He's Strong. He's Hot. He's Foreign. (And He's in the Mafia?)

“No! Peter give it!” I shrieked through laughter.

“How badly do you want it, Janey?” he smirked, one arm wrapped around my waist, holding my back to his chest while he dangled the remote above me, just out of my reach.

“Queer.Eye.For.Straight.Guy!” I exclaimed between fruitless leaps, “Must. Watch!”

“I am not watching that shit again,” he laughed, leaning in and kissing my cheek, “Sorry darashya.” Peter often spoke Russian around me, even though I had no clue what he meant most times. I had come to know that darashya (not the real spelling, just my poor interpretation) as a term of endearment.

“It’s my TV!” I protested, giving up on trying to physically take it from him.

“Well it’s my bed,” he murmured, his lips pressed against my ear.

My jaw dropped, but I still couldn’t suppress my smile. “Is that a threat, Mr. Dombrovski?” I asked, turning around to face him, wrapping my arms around his middle, hugging him closer.

“You know I’d never follow through,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head.

“I know,” I sighed. I felt him rest both hands on my waist with one hand gripping the remote. I smiled deviously and looked up at him, “I love you.”

“I love you too darashya,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss me, but before he could, I snatched the remote and scampered over to the couch, turning to the fine living network. “Ha!” I exclaimed when I saw Alex teaching some gross straight guy about proper hygiene.

“You little…” Peter growled playfully, leaping on top of me and pinning either of my wrists to the arm of the couch, taking the remote from my grasp and throwing it lightly on the ground but not before turning off the television.

Peter never ceased to shock me with his strength and swiftness. And not just with handling me. He never needed any help moving furniture, always claiming it was not a woman’s job anyway. He managed to carry a week’s worth of groceries from the supermarket two blocks away all the way up to our penthouse apartment. In fact, the way we had met was when I had been approached by some ‘tough’ guy who kept trying to talk his way into my pants. I called it his Russian super-training. I know, I’m creative.

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“C’mon sugar…don’t be that way,” he whispered, his voice rough.

“Please leave me alone,” I said, turning my eyes away from his hard gaze.

“What’d you come to a club if you didn’t want to dance?” he asked, gripping my hand.

“Let go!” I shrieked, immediately alarmed by his touch. I tried to move away but he held on tighter, his grey eyes unrelenting.

“You’re not getting away that easy babe,” he murmured, giving my arm a sharp yank causing me to scream again, but my scream was lost amongst the blasting music and chatter that seemed to be radiating throughout the club that night.

“You will leave her alone,” a hard, foreign voice demanded.

The guy’s eyes looked above my head and bulged a bit before he managed to retain his cool once more and say, “And who’s gonna fucking make me?”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” the voice said again. The voice was right behind me now, sounding even more threatening. I turned around shakily to face a tall figure, but I couldn’t quite make out any details under the dim lights of the dance club. He gingerly moved me to the side and whispered, “Go,” before advancing on the other guy, who was starting to back away slowly.

Not wishing to spend another moment in that hellhole, I ran out of the club and onto the rain soaked sidewalk. I sighed and pulled out my cell, quickly dialing Rachel’s number and putting the phone to my ear, tapping my foot impatiently. To my dismay, Rachel’s voicemail picked up and I gave it a hasty message, “Hey Rach it’s me, I have no idea where you are but you owe me, one guy starting hitting on me and now some other guy I’ve never met is playing the hero, thanks a bunch, bye,” I snapped my phone shut, a sour look on my face. There went my ride.

A couple minutes later, a familiar hard voice broke my meditative thoughts I had been trying to maintain, “You are alright?”

“I’m fine,” I snapped back, folding my arms across my chest in a feeble attempt to warm my freezing body, unwisely exposed with my silk halter top and tight black jeans. I didn’t normally dress like this, but I hadn't been my own stylist that night.

