‘So it was once a dance studio?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did it close down?’
Her spoon paused midway to her mouth. ‘Don’t spoil my appetite.’
‘No, these are the questions that you need to ask. Trust me, I know these things.’
She gave him a tight smile. ‘I don’t think teeny-tiny dance studios are your area of expertise...’
‘Business is business.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s very personal to me.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being personal,’ he said. His knees did not dust hers now, they were there touching hers and pressing in a little and, yes, they were officially flirting, and if he could be nosey then so could she. ‘How did you get your scar?’
He gave a tiny shake of his head as a response.
Just that.
No evasiveness, no excuses, just a tiny shake of his head that told her not to go there.
It intrigued her, though.
The scar was jagged and raised and, given his billions, Libby wondered why he didn’t get it tidied up.
His teeth were beautifully capped—well, she assumed that they were because no genes were that good—and clearly, from everything else she could see, from his immaculate hair to his exquisitely cut suit, Daniil took care of his appearance.
Apart from that scar.
They chatted, or rather she did. He was extraordinarily good at getting information out of her. Where she lived, where she’d gone to school, where she’d danced.
And as he went to top up her glass and only a trickle came out, she realised most of the conversation had been about her.
‘I’ll get more,’ he said, about to call for a waiter, but Libby stopped him.
‘Not for me—I’d pass out.’
‘Dessert?’
He saw the wrestling in those lovely blue eyes. Libby knew their time was up, yet she simply couldn’t walk away.
‘Please.’
The menus came again and she looked through her choices, tempted to order the chocolate soufflé, just to prolong the inevitable end.
‘Crême brulée,’ Libby settled for instead. ‘You?’
‘Just coffee.’
It was eight twenty-seven when her dessert was served and it was already over.
‘Nice?’ Daniil asked.
‘Very.’ Libby nodded, yet she could more than sense his distraction. He glanced out to the street and once more she saw him check the time.
Thank him for dinner and go home, Libby told herself, but instead she dragged things out a tiny bit by going to the loo. Then she had a coffee and little chocolate mints but all too soon their drinks were done and all that was left for Libby to do was slip a serviette into her bag as a memento of the evening.
A few moments later they walked out into the street and there, waiting for him, was his driver.
‘I’m going to get a taxi home,’ Libby said.
‘Why would you do that when I have a car waiting?’
A car that, from the way she was feeling, would only lead to his door. She looked up at him. ‘I think we both know why.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was very refreshing to meet you, Ms Tennent.’
‘It was very daunting to meet you.’ Libby smiled. ‘Well, it was at first.’
‘And how about now?’
His hands went to her hips, the move sexy and suggestive as he framed where their minds were. Libby had a sudden urge to be lifted by him, to wrap her legs around him.
‘I’m very daunted,’ she admitted, ‘though the middle bit was fun.’
It was daunting only because she was about to be kissed by the devil.
Why the hell did I order French onion soup, she thought, wondering if she could press Pause on him and scrabble in her bag for mints.
Oh, that was right, she’d had those chocolate ones with her coffee.
‘What are you thinking?’ Daniil said, because her eyes were darting and it was as if she was having a conversation with herself.
‘I’m not going to tell you.’
He didn’t test the waters, he didn’t start slowly, he just lowered his head from a great distance and Libby got the most thorough kissing of her life. His lips parted hers, his lips, not his tongue, and he held her so firmly that even as she went to rise onto her toes still he held her down. And when her lips were opened his tongue tipped hers and he explored her, not particularly softly. His jaw was rough and delicious, and when she tried to kiss him back she was met by a refusal.
This was his kiss to her, his mouth said. It wasn’t a dance of their mouths. He didn’t even lead, he simply took over, tasting her, stilling her, making her body roar into flame with his mouth. So solid was he Libby felt as if she were leaning against a wall. Even when someone knocked into them they were barely interrupted, such was the shield of him.
His kiss had her hot, right there in the street, but the only movement he allowed was to let her hands reach for his chest. She slid her fingers over the cool fabric of his shirt and found the nub of his nipples. Yes, she was hot and aching for more, her hips were pushing frantically against his hands so their bodies might have more contact. But then, when he coiled her so tight, he released her mouth. He’d let her glimpse a fraction of what being held by him felt like and then he cruelly removed the pleasure.
She sucked in the summer night air while craving his mouth again.
‘Bed,’ Daniil said.
‘I don’t...’ Libby halted. What had she been about to say—that she didn’t want to?
Well, yes, she did.
Since the age of eight, dancing had come first, which had meant self-discipline.
In everything.
How nice to stand here on the brink of making a decision based purely on now, on her own needs and wants right at this moment.
And she did want.
So she chose to say yes when the wisest choice might have been to decline.
