Читать книгу One Kiss In… Moscow - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 10

‘ME?’ HANNAH stared at him, registering that lazy tone, that sensual smile. A thrill raced through her. ‘I don’t know why,’ she told him. ‘We’ve already talked about me. And I’m very boring.’

Sergei’s smile deepened, his gaze sweeping slowly—so slowly—over her. ‘That remains to be seen.’

She let out a little laugh. ‘Trust me.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

Hannah shrugged and gave up the argument. He’d learn soon enough how mundane her life seemed, especially to a millionaire like him. ‘Okay.’ She spread her hands, gave him a playfully challenging smile. ‘Shoot.’

‘Tell me more about this shop,’ Sergei said and Hannah blinked. What had she been expecting, that he would demand to know her most intimate secrets, or lack of them? Well, sort of.

‘I told you about it already,’ she said. ‘There’s not much more to tell.’ He said nothing, merely watched her, and so Hannah elaborated, ‘It’s a little shop. Just a little shop.’

‘Knitting, you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘You like to knit?’

Hannah stared at him, swallowed. It was a logical question, an innocuous question, and yet it felt both loaded and knowing. Something about the way Sergei gazed at her with that shrewd assessment made Hannah feel as if he’d stripped away her secrets and seen right into her soul.

Which was absurd, because she didn’t have any secrets. ‘Not really,’ she said, smiling. ‘My mother taught me when I was little, but I never got past purling. She gave up on me eventually, much to my relief.’

‘I see.’ And in those two words Hannah heard how much he saw, or at least thought he saw. He really did have a dark view of the world, she decided, reading the worst into everything. He was starting to make her do that a little bit too, and she didn’t like it.

‘I like the business side of it,’ she said, even though that wasn’t quite true. She didn’t mind it would be more accurate.

‘And so you continue with this shop alone.’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ He was still watching her, his eyes narrowed, lips parted. Everything about him seemed sharp and hard except for those lips. They were soft, mobile, warm-looking. She was really quite fascinated with them. Hannah jerked her gaze upwards. ‘I can’t imagine doing anything else,’ she said simply. ‘And I have lots of plans to improve it.’

‘It needs improving?’

‘Doesn’t everything? In any case, as I said before, the shop was everything to my mom and dad. I can’t just let that go.’

‘But to you?’

‘It’s very important to me,’ she said firmly, but she felt, for the first time, as if she was lying. The realisation jolted her, like when you thought there was one more step on a staircase.

‘Tell me about this trip of yours,’ Sergei said. ‘Have you been to many places?’

‘A few.’ She smiled, glad not to think about the shop any more. ‘I bought a rail pass and have been working my way through Europe. Moscow was the last stop.’

‘Which would account for the flight you missed about two hours ago.’

She swallowed, reality landing with an unwelcome thud. ‘Right.’

‘With my help, I don’t think it should be difficult to reschedule your flight tomorrow.’

Relief mingled with reality. Even so, as glad as she would be to have her passport sorted, she didn’t want this night to end. Yet if she believed Sergei—which she did—she’d be back in Hadley Springs in twenty-four hours. ‘You can pull some serious strings, I guess,’ Hannah said. It was hard to imagine that kind of power.

Sergei shrugged one shoulder, the movement one of careless and understated authority. ‘In Russia it is all about who you know.’

‘Well, I obviously didn’t know the right people. The lady at the embassy wasn’t interested in my sob story at all.’ Hannah smiled wryly before quickly adding, ‘She was helpful and nice, of course—’

‘Of course,’ Sergei agreed, his amused tone suggesting he thought otherwise. He leaned forward, eyes glinting. ‘Or maybe she was just a miserable cow who never spares a thought for the hapless traveller who comes to her window.’

Hannah shook her head slowly. ‘Do you think the worst of everyone?’

‘I haven’t thought the worst of you,’ Sergei pointed out blandly.

