One Kiss In… Moscow. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ response was artless and open; she was as honest with her body as she had been with everything else.

      Sergei slid one hand around the silken length of her thigh, nudging her leg upward towards his hip, his hand sliding down to her ankle as he hooked her leg around him. He moved closer, pressing against her, his arousal—and his intent—unmistakable.

      It was enough to break the moment, which, on some level, Sergei knew, was what he wanted. Even if right now his body protested with unfulfilled desire, deepening need.

      He still felt the guilt.

      Hannah gasped and pulled away, just a little bit. Sergei let her go. Her breath came in gasps and her lips were rosy and swollen, her hair a dark, tumbled cloud around her flushed face. She looked gorgeous.

      ‘This … this is all going a little fast for me,’ she said, and gave an unsteady laugh.

      Sergei smiled. ‘Is it?’

      ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, still so achingly honest and open. ‘But I’m …’ She pressed her hands to her face in a desperate and pointless attempt to cool the blush that scorched her cheeks. ‘I’m not used to this.’

      ‘I know that,’ he told her. ‘You’re a virgin, aren’t you?’

      Hannah’s eyes widened, her face flushing more, if that were even possible. She was positively crimson. ‘It’s obvious, I suppose,’ she said, and Sergei tilted his head in acknowledgement.

      ‘Very.’

      She dropped her hands, her gaze sliding away from his as she let out a rueful little laugh that caught on its final aching note. ‘You must think I’m a complete idiot.’

      He could have said no. He could have drawn her into his arms and assured her that she was beautiful, desirable, perfect. All true. And then he could have taken her upstairs and made love to her all night long. In the morning she would be gone, and so would he. Easy.

      Sergei said nothing.

      Hannah’s head was bowed, her hair falling forward in a dark swirl to hide her face. She looked young and fragile and Sergei could still taste her on his lips. He almost spoke. Then she lifted her head, her eyes darkened to the deepest violet, and took a step forward. She laid her palms flat on his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her hands through the silk of his shirt. His heart thudded hard under her palm. He stared at her, inhaled her honeyed scent, and his heart beat harder.

      ‘I suppose,’ she said softly, tilting her head back so she could look at him, her hair cascading down her back in a glinting chestnut river, ‘it all depends on whether you mind.’

      ‘Mind?’ he repeated blankly. The honest, artless placement of her hands on his chest—especially when he’d just, through silence, rejected her—made him incapable of thought.

      He’d never been so blindsided by a woman before, not just by her touch but by her whole self. He could see such an openness, such a willingness to be hurt in Hannah’s eyes that it humbled and amazed and angered him all at the same time. No one should be so vulnerable. It could only lead to disappointment and pain.

      ‘Mind me being an idiot,’ she clarified in a whisper, her voice lilting and playful even though her eyes were dark and wide and he felt her fingers tremble against him. Sergei knew this needed to stop. He also knew how to do it.

      ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ he assured her in a lazy murmur, and then he closed the space between their mouths in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle embrace of a moment ago. This kiss was hard, demanding, a proof of power.

       You don’t move me.

      He felt Hannah’s yielding response and he slipped his hands from her shoulders to her hips, pulling her to him in shockingly intimate contact. At least she was shocked, innocent that she was, for he heard her gasp against his mouth before he deepened the kiss once more, an endless demand for her surrender.

      And surrender she did, her body becoming soft and pliant, melting towards his as her mouth slackened under his onslaught and her hands came up to clench his hair. Her heart trembled against his and her breath came in mewing gasps; Sergei lost all conscious thought, blindly driven by a need that was far more than merely physical.

      Why did this woman—this irritatingly optimistic Pollyanna of a woman—make him feel so much? Need so much? Remember?

      His hands slid under her bottom and he pressed her against the door, pulling her legs around his waist, his hands rucking up her skirt. Needing to feel skin against skin. Forgetting that this was just meant to be a way to make her push him away.

      Her arms locked around his neck, her head thrown back, her lips parted as her heart thundered against his. His breath came in harsh, tearing gasps, and his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. ‘Sergei,’ she said, his name a ragged whisper, and the desire and anger that had been rushing through him in a molten river of emotion so he couldn’t tell one from the other froze to an icy stream of lucidity.

      She was a virgin.

      And he was mauling her against a door, her mouth swollen and maybe even bruised from his kisses.

      What was he doing? What had he done? He’d meant to scare her off with a kiss, but this … willing or not, she still didn’t know what she was doing.

      He did.

      He pushed away from her, half stumbling, a self-loathing so deep and consuming it felt like acid corroding the soul he’d thought he’d lost long ago.

      ‘Sergei,’ she said again, and this time he knew it was a question, one he couldn’t answer.

      He ran his hands through his hair, dragged a breath into his lungs and then let it out in a long, slow shudder. Hannah straightened, fixed her dress. Her hands trembled.

      Sergei looked away. It was better this way, he knew. Better to end something he never should have begun … for both their sakes.

      It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She might be a virgin, innocent and optimistic as Sergei had said, but even with the most positive outlook possible Hannah knew this wasn’t good. Sergei wasn’t even looking at her. And after his mouth—and his hands—the places they’d been on her body, the way they’d made her feel—

      Until now. Now she felt pretty close to wretched. She swallowed, her throat dry and aching. ‘I guess I’m more of an idiot than I thought,’ she finally said, trying to sound wry although her voice was little more than a croak. Still she tried to smile. She didn’t know what else to do.

      ‘Yes, you are,’ Sergei returned, his voice a savage hiss. Hannah jerked back at the fury in his tone. Even though he’d just pushed her away from him, she hadn’t expected it. Yet as she stood there, conscious of her tousled hair and swollen lips and rearranged clothing, her mind started to catch up to where her body had been blazing ahead. And she wondered what would have happened if Sergei hadn’t stopped … and if she would have regretted it.

      Even now with her clothes in disarray, her body aching, the only sound their still-ragged breathing, she didn’t think she would have.

      ‘Sergei, why—?’

      ‘Don’t.’ СКАЧАТЬ