Dirty Aristocrat

‘What happened to your date?’ I asked as he turned to face me again.

He looked at me expressionlessly. ‘What do you think happened to her?’

I shook my head.

‘God, I really hate Valentine’s Day. First you have to send out for overpriced flowers, and then you have to take them out to restaurants where you are cajoled into the set menu that you

would never choose ordinarily, and then the couple sitting at the table next to you starts arguing.’

‘Ah,’ I said, trying not to smile.

‘And this year I was one half of that arguing couple.’

‘Oh dear! I’m sorry to hear that.’

A ping went off and I walked over to the oven and looked in through the glass doors. The cake looked fabulous. I switched off the oven and, donning thick mitts, opened the door and

brought my cake out. Ivan came over and stood beside me looking at it. I heard his breathing deep and quick and felt his powerful body almost vibrating with tension. My pulse started

leaping.

‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised you managed to find all the ingredients in my kitchen.’

I moved slightly away and forced myself to smile. ‘Almost. I went down to the corner shop for the butter, and Ralph lent me the weighing scales.’

His body became peculiarly still. ‘Ralph?’ he queried softly. There was menace in his voice.

‘Yeah. He had a real posh, double-barrel last name, but he lives at the end of the corridor.’

He frowned. ‘I’ve been living here for years and I’ve never seen my neighbor.’

‘You should meet him. He’s really nice.’

He lifted his glass and took a sip, but there was a new tension about him.

‘In exchange I promised him some cake.’

‘How civil,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘And when did you plan to take the cake over?’

I flushed bright red. I couldn’t explain. No matter what I said, champagne and cake would look bad.

‘Oh my. Have I interrupted a late night cake eating date?’

‘It was not like that. I was just being friendly.’

‘Friendly?’ he snapped.

‘I was being neighborly. He was good enough to bring the scales over,’ I explained.

‘He came here,’ he growled, suddenly aggressive.

‘Well, yes. He helped me to carry it over.’

His eyes moved to the scales. ‘What? That heavy thing there?’

I felt my face grow hot again. ‘Don’t you judge everybody by your standards, Mister,’ I hit back angrily.

‘What’s wrong with this story, Tawny?’

‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘He did try to hit on me, but I set him straight. I told him I was still mourning Robert, but we could be friends and he was totally fine with it.’

He laughed, a brutal, cutting sound. ‘I can’t decide if you’re dangerously naïve or a total idiot.’

‘Just because I’m a country girl, doesn’t mean I’m illiterate or stupid,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I felt crushed by his assumption that I was stupid and naïve, and

disappointed that again we were at loggerheads over something totally innocent. I would have turned away and stalked out of the room if he had not caught my arm and spun me around. My

heart jumped.

He pulled me towards him. ‘Let me tell you something about men, country Princess. We don’t befriend attractive women. Never.’

‘Just let go of my arm, please. I want to go to bed,’ I said through gritted teeth. I had been looking forward to having champagne and cake with Ralph. He was the first man who offered

me the hand of friendship ever since I came to England, and now Ivan had completely spoilt it.

‘I’ll be damned if I left my date because I didn’t want you to spend Valentine’s night on your own, and you go off to bed in a huff because you don’t like the sound of the truth.’

I looked up at him, the warmth from his hand seeping into mine, and something in my stomach suddenly fluttered. Jesus, his eyes really were insanely beautiful. Like liquid silver. They

poured over my face hungrily. Something dangerous whispered in my blood.

He’s your stepson, Tawny.

The air was suddenly deadly silent. I could hear myself think.

Hell to the no. He’s your freaking stepson.

I blinked. ‘Do you want to have some cake?’ I asked jerkily.

‘Cake? Yeah, I want cake,’ he whispered hoarsely.

I stared up at his lips as they moved in their sensuous dance of making words. Something bloomed between us. I wanted more. Much more. Unconsciously, I licked my lips and, from the way

his eyes flared, it was clear that it was actually an invitation, pure and basic. A female calling to her male.

He brought a hand to my hair and fisted it. Pulling me back, he covered my neck with his hand. His skin practically burned me. There was something dark and desperate about the gesture.

My pulse raced wildly under his fingertips.