Too Proud to be Bought

by Sharon Kendrick

  He let out a long, ragged sigh as his heart-rate gradually began to thump back to normal, but he felt as light-headed as a man at the end of a marathon. The adrenaline rush of all-night gambling followed by the erotic charge of ravishing his maid on the kitchen table made him come down like a stone being dropped off the edge of a cliff.

  His lips buried contentedly in the warm hollow between Zara’s damp breasts, Nikolai fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘NIKOLAI. Nikolai!‘

  The breathless whisper pierced through the layers of sensuality which covered him and Nikolai resisted the call to drag him to the surface.

  ‘Nikolai…will you please wake up?’

  Nikolai swallowed to try to alleviate some of the dryness in his throat. It was Zara’s voice he could hear. Zara, his maid. Zara, the woman he’d just made love to in the most erotic of circumstances. Slowly, his head turned and his eyelashes parted to see one delicious breast in glorious close-up, pressed right up against his face. ‘Why?’ he mumbled, unable to resist the desire to brush his lips against its warm weight. ‘I might not want to wake up.’

  ‘Because …’ She wished he wouldn’t do that. Or rather, she wished he would. But not now—and certainly not here. Not when she was feeling so vulnerable in every which way. ‘Because we’re both lying nearly naked on the table in the kitchen!’

  ‘You weren’t objecting to that a little while back, angel moy,’ he murmured, the tip of his tongue tracing a light circle around one tight, puckered nipple.

  Zara tried to ignore the corresponding shaft of desire which shot through her body and to wriggle away—but it wasn’t easy when six foot three of powerful and muscular man was lying on top of you and when you didn’t particularly want to go anywhere. This was both the best and worst of places to be, she thought helplessly. Wrapped in Nikolai’s arms, with their warm flesh mingling in the aftermath of the most amazing sex and feeling as if she had just caught a glimpse of what heaven might be like.

  It was just great sex, she told herself. Stop reading happy-ever-after into it.

  Over his shoulder, she glanced around the room, her eyes alighting on rows of gleaming metal cooking instruments while her ears were alerted for any sounds. Yes, he’d said that he had given the chef the day off—but what about the other staff needed to maintain this massive property of his? The housekeeper—or the gardeners she’d seen toiling away in the flowerbeds? Had he remembered to dismiss them, too? What if one of them came wandering in, looking for a cold drink—or if Sergei and Crystal decided that they were bored with Monte Carlo and wanted a little bit more of the Komarov hospitality? A shudder ran through her as she imagined what they would find.

  No. Much as she was tempted to let him have a sleep she suspected he badly needed, she was not going to risk being discovered in his arms, with her skirt hitched up around her waist and her panties lying on the floor.

  But wasn’t part of Zara’s keenness to move more to do with the fact that she didn’t quite know how to react to this man who had just made love to her? What had just happened between them was entirely outside her experience. She’d never had sex with her boss before. She’d never had sex on a kitchen table before. In fact, her experience with men was lamentably small—but she doubted whether Nikolai would ever believe that.

  Not that she needed to prove anything to him, of course, she told herself fiercely. She just needed to extricate herself from this highly embarrassing situation.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ she said.

  ‘No, I guess we can’t.’ Nikolai yawned. He felt comfortable. Sated. It seemed that the enforced wait had been worth it after all. What did they say? Something about hunger always making the best sauce…‘Let’s go and lie by the pool. We can drink lemonade and lie in the shade and sleep.’ His eyes glittered down at her. ‘Or not sleep.’

  It sounded tempting. Maybe too tempting. Wouldn’t doing that make her start longing for the impossible—a world which would never be hers? Desperate to cling onto some sort of reality, Zara shook her head. ‘I don’t have a swimsuit.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You must have brought something with you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But surely …’

  ‘Surely, what?’ She could hear the defensive rise of her voice as she met the mocking challenge in his eyes. ‘I don’t make a habit of jumping into my clients’ swimming pools.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear it,’ he murmured, his hand splaying possessively over one bent, bare thigh. ‘But given that the client was me—didn’t you imagine that something like this might happen?’

