Читать книгу Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence - Шантель Шоу, Chantelle Shaw - Страница 6

‘NO!’ ELLA’S outraged gasp was muffled beneath the firm pressure of Vadim’s mouth on hers, and shock rendered her immobile. His lips were warm and beguiling as he kissed her with an expertise that caused her heart to slam against her ribs. He moved his hand from her chin to her nape, while his other hand settled on her hip and urged her closer. He did not exert force, and she could easily resist—should resist, her brain pointed out—but her body seemed to have a will of its own, and it craved even closer contact with the most mesmeric man she had ever met.

His tongue traced the shape of her mouth, playing havoc with her equilibrium, but when he probed gently between her lips, demanding access, she stiffened and her pride belatedly stirred. She knew what kind of man he was. After meeting him in Paris she had been sufficiently intrigued to find out more about him, and had discovered that he had a reputation as a playboy whose wealth and undeniable charisma attracted women to his bed in droves. His relationships never lasted long before he moved on to his next conquest, and she would not be one of them, Ella vowed fiercely.

She did not want a love affair, and she was certain that love was not on Vadim’s agenda. He wanted to have sex with her.

She might be inexperienced, but she was not completely naïve, and from the moment their eyes had met in Paris she had recognised the hungry desire in his gaze. He wanted her, but she was determined he would not have her. She’d never had a problem freezing out other men who had shown an interest in her, and the fact that she was finding it hard to remain cool with Vadim was all the more reason to stick to her resolve.

She knew about men like him, she brooded bitterly. Her father had repeatedly broken her mother’s heart with his affairs. Even when Judith Stafford had lain dying the Earl had been cavorting with his mistress on the French Riviera, and had barely made it back to England in time for his wife’s funeral.

But as Vadim continued his unhurried exploration of her lips she was aware of a curious melting sensation that seeped into her bones, undermining her determination to resist him, so that she could not prevent herself from sagging against him. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer still, so that she could feel the solid hardness of his thigh muscles. In a frantic attempt to push him away she laid her hands flat against his chest, and was instantly entranced by the warmth of his body through his fine silk shirt.

Now he increased the pressure of his mouth, forcing her lips apart, and with a bold flick of his tongue he delved into her moist warmth, taking the kiss to another level and demonstrating a degree of eroticism that was beyond anything Ella had ever imagined. She felt strangely light-headed as her blood drummed through her veins, every nerve-ending in her body acutely sensitive, so that the faint rasp of his cheek against her tender flesh sent a quiver of reaction the length of her spine. Just as music transported her to another world, Vadim’s kiss took her to a place she had never been before, where sensation ruled and all that mattered was that he should continue to move his mouth on hers in the slow, delicious tasting that caused a curious throbbing ache in the pit of her stomach.

She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It could have been minutes, hours. While she was in his arms she lost all sense of time, and when at last he lifted his head and withdrew his hand from her waist she swayed slightly, the dazed expression in her eyes gradually changing to one of appalled self-disgust.

‘How dare you?’ she whispered through numbed lips, the realisation that she had capitulated utterly to his mastery sending shame cascading through her, so that her face flooded with hot colour.

He gave her an amused smile. ‘How can you ask that after responding to me with such passion?’ He ran his finger lightly over her flushed cheek, and then traced the swollen contours of her lips, his eyes darkening when he caught the faint catch of her breath. ‘The word among some of your male friends is that you are frigid. But what do they know?’ he murmured, his gravelly accent sounding deeper and more sensual than ever. ‘They’re just young bucks who are piqued that you have not chosen one of them to be your boyfriend. But you should not have boys, Ella. You need a man who appreciates your sensual nature.’

‘Are you suggesting I need you?’ she choked, seizing anger as a weapon to fight the insidious warmth that his sexy voice and provocative statement evoked inside her. The sultry gleam in his eyes was too much to bear. ‘Your ego is…monumental. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of me,’ she added tightly.

