Читать книгу One Kiss in... Moscow: Kholodov's Last Mistress / The Man She Shouldn't Crave / Strangers When We Meet - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 14

SERGEI put things in motion the very next day. They drove to New York, and from there took a private jet to Paris. As Hannah stepped aboard, eyeing the leather sofas and low tables, she gazed at Sergei in incredulity.

‘This is yours?’

He shrugged his assent and a steward took their coats before retreating to the front of the plane.

‘Don’t you feel guilty using this big plane just for yourself?’ she couldn’t help but ask. ‘Think of the fuel costs. You could just as easily travel first class.’

‘I find this a necessary luxury,’ Sergei told her. ‘I need to get places quickly, and I also prefer the heightened security of a private plane. But don’t worry. I assure you my businesses are environmentally aware.’

She put her hands on her hips, giving him a playfully challenging look. ‘Well, I should hope so. You obviously have a lot of power, Sergei. You should use it for good.’

His lips twitched with amusement as he surveyed her. ‘Thank you, teacher. Now would you like a tour of this private jet of mine?’

She acknowledged her own shameless curiosity with a little laugh. ‘Yes, please.’

Sergei took her through the entire plane, from the cockpit where the pilot stood to attention and chatted with them both easily in English for several minutes, to the study with a walnut desk and leather chairs, to the bedroom in the back with a huge king-size bed and en-suite bathroom. The plane came with everything.

‘Wow,’ Hannah said as she surveyed the bedroom. ‘You could basically live on this thing.’

Sergei stood in the doorway, watching her. ‘Sometimes it feels like I do.’

She glanced at him, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of him and that intent, hooded look he was giving her. Even now, with Hannah knowing what would most assuredly happen between them later, he made her heart beat faster. ‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m used to it.’

To jetting around the world, Hannah wondered, or to loneliness? ‘Is there any place you’d call home? A house or an apartment, I mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘In Moscow?’

He hesitated. ‘Near there.’

Hannah decided not to press. ‘Well, for a home in the sky, this is pretty amazing. I feel like I should pinch myself, because this can’t be real.’

He came towards her in two strides, smiling as he pulled her easily into his arms. ‘Oh, this is very real,’ he murmured, and, hooking his leg around her ankles, he tripped her very neatly and gently back onto the bed.

Hannah laughed as she fell into the soft duvet, the mattress dipping as Sergei settled beside her. He bent to kiss her throat and Hannah’s eyes fluttered closed.

‘Very real,’ he said again, and moved lower.

‘Yes, but—’ Her thoughts were scattered, hazy, as pleasure took over. Sergei slid his hand under her shirt. ‘This isn’t the only thing that’s real.’ She felt Sergei hesitate, his palm flat on her abdomen, and made herself continue, ‘You didn’t just bring me here for this, did you, Sergei?’

She felt his emotional withdrawal like a physical thing, as if the room had cooled ten degrees. Or maybe twenty. She opened her eyes, saw him staring down at her with a deep frown line between his eyes. Why had she pressed? She knew what she’d agreed to.

It was just, Hanna thought with a pang, when they got along so well and he smiled like that it made her want more. Believe in more.

‘Did you?’ she whispered even though she hadn’t meant to press.

Gently Sergei traced the lines of her face with one finger. The arc of her eyebrow, the curve of her cheek. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I didn’t.’

But then he rose from the bed, his back to her, and any intimacy that moment had woven was broken. ‘Let’s go back to the lounge,’ he said. ‘The plane will be taking off any moment.’

The extravagance continued in Paris. A limo waited for them at the airport, and drove them to the George V, where Sergei had booked a royal suite. Hannah walked through the elegant rooms with their amazing antiques and priceless paintings, unabashedly marvelling at everything. She stopped in front of a large-screen plasma TV, discreetly hidden behind a painting that swung back at the push of a button.

‘I suppose this comes with cable?’ she asked, eyebrows raised, and Sergei leaned one shoulder against the doorway, a smile tugging at his mouth.

