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

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СКАЧАТЬ she thought as the thud of her heart seemed to roar in her ears, amazing. He’d exchanged the leather trench coat and jeans for a well-cut silk suit in a charcoal grey, and it did even better things for his shoulders, if that were possible. She couldn’t keep herself from noticing the strong lines of his body: his jaw, his shoulder, his thigh. The man was a painting, or perhaps a sculpture.

      ‘Good evening,’ he said, and Hannah very nearly bobbed a curtsey back. She felt so out of her element, and no more so than when Sergei slowly reached out a hand, which she took instinctively, and with a sensual smile led her to the table.

      Sergei saw Hannah’s eyes widen and flare and felt a shaft of desire stab him as she bit her lip, taking its rosy fullness between her teeth, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the obvious intimacy of their surroundings. Just looking at her he felt desire flood through his veins, fire his resolve. He wanted her, and that made things simple. Lust was easy, desire safe. And as her gaze finally rested on him, open and guileless, he thought she desired him back. A faint flush tinged her cheeks and she dropped her hand from where she’d been toying with her hair.

      Sergei let his gaze sweep over her once more. Her hair, last scraped back into a ponytail, now fell almost to her waist in a rippling chestnut waterfall, the candlelight picking out strands of amber and gold. Her dress was cheap and boring but it didn’t matter. The fabric draped lovingly over the gentle curves of her breasts and hips; they were slight and she was almost too thin, yet Sergei was still tempted. Still speechless.

      She wasn’t classically beautiful, there was something too open and honest about her for that; she possessed no haughty awareness or distance. Yet she still looked breathtaking, and she was the only woman Sergei had ever met who caused him to break his rules, to want more, more than he ever let himself want.

      He pushed the thought—the want—aside. This was lust, pure and simple. That was all. He’d make sure of that.

      ‘I hope you found everything in your room comfortable,’ he said.

      ‘Comfortable? Are you kidding me? It was amazing. The tub alone—I stayed in there for an hour.’ She held out her hands for his inspection. ‘My fingers are still wrinkled like prunes.’

      ‘I’m glad you enjoyed all the room’s amenities,’ he said smoothly, and she dropped her hands, laughing a little.

      ‘Definitely. Thank you. This is all so … like something out of a fairy tale. Really.’ Her eyes held a playful, teasing light. ‘Are you my fairy godmother?’

      ‘No,’ Sergei said, ‘Just someone assuaging his own guilty conscience.’

      ‘You hardly need to feel guilty,’ she said as she slid into the booth. He caught a whiff of her honeyed scent: snowdrops, the signature scent of the complementary toiletries found in every room in his hotel. The scent, he’d always thought, of sweetness and courage.

      ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, reaching for the bottle of red already open.

      ‘Oh … well. Okay.’ She smiled, trying to be sophisticated, clearly nervous. ‘Thank you.’

      She was, Sergei thought, incredibly open. Those eyes, that face, every word she said … she hid nothing. Having hidden every emotion since he could remember, he was both disturbed and moved by the thought.

      He handed her the glass and poured one for himself. ‘To unexpected moments,’ he said, raising his glass, and after a second’s hesitation she self-consciously clinked her glass with his own.

      ‘I’ve certainly had a few of those today,’ she said after she’d taken a tiny sip of wine.

      ‘So tell me about this trip of yours,’ Sergei said as he sat next to her. ‘This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

      ‘Well …’ She paused, frowning faintly. ‘My parents died. They were elderly, and it wasn’t unexpected, but it was all kind of … intense, and I decided afterwards that this was an opportunity to take some time out for myself.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Even if I didn’t have any savings.’

      ‘I’m sorry about your parents,’ he said quietly. Her admission had given him a flicker of surprised sympathy. She was an orphan, of a sort, just as he was. ‘Savings aside,’ he continued, ‘you obviously had enough money to fund the trip at least.’

      ‘Just,’ Hannah agreed. ‘But it was tight. I had to close the shop, of course, and scrimp quite a bit—’ She stopped suddenly, shaking her head ruefully. ‘But you don’t want to hear about that. Very boring stuff, especially to a millionaire like you.’

      Billionaire, actually, but Sergei wasn’t about to correct her. He was curious about this shop of hers, and her whole life, and the way she stared at him as if she trusted him, as if she trusted everyone. Hadn’t life taught her anything? It made him want to destroy her delusions and wrap her in cotton wool all at the same time.

      Desirable, he reminded himself. That was it. Simple. Easy.

      ‘You mentioned a shop,’ he said. He shifted in his seat and his thigh nudged hers. He saw her eyes widen and she bit the lush fullness of her lip once more.

      ‘Y-yes, a shop,’ she said, stammering slightly, and he knew that brief little nudge had affected her. And if that affected her—what would she be like in his arms? In his bed?

      Guilt pricked him momentarily, sharp and pointed. Should he really be thinking like this? She had innocence stamped all over her. His lovers were always experienced and even jaded like him, women who understood his rules. Who never tried to get close.

      Because if they did … if they ever knew …

      Sergei pushed the needling sense of guilt away, hardened his heart. And pictured himself slipping that dress from her shoulders, pressing his lips to the pulse fluttering quite wildly at her throat. She wanted him. He wanted her.

      Simple.

      It was foolish to feel so … aware, Hannah told herself. So alive. They were just talking. Yet still she was acutely, achingly conscious of Sergei’s thigh just inches from hers, the strength and heat of him right across the table, the candlelight throwing the harsh planes of his face into half-shadow.

      ‘A shop,’ she repeated, knowing she must sound as brainless as he’d thought her this morning. ‘My parents started it before I was born, and I took it over when they died.’

      ‘What kind of shop?’

      ‘Crafts. Mainly knitting supplies, yarn and so forth, but also embroidery and sewing things. Whatever we—I—think will sell.’ Even six months after her mother’s death, it was still strange—and sad—to think the shop was hers. Only hers.

      ‘And you had to close the shop? You couldn’t have anyone running it while you were away?’

      ‘I can’t really afford it,’ she said. ‘It’s a small town and we don’t get a lot of business except during tourist season.’ And even then just drive-throughs.

      ‘Where is this small town of yours?’

      ‘Hadley Springs, about four hours north of New York City.’

      ‘It must be beautiful.’

      ‘It СКАЧАТЬ