The Man She Shouldn't Crave

No more skinny blondes without bottoms…

‘I’ll have Ivan drop me at the Kharkov Building and take you on to the apartment.’ His deep voice strummed her senses. ‘I’ll join you around midday.’

No more orgies on yachts… Well, she’d like to see his yacht… She pulled up short. ‘I don’t understand. It’s the middle of the night.’

‘You might want to alter your watch, Rose. It’s just after 7:00 a.m.’ He was smiling at her.

‘It can’t be. It’s pitch-dark out there.’ She forgot for a moment what they were talking about. He really did have a sensual smile. It made her think of silk on her skin and the way he’d pressed those hot kisses to the swells of her breasts. She shivered.

‘It’s winter, malenki,’ he said in a deep, dark voice. ‘Welcome to Russia.’

Thinking about what this welcome might actually involve, Rose asked faintly, ‘When does it grow light?’

‘Around nine. Don’t look so worried, Rose. You can get settled in, take a nap, put on something pretty.’

This was sounding disconcertingly like instructions. On how to seduce him. Rose found she didn’t mind.

‘But what about you? When do you sleep?’

‘I’m like New York City, detka, the lights never go out.’

Rose took in the male confidence, the humour, the deep sexual speculation in his rain-dark eyes and decided she was going to be the one lining him up. She took a breath and dived in.

‘Okay, cowboy, if you’re New York City that makes me upstate; we do sleep and we keep regular hours. I don’t know if three or four is going to be enough for me.’

‘I will call you.’

Rose unsnapped her bag. ‘Have you got my number?’

‘I will phone the apartment…’ He stopped, the expression on his face worth the fool she might be about to make of herself.

Smiling to herself, Rose retrieved her little gold pen and scooted across the seat. ‘Give me your hand.’

‘I cannot believe you are doing this,’ he said, but his voice had dropped an octave and as she inked the numerals she could feel the heat and solidity of his big, hard body close to her own. The temptation to cuddle in and hope for the best was intense, but a little wooing on his behalf wasn’t going to go astray.

‘There we are.’ She capped her pen and bent her head to blow lightly over the wet ink.

Plato said something under his breath.

‘It’s just my number. I’m not promising anything.’ Rose lifted her face with a half-smile. ‘Call me.’

‘I am thinking my meetings can be cancelled,’ he growled.

Rose put her pen away and shut up her bag. ‘No, I think you ought to keep your appointments. A girl needs a little upkeep after such a long flight. I want some proper food and some fresh clothes and oh, definitely a bath. A nice warm bubbly bath to soak my poor attenuated limbs and other…’ she made a sweeping gesture down the centre of her body ‘…girly bits and bobs. And I certainly don’t need you for that, do I?’

Plato looked appreciably absorbed in what she was saying. Rose had the feeling that if a stampede of cattle came through the limo he wouldn’t notice anything but her. She turned up guileless blue eyes to his lambent grey.

His voice was killingly deep when he spoke. ‘You play with fire, Texas.’

‘Well, you think about me playing with fire and I’ll think about you doing…whatever it is you do.’ She let her eyes linger on his big, hard body.

It was a bold move, but being polite and waiting her turn had never got her anywhere in life. She’d done plenty of that in Houston, jamming the real Rose down where she wouldn’t cause any trouble for Bill Hilliger and his family. She was long over it.

Plato silently reached across and closed the privacy screen.

Rose gave him her sweetest smile, even though her whole body had begun to tremble.

‘You’re not going to kiss me, are you, cowboy? Because this is neither the time nor the place.’