‘You have to pay extra.’

‘I knew this place was cheap.’

He laughed aloud, and the sound touched Hannah’s heart. She grinned at him. ‘Actually,’ he told her, ‘I believe there are over three hundred channels.’

‘Only three hundred?’ She shook her head. ‘That’s rather shabby.’

‘I’ll make a complaint.’

‘You must think me very gauche,’ Hannah said, turning serious even though she kept her tone light. ‘This is all so out of my experience.’

‘I don’t mind that.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. It was out of my experience too, once.’

‘You’re a self-made man.’

‘You could say that.’

She nodded playfully towards the huge TV. ‘So it’s okay if I channel surf?’

‘Oh, I think we can think of better things to do than watch TV,’ Sergei told her, and closed the space between them. Hannah stepped into the circle of his arms, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She knew Sergei wanted to kiss her, to turn this softness into seduction. She wouldn’t let him, not quite yet. For a second at least she just wanted to stay in the circle of his arms and feel the beat of his heart against her own. She gave a little sigh of happiness, and Sergei stepped away from her, sliding his BlackBerry out of his pocket. ‘We should go.’

She tried to suppress the pang of disappointment his withdrawal gave her. ‘Go? We just got here.’

‘You have an appointment at a boutique in an hour.’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘A boutique?’

‘You’ll be accompanying me to various functions. Based on the dress you wore to dinner the other night, I think you might need a few more things.’ He didn’t even look at her as he said it, and Hannah felt her fragile spirits plummet. Ridiculous, when Sergei had just told her he wanted to buy her clothes. What woman wouldn’t want that?

Yet somehow the thought that he was going to outfit her felt sordid. Wrong. As if he were buying her favours, or keeping her sweet.

She turned towards the bedroom. ‘Okay. I’ll just go freshen up.’

‘Fine,’ Sergei said, his gaze still focused on his phone. Hannah wondered if he even noticed she’d gone.

‘Twirl.’

Hannah obeyed the saleswoman and twirled, the lavender skirt of the silk evening gown belling out around her.

From the sofa in the boutique’s private dressing room, Sergei, his BlackBerry in one hand and a sheaf of papers on his lap, nodded and smiled. ‘Perfect.’ He turned back to his work and the saleswoman led Hannah back to the curtained changing area and the next gown she would slip on for Sergei’s approval.

‘How about this one?’ The saleswoman reached for a gown that was a column of black silk, elegant and stark.

‘Okay.’ It was her third shopping trip in as many days and by now Hannah had stopped bothering to have an opinion about any of the clothes Sergei insisted on buying her. Since they’d arrived in Paris she felt as if he were putting her in her place and it wasn’t a comfortable fit.

He’d distanced himself, made her feel like … like a mistress. What an awful thought. Yet clearly an imbalance existed in their relationship. An inequality.

Who was she kidding, Hannah thought as she slipped into the rather severe black dress. They didn’t even have a relationship. They’d had three days of some spectacular sex and a few tender moments. That was all.

Yet she loved those moments, loved bantering with Sergei, watching those ice-blue eyes soften to sky when she made him laugh. Yet she felt as if Sergei was wearing his authority and power like a shield, armour that kept him closed off from every emotion.

Even so, those rare moments were enough to make her feel different, lighter, almost a return to the woman she’d once been. The woman who believed in hope, and happiness, and maybe even love.

No. She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t afford to think like that, because she knew it wasn’t true. Hadn’t the last year taught her anything? Matthew’s deception, her parents’ trickery, even Sergei himself. His brutal rejection back in Moscow still had the power to wound, and now she was only here because he wanted her to be. And when he stopped …

‘Hannah?’ Impatience edged Sergei’s voice and Hannah took a deep breath.

‘Coming.’ She left the changing room, her steps awkward and mincing in the tight black column of a dress. Sergei’s eyes narrowed as he took in the latest fashion.

