More. He remembered that he had once fought desperately for more. Now, with her, he had all.

Even with hot hammers of need pounding at him, he moved slowly, knowing he could take her soaring again and again before that last glorious release.

“I love you, Sydney.” His muscles trembled as he felt her rise to meet him. “Only you. Always you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When the phone rang, it was pitch-dark and they were sleeping, tangled together like wrestling children. Sydney snuggled closer to Mikhail, squeezing her eyes tighter and muttered a single no, determined to ignore it.

With a grunt, Mikhail rolled over her, seriously considered staying just as he was as her body curved deliciously to his.

“Milaya,” he murmured, then with an oath, snatched the shrilling phone off the hook.

“What?” Because Sydney was pounding on his shoulder, he shifted off her. “Alexi?” The sound of his brother’s voice had him sitting straight up, firing off in Ukrainian. Only when Alex assured him there was nothing wrong with the family did the sick panic fade. “You’d better be in the hospital or jail. Neither?” He sat back, rapped his head on the brass poles of the headboard and swore again. “Why are you calling in the middle of the night?” Rubbing his hand over his face, Mikhail gave Sydney’s clock a vicious stare. The glowing dial read 4:45. “What?” Struggling to tune in, he shifted the phone to his other ear. “Damn it, when? I’ll be there.”

He slammed the phone down and was already up searching for his clothes when he realized Sydney has turned on the light. Her face was dead pale.

“Your parents.”

“No, no, it’s not the family.” He sat on the bed again to take her hand. “It’s the apartment. Vandals.”

The sharp edge of fear dulled to puzzlement. “Vandals?”

“One of the cops who answered the call knows Alex, and that I live there, so he called him. There’s been some damage.”

“To the building.” Her heart was beginning to pound, heavy and slow, in her throat.

“Yes, no one was hurt.” He watched her eyes close in relief at that before she nodded. “Spray paint, broken windows.” He bit off an oath. “Two of the empty apartments were flooded. I’m going to go see what has to be done.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Sydney said and sprang out of bed.

It hurt. It was only brick and wood and glass, but it hurt her to see it marred. Filthy obscenities were scrawled in bright red paint across the lovely old brownstone. Three of the lower windows were shattered. Inside, someone had used a knife to gouge the railings and hack at the plaster.

In Mrs. Wolburg’s apartment water was three inches deep over the old hardwood floor, ruining her rugs, soaking the skirts of her sofa. Her lacy doilies floated like soggy lily pads.