Untouched by His Diamonds (3 page)

She needed to think this through. She’d seen the way he’d looked her over, as if making a sexual inventory of the bits he’d like. She knew which way this road led and she didn’t want to walk it again. Not even for a Cossack whose incredible green eyes made her tremble behind the knees and her nipples perk up.

He had one arm spread along the top of the seat, so that his hand hung just inches from her shoulder. He had positioned himself so he was angled towards her, long muscular legs stretched out. Without his jacket she could see the hard width of his shoulders and the taut flat belly delineated by the fitted dark blue shirt, crisp on his large frame. He really was mouthwateringly delicious.

For crying out loud—she had to stop this now! She didn’t even know his name, or he hers. She could remedy that, at least.

‘I’m Clementine Chevalier, by the way,’ she said, sticking out her hand in a forthright fashion.

‘Clementine.’ His accent did wonderful things to her name. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, and she felt the tingle all through her girly bits as he turned her endeavour to keep their interaction on a guy-to-guy basis into an old-fashioned gesture. The sort of gesture that got her just where her inner princess lived.

‘I am Serge—Serge Marinov.’
Serj
, she pronounced silently, practised it a couple of times. It was far too sexy. She was such a goner.

Expectation shimmered in the air. The car had glided to a halt. Clementine registered belatedly that they were no longer moving and hit ground level as real life intruded again. She reached for her boots.

‘Thanks for the lift.’ She sounded breathless even to her own ears. ‘Should I give you my address or shall I meet you somewhere …?’ She trailed off.

‘I will collect you,’ he said, as if this was the only logical response, ‘and I think you should let me handle the embassy.’

Okay. She wasn’t going to argue over that. ‘You really want this date,’ she observed as he opened her door, helped her out.

He gave her an inscrutable smile. ‘How am I doing?’

‘How do you think?’ She threw a feminine sway into her hips and preceded him into the building, enjoying herself far too much.

People were looking at them.

Probably wondering what a girl like her was doing with a guy like him.

She was wondering the same thing.

Clementine had pictured queues, waiting endlessly, forms to be filled in. Apparently Serge Marinov didn’t live in that world. He lived in a parallel universe where you were taken
upstairs to a plush office and offered tea or coffee or something stronger, and where a senior official turned up in a neat business suit and low heels, eyes lighting up as she focussed on Serge. The woman was so poised and elegant, her flirtatiousness pitch perfectly low-key, giving Clementine a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew women must fawn over him all the time.

Yet he had saved her from who knew what in that underpass, and he’d asked her out to dinner, and now he was making a difficult situation evaporate. He was putting in all the work. And within an astonishing half an hour Clementine was sorted: passport, visa, bank account. All of it done and dusted.

‘Who on earth
are
you?’ she blurted out as they descended the marble stairs of the embassy building. It was shabby and worn, but the interior had clearly once been a beautiful example of early nineteenth-century classicism. In any other situation she would have lingered to take it all in, but right now all she was interested in was the man beside her.

‘I have a few contacts in the city,’ he answered neutrally. ‘Where can I take you now?’

Anywhere you want
, a little voice sang. The boring, nice middle-class girl part of her gave him her address, registered his disapproval.

‘Is it too far out of your way?’

‘It’s not a particularly savoury area.’

‘I’m sure your car will be all right—I mean you can just drop me and go.’

That stopped him in his tracks. ‘I am concerned that a woman is living alone in this building. Who arranged this for you?’

‘It’s a work thing.’ Clementine shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She put her game face back on. ‘It’s fine, really. I’m a big girl, Serge.’

It was the first time she had said his name and it ran through her like electricity. He seemed to like it too, because he was suddenly idling in front of her, blocking her view of the reception area and the street with his body. She liked it that she could barely see over his shoulder, even in her heels.

He seemed to read her thoughts, because he leaned in a little closer and said softly, ‘You seem much too lovely to be staying there on your own.’

Clementine felt the backs of her knees give. She found her gaze buzzing on the line of his mouth. It was so unforgiving, yet there was a softness in his lower lip. She wanted to press her thumb there, see if she could coax a smile out of him. Just for her.