Curious, she raised her eyebrows. ‘And just what would the worst about me be?’

‘That you planned to be pickpocketed in my presence so I’d help you—’

Hannah nearly choked on the wine she’d been sipping. ‘What?’

‘And then finagle and flirt your way into my good graces, and most likely my bed.’

Now Hannah really did choke. She doubled over, coughing and sputtering, while Sergei solicitously poured her more water. She straightened, wiping her streaming eyes, and stared at him in disbelief. ‘Do women really do that kind of thing? To you?’

Another one-shoulder shrug. ‘On occasion.’

She shook her head, incredulous and reeling a little bit from the casual mention of his bed. And her in it. ‘And they’re not scared off by your incredibly surly attitude?’

Now he grinned, properly, not a lazy smile that Hannah suspected was meant to singe her senses. This was a smile of genuine humour, and she was glad. It made her grin right back. ‘I wish they were,’ he said.

‘I’m sure,’ she replied tartly. ‘It must be so very tedious to fight all these women off. How do you make it down the street?’

‘With difficulty.’

‘Poor you.’

Still smiling, he poured her more wine. Wine she shouldn’t drink, because she was already feeling rather delightfully light-headed. ‘In any case, we were talking about this trip of yours. Why did you want to travel so much?’

‘Because I never had before,’ Hannah said simply. ‘I’ve spent my entire life in upstate New York—’

‘What about university?’

‘I went to the state university, in Albany, just an hour away.’

‘What did you study?’

‘Literature. Poetry, mainly. Not very practical. My parents wanted me to take a degree in business.’ She swallowed, remembering how they’d wrung their hands and shaken their heads. Literature won’t get you anywhere, Hannah. It won’t help with the shop.

The shop. Always the shop. The stirring of resentment surprised her. Why had she never thought this way before? Because she’d never met someone like Sergei before, asking his questions, making her doubt. And thrilling her to her very core.

‘But you kept with literature?’ Sergei asked, and Hannah jerked her unfocused gaze back to Sergei’s knowing one.

‘I left.’ She shrugged, dismissing what had been a devastating decision with a simple twist of her shoulders. It was a long time ago now, and she’d never regretted it. Not really.

‘Why?’

She looked up, saw that telling shrewd compassion in his narrowed gaze, and wondered how he was able to guess so much. Know so much. ‘My father had a stroke when I was twenty. It was too difficult for my mother to cope with him and the shop, so I came home and helped out. I intended to return to school when things got settled, but somehow—’

‘They never did,’ Sergei finished softly, and Hannah knew he understood.

She lifted her shoulders in another accepting shrug. No point feeling sad about something that had happened years ago, something that had been her choice. ‘It happens.’

‘It must have been hard to leave university.’

‘It was,’ Hannah admitted. ‘But I promised myself I’d go back, and I will one day.’

‘To study business or literature?’

‘Literature,’ Hannah said firmly, a little surprised by how much she meant it.

Sergei’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘So you do have your own dream after all.’

Hannah stared at him. ‘I guess I do,’ she said after a moment. ‘Although I’m not sure what I’d actually do with that kind of degree. I took an evening course back home, on Emily Dickinson, an American poet. But …’ She shrugged, shook her head. ‘It’s not like I’m going to become a poet or something.’

Sergei’s smile deepened. ‘And here I thought you were an optimist.’

She let out a little laugh. ‘Yes, I am. So who knows, maybe I’ll start spouting sonnets.’

He pretended to shudder. ‘Please don’t.’

Hannah laughed aloud, emboldened by that little glimpse of humour. She propped her elbows on the table and hefted her wine glass aloft. ‘“I bring an unaccustomed wine,”’ she quoted, ‘“To lips long parching, next to mine, And summon them to drink.”’

