Postcards From New York. Stefanie London

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      ‘What have you done now?’ Nikolai’s deep voice demanded of his mother, but she wasn’t listening, and she headed off through the crowds, leaving them no choice but to follow her out and across the lawns. Emma could hear the water in the darkness which surrounded the extensive garden, now lit up with hundreds of lights, and it was a relief to be away from the many people who had attended the party, none of whom she knew.

      ‘I have no idea what this is about,’ Nikolai said sternly, his irritation at such a public display of them as a newly engaged couple all too obvious.

      ‘We should at least see,’ she said to Nikolai, unable to supress a smile. How nice it must be to have a mother who would arrange surprises for you; it was exactly the kind of mother she wanted to be herself.

      Nikolai didn’t say anything, but took her hand and made his way to where his mother was talking to a group of people. His annoyance at the arrangement was very clear.

      ‘Stand here, with the party as a backdrop. I want an engagement photo of you both.’ The excitement in his mother’s voice was contagious and Emma couldn’t help but laugh softly. Nikolai didn’t share her appreciation and wasn’t in the least amused by it.

      ‘That’s not necessary.’ Nikolai’s brusque tone didn’t make a dent on his mother’s enthusiasm.

      At that point Emma realised this wasn’t just a snapshot for a family album, as a party photographer joined them and set about making them stand just where he wanted them to. Instantly she was uncomfortable. She hated being on what she considered the wrong side of the lens.

      ‘Now, embrace each other,’ the photographer said as he stepped back and started clicking, his assistants altering lights to get the best result. ‘Kiss each other.’

      Kiss.

      Emma looked at Nikolai and wondered just what he was going to say about being forced to kiss her. The same kind of boldness which had come over her in Vladimir rushed through her again.

      ‘We’d better do as we’re told,’ she whispered with a smile on her lips, amused at his hard expression. He wasn’t doing a very good job of acting the part of a man in love, which was what he’d wanted his mother to think he was. ‘We’re in love, remember?’

      His eyes darkened until they were so black and full of desire that she caught her breath as anticipation rushed through her. Her heart thumped harder and she was sure he’d see the pulse at her throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. He pulled her closer against him and she could feel his thighs touch hers, his chest press against her breasts.

      He moved slowly but with intent purpose until his lips met hers and, acting on instinct, her eyes closed and her body melted into his. His arms held her tighter still and she wrapped hers around his neck as he deepened the kiss. She didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to acknowledge the power of the passion racing through her, but she couldn’t help herself. She opened her lips and tasted his with her tongue as fireworks seemed to explode around them.

      ‘Perfect,’ the photographer directed. ‘Keep kissing her.’

      Nikolai’s hand slid down to the small of her back, pressing her against him, and the fire of desire raged through her. If she didn’t stop him now she’d be in danger of giving herself away, of allowing him to see just what he did to her.

      She let her arms fall from his neck and pushed against his chest, wanting to continue, yet not wanting him to know that just a kiss could make her his again. ‘That’s pretty powerful acting,’ she said, alarmed at how husky her voice sounded.

      A large bang sounded behind them and, startled, she looked towards the party. Fireworks filled the night sky behind the marquee and relief washed over her. She thought she had heard fireworks as he’d kissed her, ones created by this man’s kiss. The relief at discovering that they had been real made her laugh and, still in Nikolai’s embrace, she looked up at him.

      ‘The same can be said of you.’ Desire filled his voice as he responded.

      Nikolai let her go as his mother walked towards them, a big smile on her face. ‘That was perfect. I will see you both in the morning.’

      Emma watched her leave, an ultra-glamorous woman who believed her son had found the love of his life. What would she say if she knew the truth, and why was it so important to Nikolai that she thought that? Questions burned in her mind.

      ‘Shall we return to the party or retire to bed?’ The question shocked her and she didn’t know which was more preferable. She didn’t want to continue to be the centre of speculation but neither did she want to go to their room.

      ‘Perhaps we should just go back to your apartment.’ The suggestion came from her before she had time to think.

      ‘I can see that my presence in your room is not going to be welcome, but I can assure you, nothing will happen. The pretence of being in love can be dropped once we close the bedroom door.’

      ‘In that case, we should retire,’ she said, trying to keep the despondency from her voice. He didn’t want her, didn’t find her attractive. The kiss of moments ago had been just an act. Pretence at attraction and love, purely to keep his mother happy.

      * * *

      Nikolai saw the expression of horror cross Emma’s face, and wished he’d been firmer with his mother, but she’d looked so happy he just couldn’t destroy that for her. This whole sham of an engagement was to make his mother happy and now he was guilty of making Emma unhappy. Strangely, that was worse, but it was too late to back out now. They would spend the night in this room and leave as soon as they could in the morning.

      Emma crossed the room to the only bed and looked at the items his mother had instructed to be left for them. She held up a cream silk nightdress which would do little to conceal her figure and he closed his eyes against the image of her in it—and, worse, next to him in that very bed.

      ‘It appears your mother has thought of everything,’ she said as she looked up at him. ‘It’s almost as if she was planning on us having to stay.’

      Emma had just echoed his own thoughts, but he brushed them away in an attempt to put her at ease. ‘Whatever it was my mother had planned, she believes we are in love and, as I said earlier, I want to keep it that way. I also promised that nothing would happen between us, so I will sleep in the chair.’

      He gestured to an easy chair which would be perfect for relaxing in during the day, but not so great to sleep in for a night. She looked from him to the chair and sighed, as if in resignation.

      ‘I hardly think that will be conducive to a good night’s sleep.’ He was about to argue the point when a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘We’ll just have to manage together in the bed. We are, after all, both adults and have agreed that nothing is going to happen.’

      He might have agreed, but he seriously doubted if he could carry through that promise. She stood before him now in the dress which shimmered in the lights of the room, and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman.

      Maybe one more night in her arms would be enough to suppress the desire-laden thoughts he constantly had about her? That question sent a rush of lust sparking around him, but as he looked at her worried expression he knew it couldn’t happen. Not after he’d been the one to set the time limit—just one night in Vladimir.

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