Christmas Wishes Part 1. Elizabeth Rolls
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Andrey took her by the shoulders and leaned in close, his green eyes darkly serious.
‘You do not want to go to that ball,’ he told her, squeezing her shoulders. ‘When the Empress sees you... Sees how beautiful you are...’ He paused and shuddered with revulsion. ‘I won’t let her use you for her twisted games. I won’t let her hurt you.’
* * *
Andrey grabbed at her wrist, but Ekaterina kept her distance. Her eyes narrowed in thought. How did Andrey know of her aunt’s demented behaviour?
‘I thought you worked in the workshop,’ she said slowly, her tone accusatory.
‘I do,’ he replied flatly as he took her hands in his. ‘Now let’s go.’
‘No!’ Ekaterina snapped angrily. ‘Who are—?’
He stopped her with a kiss—and what a kiss it was!
He cupped her cheeks with his callused palms and pulled her close. His mouth covered hers, and his tongue and lips worked fiercely. Despite her misgivings, Ekaterina responded immediately, her angry words melting into a lusty sigh as Andrey plundered her mouth. She simply could not deny the hot wave of desire that flooded her senses when he touched her. She pressed in closer and tilted her head back farther, her lovely lashes fluttering.
* * *
Andrey dropped his hands to her waist and his lips to her smooth neck. He suckled at her earlobe and drew trails up the column of her neck with his tongue. She gasped and moaned as he lavished her with kisses, his hands searching her body.
And then he noticed it.
Her dainty hands were also exploring his body. Her fingers tentatively smoothed over his arms, down to his hands. Then they wandered over his chest and down his back. Slowly. Carefully. Shyly.
Andrey slowed his kisses to match her unhurried pace.
He just could not understand this woman, nor the hold she had over him. Why should he care about a peasant girl about to be devoured by the Empress’s schemes? Why would he risk his own career for just one taste of her sweet sensuality?
Then she took his lower lip between her teeth, and he decided he couldn’t care less.
* * *
Ekaterina revelled in Andrey’s sweet caresses, her heart beating madly and her blood racing. Her suspicions grew dim in comparison to the heat rising in her stomach. As her mind grew foggy in the daze of pleasure, her instincts grew sharp. Despite her inexperience, she could not still her trembling fingers. Her hands roved over his body shamelessly, curiosity fuelling her exploration. Her hands dipped down past his hips, her fingers fanning over his taut thighs. Her thumb caught on one of the buttons at his crotch and Andrey let out a slow hiss.
Her interest piqued, she slowly brushed her thumb over the growing ridge in his trousers. His breathing hitched. Her lips curving over his, she pressed her open palm over the swelling there. It was hard and warm. She began to rub experimentally, and it quivered under her touch.
And when she squeezed, his thin ribbon of control broke.
He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, his nose to her throat and his teeth scraping her skin.
Ekaterina stilled.
‘Am I doing it wrong?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘No.’ He grunted. ‘No.’
‘Then...?’
He pulled her face to his and kissed her hard.
‘You’re driving me mad,’ he groaned as he feathered kisses over her cheekbones.
‘How?’
‘You make me want to do things I can’t do.’
Ekaterina pulled back slightly to meet his eyes. The sensual tension between them pulled taut.
‘Like what?’ she asked breathlessly.
He pushed her hand back over his throbbing, hungry member, his larger hand covering hers. He leaned in close, his lips moving over her ear.
‘I want to lift your skirts right here,’ he told her in a harsh whisper. ‘I want to rip away these beautiful clothes from your beautiful body. And I want to put this inside you.’
A shudder ran down Ekaterina’s spine and her cheeks flushed scarlet. No noble would dare speak to her in such a way; none would not know her identity. Polished courtier he was not, and her doubts evaporated. She wanted to be with him; she wanted to know more about him. But she didn’t want him to hate her for leading him on, for making him think she was no one important.
She frowned. If he found out she was more than a simple palace girl...if he found out she was the niece of the Empress...then he would think she was like all the other aristocrats—using and abusing those lower than themselves.
‘Hey!’
Ekaterina stilled at the childish voice. She turned to see one of the friendlier servant girls calling to her from around a corner. The girl looked desperate and ready to run off at any second.
‘She’s looking for you!’
Ekaterina didn’t need to be told who she was. She jumped away suddenly.
Gathering her skirts, she met Andrey’s eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she explained. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry.’
Andrey held out a hand but Ekaterina had already taken off, running. She had to make it back to the ballroom before her aunt got too impatient—or all her hard work being invisible would be for naught. She dashed into the great hall. Pushing past the drunken nobles, she skipped to a halt in front of her aunt’s dais.
‘Oh!’ her aunt called excitedly. ‘There you are, Ekaterina!’
‘Yes, Empress,’ she said with a deep curtsy.
‘Come,’ she said, beckoning with her pudgy fingers. ‘Come meet my new friends.’
Friends? Ekaterina shivered involuntarily. She knew that her aunt had no real friends, only supporters and victims. The question was: which type were these?
‘I found the most lovely man while I was in Italy,’ Empress Anna said, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘An architect. I’ve commissioned him to complete the Hall of Light.’
She pulled a skinny man to the fore. He was elaborately dressed, his eyes darting about nervously.
‘This,’ she said proudly, ‘is Bartolomeo Rastrelli.’
Ekaterina dipped her head in greeting.
‘And he has the most brilliant apprentice,’ Empress Anna continued. ‘Where is he?’ She looked around, mumbling his praises. ‘Ah!’ she called. ‘There he is.’
A man stepped through the crowd, and Ekaterina’s heart stopped.
‘This is my niece, the Lady Ekaterina Romanova,’ Empress Anna announced to the men.
Her aunt’s nasal voice faded as Ekaterina met the eyes of the architect’s apprentice. She already knew this man—but evidently not as well as she had thought.
‘Ekaterina,’ the Empress said, ‘this is Andrey Kvasov.’
Ekaterina watched, dumbfounded, as Empress Anna placed a chubby hand on Andrey’s shoulder. She could feel Andrey’s glare, but her eyes were transfixed by the sight of her aunt’s bejewelled hand sliding down to his chest. When the Empress gave him a quick pat, Ekaterina lifted steely, challenging eyes to his.
‘It