Untouched by His Diamonds

Warmth pooled low in her pelvis and had been there for much of their meal. The wine and the soup and the main course and a blackberry dessert had all slid down, and her cheeks grew pink and her eyes sparkled as she listened to the deep, rhythmically accented voice stroking her senses, watching the changing colours in his sea-green eyes like the tides. She knew she had made the right decision in coming to New York with him.

No more cold showers, thought Serge as he helped Clementine out of the cab. His libido stretched and did a few push-ups in readiness.

They could have taken a town car, but she had wanted the ‘fun’ of riding in a New York City taxi cab—and who was he to spoil Clementine’s fun?

Half of the sheer enjoyment he was having with her was watching her reactions to little things. She had the most expressive face he had ever seen, and it was because of that he knew her skittishness earlier had not been part of some ploy to stoke his desire for her or even some odd kink of her own. She genuinely hadn’t been ready. But she was ready now—or his reading of female arousal was completely off-kilter.

Given the woman he was with, that was always possible.

So they were back to square one as the lift flew them skywards to the fifty-third floor, but he didn’t attempt to touch her. He wanted to be very sure Clementine was on board with the programme. He also wanted to discuss a few terms of his own. He didn’t want there to be any ‘misunderstandings’ when this was all over—and it would be over at some point. But thinking about the end before they even really began pulled him up short.

With another woman he would have discussed this long ago, but with Clementine he had delayed. Now there was a certain necessity in the moment to rush her into bed and to hell with everything else.

He hesitated to call it romanticism, but Clementine had early on introduced a certain element of that into their situation—he wouldn’t call it a relationship—when she’d made herself so elusive in St Petersburg. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to do it the old-fashioned way and sweep her off her feet.

Which he did—after opening the door, gathering her into his arms and enjoying her gasp of surprise. Women loved to be carried, and Clementine was no exception to the rule. She wrapped her strong slender arms around his neck, her soft hair tickling his chin. What was different was how good it felt holding her this way. It probably had something to do with her elusiveness again. She couldn’t run off, and all the muscles in her body seemed to dissolve as she submitted to his superior strength.

He’d never thought of himself as the sort of man who got off on proving himself to women, but her reaction to him lifting her off the floor this afternoon—a spontaneous gesture—and again being carried now was doing a power of good to his ego. Which boded well for tonight.

The lights in the suite were sensor-activated, and they showered across them as he carried her into the living area and she wriggled out of his arms. His intention was to take her off guard by kissing her and letting things run from there. And judging by his hardening body they’d be running pretty fast.

‘Let’s make some coffee and a little chat,’ she suggested, tugging on his hand and taking a few backward steps, intending to pull him with her.

‘Let’s not.’ He hauled her back in with one hand and she looked up at him, faint apprehension behind those steady grey eyes. Then her lashes dipped down and she seemed to make up her mind.

Slowly, cautiously, she reached up and wound her arms around his neck. But before she could press those soft lips to his he reached down and made short work of the bow at her waist, letting her go only to unravel the fabric that tied her kaftan together. He’d been studying that bow all night, in preparation for this moment, and the effect was well worth it as Clementine gave a shocked little yelp.

But she didn’t try to cover herself, and when he began pulling the dress gently down off her shoulders she wriggled to give it a hand, pressing up against him in nothing but her sheer black bra and knickers. He fancied she was trying to shield herself. He felt rather than saw her step out of her heels.

She suddenly felt much smaller and somehow less assured in his arms. The dress slid down at his third tug and pooled on the floor. He ran his hand along her spine, coming to rest on the curve of her delectable bottom.

‘I’m feeling a bit naked here, Slugger,’ she said, but it was the nervous laugh that took him off guard. He hadn’t expected her to be uncertain. ‘Can’t we do this in the bedroom, like normal people?’

‘What is this “normal” you keep talking about?’ he teased, his voice heavy with his arousal. ‘This feels normal to me, kisa.’