Untouched by His Diamonds

The sheer arrogance of the man! ‘Love what? Being pawed at?’ Her voice trembled a little with the anger and confusion she was feeling—waking up alone this morning, being abandoned again now. ‘Sex isn’t just physical, Serge. Haven’t you worked that out by now?’

A muscle was ticking in his jaw and she glowered at him.

‘And while we’re at it, next time you decide to come into the bathroom ask before you take.’

Serge stood up slowly. ‘Perhaps you should have kept the moaning down to a reasonable level, kisa, and then I would have heard the no.’

Visibly tensing, Clementine said hoarsely, ‘I didn’t say no. I just said you could have asked before invading my privacy.’

‘Complaint noted,’ he replied, jerking open a drawer. He wasn’t indulging her temperament any further. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t do female tantrums. She was being difficult for the sake of it because he was leaving her alone. Again.

Brought up short by that thought, he grabbed a T-shirt.

Yeah, okay, it wasn’t the behaviour of a gentleman. But that was not what this was about. He tugged the T-shirt over his head.

What in the hell was this about?

He looked at Clementine as she sat on the end of the bed, tugging on the hem of that towel.

His conscience gave an unfamiliar jolt. He didn’t want to leave her like this. Maybe he should cancel? Stay with her? Bozhe, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Where was the funny, happy girl he’d enjoyed yesterday?

There was something softer, more uncertain about her, and she looked genuinely upset.

‘Are you okay?’ he said roughly. ‘I didn’t hurt you? You’re not sore?’

Her head snapped up and she made a little sound in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a strangled scream. Clutching at the towel, she surged to her feet.

‘You’re a real prince—you know that?’ she shouted at him, and with that enigmatic comment stalked out.

He’d never seen her lose her temper. It occurred to Serge he could have handled this better.

You’re not sore?

Of all the humiliating things he could say to her—not to mention ridiculous. It told her volumes about how he saw her. Some silly girl who couldn’t look after herself. Well, he had a surprise coming. She’d been looking after herself all her life, and she could deal with self-centred you’re-with-me-babe men.

She yanked open drawers, slammed cupboards in the guest room and rapidly dressed. She’d see about this I’ve got to go downtown tonight.

She had half expected him to be gone when she returned, and then she had no idea what she would have done. But he hadn’t gone anywhere, and that tiny glimmer of hope she carried for this man flared a little brighter.

‘If you want me to stay I’m coming with you,’ she slung at him, burying her hands in her jeans’ back pockets.

Serge stalled midway pulling on his leather jacket, his attention caught not by her statement but by what she was wearing. A fuzzy blue cashmere sweater which on another woman would have been casual, fade-into-the-background gear. Somehow Clementine’s extravagant curves turned it into something else entirely. Something far too distracting for Forster’s Gym.

It occurred to Serge in that moment that the only occasion when Clementine had actually been provocatively dressed was on that afternoon he’d followed her up the Nevsky Prospekt. Ever since she’d worn modest clothing, covering herself up from neck to knee. She didn’t flaunt herself.

He hadn’t considered it before, but she couldn’t help being built like an old-time pin-up. A few lines of ‘The Girl Can’t Help It’ flashed through his mind and he smiled to himself, shaking his head. He was losing his perspective if he’d started making up reasons for Clementine’s sexual allure. She was a girl who could work the angles. Who knew her strengths and played to them—strengths he hadn’t had enough of. Not yet.

‘So don’t even try arguing with me, Marinov. You really don’t want to make me angry at this point,’ she bulldozed on, then frowned suspiciously. ‘Why are you smiling?’

Almost reflexively his eyes were drawn to her throat, where the diamond pendant was loudly not on display. Probably inappropriate, given what she was wearing, but he couldn’t help but have his attention drawn to the little locket resting against the soft blue wool of the sweater.

It was a girlish locket, something clearly with sentimental value, and she seemed to be always wearing it. He had noticed that she tugged on it when she was agitated. She was tugging on it now. It bugged him.

‘Apparently I’ve failed to make you happy, Clementine, and that’s a problem.’