One Stolen Kiss (9 page)

She nodded.

He peeled the covers back slowly. Christie knew he was expecting to find something, as his gaze travelled the length of her body, assessing her outline in the intended-to-be-unsexy pyjamas.

“
Feet apart,” he said, kneeling up on the bed beside her.

Trying to conceal the tremor that ran down to her toes, she inched them outward a little.

“Shoulder width apart,” he clarified.

She guessed a bit further was needed. Her legs suddenly felt like they were bound to the bed with lead weights, and she had to grit her teeth to get them to respond.

“Now keep still,” he told her, and scooted sideways down the bed

He started at her ankles, his hands closing around them as lightly as he done the night before. She bit into her lower lip to try and suppress that particular memory, as he felt his way upward slowly, concentrating, testing every crease in the fabric of her pyjama bottoms, his fingertips reaching beneath at the hems to check as far as he could reach.

When he got to her knees and his hands circled around, the lightest touch in the back of one of them through the flimsy cotton shattered her control over recalling what had happened on the previous night, and she jumped.

“
Are you ticklish?” he asked, faint undertones of both humour and danger in his voice.

“
No,” she muttered.

“
I think that might be a lie.”

He skimmed his hands further upwards over her thighs, pressing a little on the seams of the pyjamas either side of each leg. Christie wished she could detach her mind from her body and be a million miles away, not having to endure the thoughts that were exploding in her head as a result.

Thoughts of
wanting him…

His thumbs ran up over her hip bones, and his fingertips brushed the edge of the elasticated waistband, just millimetres short of her bare stomach under the pyjama top.

“No drawstring here,” he observed. “Good.”

He moved his hands to the outside of her top, splaying them outwards over her waist and up to her ribcage.

“No underwear?”

She shook her head silently. One fingertip ran up her sternum to her collarbone to confirm, before he continued out to her shoulders and along her arms, checking both sleeves up to her wrists, where they rested on the pillow either side of her head.

He looked down into her eyes, and she bravely met them in the close proximity he was in now, seeking reassurance. It seemed that he was still thinking.

“
Other side,” he said at last, straightening up again. “Turn over.”

Oh, God…

Somehow she found the strength to turn face-down. Her whole body already felt as though it was electrified.

“
Feet,” he prompted, and she wriggled them apart as before.

He started again, at her wrists this time, exploring the outlines of her body through the pyjamas thoroughly, down her arms, her shoulders, and both sides. Again, he stopped at her midsection to check the waistband under the back of her top, but it was his fingers running down her spine that felt as though they could set her on fire. By the time he had passed her hips and reached her legs, she was akin to the proverbial jelly.

Finally, he reached the hemline at the back of her ankles, his thumbs stroking her Achilles’ tendon down to the heels.

“
One more thing,” he said. “I have to check…”

Christie realised she was biting the pillowcase and wringing it between her hands above her head, and released it quickly, sensing him moving up the bed again, and leaning over.

His arms encircled around her body, under her arms, and his hands, palms down, dove up underneath the pillow, feeling for anything that might supposedly be concealed there. The heat of his chest so close to her already sensitised back was almost unbearable.

“
Oh dear…” He stopped, and seemed to tense. “Someone is testing me.”

“
What?” Christie felt a flutter of panic. “I don’t have anything like that, honestly…”

“
Not you.” He sighed. “My domestics.”

His right hand emerged from under the pillow, with a huge collection of assorted condoms grasped in it.

“Whoa,” Christie gasped.

She had never seen so many. Or this close up. So many
different
ones…

“
Yeah,” he agreed, and tossed them over the pillowcase, bedcover and floor, like naughty confetti. “Remind me to thank Lucas tomorrow.”

He rolled away onto his back, and reached for the lamp switch to turn it off once more.

“And thanks for letting me search you,” he added, in the darkness. “I feel much better. I can probably sleep now.”

“
Welcome,” Christie breathed, wondering if she would be able to. Ever. Again. “My pleasure.”

CHAPTER SIX.

Waking up in a strange bed full of condoms in London was not the place for a Manhattan socialite to find herself after a very trying twenty-four hours beforehand, Adrik guessed. So when he awoke before Christie, he tried to retrieve all of the multicoloured foil packets first in order to tidy them away into a discreet bedside drawer – only to find that the drawer was full of them too.

Cursing Elsie and Lucas and all of their ancestors to himself in Russian, he crammed in what he could before forcing it shut. He still had several more in his hand, scanning the room from the viewpoint of the bed for a prospective hiding place, when Christie opened her eyes next to him and suddenly sat up, her face a picture of the conflicting realities being played out within.

“Good morning,” Adrik greeted her, one hand behind his back. He leaned over to give her a tactful kiss on the cheek, surreptitiously removing a shiny purple square wrapper from her hair in the process. “Did you sleep all right?”

