His Best Acquisition: The Russian's Acquisition / A Deal Before the Altar / A Deal with Demakis. Dani Collins

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      He kissed her with ravenous generosity, exciting kisses that transmitted joyous signals through her, making her move against him.

      Thick Russian words filled her ear as he slid his wet mouth down her neck, tucked his hand under her bottom, carefully withdrew and thrust.

      It felt so perfect, so good. Clair threw back her head, a lusty groan tearing raggedly from her lips. She couldn’t speak, could only embrace this primitive state and encourage him with ancient signals, stretching and arching beneath him, moaning her pleasure.

      Urgency built, quickening their rhythm. The sensations were so acute she wanted to scream. She needed more. “Please, Aleksy, please.”

      With a growl, he thrust faster, offering what she craved, taking and giving, straining over her, driving her to a peak, holding her there, pushing her off…

      She fell, but into flight. Breathless, soaring flight. Distantly aware of his guttural yell, she rose to skim the sun, where she burst into brilliant, ecstatic flames. It was the most delicious death until, like the sparks from a spent firecracker, she drifted in pieces back to earth.

      * * *

      Aleksy reeled as he left her. Dealing with the condom was his excuse, not that he voiced it, but he had to get away from her. He was spent, body twitching with exertion and coated in sweat, but he wanted her again. She was like Christmas dinner, when it didn’t matter that he’d already gorged himself. Greed for more consumed him.

      He splashed cold water on his face, then glared in self-disgust at his reflection, his scar standing brilliant white against his flushed skin.

      Incredible, mind-shattering sex that shouldn’t have happened at any pace. You’re going too fast. No wonder she’d been so shy about surrendering to passion. And when she had…

      Please don’t ruin it. What was he supposed to have done? Left her frustrated and disappointed by her first experience with a man? Would that have salvaged something of the civilized gentleman in him?

      As if there’d ever been anything civilized in him, he thought with bitter self-recrimination, old blades of guilt and abhorrence flashing between himself and his image. He was well aware of the primitive forces in him. He held them in check with his rigid standards, always. Shame and contempt filled him for dallying with a virgin. He’d stolen from a man he didn’t even know.

      How dare she put him in this position?

      He moved back to the bedroom to confront his mistake and found her sitting up, the sheet knotted in her fist against her collarbone leaving her pale shoulders bare.

      She looked like a bride on her honeymoon, thoroughly tumbled, lips puffy and ripe, hair tousled, expression still retaining some vulnerable innocence while her new knowledge made her skim a hesitant, admiring look over his frame.

      That look was a baited hook that caught in his gut. Lower even. The erection that hadn’t completely subsided pulsed with renewed life.

      He hated the response he couldn’t control; he refused to be led by it, especially where she no doubt thought she could take him. Planting his feet hard on the floor, he crossed his arms and stood at his full height.

      “I won’t marry you.” His cold warning grounded out the sexual electricity still crackling in the air.

      Her shoulders flinched before she steadied them. “Did I ask you to?”

      “It’s reasonable to assume you’re trolling for a proposal with this little gesture, especially ahead of the money transfer, but forget it. I’m not the marrying kind.” She wouldn’t have tried this if she knew what a monster he really was.

      “What little gesture?” She lifted haughty eyebrows.

      “A woman’s virginity belongs to her husband.” He’d never forgive himself for this. Fooling around with experienced women was one thing. They had the same unclouded views he did. Innocents had expectations he would never live up to. “I didn’t ask for your virginity, so don’t think you can guilt me into making restitution for it.”

      She reddened with insult. Or anger. He didn’t let himself dwell on what she might be feeling so long as he was driving his point home.

      “A woman’s virginity belongs to her husband?” she repeated through her teeth. “Welcome to the twenty-first century where a woman’s body belongs to her. It doesn’t look like you’re saving yourself for marriage.”

      “It’s a good thing one of us knew what he was doing.” Although he hadn’t. She’d neglected to inform him of one very salient detail. She was craftier than he’d given her credit for, coldcocking him with that one.

      “We all have to start somewhere. What good is waiting for a husband who hasn’t once shown up when I needed him? I’m stuck with taking care of myself, aren’t I?”

      “And this is how you chose to do it? By throwing away your virginity for hard cash?” Precisely the type of woman he usually dealt with and yes, he supposed they had all started somewhere. He was still left with a pall of disappointment in both of them.

      Astonished hurt parted her lips.

      Out of habit, he mercilessly sealed over the fissure her crushed expression threatened to make in his conscience, closing himself off to any emotional appeals. Best if she understood he had no heart, but then something in him stirred. Perhaps she really was romantic enough to believe this sort of thing led to a lifetime commitment. The weight of being unable to live up to that expectation settled heavily on his shoulders.

      She surprised him by masking her hurt. As though shrugging into a coat, she pulled on an air of dignity. “I made a choice that was mine alone to make. I’m not the marrying kind either.”

      He snorted. Innocents like her dreamed of a family. If his own family were alive, they’d expect better of him than the way he was behaving right now. Of course, if they were alive, he’d still be an innocent like her.

      “You don’t know me,” she said with quiet assertion. “You don’t even want to. I’m only spoils of war to you. I trust your grudge is satisfied and you’ll leave me now?”

      The cool, pithy words struck his abdominals like punches. That wasn’t what this was. Despite hating himself for not realizing sooner that he was her first, the basest male part of him was already anticipating tasting her shoulders and neck again, stroking the warm silk of her back and thighs, making her writhe against him until she was ready to take him into her. And it had nothing to do with revenge.

      He didn’t want to leave her—which stunned him—but she had to be tender. He hadn’t been as gentle as he would have been if he’d known… if he’d known…

      His skull threatened to split under the pressure of conflicting imperatives. He had to leave her. For now.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

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