One Kiss in... Moscow: Kholodov's Last Mistress / The Man She Shouldn't Crave / Strangers When We Meet

‘You see,’ Sergei said, stepping closer, close enough for her to breathe in the tangy scent of his aftershave, ‘I have this theory.’

She planted her fists on her hips and gave him as scathing a look as she could muster. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Really. And it goes like this.’

‘I don’t recall asking to hear your theory.’

He smiled faintly, and she felt that singeing bolt of awareness. Still. Her response to him had been—and clearly still was—impossible to ignore or deny. ‘Humour me,’ he said softly, and too weary—as well as a tiny bit curious—to argue, Hannah just shrugged. ‘It goes like this,’ he repeated, taking a step closer to her. Hannah forced herself not to move. ‘You’re angry because you’re still affected. If you’d forgotten me, as you surely should have done, you wouldn’t be looking at me now as if you’d like to carve my heart out with a teaspoon.’

Her lips twitched in something close to a smile despite her determination to stay angry and in control. ‘I would, rather,’ she said. Her heart had started thudding in response to his words … and the truth they held.

He smiled, that mobile mouth she remembered so well curving in sensual triumph. ‘So you are affected.’

‘Only according to your outrageous theory.’

‘Oh, it’s not just my theory,’ Sergei told her softly. He’d stepped even closer now, only a hand-span away, so not only could she breathe in the scent of him but she could feel his heat. Remember his touch. ‘I have evidence,’ he continued in no more than a whisper, and with one finger he touched the pulse that fluttered wildly in her throat. And if that wasn’t evidence enough, her indrawn breath, a gasp of shock—or was it pleasure?—damned her all the more.

Colour flamed in her face and she wished she had the strength to say something cutting, or at least step away. The trouble was, it felt too good to be standing so near him. And the single touch of his finger on her skin sent her body spinning into sensual remembrance.

‘The thing is,’ Sergei continued, his finger lightly stroking the column of her throat, ‘I’m affected as well.’

Hannah shook her head, a matter of instinct. ‘No, you aren’t. You weren’t. I don’t know why you came here, Sergei, but—’ She dragged in a desperate breath and finally stepped away. ‘Surely you’ve satisfied your curiosity by now.’

He let his hand fall, his gaze resting on her thoughtfully. ‘Not even close.’

‘What do you want, then?’ she demanded, and heard the ragged note in her voice. She couldn’t hide anything.

‘To have dinner with you.’

‘Dinner?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘A meal? Food? Wine?’

And memories of another meal. Another night. Hannah knew she should shake her head, but somehow she couldn’t. She could only stare. Sergei smiled. ‘There must be a half-decent restaurant in this area.’

‘Half-decent, maybe,’ Hannah allowed, and his smile widened.

‘Show me?’

He made it a question, and, despite her absolute intention to say a sane and self-respecting no, Hannah opened her mouth and said something else instead. Something she could not keep herself from saying—and feeling—even as her mind hammered out a desperate protest. ‘All right.’

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_ac931a6e-81e5-5ca7-8ed3-8f22e6a5c9e2)

SERGEI gazed at Hannah over the rim of his wine glass. She really looked rather cross. Her eyes were shadowed, her mouth a set line. No ready smile for him, or anyone, now. He wondered what her life had been like in the last year and just how she had changed.

Hannah took a sip of wine and gazed around the restaurant—looking anywhere, it seemed, but at him. Sergei had rung Grigori to find him the most exclusive restaurant in the area, and the result was a cosy country hotel twenty miles from Hadley Springs. While he’d been dealing with directions Hannah had gone back to her house—a shabby little place behind the shop—and changed.

Now she wore a plain black dress that, to Sergei’s eye, resembled a bin bag. She’d left her hair in a ponytail, her face free of make-up. Clearly she was trying to tell him something.

It didn’t matter. Her body—and his—was telling him something different. And he intended to make full use of that knowledge. That was why he was here. The only reason he’d allow himself.

‘So,’ he said, taking a sip of his wine, ‘tell me what you’ve been up to this last year.’

Hannah turned back to him in blatant disbelief. ‘You really want to know?’

‘I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’ He tried to keep the edge from his voice. He really didn’t feel like bickering. If Hannah continued to be so hostile, it would make for an arduous evening. Yet didn’t he deserve it? He’d pushed her away on purpose, been deliberately cruel. Why should she welcome him now? Sergei stared broodingly into his wine, wishing he could stop feeling guilty. Stop feeling as if he actually cared. What the hell was he doing here?

Hannah shook her head slowly. This meal was proving to be just as surreal as the last one with Sergei had been. Then she’d been full of excitement and hope; she’d felt as if she were filled with bubbles. Now she felt flat.

‘What have I been doing this last year?’ she repeated slowly. ‘What you’d expect. Working. Paying bills. Trying to keep body and soul together.’

‘Have you taken any poetry courses?’ Sergei asked, and she stared at him for a moment before answering.

‘No,’ she said flatly. There had been no money. No time. No reason. Sergei toyed with his wine glass, his gaze seeming to rest on the ruby liquid glinting within. Their starters arrived, and Hannah stared down at the artfully arranged melon slices, her appetite vanished. ‘Why are you really here, Sergei?’ she asked quietly. ‘What do you want?’

He didn’t answer for a long moment, long enough for Hannah to look up and see a surprising bleakness in those penetratingly blue eyes. ‘I wanted to see you again,’ he said, and Hannah had the feeling he was being more honest than he wanted or even meant to be.

She arched her eyebrows. ‘You didn’t give that impression the last time I saw you.’

His eyes narrowed, lips thinning. ‘There is still something between us, milaya moya.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she snapped. A whole year, and yet the memories still hurt. They made her want to lash out.

‘Can you deny it?’

‘You certainly did,’ she replied. ‘You told me quite clearly that you’d lost interest and I wasn’t worth the effort the last time we shared a meal.’ She smiled, no more than a mirthless curving of her lips. ‘Remember? You don’t do virgins, Sergei. Especially ones who barely know how to kiss.’ She reached for her wine glass and took a large sip. ‘Fortunately,’ she said, her voice spiking, ‘that’s not an issue any more.’

She saw Sergei’s long, tapered fingers tighten around the wine glass and felt a shaft of savage satisfaction—and a pang of loss. She half wished she hadn’t shared so much information, even though she was glad he knew. Surely that proved she’d moved on, even if her one attempt at a relationship had been an unmitigated disaster. Just thinking of Matthew caused a tremor of humiliated pain to rack her body.

‘What a relief,’ he finally said, his voice light, his eyes veiled. He turned to his starter and they didn’t speak for several minutes.

Hannah felt the pressure build within her, rising up, making her want to say something. Do something. It was so strange and infuriating to see Sergei here, to be sitting here across from him just as before, to know he’d travelled all the way to Hadley Springs to see her … why?

And then of course she knew. It was obvious. Why else would a man like Sergei—powerful, sensual—come all this way? Just to see her?

Of course not. No, he must want to finish what he’d started a year ago. There had been something between them, something powerfully passionate, and, just as he’d said, it was still there now. She could not deny its magnetic, sensual tug, as much as it aggravated her.

Sergei looked up from his meal. ‘So you’ve kept your parents’ shop going,’ he remarked mildly.

‘Barely.’ She felt like being honest, even if it hurt. ‘I’ll have to sell it or close it eventually.’

‘It’s not making money?’

‘What do you think?’ She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere. Tourists drive through Hadley Springs, but they don’t often stop.’

‘And locals?’

‘Hardly provide enough business to keep it going.’