‘No.’ He turned back to his BlackBerry, punched in a few numbers.

‘No?’ Hannah stood there, feeling ridiculous and a little bit vulnerable, hating that Sergei said no so quickly. Held so much sway.

He looked up again, and in his eyes she saw another swift assessment and dismissal of the dress, of her. ‘No.’

‘Of course,’ the saleswoman murmured, attempting to lead her away. ‘We’ll try something else.’

Hannah jerked her arm away from the woman and stared at Sergei. ‘Why no?’

‘Because I don’t like black.’

‘You were dressed all in black when I first met you,’ Hannah pointed out. ‘You liked it well enough then.’

Sergei’s eyes narrowed. ‘All right,’ he said, his tone clearly conveying that she was stretching his patience, ‘I don’t like black on you. It makes you look washed out.’

Hannah blinked. Ouch, even if she kind of agreed with him. She still didn’t like how autocratic and distant he was being. She’d wanted to resist this whole shopping expedition, but she hadn’t had the strength or a really good reason to. She was already accepting his largesse by getting on the plane, staying in the hotel, sleeping with him every night. Wasn’t this all part of the package?

Yet still something about it felt wrong. Sordid and cheap, no matter how much money Sergei was shelling out. Silently she turned and went back to the dressing room.

‘Perhaps something brighter …’ the saleswoman murmured, ruffling through racks of clothing, but Hannah just shook her head.

‘I’m done.’

The saleswoman looked alarmed; Hannah supposed Sergei’s mistresses weren’t meant to object to him dropping a fortune on their clothes. Yet already she was tired of playing the game. Fed up with acting like being showered with clothes and ordered around was what she wanted. The only times she’d enjoyed these last three days were the ones where she didn’t feel like an expensive ornament, the moments where they had actually been real with each other. She could count them on one hand.

She slid the dress off and rummaged through the discarded gowns for the simple jeans and tee shirt she’d entered the boutique in. They weren’t there. She looked up, saw the saleswoman eyeing her with obvious apprehension.

‘Where are my clothes?’

‘Mr Kholodov asked me to get rid of them—’

‘Rid of them?’ Without another word she stalked out of the changing room, the rings of the curtain clattering against one another as she pushed it aside.

Sergei looked up from his BlackBerry, his eyes flaring as he took her in standing there in just her underwear. At least her bra and panties, worn as they might be, were her own.

Then the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile and he lounged back against the sofa, his thumb still punching buttons. ‘Aren’t you a little cold?’

‘No,’ she said, hands on her hips, ‘I’m not cold. I’m angry.’

‘Angry?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘You know that word?’

Now his smile disappeared and he tossed his phone onto the sofa, leaning forward so Hannah could see the dangerous glitter in his eyes. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘I know that word.’

‘I don’t want you to buy me clothes, Sergei.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘You have an objection to being clothed?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Actually, I don’t.’ He gazed at her levelly, staring her down, and from the ice in his eyes Hannah knew he wasn’t going to try to understand what she meant, or where she was coming from. He didn’t want to. And how could she explain? It wasn’t just about the clothes. It was about everything, about them, and what she’d agreed to by coming with him on this trip. Just how much of her soul—and body—she felt she was selling.

She hadn’t realised it would be like this. Feel like this.

‘If you object to the gowns, forget them,’ Sergei said abruptly. ‘Just wear the lavender one tonight. It matches your eyes.’

And just like that she felt her fury trickle away, to her own shame. ‘Tonight?’

‘We are attending a charity gala.’ Sergei continued, his voice gentling, ‘Why don’t you get dressed?’

‘In what clothes? The saleswoman got rid of mine.’

‘Pick whatever you want—’

‘I don’t want any of it.’

Sergei let out an exasperated breath. ‘Most women I know don’t object to my buying them a few clothes,’ he finally said, his voice deliberately mild, and tears stung Hannah’s eyes.

‘Exactly,’ she said, and, realising how limited her options were at the moment, standing as she was in the middle of the dressing room in her underwear, she turned on her heel and went back to the changing area.

