Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Distantly, she was aware they had entered the seraglio and he was headed toward the private apartments. She could smell the burning incense and the precious oils beside the baths, but she made no effort to struggle from his grasp.

Why bother?

She wanted Dimitri.

Desperately.

Finding her apartments with unnerving accuracy, Dimitri stepped into her bedchamber where a fire already burned against the chill of the approaching night. He shut the door behind them and slid her down his body until she was standing directly in front of him.

“You have plagued my every dream, milaya,” he rasped, a flush staining his cheeks and his eyes glittering with a hectic fire. “I have never wanted a woman as I want you.”

A renegade warmth flooded her heart. Dear Lord, how many nights had she cried herself to sleep after being treated as if she were little better than a leper by the men in her village? Or scurried from the local shops after overhearing her neighbors laughing at her threadbare gown and haggard appearance?

To the world she had offered an impervious composure allowing her to tend to her business and protect Anya from the censure of others. But inside…

Inside she had hidden the wounds that never healed.

Not until Dimitri, a tiny voice whispered.

He had been the first to see beyond her ugly wool gowns and prickly independence to the vulnerable woman beneath. And more important, the first to make her feel as alluring and desirable as any other woman.

It was a rare gift she would always treasure. Even after he was gone from her life.

She thrust aside the jagged pain threatening her heart.

In this moment she did not want to think of the inevitable loneliness in her future or the past betrayals. Tonight she would accept the pleasure Dimitri offered.

“This means nothing,” she muttered, more for herself than for her companion.

Then, before she could falter, she reached to pull the silken robes over her head, tossing the heavy fabric aside to reveal she wore nothing but slippers beneath.

Dimitri’s breath hissed through his teeth, his body so stiff he looked as if he had been transformed into a statue. Although no statue had eyes that blazed with a pure gold fire.

“Emma,” he rasped, his voice thick with longing. “You have missed me, have you not?”

“No.”

A sudden smile curved his lips at her refusal to admit her inner emotions, and with hands that were not entirely steady, he hastily rid himself of his own robes before tugging off his soft leather boots.

“Your body tells me otherwise,” he husked, his gaze on her beaded nipples as he prowled toward her.

She shivered, already anticipating the feel of his hands on her bare skin.

“I do not deny that I desire you.” She bravely met his smoldering gaze. “But there is nothing more.”

Dimitri cupped her face in his hands, a hint of pique tightening his features. Almost as if he were disturbed by her indifference.

Which was ridiculous, was it not? What interest did he have in her beyond the use of her body?

“Do you wish me to beg for your affections?” he asked in a rough voice.

“You beg?” She laughed at the mere thought. “You would not know how.”

“You wrong me.” He leaned downward, softly teasing her lips with his. “It was one of my finer talents before I was sent to school. All I had need of was a cane and a rag to tie over my eyes and I could make a small fortune.”

She squashed the thought of Dimitri as a small boy struggling to survive on the streets of St. Petersburg. She was already far too vulnerable.

“Do not remind me how talented you are in deceiving others,” she husked.