His sensual smile made her heart leap, but she sensed that he had distanced himself from her—or perhaps she had imagined the feeling of closeness between them when he had made love to her? she thought bleakly. What had happened between his walking into the bathroom and returning to the bedroom that had caused him to close up, so that he was once again a brooding stranger? She wished she knew what was going on behind his brilliant blue gaze, but his face was a handsome mask, giving no clue to his thoughts.
Vadim could not have made it clearer that he saw her as his mistress and nothing more. Pride dictated that she should go back to her own flat rather than meekly wait until he wanted to have sex with her again, but he had kept her awake for much of the previous night, and his energetic lovemaking of a few minutes ago had left her exhausted. Her eyelids felt heavy, and within moments she fell into such a deep sleep that she was unaware that Vadim returned to the bedroom less than an hour later and stood by the bed, watching her sleep.
Ella was awoken in the early hours of Saturday morning by Vadim stroking his hands down her body and gently parting her thighs. Any thoughts she might have had of resisting him crumbled, as they had all week, when she saw the sultry gleam in his eyes, and with a sigh she arched her hips to welcome him into her and gave herself up to the exquisite pleasure of his lovemaking.
They spent most of the weekend in bed, or down by the river, where he made love to her beneath the weeping willow tree whose fragile branches and delicate green leaves provided a private bower. She ached in places she had not known existed, Ella thought ruefully when she woke early on Monday morning and watched the rose-pink glow of dawn spread across the sky. Later today she was flying to Paris to prepare for her solo concert, and she assured herself that the heavy feeling in her stomach was due to nerves about her performance—not because she would be away from Vadim for the next week.
Her planned programme contained several exceptionally complex pieces, particularly the compositions by Paganini, and although she had received intensive coaching from the famous Hungarian violinist Joseph Schranz, she still did not feel confident about the performance. Sleep was impossible when her mind kept running through the pieces, and although it was not yet five a.m. she was desperate to practise. She threw back the sheet, collected her violin from where—much to Vadim’s amusement—she kept it beside the bed, and slipped out onto the balcony, closing the door carefully behind her so that she would not disturb him. The morning air was cool and fresh, and the feel of the smooth wood of her violin beneath her fingertips filled Ella with fierce joy. Music meant everything to her, and she was soon lost in her own world, so that when the balcony doors opened she stared at Vadim in confusion.
‘Do have any idea what the time is?’ he queried mildly, aware of the familiar pull of desire in his groin as he took in her slender figure in the grey silk robe he had bought her because the colour had reminded him of the smoky hue of her eyes. Her pale gold hair streamed around her shoulders, and he could not resist reaching out and winding a long, silky strand around his fingers.
‘Um…early,’ she mumbled guiltily. ‘I’m sorry I woke you, but the taxi’s picking me up at eight to take me to the airport, and I wanted to run through the Paganini compositions one more time.’
His lips twitched. ‘I suppose your artistic temperament is to blame for the fact that you’ve woken before dawn the last couple of days?’ He’d felt her increased tension, and had watched her appetite fade to the point that she’d barely eaten a thing at dinner last night. ‘Are you always this nervous before a performance?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Ella admitted unhappily, embarrassed colour staining her cheeks. She hated the agonising stage fright that gripped her, and had tried various remedies, including hypnotherapy, to try and control it, but she still felt ill with nerves before she gave a solo performance.
‘There’s no need,’ he said gently, surprised by the surge of protectiveness he felt for her. ‘You have a phenomenal talent and you play superbly. And if you’re leaving at eight, you need to come back to bed now,’ he added deeply, drawing her against him and slipping his hand inside her robe to cup her breast in his palm.
‘I should get dressed,’ Ella murmured, catching her breath when he tugged on her nipple until it swelled and hardened. But he ignored her token protest and scooped her into his arms, capturing her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss as he deposited her on the bed and parted her robe before he positioned himself over her. As he slipped his hand between her legs and gently parted her, his eyes locked with hers, and somehow his intense gaze heightened the intimacy of his caresses, so that she gasped and arched her hips in mute appeal for him to continue his erotic exploration.
