Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Ironically I was quite satisfied until my peaceful existence was disrupted by an intimidating spinster who is far too fond of her independence.”

She shivered as his fingers traced the plunging line of her bodice.

“Dimitri.”

He stepped closer, breathing in the tantalizing scent of warm woman and clean soap.

“I never knew such skin truly existed,” he rasped. “It is as soft and perfect as fresh cream.”

“We are supposed to be searching for the gentlemen who took Anya.”

“In a moment.” Wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully lifted the veil, his gaze sweeping over her pale, beautiful features. “First I must taste you.”

“No—” Her protest fell on deaf ears as he captured her lips in a branding kiss. He wanted to wrap her in his arms until she melted with soft compliance. He wanted to mark her with his touch, his scent, his desire. He wanted to ensure that every man who caught sight of this woman understood that she belonged to him. Only him. “As sweet as honeyed almonds,” he muttered, his tongue teasing her lips until they slowly parted in invitation. “Yes, moya dusha, open for me.”

She groaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if she struggled to keep herself upright.

“The cognac…” she muttered.

He gripped her hips, pressing her against the blatant evidence of his arousal.

“It is not the cognac that is causing your head to spin and your heart to race.”

She arched back to stab him with an angry frown, but Dimitri did not miss her small shiver of awareness.

“You believe yourself to be irresistible?”

“It is the hunger that burns between us that is irresistible,” he corrected, his voice hard. He had made his fortune on catering to other’s weaknesses. He had never dreamed he might himself become a victim. “I always thought this sort of craving a myth. Now I do not know whether to have you locked in my dungeon or hauled off to Siberia.”

She licked her lips, and Dimitri swallowed a groan as his cock hardened with tormenting anticipation.

“Do not say such things,” she breathlessly commanded.

“Even if they are the truth?”

An unmistakable fear darkened her hazel eyes as she lifted her hands and pressed them against his chest.

“I may be attired as a tart, but I assure you I am a lady,” she gritted.

His lips twisted. “I am painfully aware you are a lady, Emma Linley-Kirov, and for the moment you are under my protection.”

“Then release me.”

His gaze lowered to her honeyed lips that could drive a saint to sin.

“Is that what you desire?”

“You must.”

“Damn.” Pushing away from the delectable heat, Dimitri shoved his hands through his hair and struggled to regain command of his rebellious body. “You should never have come to St. Petersburg.”

AT ANY OTHER TIME, Emma might have been dazzled by her surroundings.

Who knew that a den of iniquity would be a sprawling honeycomb of ivory-and-gold rooms with crimson carpets and marble columns that soared up to the vaulted ceiling painted with Greek gods playing among the clouds? Or that the massive chandeliers would cast a blazing light over the elegant gentlemen who weaved their way among the card tables and flirted with the women dressed in low-cut gowns?

She had assumed the place would be dark and cheap with furtive men hunched over their cards, or tossing dice in the corner.

Which only proved she truly was naive as Dimitri claimed.