Innocent in the Ivory Tower

He brought a hand slowly up to his jaw and rubbed. ‘Feel better?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll get your dress.’

It was all over. She could still feel where he had been inside her and yet it was over, Maisy registered. She couldn’t believe she had hit him. He was cold, arrogant, self-centered, and she was … on the premises and … happy to oblige.

That was how it was, wasn’t it?

Yet as the seconds turned into minutes she began to lose her ground. Maria would be with Kostya, as she was every morning. The realisation had stolen up on her even before she’d walked in here, and now it bloomed with full force. She had overreacted. She had been lying in that bed, suddenly feeling alone and self-conscious, terrified of what was to come, what this sudden new intimacy meant, and she had run away rather than face it. Somehow she had convinced herself that if the sex stopped he wouldn’t want her in the bed, and she’d felt too raw to face that so she had jumped out. He might be angry with her now, but that didn’t mean everything was over before it began.

Alexei had reacted appallingly, but at least he was fetching her dress. Dan hadn’t even given her the taxi fare home.

A soft gust of bittersweet amusement at her overreaction made her drop her head. She was hopeless at all this men stuff, but she would get better.

His arms came around her from behind and she was drawn up into a bear hug that turned her insides to mush. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered against her ear.

Maisy turned and burrowed deep into him and hung on. Relief made her limp.

Alexei rested his chin on the top of her warm head and released a deep sigh. ‘Go and see Kostya.’

It was, she recognised, a magnanimous gesture. He wasn’t used to making room for other people in his life, yet here he was making space for Kostya, putting his needs first. Maybe accommodating her a little.

I’m being considerate, thought Alexei, enjoying the results of a clinging Maisy. I’m attuned to her feelings. Wasn’t that the current jargon? But something in him regretted having hurt her.

Maisy reacted predictably for once, turning up her face to be kissed and reassured. He knew the drill. But there was no kiss. That little crease was back between her brows.

‘What am I going to tell Maria if she asks where I’ve been?’

Maria? Who cared about the housekeeper? ‘My sex life is not Maria’s business.’

The little crease deepened. ‘Not you—me.’

‘Maisy, I chased you down to Ravello yesterday. I had dinner with you on the rooftop. Everybody knows.’

She blushed.

She blushed—after two hours of lying naked under him and over him.

But there were certain things she didn’t do, he registered, and when he led her in some directions she did not come with him. It hadn’t mattered—he’d been so caught up in the sheer impact of being with her.

It was unlikely, but he had to ask.

‘Maisy, were you a virgin?’

‘I can’t believe you asked me that.’ She tried to wriggle out of his arms, but suddenly Alexei could think of no better way to spend the next five minutes than drilling Maisy for some personal information.

Women usually spilled their guts on the first encounter—gave him well-edited potted histories of their empty lives until he and his billions walked into their world. One Hollywood actress had tried to persuade him she had never enjoyed sex until him. He might have been flattered had he not seen her by the pool of his home in Florida intimately entwined with another woman.

He watched Maisy squirm, her round cheeks hot and pink, her red-gold curls a tangled out-of-control mass. She was using it to hide her face from him. He knew he could never let her know about his former life. She would be horrified. Little hot-to-trot Maisy had a great deal of girl-next-door in her.

He’d known it yesterday afternoon, when he’d climbed back into the Ferrari and seen her mortification. She wasn’t a gold-digger. She was just a little out of her depth. When he’d lowered the levels she had risen to meet him. He’d been rewarded with the most incredible sex he had ever had.

Be nice to me. Even the sound of her voice stoked him. She loaded the simplest words with carnal meaning. Yet here she was blushing, embarrassed.

He’d read her wrong. Again. Not only was she a good girl, she was a romantic.

‘How many men, Maisy?’

He knew he should have framed that question more sensitively, but he didn’t do sensitive.

‘How many women, Alexei?’ She jerked up her face, embarrassed, but with that edge he was beginning to look forward to.

‘Too many.’ His answer surprised even himself.

She made a wry face, but he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.