She was aware of the speculation among the brothers of some of her friends that her refusal to date them must mean she was either frigid or gay. The true explanation was that she simply wasn’t interested, but Vadim’s suggestion that she had been holding out for a highly sexed, overconfident man like him—a man like her father—was laughable. She had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, and it was his problem if his ego couldn’t accept her refusal to have dinner with him.

She had given out a mixed message tonight, though, she conceded grimly, shuddering at the memory of how she had responded to him with shameful enthusiasm. She should have pulled away from him the moment he had touched her, but instead she had melted in his arms. Mortification swept through her, together with a growing sense of panic as Vadim traced his finger down her throat and continued lower, coming to rest on the faint swell of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her dress. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was terrified that he must be able to see her heart jerking unevenly beneath her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to slap his hand away, but to her shame a little part of her longed for him to move his fingers the few necessary inches to curve around her breast.

Her eyes flew to his face, and the feral gleam she saw beneath his heavy lids warned her he had read her mind. ‘The game of cat and mouse has been amusing,’ he said in his sinfully sexy accent, ‘but now I grow bored with it. Perhaps you are shocked by the intensity of the sexual chemistry between us, Ella, but you cannot deny it exists. When we kissed, you felt it here.’ He placed his hand directly over her heart, his fingers brushing against her breast. ‘Just as I did. Passion pounds in your veins as it does in mine, and the only logical conclusion is for us to become lovers.’

She could not possibly be tempted, Ella told herself frantically. She was incensed by Vadim’s arrogant assumption that she was his for the taking, that he could simply pluck her like a ripe peach, and yet she could not block out the little voice in her head which was urging her to agree, to succumb to the passion that, as he had rightly guessed, was pounding in her veins, making her feel hot and flustered.

Common sense fought the wild recklessness that had gripped her and won. She would not be Vadim Aleksandrov’s plaything. She recalled a newspaper article about his recent split from glamour model Kelly Adams, in which Kelly had accused him of cruelly dumping her by text message. The accompanying photo had shown the stunning redhead sobbing heartbrokenly outside the hotel where Vadim had taken up residence since his arrival in the capital. ‘Vadim Aleksandrov has a lump of granite instead of a heart,’ Kelly had told the tabloids, and the image of the model’s tear-streaked face had reminded Ella of her mother’s anguished expression when Lionel Stafford had rejected her for one of his many mistresses.

‘When you say lovers, what exactly do you have in mind?’ she queried coolly. ‘I know from press reports that you travel widely for your company, and I am frequently on tour with the RLO, so I’m not sure how we could maintain a meaningful relationship.’

He frowned, clearly taken aback by her words. ‘To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead,’ he drawled. ‘I am suggesting that we explore the sexual attraction that exists between us, but talk of a relationship is a little premature, don’t you think?’

Vadim Aleksandrov and the late Earl Stafford had a lot in common, Ella brooded, not least their cavalier attitude towards women. ‘I might have known that a man like you would only be interested in physical satisfaction,’ she said bitterly, forcing herself to sound coldly dismissive to disguise her intense awareness of him.

Vadim’s eyes narrowed at her haughty tone. ‘A man like me?’ he queried softly. The expression on Ella’s face was dismissive, scornful, and anger flared inside him. Did she think he was beneath her because he had started out in life with nothing, while she had been born into the wealthy, privileged lifestyle of the British upper class?

He was used to women who played games, and he had cynically assumed that Ella had been cool with him because it amused her. Now he wondered if her refusal to date him was because she deemed him a lowly immigrant from the Eastern bloc who had made a fast buck, not worthy of her. He assured himself he did not give a damn about her opinion of him, but to his annoyance his pride stung. ‘What kind of a man do you think I am?’ he demanded harshly.