Sergei let out an irritated breath and turned back to the text he’d been composing on his BlackBerry. Only now he’d forgotten what it was about.

Why was Hannah being so prickly? So difficult? He’d thought he’d been treating her, buying her a few nice things. Just as he’d said, most women—

Except Hannah wasn’t like most women.

Sergei swore under his breath. He rose from the sofa and restlessly paced the confines of the dressing room. The last few days had been good, he’d thought. Simple. He knew what to do with a woman when he was taking her to Paris, wining and dining and pleasuring her until the small hours of the night. He’d been smugly satisfied to have Hannah exactly where he wanted her, in his bed, out of his mind. He’d finally reverted to his former self, efficient and distant, with a woman adorning his arm.

The realisation had relieved him … until now.

Now he felt edgy again, and restless, and annoyed by it all. By Hannah. How did she do this to him? Affect him so much? He’d been closing people out for years, ever since he was a child. Even Grigori and Varya didn’t get close.

And Alyona—

Sergei put a halt to that thought. So he felt a bit restless. He’d get over it. And he’d keep Hannah exactly where he wanted her. Maybe, he thought grimly, she needed a little reminder of just what kind of arrangement they had.

Several hours later Hannah stood in front of the full-length mirror in the sumptuous bedroom of their royal suite. She kept staring at her reflection because she couldn’t quite believe it was her. Sergei had had two women from the hotel’s spa come up and work on her for most of the afternoon, massaging, smoothing, waxing, and plucking until she felt sleek and shiny, and looked it too. Her hair had been pulled up into a smooth coil at the base of her neck, and expertly applied make-up made her eyes look huge and smoky, her lips bee-stung and dusky pink. She looked sexy, which was a revelation. She’d never thought of herself as sexy before … not until Sergei had come into her life, anyway.

She smoothed her hands down the front of the lavender gown Sergei had asked her to wear tonight. With its halter top and fluted skirt, the material lovingly moulded itself to her body. A sheer gauzy wrap and a pair of amethyst-encrusted stiletto heels completed the really rather amazing outfit.

Slowly Hannah drew in a breath and let it out again. After her little outburst at the boutique earlier, she’d decided not to object to Sergei’s indulgences again. What was the point? This was what was on offer, and she’d known that when she’d said yes to him at the hotel. No matter now she might be feeling frustrated or, worse, hurt.

‘This is it,’ she told her reflection. ‘This is what you agreed to.’

‘Are you talking to yourself?’ Sergei strolled into the bedroom, looking devastatingly attractive in black tie. He carried a small velvet box in his hands, which he snapped open as he stood behind Hannah, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

‘Krasivaya,’ he murmured, and dropped a kiss onto her bare shoulder. Beautiful. ‘I have something for you,’ he added as he withdrew a stunning diamond and amethyst choker from the velvet box. ‘May I?’

Wordlessly Hannah nodded, and Sergei slipped the choker around her neck. It was gorgeous, but the stones were cold and their edges pricked the tender skin of her throat. Hannah swallowed, and felt the jewels constricting her neck. ‘You may keep it,’ Sergei said, carelessly, and Hannah almost quipped, For services rendered?

She held her tongue, bit her cheek. No need to spoil the moment. No point. ‘Thank you,’ she said after a moment, and she knew she didn’t sound very grateful. Sergei’s narrowed gaze met hers in the mirror.

‘Do you object to jewels as well as clothes?’

She saw colour slash his cheekbones and knew he was annoyed. Maybe even hurt. No, that was just wishful thinking … wishing that Sergei’s emotions were engaged, as hers insisted on being. Hannah drew in another deep breath.

‘It’s a very generous gift,’ she finally said, and Sergei let out a short laugh.

‘Very diplomatic, Hannah. You always were candid.’