“
I guess…” Christie rubbed her eyes and peered through her fingers, as if expecting the bed, the room and Adrik himself to disappear along with the sleepy-dust. She looked down. “Why is there a condom up my sleeve?”

“
Maybe you thought you were going to get lucky last night.” Adrik reached over and extracted the red packet from her cuff, brandishing it in an accusatory fashion in front of her nose. “I’d like to see you try and tie me up with one of these.”

“
Challenge
not
accepted,” she retorted, and he grinned, slipping it into his pyjama pocket out of sight, along with the others. “So what are we doing here, exactly?”

“
In bed?”

“
No – in London.”

“
London is the best place to begin convincing the world of our relationship,” he told her. “Starting with the people who know me best. Quite a number of my family live here, in Belgravia, and also Dulwich. My diary is always full of invitations to public engagements, which usually I rarely attend. What better way to make an engagement public than at public engagements?”

“
It does sound logical…” Christie agreed, distantly. But he could see that it was all only theoretical as far she knew.

How did the girl he first met as a dazzling debutante in Switzerland end up like this? Was it another act?

“Don’t make me regret your lack of experience in these matters,” he warned, getting up from the bed, to head for the bathroom. “It is not
my
reputation at risk in New York.”

“
Adrik…” she called after him.

“
Yes, Christie?” He glanced impatiently over his shoulder.

“
Got a few… things, stuck to your back,” she smiled.

* * * *

Elsie was going to Portobello Road later that morning, so before breakfast Christie sorted out the few odds and ends Derek had thrown out, to donate to the charity shops.

“
Are you going shopping?” Adrik asked. “You need a dress or something for tonight. Invitation to the opera.”

“
Seriously?” Christie’s shoulders slumped over her cereal bowl. “I don’t know if my jet lag can take it…”

“
Royal opening night.” He turned the pages of his handwritten eel-skin bound diary, and tapped an appointment, pushing it towards her across the breakfast table where they sat in the conservatory. “Very special, by all accounts. And you can sleep in the box while we’re there if you have to. Just don’t snore. You could go to Harrods, or Selfridges, or John Lewis… I have some account cards somewhere…”

“
I prefer to shop vintage,” Christie replied. “I’ll go to Portobello – with Elsie. She can show me where the bargains are.”

Adrik nodded.

“I’ll give you a set of keys for the house, in case you want to go further afield.”

“
Adrik!” Lucas’s voice hailed. “The man is here for the removal of the squirrel!”

“
You can see to it, Lucas!” Adrik called back. He caught Christie’s eye briefly over the diary. “He puts contraceptives in my bed, he can deal with the rodent in the wall.”

“
What’s this written in for tomorrow?” Christie pointed to another entry in the diary. “Fashion show?”

“
Yes – we’ll go to that as well.” He poured himself another orange juice. “Make sure you find something suitable to wear for it too.”

“
What are you up to today?”

“
Meetings. New clients. Lunch with Zory.” He picked up another slice of toast. “All the sorts of things I managed to miss out on while I was welding on ships for nine years, until my father died.”

“
Sorry about your father,” Christie said quietly.

“
He was ill,” Adrik shrugged. “Pancreatic cancer. But he self-medicated with vodka and a few other things, which killed him quicker. I think he wanted to have control over when to die. He was not leaving this world. He was moving on to the next one to join my mother. She died when I was very small. I don’t remember her.”

Christie couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I find him an interesting individual, but I don’t think I was close to him,” Adrik continued. “His testing of me – I didn’t appreciate it. I have had more of a chance to study him since.”

She watched as he cocked his head slightly, smirking, listening to Lucas and the pest control man talking animatedly in one of the other rooms. She guessed that any discussion of his parents was closed.

“You trust me with the keys to your house?” she asked, instead of pursuing personal matters further. In fact, by what he had just stated, she was relieved to change the subject.

“
Mi casa, su casa.” He nodded.

“
Say it in Russian.”

He looked up at her sharply, and the sudden smoulder in his eyes as he spoke the words seemed to lance straight into her body.

“
Me doomvash imma doomwa…
” Christie repeated after him, hesitantly.

“
Close enough.” He tore his gaze off her, and reached for the coffee pot. “I’ll teach you some more words later, if you like.”

* * * *

A few hours in Portobello Road turned out to be a wise decision and very fruitful – Christie found two items straight away in the same charity shop she was leaving her own stuff for donation – a smart gunmetal grey Vera Wang, possibly an ex-bridesmaid’s dress, that would do for tomorrow, and a very classy pinstriped Gaultier gown with a fitted bodice that laced up at the back, which just screamed ‘opera’.

In a few other stores close by she sourced suitable shoes, and also picked up various additional clothing – jeans, tees and other things to keep her going for however long this enforced exile was intended to last.

“You want a wrap to go with that dress tonight,” Elsie told her, holding up a large, unexpectedly glittery PLO scarf.

Christie was tempted, purely because it was so eccentric.