‘You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl,’ she said, as lightly as she could, but her voice came out a whole octave lower.

He leant in, his breath soft on her ear. ‘Do you need sweet-talking?’

‘A little,’ she demurred, the sudden rush of response in her body embarrassing her.

He gave her a slow, knowing smile. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

This date wasn’t just about dinner. She’d been a little slow on that score. Already she’d been planning her dress, and imagining candlelight and waiters bringing champagne and being romanced, when she should probably be thinking about lingerie and condoms.

It was stupid to feel disappointed. He was here now and all of this had started because of sex. And he expected it was going to end with sex. She was a big girl. She understood how it all worked. She’d learned the hard way that guys like this didn’t date working girls like her with a view to a future. But she needed to make a decision about how she was going to handle that before she went any further.

Not that he’d pushed anything. Apart from that brief gesture
of his lips on her hand he had not laid a finger on her. He was all well-mannered restraint. She felt completely safe with him, and enormously grateful, and suddenly horribly self-conscious—because all of a sudden she wondered if he looked at her and saw what another man had seen in her unhappy past: a sure thing.

The Vassiliev Building. He wouldn’t kennel a dog there. Yet this warm, vibrant girl was sleeping there. Probably with a lock on the door a five-year-old could snap.

If there were no funds she should be staying in one of those concrete hotels that housed tourists. They weren’t attractive but at least they were safe. Well, this was the last time she’d be sleeping here, so that problem was solved.

It still went against the grain to let her out here, and Serge found himself accompanying her inside and up the stairwell. She seemed embarrassed, as if the dire surroundings were somehow her fault.

She’d been quiet on the drive across town from the embassy. He’d expected a little flirting, but she’d gone back to pinning her knees together and she hadn’t taken off her boots. The mixed messages didn’t bother him as much as watching her let herself into that room and knowing he was going to leave her there.

She was unbelievably trusting. She had climbed into his car. She had given him her details. She’d probably open this door to anyone.

‘Keep this locked,’ he said, thumping the doorjamb with the side of his fist. ‘Don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know.’

She had sort of angled the door so he couldn’t see inside. Either that or she was worried he was going to lunge at her now they were in stepping distance of a bed. Which didn’t make sense. She’d been more in danger of that in the back
of the limo. But he had no intention of rushing anything. A few hours wasn’t going to make much difference, and he intended to work Clementine Chevalier over so thoroughly she wouldn’t forget St Petersburg in a hurry.

It was going to be very mutually enjoyable.

If she stopped giving him these glimpses of vulnerability and expectation. As if simple consideration was something she hadn’t much experience of.

He handed her his card. ‘This is my number. Call me if you have any hassles. I’ll be here at eight.’

She nodded, those grey eyes wary in her heart-shaped face. Then that sweet curve at the corner of her mouth made its appearance, and Serge fought free of an impulse to lean in and kiss her—because once he did that he’d be setting up a softer scenario than the one he had planned.

Straight up sex, not seduction. That was on the menu for tonight and tomorrow night.

He’d save the seducing for a woman who needed it.

C
LEMENTINE
lingered in her shabby rats’ hole long enough to whip off her boots and slip on jeans and her trainers, then hightail it for the Grand Hotel Europe.

‘You’re doing
what
?’ Luke slid his spectacles down to the end of his nose after listening to her story.

That those glasses were only for show made the gesture all the more endearing. They had known each other since Clementine’s teenage years, when Luke had moved in next door. Meeting up with him again in a pub in London had been serendipitous. Without Luke, Clementine doubted she would have lasted more than a few months in London in that first year. He’d got her this job with the Ward Agency.

Clementine sat down on the end of his hotel bed. As head of public relations for the Verado shoot Luke got a whole room in the Grand Hotel Europe.

‘It’s just dinner, Luke.’

‘No, he ogled you in a shoe store and followed you up the Nevsky—’

‘And saved me.’

‘Saved you—right.’ Luke was all cynicism. ‘Some guy stole your bag—’

‘Two—two pretty nasty types. And then he just made the whole problem go away. Took me around in his limo.’