  ‘What, that I’d end up being…being…ravished by you on the kitchen table?’ She shook her head. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, Nikolai, but no—it wasn’t the first thing which sprang to mind. Were you so sure this was going to happen?’

  He shrugged. ‘The venue was always variable, but the outcome certainly wasn’t.’

  Indignation bubbling up inside her, she tried to wriggle out from under him, but he wouldn’t let her. The arrogance of the man! ‘Why, do you always seduce your waitresses?’ she demanded.

  ‘Never,’ he answered simply, his mouth hovering close to hers. ‘Do you always let your bosses seduce you?’

  ‘Never,’ she answered back, realising that she couldn’t complain that he’d asked an insulting question, when she’d just done exactly the same.

  The answer pleased him more than it should have done and he brushed his lips against hers in a lazy kiss. ‘So we’re equal.’

  Equal? Was he kidding? How could she ever consider herself the equal of the billionaire oligarch? She shook her head, trying to concentrate—but it was very difficult to think straight when his thumb was stroking reflectively at the curve of her hip like that. ‘I just feel as if I’ve gone back on my word,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Back in London, I told you that if I accepted the job, then I intended our relationship to be professional.’

  ‘And maybe you meant it when you said it. But deep down you must have known that you were fighting against the inevitable. Just as you must know that it’s pointless fighting it now, angel moy. When this kind of chemistry exists between two people, then it would be a—’ he touched his palm to her breast and saw her fight to stop her eyelids from fluttering to close ‘—crime not to let it combust,’ he finished thickly. ‘In fact, I think it’s going to combust again any minute now.’

  ‘Nikolais …’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘What do you think you’re…doing?’

  ‘Why don’t I give you another clue?’

  ‘I…ohl’

  He hadn’t planned to make love to her again. Not yet. But neither had he planned the urgent stab of desire which was arrowing through him and which made the parting of her thighs as irresistible as the slow and delicious thrust with which he entered her. It should have been wild sex. Dirty sex. But when she whispered her fingertips on his face like that and planted those little kisses on his lips it felt like something he wasn’t used to. It felt like tender sex.

  ‘Zara,’ he said unsteadily as he felt pleasure begin to pulse through his body.

  ‘I’m here,’ she whispered, her lips moving over the curve of his jaw and feeling his big body shudder as she traced him with kisses. She clung to him like someone who was drowning—and that was exactly what it felt like, she realised. Drowning in a pleasure which was mingled with a conflicting swirl of emotions. She wanted to burst with happiness at the way he was making her feel—and yet she had to keep telling herself that it wasn’t real. None of this was real.

  And when it was over she picked up her scattered clothes from the kitchen floor and began pulling them on over her warm and sated body, aware of his icy gaze raking over her as she tugged the rumpled skirt down over her bottom.

  ‘Go and take a shower,’ he instructed softly. ‘And I’ll have something sent over for you to wear by the pool.’

  For a minute Zara thought ab
out protesting—but only for a minute. Because wouldn’t it be hypocritical if her pride made her refuse his offer? Act all outraged and pretend that nothing had happened between them—as if she didn’t want to spend the rest of the day in his arms? She wanted him—and he wanted her. And unless she was planning on lying by his pool in her bra and pants, maybe she should just accept gracefully.

  ‘Okay,’ she said quietly.

  On shaky legs she walked back to her room, where she showered and made herself a cup of coffee and sat drinking it while looking out at the beautiful mountains outside her window. She was still wrapped in a towel when Nikolai walked in—a scarlet bikini dangling from one hand, while in the other he held a matching embroidered silk kaftan.

  Zara looked at them in confusion as he handed them over, her fingertips kneading at material which was as light as air and quite the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen. ‘Where on earth did this come from?’