‘Please…’ She clutched his shoulders to urge him down on her, and sighed her pleasure when he entered her with one deep thrust that filled her to the hilt. Nothing mattered but this. Music, her nervousness about the concert in Paris—everything faded as she surrendered totally to Vadim’s mastery.
He was a skilled lover, who knew exactly how to drive her to the edge of ecstasy and keep her teetering there until she begged for the release her body craved while he remained in complete control. But this morning she sensed a difference in him, a new urgency in each powerful thrust as he took her with an almost primitive passion that sent them both swiftly to the heights. Ella could feel the delicious little spasms begin deep within her, and she wrapped her legs around his back to incite him to thrust harder, deeper…
‘Vadim…’ She could not hold back her desperate plea as the spasms became powerful ripples that radiated out from her central core and engulfed her in mind-blowing pleasure. Frantically she dug her nails into his sweat-sheened shoulders, and felt a surge of feminine triumph when he gave a harsh groan and exploded within her in a shattering climax that left his big body shuddering with after-shocks.
It was ridiculous to feel as though their souls as well as their bodies had joined as one, she told herself when he lay lax on top of her, so that she could feel the thud of his heart gradually return to its normal beat. It was just good sex. But when at last he rolled off her she longed for him to hold her in his arms, and the ache in her heart when he slid out of bed and strolled into the en suite bathroom served as a warning sign that she was getting in too deep.
What the hell had happened there? Vadim brooded as he stepped into the shower and began to soap his body. The sex had been good. It was always good with Ella—maybe the best he’d ever had, he admitted. But he’d never lost control like that before. The truth was her passionate response had blown him away, and the knowledge that they would be apart for the next week had intensified his desire, so that it had over-whelmed him and resulted in that spectacular climax. There was no chance he was going to miss her while she was in Paris, he assured himself. They shared fantastic sex, but that was all he wanted from her. Maybe the week apart would lessen his desire for her, and he could end their affair and move on to another pretty blonde.
The Palais Garnier was arguably the most prestigious concert hall in Paris, and with an audience capacity of over two thousand it was the largest venue where Ella had ever given a solo performance.
‘It’s a full house,’ her publicist, Marcus, announced when he bounded into her dressing room. ‘Every ticket sold out. I knew we should have arranged for you to perform for two nights rather than just one.’ He paused and stared at Ella. ‘Heck, you’re pale. I’d better call the make-up girl back to see if she can make you look less like a ghost. How do you feel?’
‘Sick,’ Ella replied truthfully. She bit her lip as panic surged through her. ‘I don’t think I can go through with it, Marcus.’
‘Nonsense,’ he told her robustly. ‘You always suffer from stage fright, but the minute you start playing you’ll be fine. Oh, these came for you,’ he added, thrusting the bouquet he was holding into her lap.
Ella despised herself for the way her heart gave a little flip, and she fumbled to open the envelope of the attached card, disappointm
ent swamping her when she read the good luck message from her cousin Stephanie and her family. ‘They’re lovely,’ she murmured as she placed the flowers with the other bouquets she’d received, from her aunt and uncle, and Jenny and her family.
It was stupid to have hoped that Vadim would send her flowers, she told herself impatiently. He’d sent her red roses once, but that was when he had been trying to persuade her into his bed. Now they were lovers—or perhaps sex partners would be a better description of their relationship. She was well aware that she meant nothing to him. He’d probably forgotten about the concert tonight. Maybe he had invited another woman out to dinner while she was away? The mental image of him taking some gorgeous model back to Kingfisher House for the night evoked such searing jealousy inside her that she actually clutched her stomach, as if she had been stabbed with a knife. It shouldn’t matter to her if Vadim entertained half a dozen nubile blondes in his bed, she reminded herself, swallowing the bile in her throat and taking a gulp of water, dismayed to see that her hands were shaking.
