Untouched by His Diamonds (8 page)

Serge offered his hand and she took it. It was big and rough and enclosed hers completely. It felt unfailingly intimate. Even this man’s hands were fantasy material.

‘I’ll call you when I arrive,’ she said belatedly to Luke, who was grinning and gazing up at Serge like a fan girl.

‘You do that, Clem. Have fun, darl.’

They had only gone a few hundred metres when she realised they were moving away from the public terminal.

‘Where are we going?’

‘My plane,
kisa
.’

‘Your plane?’

‘Private jet.’ He glanced down at her and was met with a look of complete wonderment. Cynically, he wondered if that little bit of information was going to get him laid before the plane even took off.

She dug in her heels as they left the terminal and hit the tarmac. Ahead was indeed a private plane—a state-of-the-art jet. Nerves set in like never before. She yanked on his hand. ‘Serge, I need to make a few things clear before we go any further.’

He looked at her impatiently. ‘We’ll discuss it on board.’

‘No, we need to discuss it now. I have …’ She didn’t know how to phrase it, so she grabbed the nearest equivalent. ‘I have some terms and I want to make sure you’re okay with them. I don’t want any misunderstandings.’

He gave her a look of sheer disbelief. ‘You cannot be serious?’

Her heart stuttered at that. He wasn’t going to be difficult about this, was he? It wasn’t a deal-breaker?

‘I am serious,’ she said more crossly. ‘And I want to be up-front about this.’ She’d come to a complete halt, pulling free of his hand. ‘I don’t want to be treated like some girl you’ve just picked up.’

He made a sound of deep male frustration in the back of his throat. ‘I have no intention of treating you as anything but a lady. Frankly, Clementine, in Russia we do not do things in this way. Would you not prefer some discretion?’

Baffled she gazed up at him. He would treat her
as
a lady? Why didn’t that reassure her? Shouldn’t he
consider
her a lady?

Suddenly it all felt too hard, and she decided then and there to let it go. She was reading too much into everything he said
because she was having trouble trusting anyone. It wasn’t fair to Serge, and it was going to ruin things before they started.

‘We can discuss your terms when we’re alone,
kisa
,’ he said dryly. ‘But I can assure you there won’t be any “misunderstandings” as you describe it.’

She laid her hand gently on his chest. He felt so hard, and she could feel the shift of muscle as he took a deep breath. She affected him, and it thrilled her because it answered her own desire for him. But it wasn’t anything she was going to act on unless it felt absolutely right.

She smiled up at him—her first for the day. ‘I’m really glad you came for me, Serge.’

‘You like the jet,
kisa
?’

‘I guess.’ She gave a gasp as he slid his arm around her waist and scooped her up into his arms.

‘Serge!’

‘
Da
—Serge.’

The sudden physical closeness wrapped around her and she melted. That fast she was a mess of hormones and longing.

He carried her as if she weighed nothing. Something long dormant inside her leapt in answer to his overt masculine display of physical strength and dominance. He was taking her over, and it was stunningly clear her body liked it.

Serge experienced a primitive satisfaction in having Clementine in his arms. He’d been anticipating this since last night. He’d been working towards it since he’d followed her down the Nevsky. Elusive Clementine, who withheld so much, only made him want more, to give her more.

Those terms of hers…Never had he been confronted with such a bald request from a woman. Did she imagine he wasn’t going to cough up with the gifts? And how high exactly did she measure her favours? Not that it really mattered; at this point he was prepared to pay any price.
‘How much does all this cost?’

Clementine ground to a halt in her silver slingbacks and did a three-sixty as she took in the hotel foyer. Understated elegance had never looked so expensive. Adding it to the limo from JFK, the posse of minders following them in another car, and not forgetting the plane—the private jet—the world was starting to resemble Oz, of the Wizard variety.

Serge waited, dark green eyes steady on her, his hand extended in a gesture to have her join him.

‘Okay, Slugger—spill.’ She sashayed up to him and slid her hand into his as if she accompanied wealthy, powerful men into hotels every day of the week.

‘This sports management gig—who in heck do you manage?’