As Ella stared at his hard-boned face her mind flew back across the years and she was back at Stafford Hall, huddled at the top of the stairs, peering through the banisters to the hall below, where her mother was sobbing as she pleaded with a cold, arrogantly handsome man.

‘You’re going to her again, aren’t you? Did you think I was unaware of your latest mistress when the whole of London knows you spend your nights with your tart instead of with me? For pity’s sake, Lionel…’

Judith Stafford lifted her hands beseechingly towards her husband, but there was no pity in the Earl’s eyes, just cold indifference which turned to anger when his wife clutched the lapels of his jacket.

‘Why on earth would I want to spend any more time than I have to with you? You’re a neurotic, pathetic mess.’ Lip curling with distaste, Lionel Stafford pushed the weeping woman away from him with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees. ‘Pull yourself together, Judith, and be thankful I go elsewhere for my pleasures when you consistently deny me my rights in the marriage bed.’

‘I’m not well, Lionel. You know my heart condition means I have to be careful…’

‘Well, I’m bored with your illness.’The Earl flung open the door and gave one last withering glance at his wife, still kneeling on the cold marble floor. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he said mockingly. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

Ella remembered the anger that had surged through her as her father had slammed the door behind him, and the pity and the feeling of utter helplessness as she’d watched her mother slowly drag herself to her feet and make her way wearily to the stairs. At twelve years old she had been unable to voice her hatred of her father, and less than a year later, after her mother had died of heart failure, she had been packed off to boarding school and left in the charge of a nanny during the holidays, while the Earl disappeared abroad. Her resentment had continued to fester inside her. Lionel Stafford had died before Ella had had the opportunity to tell him how much she hated him, but now, as she stared at Vadim’s arrogant face, her bitterness came tumbling out.

‘I think you are the kind of man who selfishly takes what you want and gives nothing in return. You have a reputation as a playboy, but you have no respect for women.’ She lifted her head and glared at him, determined not to be fazed by the mocking gaze that so infuriated her. But there was no amusement in those piercing blue eyes, just a feral gleam that made her feel hot and shivery at the same time, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see inside her head.

Anger surged up inside her, making her tremble with its intensity. How dared he make the casual suggestion that they should become lovers? And how dared he kiss her with such shocking hunger that he had forced her to respond to him against her will? She could not drag her gaze from his mouth, couldn’t forget the sensual pleasure of his lips sliding over hers, but no way did she want him to kiss her again—of course she didn’t, she assured herself fiercely.

‘I’d rather die than have you touch me again.’ As soon as the words were out she knew she’d sounded childish and overdramatic, and her blush deepened when he gave her an amused glance.

‘If I thought you really meant it I would walk away and never trouble you again,’ he said softly. ‘But we both know it isn’t true. You desire me as much as I want you, and have done since the moment we met in Paris. The attraction between us was instant, like wildfire, but you don’t have the guts to be honest about it.’

Incensed, she stared at him, shaking with rage, and yet deep down she was aware of a need to goad him, to make him do…what? ‘How can you possibly think you know my mind better than I do?’ she gritted.

‘I know you want me to kiss you again.’ His voice was suddenly rough, the amusement in his eyes replaced by scorching heat. ‘Let’s try a little experiment, shall we?’ His arm shot out and he jerked her against him, ignoring her struggles to escape with insulting ease as he lowered his mouth to hers.

There was no gentleness this time, just raw, primitive passion as he took without mercy, forcing her lips apart with a bold flick of his tongue before he thrust deep into her moist warmth and explored her with ruthless efficiency. Fighting him was impossible when his arms were clamped like a vice around her body. But she did not have to respond to him, her brain pointed out. She could simply remain passive until he’d finished with her. But, to her shame, her willpower was non-existent, and the delicious pressure of his mouth proved an irresistible temptation.

It was ridiculous that at twenty-four she did not know how to kiss a man properly, Ella mused. But her music consumed her so utterly that she had never felt more than mild curiosity about the opposite sex, and on the rare occasions she had agreed to go on a date she had found the obligatory fumbling kiss in the car, with the gear lever jammed into her ribs, totally uninspiring.

