One Kiss In… Moscow. Кейт Хьюит

her if her voice hadn’t wobbled and her body hadn’t shook as if she were in the grip of a fever, her eyes huge and dark in her pale face. She was lying. Why?

      He stepped aside even though it cost him.

      ‘All right. Go.’

      Hannah stared at him in disbelief. Had she actually expected him to insist she stay? Imprison her here? And the fact that he wasn’t sent a sliver of disappointment needling her heart. A ridiculous reaction, and just another reason to get out of here as fast as she could.

      ‘Fine.’ Maybe he had finished with her after all. She’d become tedious again. She smothered the stab of hurt that thought caused and marched towards the door.

      Just as she reached for the handle Sergei moved. He slid into the small space between her and the door, so close she could feel his body against hers, could remember—

      ‘Don’t—’

      ‘Please stay, Hannah.’ Gone was the gruff and imperious assassin of a man who called her my sweet, and with just three little words, uttered in such a low, raw voice, Hannah’s determined defiance leaked right out of her.

      ‘Don’t,’ she said again, softly, because she didn’t have any more strength. It had taken just about all of it to roll from the bed as if she hadn’t a care in the world, to dress and face him down as if she really wanted to go. As if it really had been simple. Just sex.

      Sergei touched her cheek with one thumb, and Hannah closed her eyes. Why did he have to be kind now? Gentle when she wanted him to be gruff? Was this just another weapon, a way to control her? For she had no illusions about Sergei now; she couldn’t afford to have them, even when he was kind. Even if he’d held her in his arms as if she were a treasure. He wasn’t finished, so he’d make sure she wasn’t either.

      Yet here he was touching her cheek, his caress so very soft, his voice a thrum in his chest, a whisper that bridged the chasm that she had opened up between them.

      ‘I don’t want you to go.’

      Hannah opened her eyes. Forced out the one question she knew she needed to ask. ‘When, then?’

      Sergei was silent for a long moment. His thumb stroked her cheek, softly, so softly. ‘I don’t know when,’ he finally said, a confession.

      And Hannah knew what that meant. There would be a when. At some point what burned between them now would flicker out to embers or even ashes. And then he would tell her to go.

      Yet now with his body so close, his heart against hers, she felt that sweet molten longing trickle through her and if he kissed her she knew she’d say yes. She’d say yes, please.

      Still, a part of her had to fight. Fight him, and fight the fear and need in herself. She shook her head, silently, her eyes closed. Not much of a protest, but it was all she could manage.

      ‘Hannah, please.’

      His entreaty moved her, made her realise he wanted this as much as she did … whatever this was. An affair? A fling? She opened her eyes. Stared him down. ‘Just what are you suggesting?’

      ‘Come with me.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘I have to go to Paris for a business event—come with me.’

      Paris. Hannah felt a thrill of excitement and longing, even as she remained wary. She still didn’t know just what Sergei was suggesting. Somehow she didn’t picture them visiting the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre together, a happy couple on holiday. Yet still she wanted to go, and the knowledge surely damned her. ‘And what am I meant to do there?’

      His mouth quirked up and his expression turned lazy; he knew he had her. He knew he’d won. ‘I’m sure we can think of a few things to do.’

      So that was how it was going to be. Fighting the sudden, insane urge to cry, Hannah smiled back. She would go; had she really even had a choice? It didn’t feel like it, not where Sergei was concerned. ‘I’m sure we could.’

      His smile widened, a smile of triumph, and he swept her into his arms, kissing her thoroughly. Yet even as his lips moved on hers she felt as if he were retreating from her, closing himself off. It was bizarre to be so physically close to someone and yet feel so utterly emotionally distant, as if all they’d shared before—the intensity, the intimacy—hadn’t ever happened. Or at least it hadn’t been real.

      ‘It will be good,’ Sergei told her, and Hannah buried her face in his neck, wishing she could ignore the tidal wave of longing that crashed over her as soon as she was in his arms again. ‘We’ll have fun,’ he promised. Her face still hidden from him, Hannah didn’t answer. Of course this was about fun. Easy, simple fun.

      Nothing else. For either of them.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      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