‘Not who,
kisa
, what.’ His expression was indulgent, as if she entertained him. ‘I own a corporation that broadcasts and hosts boxing and mixed martial arts fights.’

Clementine batted her eyelashes at him. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s—wow.’

‘I’m getting an impressed vibe from you, Clementine.’

The entire twelve hours of the flight—half of which she had slept—Serge had been an exemplary host, seeing to her needs before retreating behind his laptop and work. But she was definitely getting a more playful Serge now that they were on
terra firma
.

He ushered her into the elevator and the doors closed out the rest of the world. Serge’s shoulders rose up in front of her and Clementine couldn’t see anything else but him.

‘Where I come from your line of business translates as very blokey. It explains a lot.’

And there it was—that little private smile he’d been waiting for.

He gently twined her hair over her shoulder and said quietly, close to her ear, ‘And what does it explain, Clementine?’

She shivered in response. ‘All the testosterone. That’s why you were able to beat off those guys. You knew what you were doing.’ Her own voice had grown hushed. She looked up at him.

‘Since meeting you,
kisa
, it’s been the only thing I’ve been sure of doing.’ His admission, meant only to tease her, suddenly hit him as absolute fact.

She batted those lashes more slowly. ‘You’re not sure of me, Slugger?’

‘Clementine, I have a feeling no man has ever been sure of you.’

His hand moved around her waist. He leaned in and gave her a moment to accept he was going to kiss her, and then his mouth was suddenly hot and moving fast against her own, opening her up with his tongue, tasting her, giving her no time to back away.

He hauled her up against him and Clementine turned to liquid heat. She moaned helplessly and slid her arms up around his neck, powerless against the feelings he was stoking in her. His body felt so hard against her own, and the slide of his tongue over her lower lip found an answering pulse deep down inside her. It was almost too much.

The doors slid open with a soft ping and Serge broke their kiss. It had only lasted a matter of moments, but it felt like for ever, and Clementine couldn’t believe she’d got so carried away from one kiss. Mouth trembling, nipples pressing tight and hot against the lace of her bra, she pulled at her dress. The silk jersey had risen up over her thighs and her hair felt tangled and messy from his hands.

She watched him use a keycard on the door, trying to clear her head. She hadn’t known a kiss could undo her, and suddenly all her certainty about what she was doing began to fall away.

Serge ushered her inside, his hand on the small of her back.
She needed to keep a clear head if she was going to navigate these waters. ‘Wow,’ she said inadequately as she stepped into sheer luxury. ‘This is—incredible.’

The extravagance of the hotel suite was another reminder of exactly who Serge was. A rich man. Who could buy a great deal to keep himself happy. No doubt including women.

But not this woman. She needed to make that very clear to him. Somehow.

‘I’m not that impressed, you know, Slugger. Money doesn’t do it for me.’

‘What
does
do it for you, Clementine?’ He was smiling at her, that big, lazy Russian male smile, as if he knew something she didn’t.

‘Honesty,’ she replied. ‘Sincerity.’

The smile darkened to something else. She’d surprised him.

Her pulse was going thumpity-thumpity as she made her way slowly through the rooms—the living area, the dining room with seating for twenty-four, past the baby grand. She stopped to run her fingers down an octave.

‘You play,
kisa
?’

‘By ear.’ She lifted her gaze to his heated expression and a rush of sweet arousal washed through her body. ‘I’m a quick study.’

She backed away from the piano, realised Serge was measuring her with his gaze. She needed to keep her wits about her with this man. She needed to keep up the banter, hold him off a little longer until she got herself back under control. Beckoning to him with one manicured finger, she fashioned a smile. ‘Come on, Slugger, we’ll see what else we can find.’

Her heart was pounding as she strolled into the bedroom, knowing her big Siberian tiger was following.

Cheeks pink, breathing shallow, she put her head in at the
en suite
bathroom door.

‘Now, that is one big tub.’

‘Would you like to make use of it, Clementine?’ he said from behind her.

‘Not right now.’ She was astonished at how steady her voice was.

She felt his body only centimetres from her own, and she tensed. She had to be smart about this.