Being kissed by Vadim was a completely different experience. He was a master in the art of seduction, while she was dangerously out of her depth. The erotic sweep of his tongue destroyed her thought processes, and she gave up trying to deny him when it meant denying herself, initiating a tentative exploration of her own that elicited a low groan from him as he felt her complete capitulation.

She was flushed and breathless when he finally released her. ‘You see—you survived,’ he taunted softly.

Ella wished she could make some cutting retort, but her brain seemed to have stopped functioning. Her lips felt swollen when she traced them with her tongue, and she doubted she could have uttered a word.

Vadim’s eyes darkened as he watched the darting foray of her pink tongue-tip, and he muttered something she assumed was Russian as he made to pull her back into his arms. But suddenly, shockingly, the orangery was flooded with a brilliant glare as someone pushed open the door and flicked the light switch.

‘Oh…sorry.’ Jenny did not bother to disguise her curiosity as she watched Ella flush scarlet and spring away from the gorgeous Russian hunk who had been eyeing her up all night. ‘Ella, there’s been a mix-up with the taxis. They’ve only sent one car, and Claire’s cello will take up half the back seat. The driver says he’ll come back for you after he’s driven us home, as you live in the opposite direction. Do you mind waiting?’

‘No, that’s fine.’Ella forced a smile, despite the sudden feeling that her head was about to explode. The migraine she had sensed brewing earlier had kicked in with a vengeance, the pain escalating as quickly as it always did with her, so that she could barely concentrate on anything else. She refused to make a fuss about the travel arrangements, even though the prospect of waiting around for her lift home seemed unbearable when a dozen hammers were beating against her skull. She supposed she could ring another cab company, but moving her head even slightly was agony, and she was conscious of the unpleasant queasy sensation in her stomach that usually preceded a bout of sickness.

‘Are you okay?’ Jenny’s voice sounded like a pneumatic drill to Ella’s ultra-sensitive ears. ‘You look a bit green.’

Somehow Ella managed another faint smile. ‘A headache. It’s nothing. You’d better go, or the taxi will leave without you.’

Jenny hesitated, frowning at Ella’s sudden pallor. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ll take Ella home.’ Vadim’s deep voice was firm and decisive, and at any other time she would have railed against his authority, but right now getting home as fast as possible was imperative, so she nodded her head very slightly, trying not to wince as stars flashed in front of her eyes.

‘Thank you.’ She sensed his surprise at her sudden meekness, but the pain was worse, blinding her, so that she stumbled after him, back through the Egyptian Room and out to the foyer, where she collected her violin from the security desk and then followed Vadim out onto the street. She’d hoped that a few gulps of fresh air would lessen the nauseous feeling, but if anything she felt worse, and after easing carefully into his low-slung sports car, and muttering instructions on how to reach her house, she closed her eyes and prayed she would not throw up over his leather upholstery.

If there was one thing Vadim couldn’t stand it was a woman who sulked. He did not even know why he was bothering with Ella, he thought grimly, after his attempts at conversation were met with a barely monosyllabic response. He took his eye off the road for a second and threw her an impatient glance, his mouth tightening when he saw that she had turned her head away from him and was staring fixedly out of the window. He knew of half a dozen extremely attractive women he could phone who would be happy to provide a few hours of pleasant company and uncomplicated sex. So why was he hung up on this pale, underweight girl, who changed from hot to cold quicker than a mixer-tap, and was now subjecting him to the big freeze because he had proved that she was sexually attracted to him?

Her coolness intrigued him, he admitted, particularly now he had sampled the heated passion she kept hidden behind her ice-maiden façade. But his attempts to get Ella to have dinner with him, let alone persuade her into his bed, had so far come to nothing, and he was beginning to wonder if she was worth the effort. Maybe he should drop her home and put her out of his mind? His hectic work schedule meant that he hadn’t had a lover for weeks. Celibacy did not agree with him, he acknowledged self-derisively. But Ella Stafford was too much like hard work.