‘Bed.’ Libby nodded and then blinked at her response. She didn’t retract it but her voice was rueful when she spoke next. ‘I am so going to regret this in the morning,’
‘Only if you expect me to love you by then.’
Third warning bell.
She could turn and walk away now.
‘Oh, no,’ Libby said, and in that at least she was wise.
‘Then, there’s no reason for regret.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE SECURITY TO get past for his penthouse apartment rivalled that at Daniil’s office.
First his driver spoke into an intercom and gates opened that led to an underground car park. From there they walked to another elevator that was only opened when Daniil typed in a code and gave his name in his low sexy drawl.
Up into a foyer they went, where they were greeted, and then it was another elevator up to his place.
Once inside, he threw his jacket over a couch and poured them both a drink and then sat on one of the large sofas, leaving Libby standing for a moment, taking it all in.
Daniil was very used to having women in his home. He didn’t like going to theirs. Here, he was in control.
What he wasn’t used to, though, was a woman like Libby. Her flat shoes made no sound on his marble tiles as she went over and looked out at the view and, Daniil was sure, she had another conversation going on in her head.
He lived above the clouds, Libby thought, or at least that was how it felt. They were so high up that she could be flying now, or in a hot-air balloon.
‘You don’t sound like a pony clipping around,’ he observed.
‘Ah, yes, noise irritates you.’ Libby smiled as she nursed a brandy and stared out at a dusky London, the sky flaring orange and promising that tomorrow would be an
other hot day, and she thought about the lead-up to tonight. ‘I was going to knock on your office door just to annoy you. And then knock again.’
‘Is that why you were smiling when you came in?’ Daniil asked, as he recalled thinking that she had been laughing at some private joke.
Now she shared it.
‘It was.’ Libby turned from one delicious view to another.
Him.
‘Do you know that I was sent off to clean myself up before Cindy would let me in to see you?’
‘Of course.’
‘I felt like I was at school and they were doing uniform inspection,’ she said, and then got back to peering at Big Ben and wondering if you could hear the chimes from in here, but her question never got asked because he spoke first.
‘Do you have your navy panties on?’
She wanted to lift her skirt and flash her bottom at him and she laughed out loud as she imagined doing so. ‘I’m most unlike me tonight,’ she admitted.
‘In what way?’
She thought for a long moment, wondering how best to describe the sheer heady pleasure of self-indulgence, how, till today, she had contained herself, unless she was dancing. Instead of saying so, though, she shook her head, just as Daniil did when there was something he would rather not discuss.
He accepted her silence.
‘I’m most unlike me, too,’ he said.
Usually he’d be just about on his way out.
Dinner with Libby had been very civil and certainly it was early to be home. More pointedly perhaps, they hadn’t kissed their way up in the lift, neither were they in bed already.
Instead, she wandered around and, rarely at ease with that, he let her.
It was a vast floor space; the walls, to the sides of the glass one, were brick, and the effect was amazing against the night sky. There was a storm rolling in and it was a sight to behold, the sky lighting up pink in the distance with each strike, yet there were no rumbles of thunder to be heard; rather she felt them. Looking out, it was almost as if you were on a very high balcony, suspended there on the outside. In fact, it was a little dizzying, as if you should be able to feel the breeze. After a few moments of taking it in, Libby stepped back and, as she did so, she felt she should be closing doors behind her. ‘Your home is stunning.’
It was.
The dark leather sofas were so wide and inviting she could happily sleep on a quarter of one of them, and naturally there were all the mod cons.
Except there was something missing.
There was no artwork on the walls, no photos on the shelves.
‘No books!’ Libby exclaimed.
‘I read online.’
‘But what about all your old ones?’
‘I dispose of them when I’m done.’ Daniil shrugged as Libby almost fainted in horror at the thought of him callously tossing them out.
Well, there’s your lesson, she warned herself. She’d be shivering in the recycle pile tomorrow, with all evidence of her ever being here tidied away by his maid.
Yes, it was somehow, despite the beauty, sterile.
The kitchen was something that would have any serious cook weeping with envy but, unlike her sister, Libby wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination so she passed by quickly.
‘You don’t like the kitchen?’ he called over his shoulder as she walked past it.
‘It’s a kitchen,’ she said.
She hesitated as she approached the master bedroom, where she would be performing later, but was surprised at her lack of stage fright.
They might not even make it to the bedroom, Libby sighed, because right now she was fighting the temptation to turn around and run over and do him on the sofa.
She could feel his eyes on her and she had a prickly, excited feeling that at any moment he might choose to pounce.
What a bedroom, she thought as she peered in.
Just a bed.
That was it.
There was one perfect, vast, four-poster bed, which was dressed in white and was up against a huge brick wall.
No art on the walls, no mirrors...
