Untouched by His Diamonds

‘All right,’ she heard herself saying, throwing herself off the emotional diving board. ‘Why not?’

Satisfaction entered the look Serge was giving her, and she noticed a little breathlessly that his gaze took a round trip of her body but she decided to let it pass. Right now she just wanted to revel in her romantic moment.

Serge offered his hand and she took it. It was big and rough and enclosed hers completely. It felt unfailingly intimate. Even this man’s hands were fantasy material.

‘I’ll call you when I arrive,’ she said belatedly to Luke, who was grinning and gazing up at Serge like a fan girl.

‘You do that, Clem. Have fun, darl.’

They had only gone a few hundred metres when she realised they were moving away from the public terminal.

‘Where are we going?’

‘My plane, kisa.’

‘Your plane?’

‘Private jet.’ He glanced down at her and was met with a look of complete wonderment. Cynically, he wondered if that little bit of information was going to get him laid before the plane even took off.

She dug in her heels as they left the terminal and hit the tarmac. Ahead was indeed a private plane—a state-of-the-art jet. Nerves set in like never before. She yanked on his hand. ‘Serge, I need to make a few things clear before we go any further.’

He looked at her impatiently. ‘We’ll discuss it on board.’

‘No, we need to discuss it now. I have …’ She didn’t know how to phrase it, so she grabbed the nearest equivalent. ‘I have some terms and I want to make sure you’re okay with them. I don’t want any misunderstandings.’

He gave her a look of sheer disbelief. ‘You cannot be serious?’

Her heart stuttered at that. He wasn’t going to be difficult about this, was he? It wasn’t a deal-breaker?

‘I am serious,’ she said more crossly. ‘And I want to be up-front about this.’ She’d come to a complete halt, pulling free of his hand. ‘I don’t want to be treated like some girl you’ve just picked up.’

He made a sound of deep male frustration in the back of his throat. ‘I have no intention of treating you as anything but a lady. Frankly, Clementine, in Russia we do not do things in this way. Would you not prefer some discretion?’

Baffled she gazed up at him. He would treat her as a lady? Why didn’t that reassure her? Shouldn’t he consider her a lady?

Suddenly it all felt too hard, and she decided then and there to let it go. She was reading too much into everything he said because she was having trouble trusting anyone. It wasn’t fair to Serge, and it was going to ruin things before they started.

‘We can discuss your terms when we’re alone, kisa,’ he said dryly. ‘But I can assure you there won’t be any “misunderstandings” as you describe it.’

She laid her hand gently on his chest. He felt so hard, and she could feel the shift of muscle as he took a deep breath. She affected him, and it thrilled her because it answered her own desire for him. But it wasn’t anything she was going to act on unless it felt absolutely right.

She smiled up at him—her first for the day. ‘I’m really glad you came for me, Serge.’

‘You like the jet, kisa?’

‘I guess.’ She gave a gasp as he slid his arm around her waist and scooped her up into his arms.

‘Serge!’

‘Da—Serge.’

The sudden physical closeness wrapped around her and she melted. That fast she was a mess of hormones and longing.

He carried her as if she weighed nothing. Something long dormant inside her leapt in answer to his overt masculine display of physical strength and dominance. He was taking her over, and it was stunningly clear her body liked it.

Serge experienced a primitive satisfaction in having Clementine in his arms. He’d been anticipating this since last night. He’d been working towards it since he’d followed her down the Nevsky. Elusive Clementine, who withheld so much, only made him want more, to give her more.

Those terms of hers…Never had he been confronted with such a bald request from a woman. Did she imagine he wasn’t going to cough up with the gifts? And how high exactly did she measure her favours? Not that it really mattered; at this point he was prepared to pay any price. ‘How much does all this cost?’

Clementine ground to a halt in her silver slingbacks and did a three-sixty as she took in the hotel foyer. Understated elegance had never looked so expensive. Adding it to the limo from JFK, the posse of minders following them in another car, and not forgetting the plane—the private jet—the world was starting to resemble Oz, of the Wizard variety.