“Love?” Stunned, Margerite reared back. “Now I know you’ve taken leave of your senses. My God, Sydney, do you believe everything a man says in bed?”

“I believe what Mikhail says. Now, I’m keeping him waiting, and we have a long trip to make.”

Head high, chin set, Margerite streamed toward the door, then tossed a last look over her shoulder. “He’ll break your heart, and make a fool of you in the bargain. But perhaps that’s what you need to remind you of your responsibilities.”

When the door snapped shut, Sydney lowered onto the arm of the sofa. Mikhail would have to wait another moment.

He wasn’t waiting; he was prowling. Back and forth in front of the garage elevators he paced, hands jammed into his pockets, thoughts as black as smoke. When the elevator doors slid open, he was on Sydney in a heartbeat.

“Are you all right?” He had her face in his hands. “No, I can see you are not.”

“I am, really. It was unpleasant. Family arguments always are.”

For him, family arguments were fierce and furious and inventive. They could either leave him enraged or laughing, but never drained as she was now. “Come, we can go upstairs, leave in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

“No, I’d like to go now.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed both of her hands. “I don’t like to cause bad feelings between you and your mama.”

“It wasn’t you. Really.” Because she needed it, she rested her head on his chest, soothed when his arms came around her. “It was old business, Mikhail, buried too long. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You keep too much from me, Sydney.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach muscles dance, her throat drying up. It couldn’t be so hard to say the words. “I love you, Mikhail.”

The hand stroking her back went still, then dived into her hair to draw her head back. His eyes were intense, like two dark suns searching hers. He saw what he wanted to see, what he needed desperately to see. “So, you’ve stopped being stubborn.” His voice was thick with emotion, and his mouth, when it met hers, gave her more than dozens of soft endearments. “You can tell me again while we drive. I like to hear it.”

Laughing, she linked an arm through his as they walked to the car. “All right.”

“And while you drive, I tell you.”

Eyes wide, she stopped. “I drive?”

“Yes.” He opened the passenger door for her. “I start, then you have a turn. You have license, yes?”

She glanced dubiously at the gauges on the dash. “Yes.”

“You aren’t afraid?”

She looked back up to see him grinning. “Not tonight, I’m not.”