She heard her zip start to slide down and suddenly knew she couldn’t do it. It came over her in a panic, most unlike her, and she pulled away.

A few days ago she’d wondered if she could handle him. She was fast discovering her answer was no. A resounding no.

Jerking around, she put a hand up as if she were stopping traffic. ‘Hang on a minute, Slugger, we’ve only just got here.’ Her voice sounded ridiculously girlish. ‘How about dinner and a movie first?’

She could feel the heat coming off his body, the slam of his breathing as his chest rose and fell just inches from hers. He slid one big hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, smiling that wicked smile of his, and she realised he wasn’t taking her seriously at all.

‘Hey.’ She shoved at his chest with one hand and pulled on his arm with the other. ‘I’m not playing, mister. Hands to yourself.’

She couldn’t be serious? He frowned. By all that was holy, she
was
serious. Serge released her slowly, but Clementine backed up so fast she hit the doorframe of the
en suite
bathroom, banging her head.

Bringing up her hand to rub the offended spot, she blinked at him warily. ‘I said dinner and a movie,’ she repeated mulishly, not liking feeling this way—a little foolish and on the back foot.

She kept her eyes on his, daring him to argue her down.

She wasn’t a newbie at this, but Serge Marinov was something beyond her experience. She just didn’t feel ready to be that out of control, and that kiss in the lift had rung some pretty significant bells. This man could very well annihilate all her inhibitions, and she really, really didn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning to a note on the pillow telling her thanks, he’d be in touch.

She wasn’t naive. She got the impression Serge saw her as a lot more sophisticated than she actually was, and she probably needed to talk to him about that. Which made dinner an excellent idea.

‘Dinner and a movie?’ he echoed. ‘They’re your terms,
kisa
?’

Clementine wanted to flap her lashes and tell him yes, but she’d been shaken up by what had just happened and it wasn’t fair to Serge to keep up the flirting when she so clearly wasn’t going to follow through.

‘Not terms. I just thought it would be nice,’ she offered. ‘Normal.’

Nice. Normal. Serge was trying to get his head around what had just happened. One minute he was being lured by a siren into the bedroom, and the next he was shipwrecked on the rocks—an uncouth oaf who had come on too strong and not taken no for an answer.

He was thrown back to that café in Petersburg, feeling like a thug for upsetting Clementine. She was either playing a very clever game or he had got this all very wrong. If he had it wrong, and this less than sure of herself Clementine who kept appearing at inopportune times was the real deal, the traditional Russian male that lurked not far below his modern sensibility was going to have a field-day. And he needed to keep that firmly in check.

He knew which way that led.

Either way, he wouldn’t rush her. It would do both of them
a disservice. Especially if what was between them turned out to be as incendiary as he suspected it would.

Clementine decanted her clothes into one of the guest bedrooms, wondering what on earth she thought she was doing. Serge had got changed and told her he was going down to use the gym for a couple of hours. He would return to take her to dinner at seven.

She had hoped to spend a little time in his company beforehand, but given her actions this afternoon she hadn’t felt in a position to try and dissuade him. He’d said something about having some excess energy to work off, which she might have interpreted as flattering. Instead it had just fallen flat.

Folding the last of her T-shirts away, she plopped down on the guest bed and smoothed one hand over the gold satin quilt. She was definitely in luxury land, with a man she didn’t know nearly enough about, but there was a huge part of her that was singing out
squeee
as she threw herself down the rocky, rushing ravine she just knew this week with Serge would be. He’d almost pulled her over into the rapids with him this afternoon, but she’d balked at the last minute.

Cautious Clementine. She grimaced at Luke’s nickname for her and checked her watch. Serge had been gone barely an hour. Smiling to herself, she began peeling off her clothes.

Serge repetitively drummed the gloves into the bag, feeling the shudder through his arms, relishing the impact. He couldn’t believe the scene he’d had with Clementine. It took him back to being seventeen and not sure if it was all right to put his hand under a girl’s top if she hadn’t explicitly given permission.

Sweat blinded him and he pulled the punches, stepped away from the bag and reached for a towel, rubbing his face.
As he slung it over his shoulder he reached for his bottle of water.