“That’s actually not bad,” she admitted. “Maybe the black one with the skulls too… is that a McQueen? Not too extortionate, is it?”

“
Vintage,” Elsie replied. “Used.” She held it to her face and took a deep sniff. “Not cigarettes. Yves Saint Laurent –
Opium
. Smell.”

Christie obliged, and got a nostalgic suggestion of equally vintage perfume.

“I’ll have it,” she said, and looked briefly again around the shop. “Do you want anything, Elsie?”

Elsie broke into a grin.

“I have plenty of nice things. I come here all the time.” She patted her own red patent purse. “Westwood.”

“
Oh, crap – I need a purse too, I guess…”

“
I know where there is a good one. Another charity shop on Westbourne Park. I saw the man go in with it yesterday.”

* * * *

It was a small black Chloé Paddington, just like the chocolate brown one she already had in New York, in perfect condition – except for the fact that the ring to attach the padlock had been snapped off.

“
The parts are here,” said the shop assistant, showing the metal loop and padlock safe in the outer pocket. “It could be mended, perhaps, but it is up to you. The price is reflecting the damage.”

“
We can mend this,” Elsie whispered to Christie, nodding earnestly. “It is a bargain.”

“
I love a good bargain,” Christie agreed, and smiled at the assistant. “I’ll take it.”

* * * *

She had spent less than at the airport mall yesterday. There was something very satisfying about that – being able to get designer clothes, donate to good causes and also not worry about the first crease or smudge she made on anything. Thrift shopping had been her private guilty pleasure in New York, whether she’d had to, due to finances, or not. Fortunately it was still a trendy thing to do, although the high society fashionistas often sent other people to go and scout for them, and always combined their ‘vintage finds’ with something brand new – preferably couture, or not on release yet to the general public.

Derek hated it. He wouldn’t be seen dead wearing cast-offs – or dating cast-offs…

“I think these need re-heeling,” she mused, wobbling around on the kitchen floor experimentally, in a pair of Steve Madden suede pumps.

“
Are you trying to get more blisters?” Adrik’s keys rattled down onto the worktop, and she looked up in surprise.

“
I thought you were out to lunch.”

“
Zory has a hangover. He cancelled.” Adrik watched her step carefully back out of the high platform shoes. “I decided to come back and see whether my squirrel had disappeared for good.”

“
Sounds like you might be referring to something else,” Christie muttered, tingling sensations running down inside her chest.

“
Maybe I am.”

“
Ah, you are here.” Elsie emerged from the pantry. “There is a job for you, Adrik.” She put down the jar of rice she was carrying, and handed him the Paddington bag from the worktop. “You can fix this for Christie, while I make some lunch.”

“
What, you want me to do sewing, or something?” he asked, and turned it over. The sheared-off brass loop dropped out with a clang. “Oh – now I see.” He picked it up, and gave Christie a curious glance. “You could have chosen a new handbag with one of my account cards.”

“
I liked that one.” She pulled her trainers back on. “And it didn’t cost the same as a round-the-world plane ticket.”

“
Sounds like you want to keep the money aside for a plane ticket.” He lined up the chunky ring and metal plate it had originally been attached to. “You want me to mend this for you?”

“
Can you?” Christie was quizzical.

He grinned, and walked out through the conservatory, opening the door onto the rear gardens.

“Go,” Elsie encouraged her, waving after him. “Go look. I will send Lucas out to get new heel pegs put on your fancy dress shoes.”

Adrik was already outside on the stone footpath through the lawn, which was punctuated with Japanese maples of all different sizes and colours. He glanced over his shoulder and inclined his head for Christie to follow.

The garden was peaceful, shielded by the house and surrounding trees.

“
I have a workshop,” he explained. “At the far end.”

She picked her way along the path in his footsteps, in case marking the grass was frowned upon. But as no warnings were forthcoming, and she looked around her a little more confidently, she saw something else in the garden besides the ornamental trees and flowering shrubs.

Metal sculptures…

“
What?” Adrik heard her sharp gasp, and looked. “Oh – it’s my hobby. You’re not the only secret artist around here.”

A fairy-ring of giant toadstools stood in the lawn under the delicately-leaved acers, burnt into rainbow colours, complete with copper toads sitting atop them. On the other side, a glade was dominated by a steampunk octopus, wearing flying goggles and holding various tools in its suckered tentacles – a spanner, a screwdriver, a rusted hacksaw.

“They’re amazing…” Christie pointed at the octopus. “I’d have that in my gallery. Doug would love to put this sort of installation in his nightclub too.”

“
Only for me.” Adrik shook his head. “I don’t make things for other people. Not any more, anyway. Plenty of people already sailing around the world on bits of my welding.”

They reached the large brick-built workshop spanning the end of the garden, which he unlocked.

“You can look,” he said. “But don’t touch.”

An almost verbatim echo from Derek.

“Okay,” she murmured timidly.

He nodded and held the door open for her to go through, following her inside.