It was curiously beautiful in its simplicity because there was nothing and nowhere to hide.
‘Where do you put your clothes?’ she called from the doorway.
‘There is dressing room behind the wall to your right.’
There were no bedside tables, either.
‘Where do you put your glass of water?’
‘I get up if I want a drink.’
‘Condoms?’
‘Ha!’ He laughed at her brevity. ‘I have a woman who hands one over at the necessary moment...’
She turned and rolled her eyes.
‘Under the pillow,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Libby felt curiously deflated. ‘I thought you’d at least have a button to push or something for that.’
Again, it was very sterile, almost clinical, but terribly, terribly sexy too. She was incredibly turned on and almost ached for him to come over but still he sat, quietly watching her.
She let out a breath and chose not to enter the bedroom for further inspection; instead, she wandered some more.
There was a large, very neat study; again, though, there were no books, no photos and no clutter.
It was all so beautiful and yet so empty.
She came to another door and went to open it.
‘Libby.’
She turned and he gave a slight shake of his head, the same one he’d given when she’d asked about his scar.
No excuse, no explanation, just a warning as to what was out of bounds.
Now he stood and moved in that same lithe way he had in the office and she felt suddenly nervous as he took off his tie.
It was a delicious nervousness that started between her legs and worked up to her stomach and then caused a blush to spread on her neck.
‘Come on,’ he said, and walked towards the bedroom.
No kiss, no ‘whoops, how did we end up here,’ no words of endearment even.
This was sex, possibly at its most basic. Really, she should hot tail it out of there, Libby knew, and yet his lack of affection, his cold instructions turned her on rather than off. She had never felt so drawn to anybody. The ease and unease she felt with Daniil was a heady combination. She would possibly have followed him to the moon right now and so she chose not to refuse this rare invitation.
‘Can anyone see in?’ she asked, looking out of the vast windows and noting the lack of drapes or blinds.
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Quite sure,’ Daniil said, and gestured for her to come to the window, where she had the same giddy sensation of stepping outside. ‘See there...’ He pointed to the left and she saw the soft glow behind a large window. He told her it was the home of a rather promiscuous junior royal and above that lived a film star. ‘Like an ambulance,’ Daniil said, ‘you can see out but not in.’
‘Have you ever been in an ambulance?’ she asked.
‘A few times.’
She turned and looked at his cheek, wondering if now she’d find out how he’d got that scar. ‘For?’ she fished.
‘For...’ Daniil said, and moved his mouth to her ear as if to reveal a secret. Libby stood there, tense in anticipation, but no words were uttered. There was just the soft sensation of his lips on her lobe, a decadent hush as his mouth worked its way down her neck, her skin alive to his touch but her mind sparking in frustration at his refusal to connect with her.
She jerked back and he raised his head and saw the glitter of frustration in her eyes.
‘You don’t need my life story, Libby.’
She wanted it, though.
She walked off towards the bed and
sat there, her legs dangling over the edge as she tried to pull herself out of a sulk.
One night, she reminded herself, but already she was in over her head—how could one night ever be enough of this man?
She watched as he removed his shirt, and when he took it off she felt her jaw clench.
She knew bodies; it was her job to after all.
His was seriously beautiful—his abdomen, which she had already gauged as flat was toned and taut, his chest was so powerful and defined she was reminded of a huge butterfly spreading its wings. His arms were muscled, though long and slim, but she frowned at the dark bruise on his rib cage. She was about to ask what had happened but then saved herself from another rebuff and delivered an instruction instead.
‘Turn around,’ she said, and blinked at herself, finding it a little odd that she’d dared to ask, but there was a thrill when he obliged.
His back was like art; she could see the muscles beneath the white skin, and her colleagues would have fainted in pleasure just to see this.
She watched as he removed the rest of his clothing and then when he turned and she saw him naked she didn’t pretend not to look, she just stared at his growing erection, as dangerous and as beautiful as him, rising from straight black pubic hair, and for tonight this pleasure was hers.
‘Get undressed,’ he said, and he took her hand and pulled her to a stand, but instead of leaving her there he held her and her exposed skin was on fire against him. She pressed her cheek against his chest and, as direct as he was, she inhaled him, feeling him under her hands. She ran her hands over his hips and to his buttocks and she wanted her fingers on his spine.
Later.
Her eyes still glittered, but now it was with the pleasure to come, and when he released her she started to undo her ivory wrap.
‘Wait.’
He went and lay on the bed and stretched out that long body and then nodded for her to continue.
She had a little trouble with the knot, only because she was watching him and feeling his eyes carefully take in any flesh she exposed. She was too small to worry with a bra but her breasts felt heavy and her nipples were swollen and jutting out of her pale leotard.
The Price of His Redemption Page 4