The words fell into the stillness, created ripples in the silence like wind on the surface of a pond. The intimacy of the verse seemed to reverberate between them as Sergei’s heavy-lidded gaze rested thoughtfully on her and he slowly reached for his wine glass. ‘Emily Dickinson?’ he surmised softly, and Hannah nodded, too affected by the lazy, languorous look in his eyes to speak. Obviously she’d had too much wine if she’d started quoting poetry. Slowly, his gaze still heavy on her, Sergei raised his glass and drank. Unable—and unwilling—to look away, Hannah drank too.

It wasn’t a toast, it wasn’t anything, and yet Hannah felt as if something inexplicably important had just passed between them, as if they’d both silently agreed … yet to what?

‘How old are you now?’ Sergei asked abruptly, breaking the moment, and Hannah set her wine glass down with a little clatter.

‘Twenty-six. I know it’s been a while since college but I will go back,’ she told him with a sudden, unexpected fierceness. ‘When I have the money—’

‘Saved?’ Sergei slotted in and she gave a little laugh.

‘I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t have blown all my money on this trip if I really wanted to go back to college.’ And that was probably true, but she’d needed this trip. After her mother had died and her closest friend Ashley had moved to California, Hannah had felt more alone than ever. She couldn’t have faced continuing on, alone in the shop, struggling to make ends, if not meet, then at least see each other. She’d needed to get away, to experience things. Still, she knew it had been impulsive, imprudent, maybe even just plain stupid. Something a man like Sergei Kholodov never would have done.

‘You probably shouldn’t have,’ Sergei agreed dryly. ‘But sometimes a little impulsive action can be a good thing.’

Like now? For surely having dinner alone with this man was the most impulsive and maybe even imprudent thing she’d ever done. Yet Hannah knew she wouldn’t trade this evening for anything. She was having too much fun.

She gave him an impish look from under her lashes. ‘I’m surprised to hear you say that,’ she told him, ‘considering how you chewed me out this morning for leaving my passport in my pocket.’

‘There’s impulsive and then there’s insane,’ Sergei returned dryly.

‘I suppose it is a fine line.’

‘Very fine,’ he agreed softly, and she felt the thrill of his gaze through her bones.

‘So,’ she said, her voice only a little bit unsteady, ‘have you done anything impulsive like that? Imprudent?’ She took a sip of wine, savouring the rich, velvety liquid. ‘Let me guess,’ she joked. ‘You probably ate shoe leather and slept on the street in order to save to start your own business.’

Sergei’s face darkened in an eclipse of expression, his features twisting with sudden cruel savagery, and Hannah stilled. For a second, no more, it was as if she’d had a view of the true man underneath the hard, handsome exterior, and it was someone who held darker secrets and deeper pain than she’d ever imagined. Then his face cleared and he smiled. ‘You’re not that far off,’ he said lightly, and whatever had passed a moment before was hidden away again.

‘Well, this trip was important to me,’ she told him, matching his light tone. ‘Whether it made sense or not.’

‘So your mother called you back from university to help out. She couldn’t have got someone else to help, and let you finish?’

‘She gave me a choice.’ She still remembered the phone call, how her mother hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth about her father’s condition, insisted she stay at university.

‘Did she?’ Sergei asked softly and Hannah stared at him. What was he suggesting? And why? He’d never even met her mother.

‘She wanted me to finish, but I insisted on coming home,’ Hannah explained. She lifted her chin and met his thoughtful gaze squarely. ‘I wanted to be there.’

Sergei simply nodded, and Hannah knew he didn’t believe her. She laid down her fork, her appetite—and her excitement—gone for the moment. ‘What on earth has made you so cynical?’ she asked. ‘Everything is so suspect to you. Everyone.’ From the boys on the street to the woman at the embassy to her very own mother. ‘Why are you so—’

‘Experience,’ Sergei cut in succinctly.

Hannah shook her head and flung one arm out to take in their opulent surroundings. ‘You’re a millionaire so your life can’t be all bad.’

‘Don’t they say money can’t buy happiness?’