‘Stop the car,’ she cried suddenly.

He frowned. ‘According to the sat-nav we’re still a mile from your address.’

‘Just stop the car now. Please.’

The urgency in her voice puzzled him. Did she want him to leave her at the side of the road because she was afraid that if he drove her all the way home he might demand an invitation into her house? He swore violently in his native tongue and pulled up in a lay-by, his frown deepening when she immediately shot out of the car and raced towards the bushes a few feet back from the road.

‘Ella…?’

‘Don’t follow me,’ she yelled.

He swore again. God damn it, what did she think he was going to do to her? He swung back to the car and then paused at the unmistakable sound of retching coming from the bushes. A few minutes later she reappeared, whey-faced, her eyes like great hollows in her pinched face. She looked like death, and his impatience faded as some indefinable emotion tugged in his chest.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’

‘Migraine.’ Ella forced the word past her chattering teeth, took one look at Vadim’s horrified expression and wanted to die of embarrassment. There was no hint of desire in his eyes now, she noted grimly, but that was hardly surprising when he had just heard her lose the contents of her stomach. ‘I occasionally get them after a performance. Playing is incredibly draining, and it seems that a surfeit of emotions affects me physically.’ She leaned weakly against the car, wondering if he would allow her to get back in, or whether he expected her to walk the remaining distance to her house for fear that she would be sick again. ‘You’re partly to blame,’ she muttered, not daring to look at him and see the disgust he must surely feel. ‘You unsettle me.’

He gave a rough laugh, but when he spoke the anger had gone from his voice. ‘Honesty at last! If it’s any consolation, you unsettle me too. But I’m not sure I like the idea that I make you physically ill.’

‘You don’t…I mean, it wasn’t you…’ Why on earth had she admitted that he unsettled her? Ella asked herself crossly.

She was naturally reserved—a trait that was frequently mistaken for aloofness—and she hated the nickname she’d earned of Ice Princess, but right now she would give anything to appear cool and collected. ‘I find Dvorak’s New World Symphony very emotional to play,’ she muttered, colour flaring on her white face.

‘I’m relieved to know that my kissing you did not make you sick.’ There was amusement in Vadim’s voice now and Ella glared at him, or tried to, but the pain across her temples was excruciating and she closed her eyes, wishing she were back home at Kingfisher House rather than standing by the side of the road with a man who infuriated her and fascinated her in equal measures.

‘Do you have medication for your headache?’

She forced her eyes open to find him standing close beside her, and for some inexplicable reason she wanted to rest her pounding head against the broad strength of his chest. ‘My prescription painkillers are at home. I usually carry some with me, but I forgot them tonight,’ she muttered ruefully.

‘Then I’d better get you home quickly.’ Vadim helped her into the car and strode round to the driver’s side, coiling his long frame behind the wheel. ‘Here, let me do that.’ He leaned across her and adjusted her seat belt, and despite the throbbing pain in her head Ella was acutely conscious of his closeness, her senses flaring as she breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne.

In the glow from the street-lamp his swarthy olive skin gleamed like silk, but the brilliance of his blue eyes was shielded by thick black lashes. His mouth was inches from hers, and she recalled the firm pressure of his lips easing hers apart, demanding a response she had been helpless to deny. She suddenly felt hot, when seconds ago she had been freezing cold, but she could not blame her erratic temperature swing on her migraine, she admitted dismally. For some reason this man affected her in a way no man had ever done—made her feel things she had confidently assumed would never trouble her.

