—Mikhail is a deadly man when he wants to be. Do you really think he would let anyone disrespect him and live? He married you because he wanted to marry you, my dear. That slap was nothing—he just used it as an excuse. Whether you had married him or not, no man alive would dare disrespect him. He is Mikhail Nikolai,” she added proudly.

Mira bit her lips as she thought about it. Hope unfurled gradually in her chest like a flower blossoming under the rays of the sun. If Madame Pruitt was right, then Mikhail hadn’t married her because he had to, he’d married her because he wanted to.

But why?

Just then, he bounded into the dining room and drew up short when he saw the tears on Mira’s face.

He gave Madame Pruitt a quelling frown. “You haven’t done anything upsetting to her, have you? Why is she crying?”

Madame Pruitt looked from his handsome face to Mira’s and said with a jaunty grin, “Hormones, my boy. Pregnancy hormones.”

Mira was watching Mikhail when Madame Pruitt responded and she couldn’t help noticing how his face lit up with absolute joy and pride when Madame Pruitt mentioned the word pregnancy.

There was no faking it, Mira thought. He really was happy about the pregnancy. Alena was wrong then, she assured herself; Mikhail was very capable of love. She could feel his love for their unborn child even though he was yet to meet it.

Now if only he could go the whole hog and tell her he loved her too, her miracles would be complete, and her joy would know no bounds.

Chapter 30 - Mikhail

Mikhail was impatient as he waited for Mira to come down the stairs. He was supposed to take her to the doctor for her first appointment, and she was running late.

Even though she’d insisted she could make her own way to the doctor’s office, she’d had a very happy glow about her when he stood his ground about taking her himself. Women sure had a funny way about them; why didn’t they just come right out and say what they wanted, he wondered.

Maybe for the same reason you can’t put into words what you feel for Mira, his subconscious chided.

He ruthlessly ignored that annoying, pesky inner voice and yelled up the stairs, “Mira!”

“Coming,” she called.

He heard her on the stairs, her steps measured and careful. He looked up in time to see her wearing a short blue dress that ended just above her knees. It was the same shade as the ocean and contrasted beautifully with her red hair. She had on a pair of flat sandals, he was pleased to see, and she carried a small clutch purse.

Great choices, he commended mentally. He wasn’t a fan of the idea of his pregnant wife wearing heels or carrying heavy totes.

Even as the thought occurred to him, he could almost hear Madame Pruitt’s rebuke in his mind for entertaining what she liked to call “medieval and outlandish ideas.” Fine, modern ladies could wear heels when they were pregnant, but he just didn’t like the idea of Mira doing that. What if she sprained her ankle, or what if the weight of the bag placed a strain on her pregnancy?

“Why do you have that worried expression on your face?” Mira demanded as she reached the bottom stairs and came to a halt in front of him.

The elevation of the stairs kept her at almost eye level with him. He could see the tiny flecks of gold reflected in her green eyes and his heart somersaulted in his chest. She was so beautiful it seemed almost ethereal. Everything about her screamed class, sophistication, and elegance, and he could barely hold back the possessive feelings coursing through him as he looked at her.

“Mikhail?” she prodded, a small frown creeping onto her smooth features.

Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t answered her question and he gave her a small grin. “Pardon me, Mira. I was just worried about the stairs. I didn’t want you to rush down them.”

Her frown deepened. “I didn’t rush. I was careful.”

He sighed. He couldn’t very well explain the intricacies of how he was worried about her footwear or purses. She would be even more perplexed than she was right now.

Adroitly, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, effectively distracting her. “And good thing you didn’t rush. You arrived safely at the bottom of the stairs,” he said warmly.

She chuckled and turned her face so that his kiss brushed past her cheek and landed on her lips. Their gazes met and held in fascinated silence as they stared into each other’s eyes. He could feel every beat of his heart, he could hear every whisper of her breath, he could see every flicker of emotion on her face.

She wanted him as powerfully as he wanted her, he knew. Every time they passed by each other or came within reach of each other it was almost like a spontaneous combustion. He had to remind himself sternly each time that she was pregnant and he needed to keep his hands to himself.

Not for any particular reason—so far, her doctors had been happy with her health and the baby’s. Still, Mikhail couldn’t shake this neurotic fear that if he made passionate love to her the way he wanted to, it might hurt her or the baby.

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