Кейт Хьюит – One Kiss in... Moscow: Kholodov's Last Mistress / The Man She Shouldn't Crave / Strangers When We Meet (страница 16)

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but Hannah saw he still looked annoyed. Maybe even angry. She picked up her fork again and stabbed a slice of melon. ‘So is this just some kind of typically Neanderthal behaviour? “I don’t want her, but no one else can have her?”’

Sergei’s breath came out in a soft hiss. ‘I never said I didn’t want you.’

Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut. ‘Yes, you did. Quite clearly. In fact, I happen to remember the exact words.’ She paused, her throat suddenly tight, aching. ‘“Isn’t it obvious?”’ she quoted. ‘“I stopped wanting you.”’

Sergei said nothing for a moment, his assessing gaze sweeping over her. ‘I started again,’ he finally said, his jaw tight, and Hannah gave a harsh laugh.

‘Well, thanks very much. Too bad I don’t want you.’

She might as well have slapped his face. Issued a direct and insulting challenge to his masculinity. Sergei leaned forward, his eyes glittering like cold sapphires.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you do.’

And Hannah couldn’t deny it. How could she, when her heart beat hard and warmth flooded through her limbs in a honeyed river and she’d just—crazily—considered sleeping with him? Still was?

And he knew it.

‘You want me,’ Sergei clarified silkily, ‘and I want you. Simple.’

Hannah stared at him. Simple? There was nothing simple about it—and yet why shouldn’t it be simple? Why shouldn’t she sleep with him? She had no more illusions about love, no more optimism that Sergei—or anyone else—was a better man than anyone thought. No reason to keep from doing exactly as her body wanted … to satisfy this craving.

And then do what her mind and maybe even her heart demanded. Walk away.

She could do it. She wasn’t the same woman who had stared at Sergei a year ago with her heart in her eyes and practically begged him to want her. No, she was older now. Wiser. More jaded.

She smiled. Slowly. Sensually. Saw Sergei’s eyes flare, pupils dilate. Ha. Two could play at this game. Except it didn’t feel like a game, and she wasn’t playing. Suddenly, it mattered too much. Maybe it always had. ‘You’re right,’ she told him, her voice a husky murmur. ‘I do want you.’

Sergei’s eyes flared again, this time in surprise. Had he expected her to lie? She’d always been honest with him.

You’re very candid, aren’t you?

No more so than now.

‘And since you’ve apparently started wanting me again …’ she continued, stopping suggestively. And unable to suppress that stab of hurt. The stopping and starting thing wasn’t great for her ego. Or her heart.

What was she doing?

‘What,’ Sergei asked, his voice sounding rather terse, ‘are you suggesting?’

Not exactly the come-on line she’d been half hoping to hear. ‘What do you think?’

Sergei leaned forward. ‘Don’t play games with me, Hannah.’

‘Does this feel like a game to you?’ she asked, her voice a thread.

‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘it doesn’t.’

Hannah swallowed. The very air seemed to hum and buzz around her. She had not expected this when she’d agreed to dinner. She hadn’t let herself consider what might happen if they shared a second meal.

Sergei rose from the table in one graceful, fluid movement. Hannah stared at him. ‘Where are you going?’

His eyes met hers in a blaze of challenge and desire, and he held out one hand for her to take. ‘Where do you think?’ he said softly. ‘Upstairs.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

UPSTAIRS.

Hannah stared at Sergei’s outstretched hand, knew if she took it she would be saying yes. Yes to a single night. Yes to a meaningless, no-strings affair. At the thought something in her withered, shrivelled. Perhaps it was hope.

Yet wasn’t this just what she wanted? She didn’t believe in love any more; she wasn’t holding out for a happy ending. Certainly not with Sergei. And still this attraction pulsed between them, a tidal wave of longing that threatened to pull her under. Why not let herself go? Just for a night? No emotional strings, no messy attachments. Just sex.

Sergei’s eyes glittered. ‘Scared?’

Did he think she was bluffing? Was she? Hannah stared right back and with her heart still thumping hard she took his hand. It was warm, dry, strong, and his fingers folded over hers as he tugged her up from her chair. Upstairs.

What was she doing?

