Mesmerized: Spellbound (Book One) (2 page)

After sleeping off the heat and the fact that there was no air
conditioner or washing machine in the flat, we made our way out to the beach with a cooler full of beer, bread, and cured sausages. The Black Sea really is black and really is a sea. I’d never seen anything like it. Being a west coast girl, salt water is supposed to have waves. The water was so still and so buoyant you could float around out there all day on your back if you wanted.

So I was
lying there in the still water in my white bikini, a warming bottle of beer on my stomach, when a local came up underneath me. I was so startled, I dropped my beer, and it tumbled down to the bottom of the sea.

“
Hey,” I shouted.

“
Sorry,” he said in deeply accented English, bright-blue eyes staring at me.

“
Didn’t you see me?” I said, shocked at his rudeness— and the fact that he spoke English.

“
I did. That's why I came over here. You’re American aren’t you?”

“
Yes, what’s it to you?”

“
Just curious,” he said and then swam away.

I was out of beer and a little tired of
bobbing in the water, so I swam in. Kat and Misha were sitting under a large umbrella eating bread and drinking beer, so I sat down, and I grabbed myself a bottle and a chunk of bread. The smell of salt mixed with the flavor of rich, cold beer as a breeze blew over my skin. I felt fantastic and inspired.

I took out my little watercolor set and began to paint the scene
of the sea and beach goers. It was an active little painting with the feeling of life and relaxation. When I was almost finished with my painting, a big drip fell on it from above, soaking the paper and smearing the paint. I looked up behind me and saw the same man from the water. He was about thirty and very handsome. His black curls dripped down to his lean, muscled shoulders and over taunt, tan skin. Strange arcane tattooed symbols covered his abdomen and chest, and his full lips were framed by a Johnny Depp style black goatee.

“
It’s lovely,” he said.

“
You ruined it,” I was irritated, but he was standing so close to me in his black speedo, that his quite substantial cock stared right in the face.

“
No, it is perfect,” his thick accent soothed.

“
What do you want?” I felt nervous with him staring down at me, his body so close. I really did like the painting.

“
Ah, my dear Capitalist friend. I want to talk to you.”

Capitalist? I was
intrigued. No one had ever called me a Capitalist before. Even as a business major, no one ever used terms like that. We used terms like entrepreneur, small-business owner, and project manager, never “capitalist.”

“
Come,” he said offering his hand. Kat made a funny noise behind me, but I gave her a look that said, “butt out." He was interesting, and hot— to say the least. Even if he did ruin my painting.

He showed me to a spot on the beach with a large umbrella and introduced himself
as Alexi Petrenko. He threw on a white robe as he sat down. His arcane tattoos peeked through the neck of the robe and seemed to glow crimson and black in contrast to the white silk.

“
Are you an artist?” he asked.

“
I’m what you would call a closet artist. I just finished a BA in Business at U of W.”

“
Ah, so you are a Capitalist.”

“
Maybe. It was really what my parents wanted. But I did pretty well, I guess, Latin honors and all that.”

“
So you can teach me,” he said winking. 

“
What do you want to know? What is your economic system like now after Communism?"

“
Our system is full of, what you called Robber Barons in your Wild West,” he said, his lips parting slowly over pearly white teeth. He seemed impressed with his reference.

“
And what are you?”

“
I, madam, an a humble wine maker.”

There was a condescending quality to his tone, even through the thick accent
, I could hear it. It made me want to get up and leave. But there was also something so deeply attractive about him, I couldn't quite move. I was caught in a kind of net when I gazed at him. He reminded me of Gary Oldman as Sirius Black, or Dracula from that Winona Rider movie from the 90’s— like some kind of Transylvanian lord. I had to admit, he was definitely my type.

“
Here, my Dear, drink this,” he said handing me a cup of blood-red wine, “This is my work.”

I sipped
, and a the rich, earthy flavor lapped at my tongue and slid down my throat. It was good, and it made me want to learn more about him. I asked him about his business and how the Ukrainian economy worked. It seemed like there was a deep gangster mentality in both politics and economics. And unlike how it worked in my country, it was barely disguised. What could I possibly teach this guy about how to navigate that kind of economic system? I was probably going to get some corporate cubicle job after grad school. Still, he kept asking me questions and seemed to like my answers.

“
I’m starting my MBA program in the spring,” I said, trying to be impressive.

“
So you don’t have to go home until the spring,” he said, giving me that slow wicked smile.

I sipped the wine and wondered what he meant.

"I'm going home at the end of the summer or when my money runs out, whichever comes first. "

At that, he chuckled lightly.“
I would like to show you my vineyards. Would you like that?” his thick accent worked delicately at my language.

“
Sure,” I said. 

“
Good.” He clinked my glass. “I will pick you at 10 in the morning.”

I was feeli
ng dizzy from the heat and slightly drunk from the mixture beer and wine. I gave him my address— directions at least, the name of the street was impossible for me to pronounce.

As I stood
, I thought maybe I’d pull him behind a grape vine and do the dirty with him tomorrow.
Not a bad idea, not a bad idea at all.
The thought of it made my face flush red, and I almost stumbled as I stared at his bright blue eyes. I was really trying to get up the nerve to be the kind of girl I never was. I excused myself to walk back to my friends.

I flipped on the water heater and
made myself some eggs. I grabbed my clothes off the clothesline in the backyard, and jumped in the shower. I towel dried my hair. We had to pay for electricity by the minute, and none of us could really spare the extra expense. I regarded myself in the mirror, and wondered what Alexi might think. I was good looking— not super model good looking, but I never had trouble finding a boyfriend.