She couldn’t play like this, she thought wildly. Her nervous tension was so acute that it was doubtful she would be able to hold her violin, let alone draw her bow across the strings. She had the career her mother had dreamed of, she reminded herself. But knowing that her adored Mama would have been proud of her did not ease her self-doubt nor lessen her fear at the prospect of walking onto the Palais Garnier’s vast stage.
It was ridiculous to feel hurt that Vadim had not contacted her for the whole time she had been in France, and she was ashamed of the tears that stung her eyes. She’d known what she was getting into when she’d agreed to an affair with him—known what kind of man he was—so why did the fact that he had not sent her flowers make her want to bury her head in her hands and weep?
Marcus had gone—presumably to find the make-up girl. But adding some blusher to her cheeks was not going to make her feel any better, Ella thought desperately. In her ivory silk evening dress, with her hair swept up into a chignon, she resembled a wraith rather than a confident woman who was about to walk onto a stage and entertain two thousand people. With a muttered cry she yanked open the dressing room door—and slammed into the solid wall of a muscular chest.
‘Isn’t the stage in the other direction?’ Vadim enquired lightly. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ Ella looked like a terrified doe, her eyes huge in her white face. The shimmer of tears on her lashes evoked a curious feeling in his chest, so that without pausing to question what he was doing he drew her into his arms and held her close.
‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered, clutching his arms as if she feared he was an illusion who would disappear in a puff of smoke.
‘Do you think I’d miss a concert by one of the world’s most amazing violin virtuosos?’ he said softly. ‘Also, I wanted to personally deliver these,’ he added, lifting a bouquet of fragrant cream roses from the table behind him and handing them to her. ‘You didn’t think I’d forgotten that this is your big night, did you?’
Utterly overwhelmed, Ella closed her eyes, but could not prevent a single tear from escaping and rolling down her cheek. ‘I can’t do it,’ she said shakily. ‘I know I’m going to go to pieces in front of all those people. I must have been mad to think I could ever have a successful career as a soloist when I’m paralysed with nerves before every performance.’ She stared at Vadim, half expecting to see mockery in his eyes, but instead she glimpsed an expression of compassion that brought the words tumbling from her mouth. ‘This is what my mother wanted for me. She devoted her life to teaching me so that I might have the career she never had. My father was right,’ she said miserably. ‘He said I was too shy and pathetic to make it as a musician.’
‘When did he tell you that?’ Vadim asked roughly, feeling again a violent surge of anger at her dead father.
‘Oh, he said it every time he tried to persuade me to sell my violin. It’s a Stradivarius and worth a fortune—and my father needed money,’ she said bitterly. ‘But my mother had left it to me in her will, and he had no claim on it. He was furious when I refused to sell it.’ She broke off and bit her lip. ‘He never loved me, you know. I don’t know why. When I was little I tried so hard to please him—I was desperate for his approval, but I never won it,’ she said huskily, unwittingly revealing a vulnerability that tugged at Vadim’s insides. The image she presented to the world was of a confident, talented woman on the cusp of an astounding career, but underneath she was still the lonely little girl who had tried to win her father’s love and been deeply wounded by his uninterest.
It was little wonder she was afraid of relationships. She had been hurt once, and her determination never to let anyone too close was a self-protective measure to prevent herself from being hurt again. He understood; he’d done the very same thing. The pain of losing his wife and daughter had caused him to build a wall around his heart which he had no intention of ever dismantling. But as he stared down at Ella and watched another tear slip silently down her face, some long-buried emotion inside Vadim stirred into life and he felt a fierce urge to comfort her.
‘Your father was wrong,’ he said deeply. ‘You have a remarkable gift, and you also have an inner strength and grace that will enable you to overcome your nerves. I have absolutely no doubt that you can walk onto the stage tonight and blow the audience away.’
