A Child Claimed By Gold. Rachael Thomas
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up the shot and took a photo of the one place he’d been happy as a child.
‘It was, but I never saw it like this, all covered in snow. It was always summer when we visited and I’d run with the dogs in the orchard, enjoying the freedom.’
It hadn’t been just the freedom of running free in the summer sun, it had been the freedom from the terror of his father: from not having to hide when his filthy temper struck; of not having to worry about his mother as his father’s voice rose to aggressive shouts. It had been freedom from pain—for both of them. He’d realised much later on that his mother’s parents must have known what was going on and it had been their way of offering sanctuary. He just couldn’t understand why his mother hadn’t taken it permanently.
‘And is your grandmother here to talk to us now?’ Hope was shining in her voice. She thought he meant the grandmother who had started this whole nonsense off.
‘No, they passed away before my father. Marya Petrushov is my father’s mother. The one who contacted World in Photographs. She lives in Vladimir.’
‘So we can see her?’
She turned her attention to packing away the camera, obviously happy with the photos she’d taken, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face—because right now he was sure it must be contorted with rage and contempt for the woman who had done nothing to help him or his mother. Instead she’d preferred to make excuses for her son and for that he could never forgive her.
‘Tomorrow. But right now we should return to the hotel.’
Just as he couldn’t put off returning to the hotel because of the impending snow, he knew he couldn’t put off meeting his grandmother again any longer. Maybe facing her for the first time would be easier with someone else at his side. It might also be the worst possible decision he’d ever made.
NIKOLAI LOOKED OUT of the window of the hotel bar as darkness descended. The snow was falling ever harder and he couldn’t help but feel relieved. At this rate they wouldn’t be able to get to his grandmother’s home before Emma had to return to London. He’d almost given away the secret himself when he’d taken her to his childhood home; but at least she now had something for her story, and he could relax, maybe even enjoy the evening with her.
‘It’s snowing really hard.’ Emma’s voice, soft and gentle, held a hint of anxiety as she joined him in the hotel bar.
‘That is normal for these parts,’ he said as she sat down, unable to drag his eyes from her. She wore a black dress which moulded to every curve of her body, but when she removed her jacket, exposing her shoulders and slender arms, that spark of attraction he’d been trying to ignore roared forward, more persistent in its need for satisfaction.
She sat down opposite him in the comfortable chairs of the lounge area and crossed her legs, affording him a tantalising view of her lower leg, now deliciously on display, and the black high heels she wore only reinforced his need to feel those legs around him. Was she doing it on purpose? Was she trying to distract him?
‘Thank you,’ she said firmly and he looked at her face, liking the extra make-up she wore. It accentuated the green of her eyes and he wondered how they would look filled with passion and desire. ‘For what you have shown me, I mean. It can’t have been easy seeing your childhood home in ruins.’
The sincerity in her voice made him curious about her childhood and he remembered what she’d said within those first moments of meeting him: life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov. Had life been equally unkind to her?
‘What of your family home?’ he asked, instantly recognising the way she tensed and the tightening of her jaw. He wasn’t the only one with secrets which still hung over him.
‘A family home isn’t something I was lucky enough to have. My sister and I were put into care when we were young.’ She looked away from him; he watched her swallow down her pain and had to fight hard against the urge to go to her and offer comfort—sure it wouldn’t be comfort for long.
‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’ He leant forward in the chair and her perfume weaved itself around him, increasing the desire for her which pumped around his body. Desire he couldn’t act on, not if he wanted to keep this whole situation free of complications.
‘Maybe it’s only fair, after what you endured yesterday. It must have been heart-breaking, seeing your family home like that.’ She turned to look at him and suddenly they were very close. He held her gaze, looking into those green eyes and seeing an array of emotions swirling within them. He watched her lips move as she spoke again. ‘I feel responsible for that.’
She looked down again at her hands clasped in her lap. For a moment he followed her gaze and then something he’d never experienced before pushed him on. He needed to touch her so he reached out and with his thumb and finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.
The spark of attraction that had been between them from the moment she had got off the train mutated into desire as her gaze locked with his. It arced between them, pulling them together. He pressed the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip and he knew he’d already crossed the line, already passed the point of no return. All he could hope for now was that she would stop this madness from going further. She didn’t. She stayed still, her eyes wide and beautiful, and when his fingers caressed her soft skin again her eyes fluttered closed, long lashes spreading out over her pale skin.
Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?
‘Maybe we should eat.’ Her voice was husky as she looked back up at him, her eyes full of desire. Food was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t give in to the hot surge of lust racing through him, not when he’d decided this woman was off limits; he’d always prized himself on control.
As she closed her eyes slowly, her lips parting slightly, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to hang on to any sense of decency. She was so alluring, so tempting. When she opened her eyes again the mossy green was swirling with the same lust-filled desire which coursed wildly through his veins and he knew it was too late. There was only one way this heated attraction could be calmed now.
‘It is not food I hunger for.’ He leant even closer, still holding her chin, and pressed his lips briefly against hers, leaving her in no doubt what it was he hungered for. Was he insane? He’d gone past caring. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he knew this was so wrong, but the thought of kissing her, making her his, was so very right.
* * *
Emma could hardly breathe. The message in Nikolai’s eyes was so very clear she couldn’t miss it. He wanted her. She had no idea how she knew that, having done nothing more than kiss a man. But on a primal level that she’d never known existed within her she recognised the hunger in those inky-black eyes.
Hunger for her.
After years of believing she was unattractive to men, this powerful, dominating man wanted her. Worse than that—she wanted him too. She wanted to taste his kiss and feel his arms around her. She was so far from home, and everything she’d hoped this trip would bring looked in doubt, but right now none of that mattered. Only the searing hot attraction between them mattered. Only the promise of being desired for the woman she was.
What was it her last foster mother had always said? Live for the moment. She let the advice swirl in her mind, pushing back the cruel words her father had taunted her with the one and only time she’d met him.
She looked again at Nikolai, at the intensity in his eyes. She’d never done that before, never taken the lead with a man, even though she’d always hoped she and Richard could be something. Now she knew why. What she felt for him was purely friendship, whereas what she felt for Nikolai, and had done since the moment they’d met, was far more intense. She had no choice but to live for the moment. If she kissed him, allowed herself to step into the sanctuary of his strong arms, would that be living