  ‘I had it sent from one of the little boutiques at Villefranche-sur-mer.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not going to apologise for finding a solution to your clothing problem.’

  ‘And are they used to sending out urgent consignments of swimwear whenever you ask them?’

  ‘It’s never happened before. But then, most women come a little better prepared than you.’ His eyes narrowed as he saw her looking at him warily—and he was still so enthralled by her that he decided to tolerate her questions. But she had better learn that his patience would only go so far. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said silkily. ‘And certainly not worth spoiling the day for. So go and put it on.’

  It was one of those defining moments. Zara knew that. Most men wouldn’t be able to procure a bikini to be delivered to their remote Mediterranean mansion within the hour. And that intimation of just how powerful he was gave her another pang of apprehension. She could tell him thanks, but no, thanks. That she’d thought about it and maybe she’d better catch the next available plane back to England. He might try to persuade her to change her mind—but not very hard, she suspected. There must be plenty more women like her waiting in line, eagerly waiting to take whatever he was prepared to offer.

  Or she could accept his offer and wear the bikini—which would be tacitly agreeing to something else. To being his lover for the weekend. Pretending that they were equals and that this was a normal kind of relationship. She looked at him. He must have taken a shower as well, for his hair was damp and he had shaved away the darkness which had roughened his strong jaw. He wore a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt and for a moment he looked so gorgeous that Zara realised pretending was the only option she wanted to take.

  They’d made love once, no—twice now. They could make love again—as many times as they wanted—but only if she realised that her function here had changed. She was no longer his waitress. Maybe she had been but she wasn’t going to be donning an apron any time soon. That kitchen seduction meant that she had become his lover—and who knew how long that position would last? So why not embrace her new role with aplomb—and let herself enjoy what was on offer? A little uncomplicated pleasure after the pain of her godmother’s long illness?

  As her fingers moved to loosen the knot in the towel it occurred to her that ‘uncomplicated’ might be wishful thinking—but the look of expectation which had darkened his eyes made her past caring. The towel dropped to the floor and she saw his fists clench with tension as she slowly pulled on the bikini.

  ‘It fits perfectly,’ he said huskily.

  She stared at him. ‘How did you know my size?’

  ‘I build tower blocks which are twenty stories high, angel moy,’ he murmured. ‘The dimensions of a woman who is five foot seven were never going to pose a problem.’

  ‘Five foot seven and a half, actually,’ she said gravely.

  ‘You think that extra half-inch makes all the difference?’

  ‘That’s what they say.’

  ‘Do they?’ He smiled. ‘I think that’s a subject we could debate at leisure, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m always open to debate, Nikolai.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it—I always think that debate is an indication of a lively mind.’

  ‘And it’s my mind you’re interested in, is it?’

  ‘Not at the moment, no,’ he growled. ‘It’s your body which seems to be commanding most of my attention.’

  ‘Nikolais …’ She felt warm, caressing fingers touching her thighs and her eyes closed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve only just…just …’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve only just put the bikini on.’

  ‘So?’ Swiftly he skimmed the teeny little bikini bottoms down and kicked them away. ‘And I’ve decided that I want to see you naked again.’

  His words reverberated round in her head. I want, he said. And Nikolai got what Nikolai wanted. Zara thrilled to the dark promise in his tone and her newly awakened body quivered in anticipation of his touch. But as he carried her towards the bed she felt a sudden sense of foreboding, too.

  Because he did exactly as he pleased. He snapped his fingers and people came running. Staff came and went at his behest. He was the ringmaster who ran the whole show.

  And right now—even as his lips were coming down to kiss her and transport her back to pleasure-land—she felt like one of Nikolai Komarov’s obedient puppets.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘YOU’VE been remarkably quiet, angel moy.’

  Behind the protective shield of her sunglasses, Zara studied the powerful body of her Russian lover, which gleamed like a golden statue beneath the Mediterranean sun. They were sprawled on loungers beside the vast turquoise glitter of an infinity pool, where they’d spent the day drifting in and out of sleep.