‘Do you really think so?’ she murmured uncertainly, feeling warmth begin to seep through her veins instead of the icy fear that had frozen her blood. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the muscular strength of his thighs pressing against her, and molten heat unfurled in the pit of her stomach when he slid his hand down to her bottom and pulled her closer still, so that the hard ridge of his arousal nudged between her legs. She lifted her head and drew a sharp breath when she glimpsed the fire blazing in his eyes. After five long, lonely nights away from him her body instantly recognised its master, and when he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a searing kiss she melted against him and wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back with a fervency that drew a low groan from his throat.
Muttering something in Russian, Vadim lifted her up and strode into her dressing room. His sole intention when he had taken her in his arms had been to offer support and encouragement, and hopefully alleviate her stage fright, but Ella was a fever in his blood, and the moment he’d touched her he’d been consumed with the savage need to possess her.
She got to him in a way no other woman ever had, he acknowledged grimly. It was a state of affairs he could not allow to continue, but at this moment he could think of nothing but assuaging the fire that raged in both of them. With shaking fingers he drew the zip of her dress down her spine and slid the narrow straps from her shoulders so that her small, firm breasts spilled into his hands. Her skin felt like satin beneath his lips as he trailed urgent kisses down her throat. He lifted her and sat her on the edge of the dressing table, arching her backwards so that he could close his lips around one dusky nipple and then its twin, sucking each crest until it swelled against his tongue.
Her sharp little breaths matched his own laboured breathing, and their mutual desire blazed out of control, so that he jerked the long skirt of her dress up to her waist and slipped his hand beneath the lacy panel of her knickers to find her slick, wet heat.
At the first stroke of his wickedly inventive fingers Ella sobbed his name, her fears about the concert swept away in the wild torrent of passion. The sexual hunger in Vadim’s eyes warned her that he was dangerously out of control, but she loved the fact that his usual formidable restraint had crumbled and his need was a great as hers. With trembling fingers she unfastened his bow tie and wrenched the buttons of his white silk shirt apart. Her nerve faltered momentarily when she fumbled with the zip of his trousers, but when he deftly stepped out of them she dragged his boxers over his hips, and caught her breath when the throbbing length of his erection filled her hands.
‘Hold on to me,’ he commanded roughly, and she
immediately clung to his broad, bronzed shoulders as he slipped his hands beneath her bottom, lifted her, and sank his swollen shaft into her with a hard thrust that drove the breath from her body.
She was dimly aware of a crash as the various jars of toiletries on the dressing table fell to the floor. Thank heaven he’d locked the door, was her last coherent thought, before she caught and matched his pagan rhythm and tilted her hips to meet each devastating thrust. Harder, faster—this was sex at its most primitive, and she gloried in the power of it, her whole being focused on reaching that magical place that was uniquely special to them. It couldn’t last. She felt him tense and knew he was fighting for control, but as her body arched with the drenching pleasure of her orgasm she heard the ragged groan that was torn from his throat and felt the judders that ripped through him as he exploded in a violent climax and spilled into her.
Ella slowly came back to earth to face the realisation that they had just had wild sex on her dressing table, and that she was due to perform in front of two thousand people in ten minutes’ time. Usually she would be sick with nerves by now, she thought ruefully. But Vadim had commanded her mind as well as her body, and she was still too dazed with pleasure to worry about the concert.
‘You’ll have to make love to me before every performance,’ she quipped huskily, blushing when she saw the marks on his chest where she had raked him with her nails.
The flare of colour on her cheeks evoked a curious ache in Vadim’s chest. Beneath her shy exterior she was a tigress, but he was the only man to have discovered her sensual nature and he was startled by the possessive feeling that surged through him. ‘I missed you,’ he admitted roughly, noting how her eyes had darkened with an emotion he did not want to define.
Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence Page 12