“He won’t bother you again,” the voice said. I could make out an accent now. It sounded Eastern European with his choppy words and harsh speech.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, not wanting to face my savior of the night. Having just moved away from home, I was on an independency kick, and being rescued wasn’t on the agenda.

“Won’t you turn around?” he asked. His voice didn’t sound as rough as it had been but rather…placid. The voice melted through my seemingly unbreakable barrier and straight to my heart. With four simple words he had wooed me without even knowing it.

Slowly, I turned around to face him, my face flushed and my heart beating out of chest. My eyes met with a well built body covered by a black t-shirt a leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans. It was not until I shifted my eyes upwards that I saw two blue eyes staring into mine. A shaggy mass of coffee-colored hair covered his scalp. His mouth was tightly clenched, as though he was trying not to smile.

“My name is Peter Dombrovski,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake.

“Jane Xavier,” I mumbled, shaking his hand. My hand was almost crushed under the hold of his, causing me to let out a small squeak of pain.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, quickly retracting his hand, “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength”

“It’s not your fault, I’m just a weakling,” I said, smiling up at him.

Peter looked down at me, a slightly surprised look on his face. It seemed as though he was shocked that I would smile at him so openly. Still taken aback, he gave me a small half smile and asked, “Do you have anyone to take you home?”

“Uhm…no…” I confessed, looking down at my shoes.

“You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone this late at night,” he stated, “Let me give you a ride.”

“Um…I really…” I started uncertainly, but he cut across me, “Please, I want to be sure you make it home safe, I will not let someone I just rescued in a club be stolen off the street.”

I couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “Enjoying our daily dose of vigilantism aren’t we?”

“I suppose,” he said, giving me a look as if he meant to say, “You are truly a strange person.”

“You don’t…loosen up much, do you?” I asked as we were walking to his car.

“And you don’t have many self defense skills…do you?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow, the rest of his face unchanged.

“Touché,” I muttered. Peter was so icy on the outside, but there was some warmth beneath his exterior. I just had to dig into all the right places.

“This is my car,” he said, stopping in front of a silver Rolls Royce. I nearly fainted from the sight of such an expensive commodity. I could probably pay a year’s rent with the money invested for such a luxury vehicle.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled, ogling it, “Nice car.”

“Thank you,” he said curtly, going to the car and opening the passenger door for me. I shook myself back to life and settled myself inside the open interior of Peter’s ‘car’. It was more like a mini house, definitely bigger than my closet, or maybe even my kitchen. I laid back in the black leather seats, enjoying my first chance to sit down the whole night.

“Having fun?” I heard Peter whisper in my ear. I jumped around to see Peter in the driver’s seat, looking at me with that raised eyebrow again. I took him as amused.

“Yes,” I answered, simply.

He sighed and started the car probably regretting letting some poor red neck into his pricy ride.

“So…nice accent,” I said, “You’re Russian or something right?”

“Yes, I immigrated here about 5 years ago to help my father and brothers run the hotel,” he explained.

“Which hotel?”

“The Maple Tree.”

“Wow, that place is like…the ritziest place in the city,” I said, letting out a low whistle.

“You are not like most girls are you?” he said, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel.

“I guess that would explain my lack of a boyfriend,” I said, laughing, “But you’re not so normal yourself, buddy.”

“Oh really, what is different about me?” he asked, holding back a laugh. Now I just had to make it come out.

“Well for one, your loaded, were I come from, the only thing thats loaded are shotguns," I muttered, "And you're from another country, I'm a hick from Kentucky, and 'we dont take kindly to your types down here'," I immitated some old red necks that would come around my dad's bar.

He laughed. A lighthearted, barking laugh that made me blush.

"You know, you're funny," he said, looking over at me, his blue eyes shining.

"Thanks, everyone else thinks i'm annoying," I sighed, looking out the tinted windows, "Oh, there's my building."

"Really?" he said, his voice half-surprised, half disgusted. He pulled into a parking space a few doors down.