  Occasionally, they’d sipped at iced drinks which Nikolai had carried from the well-stocked fridge in the pool-house—in what seemed like a neat little bit of role-reversal. In air scented by roses and jasmine, they’d eaten the bread he’d brought back that morning—spread thickly with home-made fig jam—the most delicious meal she could ever remember eating. And if she had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t dreaming, then who could blame her when this bore not even a passing resemblance to her real life?

  ‘Mmm?’ he prompted as he turned onto his side to look at her—at the shiny caramel-coloured hair, which was loose and spilling down all over the bright red triangles of her bikini top. Most women you couldn’t shut up once you’d made love to them. But not Zara. She’d said very little which wasn’t a breathless variation on his name. And, ironically, it made him curious about her in a way he was rarely curious about a lover. ‘So why the sudden silence?’

  Zara tried to concentrate on what he was saying to her, but it wasn’t easy when he was within touching reach and wearing nothing but a pair of sleek swim-shorts. Of course she hadn’t said much—she had been too dazed by what had been happening to her, and forcing herself not to question where it was all heading. And they had none of the equipment necessary for small talk, she realised. No mutual friends or acquaintances. They didn’t even have the shared experience of being the same nationality. In fact, when it boiled down to it, they had absolutely nothing in common except for this urgent sexual hunger which seemed to have taken both of them by surprise.

  She shrugged. ‘Well, you’ve taken about five phone calls since we’ve been out here—and when you haven’t been doing that, you’ve—’

  ‘Been having wild and amazing sex with you?’ he finished silkily, enjoying the corresponding rush of colour which flooded into her face.

  She laid a cool palm over her warm cheek. ‘You just struck me as the kind of man who wouldn’t be particularly interested in chit-chat,’ she added truthfully.

  A smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘How very perceptive of you,’ he murmured. ‘Or maybe you’re much cleverer than I thought. Perhaps you’ve learnt the power of withholding information.’

  ‘You make it sound like some s
ort of secret war,’ she observed, with a sudden beat of misgiving.

  ‘Don’t they call it the battle of the sexes?’

  She brushed an insect away from her arm. ‘That’s a little too complex for me, Nikolai. Deep down, I’m a simple soul.’

  Intrigued now, he shifted his body slightly, so that the curve of her hips and breasts were fully in his line of vision. ‘And apart from being a simple soul—what else are you, Zara? How come a woman like you ends up being a waitress?’

  She watched the little ladybird spread its shiny, spotty wings and fly away before she looked up at him. ‘That’s a pretty insulting question to ask. There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress, you know.’

  ‘I’m not saying there is. You just struck me as someone capable of a job that’s a little more imaginative. Don’t you ever aspire to something other than offering plates of food to people whose palates are already jaded?’

  Zara smiled—because in a way his deprecating comment was cleverly directed at himself. He was a man whose own palate was jaded, she recognised—and that might be one of the reasons she was here with him. Was she his ‘bit of rough', she wondered—someone different enough from his usual partners to awaken a bored appetite? ‘Of course I want to do something else with my life,’ she said. ‘But it’s not always as easy as that, and I don’t ever want to knock waitressing. It’s a fantastic job—it’s flexible and it’s varied.’

  Folding his arms behind him, he pillowed his head on them and surveyed her from between narrowed eyes. ‘And that’s what you’ve always done? ‘

  ‘Not always, no. In a previous existence, I was an agricultural student,’ she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual choice,’ he commented. ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Oh, the usual one. I just fell in love with the land.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I grew up in the city and that’s all I ever really knew—and then one day we went on a school trip to a farm. There were only cows and sheep and a rather mangy old goat, but I was hooked. And that’s when I realised that grass and mud held a certain kind of appeal. I worked hard at school and got all my grades and was accepted at college.’