Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence. Chantelle Shaw
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the pearly grey half-light Vadim’s smile revealed a set of perfect white teeth which reminded Ella of a predatory wolf. ‘I am delighted that you regard me as a friend,’ he drawled. ‘It marks a major step forward in our relationship.’
She froze, infuriated by his mocking tone, and aware of an underlying serious note in his voice that warned her to be on her guard. ‘We don’t have a relationship to move forward, backward, or anywhere else,’ she snapped.
‘An unsatisfactory situation that can easily be remedied. I have two tickets for Madame Butterfly at the Royal Opera House for Thursday evening. Would you care to join me? We could have dinner after the performance.’
‘I’m flying to Cologne to play at the Opernhaus on Wednesday,’ Ella told him truthfully, assuring herself that the faint twinge of regret she felt was only because Puccini’s famous opera was one of her favourites.
Vadim shrugged, drawing her attention to the formidable width of his shoulders, and she felt a curious tugging sensation low in her stomach. ‘I’ll rearrange the tickets for another night.’
His supreme self-confidence was that of a man who was used to getting his own way, and his arrogant smile made Ella’s hackles rise. Clearly he expected women to fall at his feet, and no doubt there were plenty who would leap at the chance to spend an evening with him—and then probably leap into his bed with the same eagerness—but she wasn’t one of them. She had tried to rebuff him politely, but obviously blunter tactics were needed. ‘Which part of no don’t you understand?’ she queried icily.
Far from seeming offended, he widened his smile and strolled towards her, his piercing blue gaze trapping her as helplessly as a rabbit confronted by car headlights. She was of average height, and her heels gave her the advantage of another three inches, but he still towered over her, the muscular strength of his chest a formidable barrier which barred her escape from the orangery. He had invaded her thoughts day and night for the past week, and now, as she inhaled the exotic tang of his cologne, her senses swam and she could not deny her agonising awareness of him.
‘This part,’ Vadim said softly, sliding his hand beneath her chin and lowering his head before she had time to comprehend his intention—or react to it.
CHAPTER TWO
‘NO!’ ELLA’S outraged gasp was muffled beneath the firm pressure of Vadim’s mouth on hers, and shock rendered her immobile. His lips were warm and beguiling as he kissed her with an expertise that caused her heart to slam against her ribs. He moved his hand from her chin to her nape, while his other hand settled on her hip and urged her closer. He did not exert force, and she could easily resist—should resist, her brain pointed out—but her body seemed to have a will of its own, and it craved even closer contact with the most mesmeric man she had ever met.
His tongue traced the shape of her mouth, playing havoc with her equilibrium, but when he probed gently between her lips, demanding access, she stiffened and her pride belatedly stirred. She knew what kind of man he was. After meeting him in Paris she had been sufficiently intrigued to find out more about him, and had discovered that he had a reputation as a playboy whose wealth and undeniable charisma attracted women to his bed in droves. His relationships never lasted long before he moved on to his next conquest, and she would not be one of them, Ella vowed fiercely.
She did not want a love affair, and she was certain that love was not on Vadim’s agenda. He wanted to have sex with her.
She might be inexperienced, but she was not completely naïve, and from the moment their eyes had met in Paris she had recognised the hungry desire in his gaze. He wanted her, but she was determined he would not have her. She’d never had a problem freezing out other men who had shown an interest in her, and the fact that she was finding it hard to remain cool with Vadim was all the more reason to stick to her resolve.
She knew about men like him, she brooded bitterly. Her father had repeatedly broken her mother’s heart with his affairs. Even when Judith Stafford had lain dying the Earl had been cavorting with his mistress on the French Riviera, and had barely made it back to England in time for his wife’s funeral.
But as Vadim continued his unhurried exploration of her lips she was aware of a curious melting sensation that seeped into her bones, undermining her determination to resist him, so that she could not prevent herself from sagging against him. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer still, so that she could feel the solid hardness of his thigh muscles. In a frantic attempt to push him away she laid her hands flat against his chest, and was instantly entranced by the warmth of his body through his fine silk shirt.
Now he increased the pressure of his mouth, forcing her lips apart, and with a bold flick of his tongue he delved into her moist warmth, taking the kiss to another level and demonstrating a degree of eroticism that was beyond anything Ella had ever imagined. She felt strangely light-headed as her blood drummed through her veins, every nerve-ending in her body acutely sensitive, so that the faint rasp of his cheek against her tender flesh sent a quiver of reaction the length of her spine. Just as music transported her to another world, Vadim’s kiss took her to a place she had never been before, where sensation ruled and all that mattered was that he should continue to move his mouth on hers in the slow, delicious tasting that caused a curious throbbing ache in the pit of her stomach.
She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It could have been minutes, hours. While she was in his arms she lost all sense of time, and when at last he lifted his head and withdrew his hand from her waist she swayed slightly, the dazed expression in her eyes gradually changing to one of appalled self-disgust.
‘How dare you?’ she whispered through numbed lips, the realisation that she had capitulated utterly to his mastery sending shame cascading through her, so that her face flooded with hot colour.
He gave her an amused smile. ‘How can you ask that after responding to me with such passion?’ He ran his finger lightly over her flushed cheek, and then traced the swollen contours of her lips, his eyes darkening when he caught the faint catch of her breath. ‘The word among some of your male friends is that you are frigid. But what do they know?’ he murmured, his gravelly accent sounding deeper and more sensual than ever. ‘They’re just young bucks who are piqued that you have not chosen one of them to be your boyfriend. But you should not have boys, Ella. You need a man who appreciates your sensual nature.’
‘Are you suggesting I need you?’ she choked, seizing anger as a weapon to fight the insidious warmth that his sexy voice and provocative statement evoked inside her. The sultry gleam in his eyes was too much to bear. ‘Your ego is…monumental. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of me,’ she added tightly.
She was aware of the speculation among the brothers of some of her friends that her refusal to date them must mean she was either frigid or gay. The true explanation was that she simply wasn’t interested, but Vadim’s suggestion that she had been holding out for a highly sexed, overconfident man like him—a man like her father—was laughable. She had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, and it was his problem if his ego couldn’t accept her refusal to have dinner with him.
She had given out a mixed message tonight, though, she conceded grimly, shuddering at the memory of how she had responded to him with shameful enthusiasm. She should have pulled away from him the moment he had touched her, but instead she had melted in his arms. Mortification swept through her, together with a growing sense of panic as Vadim traced his finger down her throat and continued lower, coming to rest on the faint swell of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her dress. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she was terrified that he must be able to see her heart jerking unevenly beneath her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to slap his hand away, but to her shame a little part of her longed for him to move his fingers the few necessary inches to curve around her breast.
Her eyes flew to his face, and the feral gleam she saw beneath his heavy lids warned her he had read her mind. ‘The game of cat and mouse has been amusing,’ he said in his sinfully sexy accent, ‘but now I grow bored with it. Perhaps you are shocked by the intensity of the sexual chemistry between us,