Silently they walked from the restaurant. Hannah had no idea what would happen with the bill, but it hardly mattered. Her heart was thumping so hard it hurt. She could barely believe that she’d taken his hand, that she was letting him lead her past the reception desk, through the warm and welcoming lobby, up the open staircase, down a plushly carpeted hallway. She jerked to a stop in front of the last door, a brass plaque indicated this was the Adirondack Suite.

‘Wait … you booked a room already? You thought …’

He turned around to face her, his hand still holding hers, his eyes glinting in the dim light, although with amusement or desire Hannah couldn’t say. ‘I booked myself a room. I needed somewhere to sleep tonight.’

Hannah swallowed. Didn’t speak. Sergei took an old-fashioned brass key from his pocket. ‘Having second thoughts?’

‘No,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I just didn’t like you thinking I was a sure thing.’

Sergei stared at her for a moment, the key resting in his palm. ‘You’ve become rather cynical, haven’t you?’ he said finally, and he almost sounded sad.

‘Realistic,’ Hannah corrected, and he unlocked the door and ushered her in.

The suite was a retreat of understated elegance and luxury, from the fireplace already laid with logs to the huge four-poster piled high with pillows and a silk duvet. Sergei went to the fireplace, kneeling before it, and Hannah moved into the room. She dropped her coat on a chair and shed her heels, which had sunk so far into the deep carpet that it was hard to walk.

She stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened landscape, rolling fields that led to deep forest, all now cloaked with night. It was very quiet. So quiet she could hear the hard thud of her heart, and wondered if Sergei could hear it too, even from across the room.

‘There.’ He stood, and Hannah saw a fire already crackling to life in the hearth.

‘That was quick,’ she said, trying to smile. For some reason her lips weren’t working and it felt like a grimace instead. Sergei noticed, his eyes narrowing.

‘You are having second thoughts.’

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘But this is all a little … strange. I mean I don’t …

I haven’t …’ She stopped, shrugging. It was occurring to her that no matter what she had said or implied earlier, Sergei was going to realise—quite quickly—that she still had very little experience when it came to the bedroom. A few furtive encounters comprised a sad history indeed.

‘I know,’ he said, and she stared at him.

‘What do you know?’

Now he was the one to shrug. ‘That this isn’t usual for you.’

She didn’t know whether to be offended or gratified. ‘Maybe I do this sort of thing all the time,’ she said, and Sergei stepped closer to her.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t.’

He took another step closer and she breathed in that tangy scent of his aftershave that she still remembered from so long ago. He reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind one ear, the touch of his fingers to her skin electric, causing her to shiver as if he’d actually shocked her. Sergei smiled and Hannah knew there was nothing she could do to keep him from knowing how much he affected her. How much she wanted him.

She finally spoke, trying to keep her tone light. Keep this whole thing light. ‘What, do you think you’re special or something?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘but you are.’

She hadn’t expected that. Suddenly she felt the sting of tears behind her lids. Her emotions were see-sawing crazily, going from anger to sadness to something deeper than either, and over all of it this consuming need. ‘Sergei—’

‘Shh.’ His hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs smoothing the line of her jawbone, his gaze steady and intent. It felt as if he were staring right into her soul. ‘I never stopped,’ he said softly, and then he bent his head and kissed her.

She’d expected something passionate, hard and demanding, purely physical. She’d convinced herself that that was all there was between them, all there ever could be. Yet Sergei’s kiss was so very soft, his lips as gentle as a butterfly’s brush against her mouth, and as sweet as nectar. How could such a cold, hard man be so achingly gentle?

She stilled under that kiss, let his lips move softly over hers, nudging her own apart. I never stopped. Was he telling her the truth, that he’d never stopped desiring her? This kiss felt as if he was. It was so amazingly tender, so heart-wrenchingly wonderful, so surprising. Her mouth opened under his and his tongue slipped inside, touching the tip of hers gently, a question.

A question she could only answer with a most resounding yes.

Her arms came up around him, revelling in the feel of his hard strength pressed against her. He deepened the kiss, his mouth taking such sure and yet tender possession of hers. His other hand curved around her hip and pulled her closer, moulding her body intimately to his. His mouth moved to her jaw, her throat, the tender curve of her shoulder, his tongue flicking along her skin, teasing and tempting. She gasped aloud as the sensations raced along her nerve endings, pooled inside her.