He held her gaze in the mirror, his eyes like ice, and Hannah could not look away. Even though he didn’t move, she felt as if he were stepping away from her yet again, for his emotional withdrawal was so evident. She touched the choker, the jewels still cold and sharp under her fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said again and with a little sigh Sergei nodded and turned away.

‘We need to leave in ten minutes,’ he said over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Hannah gazed at her reflection once more. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and dazed. She didn’t look quite so sexy any more. She looked … sad.

Impatiently she turned away from the mirror. Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it. You knew what you were getting into. If you don’t like it, you can leave.

She stilled, the possibility rippling through her. Leave. She could rip off this constraining choker, this elegant gown, and be out of here in minutes. She’d never see Sergei again.

And that, Hannah acknowledged hollowly, was why she stayed.

‘Ready?’ Sergei called from the suite’s lounge, and reaching for her wrap—which provided no warmth—Hannah went.

An hour later she stood next to Sergei, a flute of champagne clenched in one hand, her cheeks aching from smiling as Sergei talked business with one well-heeled guest after another. Beyond the barest flicker of a glance or nod from his companions, she was ignored. Talk about feeling like an ornament.

As Sergei launched into another deep conversation—this time in French—Hannah decided to get some fresh air. Obviously she didn’t need to be here, except as Sergei’s accessory. She murmured her excuses—that nobody seemed to hear—and then crossed the elegant hotel ballroom, the clink of crystal and the conversation of five hundred of Paris society’s darlings a cacophony of sound all around her. A wall of French doors led onto a terrace, and Hannah slipped through them with a little sigh of relief.

The spring air was warm and fragrant, the night quiet, the sound from inside no more than a distant murmur. Hannah moved to the railing that looked out over a private garden, now lost in shadows although she could smell roses and lilac. She breathed in deeply and let the peace of the night wash over her and steal through her soul. At least she tried to.

How, she wondered bleakly, could she feel so sad when she was standing on the terrace of a luxurious hotel, wearing a beautiful dress, with a gorgeous man inside who undoubtedly would take her home in a few hours and make love to her for most of the night?

She should be walking on air. Instead she felt empty.

‘There you are. Sergei’s latest.’

Hannah froze, then forced herself to turn around. In the darkness she could barely make out the face of the man who stood there, lounging in the doorway. She could still feel how he was studying her, his gaze arrogant as he completed an insultingly thorough sweep of her body.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know you,’ she said stiffly. He came closer, and she saw the sardonic cast of his features; he was handsome, but his mouth was thin and cruel and his eyes were bloodshot.

‘You could get to know me,’ he offered in a soft drawl. ‘When Sergei’s done with you.’

Hannah recoiled physically from his blatantly crude suggestion. ‘Excuse me,’ she said coldly, and made to move past him, her legs weak and watery with the shock of such an awful encounter. He grabbed her arm, and Hannah froze again, her skin crawling at the feel of his fingers on her bare flesh.

‘It’s happened before, you know. I don’t mind taking Sergei’s leftovers.’

She shook his arm off, her body trembling with affront and even fear. ‘You’re disgusting.’

He laughed, the sound one of genuine amusement. ‘So self-righteous. You are his mistress, aren’t you?’

And this time Hannah froze both inside and out. Not just her body, but her heart. She stood there, as unable to move as if she were encased in ice.

His mistress. That was exactly what she was. And this clearly was how she should expect to be treated.

‘Well?’ the man demanded, his voice turning surly and slurred. He was clearly drunk; perhaps he wouldn’t have taken such obnoxious liberties with her otherwise. Still the bleak truth of her position both in society and Sergei’s life remained, unavoidable, undeniable.

‘Yes,’ Hannah said stiffly, ‘that’s exactly what I am. Sergei’s mistress. Never yours.’ And with her head held high and her heart still icy, she stalked past him, only to give a little scream of fear when yet another hand clamped around her wrist and someone swung her around.

She stared in shock at Sergei, his eyes blazing blue fire. ‘What the hell,’ he demanded, ‘do you think you’re doing?’