When Vadim had told her that some of her male friends thought she was frigid, she hadn’t been surprised. It had occurred to her that the reason for her complete lack of interest in the opposite sex might not only be due to the hatred she had felt for her father, and that she must simply have a low sex-drive. But the erotic dreams that had plagued her since this Russian had first kissed her hand in Paris had turned that notion on its head. He had awoken her sensuality—but far from wanting to explore the feelings he aroused in her—her instinct was to run and keep on running.

Vadim stared at her, and said in a half-amused, half-impa-tient voice, ‘For pity’s sake, don’t look at me like that now, when you know damn well there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Like what?’ she mumbled, dazed with pain and overwhelmed by his potent masculinity.

‘Like you want me to kiss you again and keep on kissing you, until the slide of mouth on mouth is no longer enough for either of us and only the feel of hands caressing naked skin will satisfy the ache that consumes us both,’ he said, in a low tone that simmered with sexual promise.

Face burning at the images he evoked, Ella jerked upright—and drew a sharp breath when a burning poker pierced her skull. ‘I didn’t…I don’t…’

‘Liar.’

She was so pale she looked as though she might pass out. Vadim controlled his frustration and fired the ignition, wondering how he could ever have bought into the image Ella projected of cool, reserved, independent woman. Instead she was a seething mass of emotions, intense, hot-blooded and surprisingly vulnerable, and she intrigued him more than any other woman had ever done. Walking away from her was not an option right now, he conceded grimly. He wanted her, and he knew damn well that she wanted him; he simply had to convince her of that fact.

But now was not the time, he acknowledged when he shot another glance at her wan face. She looked achingly fragile, and he was surprised by the level of his concern. He drove along the main road until the satellite navigation system instructed him to take a right turn into a side street which he suddenly realised was familiar, and his frown deepened when he swung onto the driveway of a large, beautiful mansion house.

‘This is your house?’ he queried harshly.

‘I wish,’ Ella muttered, too overwhelmed by the pain in her head to wonder why Vadim sounded puzzled. ‘It belongs to my uncle. He owns an estate agency business, and when Kingfisher House came onto the market a few years ago he snapped it up as an investment. He rents the main part of the house out to tenants, and I live in the adjoining staff quarters and act as caretaker when the house is empty—as it has been for the past couple of months.’ She climbed out of the car and glanced wistfully at the gracious old house that she had fallen in love with the minute she’d first seen it. ‘Hopefully when Uncle Rex finds new tenants they’ll allow me to continue living here.’ The American businessman who had rented Kingfisher House the previous year had travelled extensively with his job, and had been happy for Ella to stay and keep an eye on the place, but new people might want to use the staff quarters, which would mean she would have to move out. The possibility of having to find somewhere else to live had been worrying her for weeks, but right now all she could think of was swallowing a couple of painkillers and crawling into bed, and so she started to walk carefully towards the front door on legs that felt decidedly wobbly.

Strong arms suddenly closed around her, and she gave a startled cry when Vadim swung her into his arms. ‘Stop fighting and let me help you,’ he said roughly. ‘You’re about to collapse.’ Her eyes were shadowed with pain, and the shimmer of tears evoked another tug of compassion that surprised him when usually he had little patience for weakness. His childhood had been tough, and devoid of kindness, and two years doing his national service in the Russian army had been brutally harsh. He had learned early in life that survival was dependent on physical and mental strength, and he acknowledged the truth in the accusation by some of his ex-lovers that he was hard and unemotional.

He’d spent so long suppressing his feelings that it came as a shock to realise he had the capacity to feel pity; Vadim brooded as he strode up to the house. But for some reason the woman in his arms elicited an emotion in him that might almost be described as tenderness. His mouth tightened. The idea that he was drawn to Ella by anything more than sexual attraction was disturbing, and he swiftly rejected it. All he asked from the women who briefly shared his life was physical satisfaction—the slaking of mutual lust until desire faded and he grew bored and moved on to someone new. Ella was no different, he told himself grimly. He wanted her, and soon he would have her. But the beginning would spell the end, as it always did.