"Sorry its not up to your standards," I growled, unbuckling my seatbelt.

"Wait," he said, placing his hand over mine. I blushed furiously, but he seemed clueless, "I dont like this neighborhood, let me walk you to your door."

"No...its fine, I've walked around here i million times and alas, I'm still here," I said, giving him a little wave.

"Please, i like you, and that is saying something, many people i have met here are...fake, you know? But you seem...sweet," he said, stumbling over his words slightly.

I studied his ernest face and gave in "Okay."

Peter walked me up to my apartment door, telling me about his home in Russia and his mother. How he had been talking care of her until the day she died, then he came here five years ago to help his father.

"I miss her everyday, she was different from my father and brothers. You actually remind me of her...not to seem too forward or anything," he said, his eyes on his shoes as we stopped outside my door.

"You dont...i'm honored to remind you of your mother, she sounds like an amazing woman," I said, beaming.

"This also seems forward but...could i kiss you?" he asked, his eyes now locked on me. I felt his hands slide into mine, squeezing them gently.

I nodded, my heart beating a million times a minute. He leaned in slowly, as if trying to make sure i was still okay with it. I closed my eyes as his lips pressed against mine. I suddenly gasped and pulled away. My fingers touched my lips, shocked.

"What did i do Jane? I am so sorry..." he pleaded, his hands gripping mine once more. He looked down at me, worry on his face.

"Peter...it's not you...i'm just surprised thats all," I mumbled, looking up at him, shyly.

"Surprised of what?"

"Its gonna sound really stupid but...i guess i just realized that i'm becoming envolved with a mysterious city guy which is what i've wanted to do ever since i moved here and now..." but before i could finish, his lips kissed mine once more, his arms around my waist. That night stretched into many more nights to today, and now he is my one and only.

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“You could have easily apprehended me you know,” Peter murmured, kissing my cheek and forehead.

“Yeah right!” I exclaimed, “You’re just saying that because you want to make what you do sound easy but it really isn't.”

“My dear if you had been using your legs like I taught you,” he said, wrapping one hand around my thigh, his blue eyes humorous, “Then there would be no trouble at all.”

“That has sexual innuendo written all over it and you know it,” I laughed, shaking my other wrist out of his grip to straighten the collar of his shirt. Peter took his free hand and stroked my face.

Without another word, he kissed me, his lips hungry for mine. This was the language we could both understand without any confusion.

“Peter,” I sighed between kisses.

His lips suddenly sat still against mine. “What time is it, Janey?” he asked, sitting up, straddling my hips.

I blinked and looked over at the alarm clock, “3:30 but…” before I could finish he was in the closet, grabbing his coat and keys, checking his hair in the mirror.

“Where are you going?” I asked, my voice weak. I got up and followed him to door. I knew he would do this. I took a hold of his coat sleeve, tugging on it slightly, looking up at Peter, my face determined.

“The hotel, I have to fill in for Ian,” he explained, stroking my hair. I sighed and dug my head into his chest, “But you promised.”

“I don’t have time for this, Jane,” he sighed, kissing my forehead, “I have a commitment to the hotel and to my father.”

“What about me?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Sweetheart, you know I’m committed to you, what do I tell you every night?” he asked, holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ya gyebya gyoobgye,” I pronounced slowly and deliberately. I looked up at him, shaking with silent laughter.

“5 months of living with me and you still have terrible Russian pronunciation,” he laughed, picking me up in arms and kissing me avidly. “This is why I’m committed to you, darashya, this is why I love you,” he murmured, giving me one final kiss before setting me down, leaving me even more dazed then I was when he denied me.

“Call me if there is an emergency, I’ll be there as quickly as I can, remember, the hotel is only 3 blocks away,” he whispered, kissing my ear before disappearing out the door.

That night, I lay in bed, attempting to sleep, but failing knowing the fact that it was 12 midnight, an hour past the end of Peter’s shift, and he still wasn’t home. Emergency or not, I needed to know where he was. I picked up the phone off the bed stand and quickly dialed his number. I tapped my foot impatiently while it rang.