‘Just you make sure that’s all it is. Dinner.’

Clementine blew air up her fringe. ‘Yes, Mum.’

Luke sat down beside her on the end of the bed. ‘Sweetie, this guy isn’t the one.’

‘What one?’

‘The one you’re looking for.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Hey, Clem, remember who you’re talking to. I was there last year, remember? To pick up the pieces. This guy is rich, right? Impressive? It sounds familiar to me. You’re his type, darl, but he’s not yours.’

No, she wasn’t going to believe that. She wasn’t going to let one bad experience alter the course of her life. But she had, hadn’t she? And with Luke’s reminder reality began to seep in fast. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I really want to find out.’ She could feel her face heating up.

Luke shook his head. ‘I’m going to give you my mobile, okay? You ring me here at any hour. Wherever he takes you, you make sure you get the address, and if he wants to take you anywhere out of the city you say no—got it?’

‘He’s not a serial killer.’

‘Probably not, but he knows you’re a tourist. I can’t believe you let some strange man ogle you in public.’ But his blue eyes were twinkling. ‘Those legs of yours should be insured.’

‘They’re not that good.’ Clementine gave her thighs a pinch.

‘They’re sensational, princess. Now, listen to Uncle Luke—are you packing protection?’

Clementine blinked.

‘Hell, Clem, I know you haven’t been dating for a while, but nothing’s changed, love.’

‘Never rely on the guy,’ intoned Clementine, wondering what Luke would say if he knew she’d never had casual sex in her life.

‘Good girl.’ Luke’s expression softened. ‘But you’re not going to sleep with him, are you?’

Clementine went for an insouciant shrug, and Luke threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall when this bloke realises he’s going home alone.’

‘Maybe he just wants to get to know me better.’

Luke squeezed her knee. ‘You go on thinking that, darl, and one day pigs will fly, my flirty little puritan.’

Puritan. Hardly.

She dated. Just not in the last twelve months. But mostly she worked. She’d been working from the age of seventeen, supporting herself in any number of menial jobs, studying at night school. It didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships. Even friendships. She had loads of acquaintances—it went with her job—but only a couple of real friends. She knew the difference—just as she knew this date with Serge Marinov was a bit of fun to celebrate the end of her contract with Verado. She would flirt herself silly, and fantasise about what it would be like to be with a guy like this, and then—Cinderella-fashion—vanish at midnight.

Which reminded her…She retrieved Luke’s condoms from her clutch bag and tossed them onto the nightstand.

She only did relationship sex, whatever Luke might think.

Given the circumstances of their meeting, she tossed aside her pile of short skirts and tight tops and took out the pale green satin dress she had packed for evenings out with her co-workers. On the hanger it looked plain, but once her curves had filled it, the wide belt cinching in her waist, it was something else.

Not that she was complaining about the curves. She couldn’t help the way she was shaped, and despite all the good and bad attention it got her she wasn’t going to waste her youth hiding behind acres of fabric. The pleated bodice
covered up her chest modestly enough, and fastened in a halter around her neck, leaving what she considered her best feature—her shoulders—bare.

She wound her hair into a chignon and highlighted her mouth with deep pink lipstick, then slipped on her favourite strappy gold sandals.

From the window she saw a low-slung silver sports car enter the courtyard. It had to be him. She didn’t want him coming up here again. It was too intimate, and it created a bit of a power imbalance she wasn’t comfortable with.

There was an elevator in the building, but the concierge had advised her not to use it. She teetered a bit on her heels as she reached the bottom of the stairwell, and then she saw him striding towards her. She registered the moment he saw her—and that she had literally stopped him in his tracks.

‘Hi,’ she said, a tad breathlessly.

He wore tailored trousers, the shirt open at his throat was expensive, and the dark jacket screamed money. He was so physically imposing she ground to a halt. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and there was nothing friendly in the look he gave her. For a moment all she saw was a flare of almost feral wildness in those beautiful Tartar features but then he was pulling it back, hooding his green eyes and covering the ground between them in a few steps.