He arrived at 10am on a shining chrome and black motorcycle wearing
dark-blue jeans and black boots. The strange symbol tattoos peaked from under the neck of his black shirt. I stepped out of the flat into the hot, morning sun. The black waves of his hair framed his bright-blue eyes. His presence caused a sudden trance to wash over me. I felt my heart flutter deep in my chest, and I almost fainted. Reaching out to him for support, I allowed his body to catch me before I fell.

“
It’s the heat,” I said, climbing on the back of his motorcycle.

The Kat
yelled out behind me to call her if I needed anything, but her voice was drowned by the sound of rushing air and rumbling motor. He veered around cars and sped through traffic with a deftness and speed that made me cling to his back. I could feel his taunt musculature under my arms and hands as I held him close to me. I could smell a deep spicy aroma coming from the back of his neck and hair, like cardamom and cloves.

It mingled with the stench of
asphalt, and exhaust fumes. Apparently, they don’t have the same kind of emissions testing in the Ukraine as they do in Washington state. The roads were covered in pot holes and packed with tiny rumbling cars and overcrowded busses. All around, the sight of foreign words and foreign letters made me feel I was in a dream, clinging to an exotic man on the back of his bike. The heat and fumes didn’t help, and by the time we broke out of the city, I felt myself falling further into myself.

We d
rove onto a highway through the flat steppes of the country side. There were expanses of fertile fields on all sides. Vegetable stands on the roadside sold tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, and cabbages, in huge 50 lb bags. We came to a small village and drove off the highway onto a dirt road. It ran through a neighborhood where old women in head scarves swept dirt from their porches behind fortress-like fences.              

Dogs barked, tethered to chains staked in the ground. I
’d never seen a dog chained up like that and felt the sudden urge to call the SPCA. Finally, we drove along a large lake, and the road opened up into a vineyard that covered roughly 500 acres— from my estimate. It was impressive.

“
This is where the grapes are grown. I have a facility in the city where the wine is made.”

He led me to
an ancient looking stone cottage. Inside it was cool and dark and sparsely furnished. We walked into a kitchen that looked like it was from the turn of the last century— like, as in, 1900.
Seriously.
There was no running water, no fridge, let alone a dishwasher and garbage disposal. The table was set for lunch.

“
My parents built this house. I lived here all my life.”

I help back my shock, “
Oh, what was that like?”

“
It was hard, but we were happy. It was during the last days of the Cold War, and Communism. Back then, there was no private property. After the revolution, my parents left the country, and now it belongs to me.”

“
You live, here…?”

“
No, I have a flat in town. But I stay here sometimes. I maintain the building, the well, keep the electricity on.”

We sat at the kitchen
table, and he pulled a picnic lunch out of a basket on the counter. We ate bread and cured sausages with red wine. Sitting in that strange old-world kitchen made the dream-like quality of my experience expand. It couldn't be real. And this guy— his dreamy blue eyes bore into my soul. I could feel his gaze move across my body as he asked me about my summer plans.

“
Do you have plans at home after your trip?”

“
Not really. Stay with my folks, get a lame job, and wait to start grad school in the spring.”

“
So, nothing urgent.”

“
Not really, why?”

“
No reason, just curious. Let me show you the estate.”

He took my hand and guided me out of the cottage into the afternoon light. The day had
cooled, and big putty clouds danced around the sun. We walked up the vineyard rows while he told me about the grapes they grew and where the original roots had come from. The hills rolled slightly up into a forest beyond the vineyard which expanded all the way down to the lake. This was a lot of land. Back in the states, land like this would be worth millions.

He t
old me about his ancestry. He was a cross of Ukrainian, Russian, and Romanian Gypsy. His gypsy grandmother had married his Ukrainian grandfather and settled this land back in the days of Stalin. She had brought the original root stalk from Romania before they were married. His voice was proud, but tinged with regret. 

We stood in the fields as the sun began to tip toward the west. He turned to pick a ripe grape from a vine. “
These are table grapes,” he said. Light glared in my eyes as I regarded the curve of his back. He turned brushing dust from the ripe fruit and bit into it, smiled, and moved toward me. He held the grape in front of my eyes and gently moved it into my mouth. I accepted it, not thinking, entranced by the moment.

It
was warm and sweet; it tasted of mystery and strange, dark spices. Juice slid down my throat, and he offered me a second which I gladly accepted. The flavor was unlike anything I had ever experienced deep and rich, like the promise in his eyes. Then I remembered what I told myself I was going to do to him, and my knees nearly buckled.

Then his arm was around my
waist; he held me up from the swoon. I was embarrassed and tried to right myself. Maybe this whole seduction thing wasn't going to work out. I couldn't really imagine seducing him anyway. He was the type who had it his way.

His
face blocked the sun from my eyes, and light glowed around his dark hair like a halo. He moved into me, brought me tight into an embrace. His lips pressed against mine. The sensation was like a shock wave of desire that bubbled up from the deepest part of my body— a part of me I never knew existed. I couldn’t think; I didn’t care that I had no idea who he was, or where I was, or what was happening. All I cared for was that moment, and that dark surging desire that rose like an awakening beast from my most instinctive soul up into my brain.

Grape j
uice was still on his lips, rich and sweet, and he drew me into him— tongue darting into my mouth. I felt him rise, grand and hard between my legs. Moisture ran, dripping into my panties. I felt myself fading into blackness. I couldn’t breathe and almost fell. He held me tight in the embrace.

I clung to him, but he gently released me and
led me back to the cottage. He gave me cool water and washed my brow. I felt stupid for almost fainting. The climate must really be getting to me. I wanted more of that kiss— a lot more.

“
I should take you home,” he said, “You are weak and unready.”

“
No, I’m fine,” I said, not knowing what he was talking about and not caring. I knew I wanted him. I was ready for that much.

“
I will collect you tomorrow. You will be stronger then.”