“What’s the matter honey?” he murmured. His voice sounded tired and slightly weak.

“I-I was just wondering where you were,” I stuttered, looking down to the floor, averting my eyes even though Peter wasn’t even there.

“I’m right behind you, darashya.”

I heard the door creak open and I suddenly felt like I was in a horror movie, but I shouldn’t, he was just my boyfriend, not a psycho killer. I slowly turned around to see Peter, his skin whiter than usual, his face was hard. Also harder than usual.

“Are you okay?” I asked, sitting back on the bed.

“Of course, Janey,” he whispered, but I could tell he wasn’t even listening to me. He took off his pants and shirt, flinging them to the side.

“Can you please put them in the hamper?” I whimpered, pulling the covers up to my chest. His cold blue eyes stared into mine. I didn’t know what to feel, trapped within his gaze. I drew in a breath, surprised to find I was gasping. Tears flooded my eyes. He seemed to snap back and whispered, “No, please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry!” I hiccupped, pulling the covers over my head.

“Honey, tell me why you are upset,” he purred, gripping my hands which were holding the covers.

“I’m just being stupid,” I whispered, trying to pull the sheets closer, but he moved my hands down to my stomach, causing me to take the sheets with me. He stared at my tear-stained, blotch face with remorse.

“What did I do to cause you pain, darashya?” he questioned in his softest of tones, sitting down beside where I lay on the bed.

“Look, I know this will sound stupid but I just get so worried when you come home late and this is like the 5th time this month so I guess all my worries are just spilling out now…obviously,” I stuttered, my mouth already in motion before my brain could make sense of any thoughts.

“Hey…honey I’m sorry, what can I do to fix it?” he asked, kissing me gently on the lips, then pulled away and putting a hand on my head. He stroked my hair, twisting strands between his fingers loosely, waiting for my response.

“Tell me another Russian story until I fall asleep…I miss that,” I murmured, closing my eyes, reveling at his touch.

“But you don’t understand Russian, Janey, how are you supposed to follow the story?” he asked, slightly amused, “And by the way, I stopped telling you the stories because I thought I was boring you…you were always asleep by the time I finished!”

I smiled and replied with my voice slightly sleepy, “That’s the purpose of bedtime stories, correct?”

“If it will mend your anger towards me, I will tell you a story,” he sighed, gathering me in his arms before picking me up.

“You ought to think about gaining some weight, darashya,” he whispered, sitting down on the big comfy armchair that stood in the corner of our bedroom, settling me on his lap, “I fear for your health sometimes.”

“I guess it’s just a product of my worry or something,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck, looking up at into his blue eyes, soothingly warm as they gazed my at me. His eyebrow creased and his lips thinned as he relapsed into thought for a quick minute, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I should have never been late,” he murmured, kissing my forehead, “I have caused you harm…I never mean to cause you harm, Jane, I will always strive to protect you, even from myself.”

“You don’t need to protect me from yourself,” I scoffed, laughing a little, clinging tighter to his neck.

“Don’t be so sure, darashya,” he exhaled, his voice weary. Shielding arms winded around me, creating a barrier between me and the big scary world Peter strived to save me from.

“I love you,” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder, “I know you’d never hurt me.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, kissing my lips.

He pulled me closer and began whispering Russian in my ear, spinning a yarn I could not understand. I know it sounds weird, listening to a story I cannot understand, but I enjoyed seeing Peter in completely in his element. He said he had no problem speaking English but he often said things to me in Russian, forgetting I couldn’t understand. I tried to learn, but my learning ability for languages was less than stellar.

I ran my fingers up and down his arm a couple times before gripping his hand in both of mine. I shivered slightly as they were colder than usual. As his story went on, my eyes started to droop. Soon, I fell into the deepest sleep I had had in weeks.