‘Still, some things must have gone right in your life,’ she insisted. ‘Can’t you think of one thing that’s good?’

He let out a short laugh. ‘You’re quite the Pollyanna.’

Hannah made a face. ‘That sounds kind of sappy. But if you mean am I an optimist as you said before, then yes, I’d say I am. I don’t intend on going through life with a doom and gloom attitude. What good does that do you?’

Sergei stared at her for a moment. ‘Well,’ he finally said, ‘at least it keeps you from disappointment.’

‘And it keeps you from properly living as well,’ Hannah returned. That was what this trip had been about: jumping in and just doing it, living life to the full. After six years of staying home, caring first for her father and then for her mother in the onset of dementia, she had been ready. She propped her elbows on the table and gave him a challenging look, eyebrows arched, lips parted. ‘Tell me one really good thing that’s happened to you. Or, better yet, one really good person you’ve known. A friend or family member. Someone who made a difference. Someone you could never be cynical about.’

‘Why?’ he asked and she rolled her eyes.

‘Because I said so. Because I want to show you that some things—some people—are actually through-and-through good.’

He leaned forward, and Hannah saw a steely glitter in those light blue eyes that sent a shiver stealing straight down her spine. ‘I could just lie.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’

‘Are we having fun?’ he drawled softly, and Hannah gave him a playfully flirtatious look.

‘Aren’t we?’ she said, and saw gold flare in his irises.

He held her gaze, trapped her with it, and Hannah felt her body hum with awareness, an excitement uncoiling in her middle and sending its sensual tendrils throughout her body, taking it over. It was heady, thrilling, addictive. This was really living … and it was something she’d never really done before. She wanted more.

‘I suppose we are,’ Sergei said slowly and Hannah did not look away. ‘Alyona,’ he finally said, abruptly, and Hannah blinked, struggling to catch up. Just gazing at him had sent her mind—and body—into a kind of hyper-aware overdrive.

‘Alyona?’

‘Alyona.’ His neutral tone gave nothing away. ‘She was one good person I knew.’ And by the way he said it Hannah didn’t think Alyona—whoever she was—was in his life any more.

‘Well,’ she said, sitting back, the heady excitement leaking out from her like air from a balloon a week after the party, ‘there you go. There is someone good in your life. Someone you don’t need to be cynical about. Tell me about her.’

‘No,’ he said, flatly, and Hannah stiffened a little at the rebuke, strangely hurt. She had no right to demand his secrets, even if she’d been halfway to giving him hers … the ones she hadn’t even realised she had.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘at least you have one.’

‘Had.’ His forbidding expression kept her from asking any more questions. She was intensely curious about this Alyona, even though Hannah knew she had no right to know. Had she been a girlfriend, a wife? Had Sergei loved her? Was that why he seemed so closed, so cynical now? Maybe he was hiding a broken heart. Or maybe she’d just watched too many soap operas.

‘So why are you so suspicious of people?’ she asked, trying to sound light even though she really wanted to know. ‘Trusting no one?’

‘I told you, experience. Most people have a reason for what they do, and it usually isn’t a very nice one.’ His mouth curved once more in a sensual smile. ‘Except maybe you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. You have to be the most refreshingly—and annoyingly—optimistic person I’ve ever met.’

Hannah nearly sputtered in outrage. ‘Annoyingly?’

‘Optimism tends to irritate us cynics.’

‘Maybe you need a little more optimism in your life, then.’ Sergei considered her from heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze sweeping slowly, so slowly over her, and excitement exploded inside her. Did he know how sensual he looked when he gazed at her like that? Almost as if he were undressing her with his eyes. And Hannah felt awareness and desire race along her veins and nerve-endings, set her whole body to liquid flame. She wanted this. Whatever it was, whatever was going to happen, she wanted this.

His gaze flicked upwards to her face and rested there, assured, assessing. ‘Maybe I do,’ he murmured.