Postcards From New York. Stefanie London

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СКАЧАТЬ the same question. If she took the kiss she was sure he wanted to give, would that change anything between them? No, because it couldn’t. She had a job to do and then it would be time to move on with her life.

      She’d waited in the hope that Richard would move their friendship to something more intimate and now she wondered if that had been wrong. Or was it just Richard who was wrong?

      ‘No, I guess we don’t.’ She hoped she sounded as though she knew what she was doing, as if she’d been in this very situation many times before. The reality was very different. She’d never had a man look at her with such fierce desire in his eyes, never wanted to feel his lips claim hers.

      He responded by moving closer and brushing his lips over hers very gently and suddenly she wasn’t cold any more as heat scorched through her. She moved her lips against his, a soft sigh of pleasure slipping from her, only to be caught by him. What was happening to her?

      A jolt threw her away from him and she dragged in a long, cold breath as the restless horses shifted in their harnesses. The driver spoke to Nikolai and she blushed, burying her face deeper in her scarf to hide her embarrassment. What was happening to her?

      ‘The driver says snow is on the way and suggests we see what is necessary and head back.’ Nikolai hadn’t intended to kiss her like that; he’d just wanted to make her feel special, to give her the fairy-tale ride through the snow to a beautiful location. He’d wanted all that to distract her—at least, he had, until he’d tasted her lips, felt them welcoming him and encouraging him to take more.

      ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She sounded flustered as she took her camera out of its protective case. ‘I’ll just take a few frames and then you can tell me about it on the way back. I’d rather be in the warm when the snow arrives.’

      He pushed back the image of that warmth being his bed and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to distract her from the truth of his family history by showing her the façade they had lived behind.

      ‘This,’ he said as he helped her from the troika, ‘Is where my mother and I spent each summer until we left Russia. In the summer, though, it was much greener and warmer than now.’

      He hadn’t thought of those summer days for such a long time, consigning them to the past he wanted to forget, but now, as he began to talk to Emma, it wasn’t nearly as hard to look back on them as he’d always feared.

      ‘And this was your mother’s family home?’ she asked as she lined up the shot and took a photo of the one place he’d been happy as a child.

      ‘It was, but I never saw it like this, all covered in snow. It was always summer when we visited and I’d run with the dogs in the orchard, enjoying the freedom.’

      It hadn’t been just the freedom of running free in the summer sun, it had been the freedom from the terror of his father: from not having to hide when his filthy temper struck; of not having to worry about his mother as his father’s voice rose to aggressive shouts. It had been freedom from pain—for both of them. He’d realised much later on that his mother’s parents must have known what was going on and it had been their way of offering sanctuary. He just couldn’t understand why his mother hadn’t taken it permanently.

      ‘And is your grandmother here to talk to us now?’ Hope was shining in her voice. She thought he meant the grandmother who had started this whole nonsense off.

      ‘No, they passed away before my father. Marya Petrushov is my father’s mother. The one who contacted World in Photographs. She lives in Vladimir.’

      ‘So we can see her?’

      She turned her attention to packing away the camera, obviously happy with the photos she’d taken, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face—because right now he was sure it must be contorted with rage and contempt for the woman who had done nothing to help him or his mother. Instead she’d preferred to make excuses for her son and for that he could never forgive her.

      ‘Tomorrow. But right now we should return to the hotel.’

      Just as he couldn’t put off returning to the hotel because of the impending snow, he knew he couldn’t put off meeting his grandmother again any longer. Maybe facing her for the first time would be easier with someone else at his side. It might also be the worst possible decision he’d ever made.

       CHAPTER THREE

      NIKOLAI LOOKED OUT of the window of the hotel bar as darkness descended. The snow was falling ever harder and he couldn’t help but feel relieved. At this rate they wouldn’t be able to get to his grandmother’s home before Emma had to return to London. He’d almost given away the secret himself when he’d taken her to his childhood home; but at least she now had something for her story, and he could relax, maybe even enjoy the evening with her.

      ‘It’s snowing really hard.’ Emma’s voice, soft and gentle, held a hint of anxiety as she joined him in the hotel bar.

      ‘That is normal for these parts,’ he said as she sat down, unable to drag his eyes from her. She wore a black dress which moulded to every curve of her body, but when she removed her jacket, exposing her shoulders and slender arms, that spark of attraction he’d been trying to ignore roared forward, more persistent in its need for satisfaction.

      She sat down opposite him in the comfortable chairs of the lounge area and crossed her legs, affording him a tantalising view of her lower leg, now deliciously on display, and the black high heels she wore only reinforced his need to feel those legs around him. Was she doing it on purpose? Was she trying to distract him?

      ‘Thank you,’ she said firmly and he looked at her face, liking the extra make-up she wore. It accentuated the green of her eyes and he wondered how they would look filled with passion and desire. ‘For what you have shown me, I mean. It can’t have been easy seeing your childhood home in ruins.’

      The sincerity in her voice made him curious about her childhood and he remembered what she’d said within those first moments of meeting him: life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov. Had life been equally unkind to her?

      ‘What of your family home?’ he asked, instantly recognising the way she tensed and the tightening of her jaw. He wasn’t the only one with secrets which still hung over him.

      ‘A family home isn’t something I was lucky enough to have. My sister and I were put into care when we were young.’ She looked away from him; he watched her swallow down her pain and had to fight hard against the urge to go to her and offer comfort—sure it wouldn’t be comfort for long.

      ‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’ He leant forward in the chair and her perfume weaved itself around him, increasing the desire for her which pumped around his body. Desire he couldn’t act on, not if he wanted to keep this whole situation free of complications.

      ‘Maybe it’s only fair, after what you endured yesterday. It must have been heart-breaking, seeing your family home like that.’ She turned to look at him and suddenly they were very close. He held her gaze, looking into those green eyes and seeing an array of emotions swirling within them. He watched her lips move as she spoke again. ‘I feel responsible for that.’

      She looked down again at her hands clasped in her lap. For a moment he followed her gaze and then something he’d never experienced before pushed him on. He needed to touch her so he reached СКАЧАТЬ