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

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      What kind of man was Sergei Kholodov anyway?

      A tremor ran through her, something half between alarm and excitement. He was that kind of man. She might not have a lot of experience when it came to men—Hadley Springs didn’t have a great dating scene—but she still recognised her own reaction. There was something so blatantly sexy about Sergei Kholodov, the way he emanated all that authority, the iciness of his eyes, the leashed power of his body. She’d never been with a more exciting person. Man.

      Yet it hardly mattered, because Hannah doubted she’d ever see him again. His kindness was already more than Hannah had ever expected. So why was she still thinking about him?

      It was hard not to think of him. The events of the last few hours had been both surreal and overwhelming, from the first moment that Sergei had strode across Red Square, to seeing him outside the American Embassy, to entering his amazing and opulent hotel. It was the stuff of fantasies, of soap operas, not the life of a very ordinary woman from a tiny town in upstate New York. Nothing like this had happened to her for the entire three months of her trip, and now on the last day her world was spinning.

      Well, hopefully it would settle right back on its axis tomorrow, when Sergei helped her get a passport and a plane out of here.

      Did that mean she would see him again?

      Hannah decided not to overthink it. She was going to take this crazy ride, enjoy it as much as possible, and it would all end tomorrow when life—God willing—returned to normal. Right now she wanted a good, long soak in the swimming-pool-size sunken tub she’d seen in the bathroom.

      Her suitcase, amazingly, had arrived in her room shortly after she’d got there. Hannah had no idea how Sergei had arranged that; she hadn’t even told him her name, much less the hotel at which she’d been staying. The man definitely had some serious power. Still, she was glad to have her things and she was just unzipping the single case when a discreet knock sounded at the door.

      Hannah tensed, felt that flip of excitement and alarm.

      Running a quick hand over her hair, she hurried to the door and peered through the peephole, suppressing a ridiculous stab of disappointment that it wasn’t Sergei.

      She opened the door to a slight, serious-looking man in a sober suit. A port-wine birthmark covered half his face, and he blinked with a kind of short-sighted owlishness.

      ‘Miss Pearl, my name is Grigori and I am Mr Kholodov’s personal assistant. I have a missive for you from him.’

      A missive? It sounded important. Hannah took the folded paper the man had handed to her. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘May I give him your reply?’

      ‘Oh … right.’ Quickly, fumbling a bit, she unfolded the paper and scanned the two lines that had been written in a bold black scrawl. Please join me for dinner in the hotel restaurant at eight. Sergei.

      She swallowed, looked up, saw Grigori waiting. Well, she did need to eat. And a public restaurant was a safe and fairly innocuous place. And she was curious, and excited, and a little nervous. It seemed this crazy ride had a few more dips and turns. Why on earth did Sergei Kholodov want to have dinner with her? Was he just being nice or …?

      ‘Miss Pearl?’

      ‘Okay. Yes. Thank you. I’d be—ah—happy to join Mr Kholodov at eight.’

      ‘Very good.’ Grigori snapped his heels together militarystyle and turned to leave.

      ‘Grigori—’

      He turned back. ‘Yes, Miss Pearl?’

      ‘Is—That is—’ She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘Has Mr Kholodov owned this hotel for very long?’ She wanted to know something about this enigmatic man, something his assistant would be willing to answer.

      Grigori frowned slightly. ‘I believe it has been five years, Miss Pearl. There is a pamphlet in the desk drawer concerning the history of the hotel, if you are interested.’

      ‘Okay. Great. Thanks.’ Smiling awkwardly, Hannah closed the door. Still dazed by the sudden and entirely unexpected invitation, she went to the desk and took out the pamphlet. She skimmed the paragraphs about the historic building, how it had been a hotel for a hundred years, had fallen into disrepair and been abandoned. Her interest sharpened when she read that Sergei had bought and renovated it, provided jobs for a thousand people, and was committed to the highest service possible.

      He really was an incredible man. And she was going to have dinner with him. Her heart began to thump, her tummy turning somersaults. She was going to have dinner with Sergei Kholodov. It wasn’t a date, of course. She understood that. A man like Sergei Kholodov couldn’t actually be interested in her … could he?

      Was she ridiculous to wonder even for a moment that he might? An icy thrill ran like cold fire through her veins at the thought. Then she realised with a flutter of something between dismay and desolation that she had nothing to wear.

      Hannah straightened. She could hardly hope to impress someone of Sergei Kholodov’s wealth and experience. And it was only dinner after all.

      By seven-thirty Hannah was dressed and ready. She gazed at herself in the mirror, acknowledging that the simple black dress in soft jersey was flattering but also plain, and three months in a rucksack hadn’t done it any favours. Fortunately the material had mostly smoothed out, and she liked the simple style, ending in a swirl around her calves. Her only jewellery was a single string of pearls her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She finished the outfit with low black pumps, a slick of lip gloss, and then she was done.

      Now she just had to wait half an hour. She definitely didn’t want to appear overeager, especially since he knew that word. Her lips twitched at the memory. She must have seemed terribly patronising, especially considering how excellent his English was.

      She flicked through a few of the television channels, trying to settle her still flip-flopping stomach, until five minutes to eight when she made her way back down to the sumptuous lobby. Not overeager, just punctual.

      The restaurant was understated, elegant, and buzzing with people. Hannah stood uncertainly in the doorway, looking around for Sergei, for no more than a few seconds before she felt a sure touch at her elbow.

      ‘Miss Pearl? Mr Kholodov is waiting for you.’

      Hannah turned to see Grigori. He smiled at her, shyly, and Hannah thought how different he was from Sergei. She wondered if his boss scared him with his scowls and sneers, or if he was used to it. Or did Sergei Kholodov just scowl at her?

      ‘Miss Pearl?’ he prompted, and Hannah realised she’d just been standing there, staring into space. And Sergei was waiting. Somehow she didn’t think he liked to wait. She swallowed, nodding, and followed Grigori through the dining room to a discreet alcove in the back, part of the main dining room and yet also quite private. No one could see into this secluded and intimate corner. A table with an L-shaped banquette in plush crimson velvet was laid with crystal, flickering with candlelight. Sergei slid out of the booth as she approached, and now stood in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her in a brief but thorough assessment.

      Her face—her whole body—heated under his СКАЧАТЬ