The Price of His Redemption

‘It’s a kitchen,’ she said.

She hesitated as she approached the master bedroom, where she would be performing later, but was surprised at her lack of stage fright.

They might not even make it to the bedroom, Libby sighed, because right now she was fighting the temptation to turn around and run over and do him on the sofa.

She could feel his eyes on her and she had a prickly, excited feeling that at any moment he might choose to pounce.

What a bedroom, she thought as she peered in.

Just a bed.

That was it.

There was one perfect, vast, four-poster bed, which was dressed in white and was up against a huge brick wall.

No art on the walls, no mirrors...

It was curiously beautiful in its simplicity because there was nothing and nowhere to hide.

‘Where do you put your clothes?’ she called from the doorway.

‘There is dressing room behind the wall to your right.’

There were no bedside tables, either.

‘Where do you put your glass of water?’

‘I get up if I want a drink.’

‘Condoms?’

‘Ha!’ He laughed at her brevity. ‘I have a woman who hands one over at the necessary moment...’

She turned and rolled her eyes.

‘Under the pillow,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Libby felt curiously deflated. ‘I thought you’d at least have a button to push or something for that.’

Again, it was very sterile, almost clinical, but terribly, terribly sexy too. She was incredibly turned on and almost ached for him to come over but still he sat, quietly watching her.

She let out a breath and chose not to enter the bedroom for further inspection; instead, she wandered some more.

There was a large, very neat study; again, though, there were no books, no photos and no clutter.

It was all so beautiful and yet so empty.

She came to another door and went to open it.

‘Libby.’

She turned and he gave a slight shake of his head, the same one he’d given when she’d asked about his scar.

No excuse, no explanation, just a warning as to what was out of bounds.

Now he stood and moved in that same lithe way he had in the office and she felt suddenly nervous as he took off his tie.

It was a delicious nervousness that started between her legs and worked up to her stomach and then caused a blush to spread on her neck.

‘Come on,’ he said, and walked towards the bedroom.

No kiss, no ‘whoops, how did we end up here,’ no words of endearment even.

This was sex, possibly at its most basic. Really, she should hot tail it out of there, Libby knew, and yet his lack of affection, his cold instructions turned her on rather than off. She had never felt so drawn to anybody. The ease and unease she felt with Daniil was a heady combination. She would possibly have followed him to the moon right now and so she chose not to refuse this rare invitation.

‘Can anyone see in?’ she asked, looking out of the vast windows and noting the lack of drapes or blinds.

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ Daniil said, and gestured for her to come to the window, where she had the same giddy sensation of stepping outside. ‘See there...’ He pointed to the left and she saw the soft glow behind a large window. He told her it was the home of a rather promiscuous junior royal and above that lived a film star. ‘Like an ambulance,’ Daniil said, ‘you can see out but not in.’

‘Have you ever been in an ambulance?’ she asked.

‘A few times.’

She turned and looked at his cheek, wondering if now she’d find out how he’d got that scar. ‘For?’ she fished.

‘For...’ Daniil said, and moved his mouth to her ear as if to reveal a secret. Libby stood there, tense in anticipation, but no words were uttered. There was just the soft sensation of his lips on her lobe, a decadent hush as his mouth worked its way down her neck, her skin alive to his touch but her mind sparking in frustration at his refusal to connect with her.

She jerked back and he raised his head and saw the glitter of frustration in her eyes.

‘You don’t need my life story, Libby.’

She wanted it, though.

She walked off towards the bed and sat there, her legs dangling over the edge as she tried to pull herself out of a sulk.

One night, she reminded herself, but already she was in over her head—how could one night ever be enough of this man?

She watched as he removed his shirt, and when he took it off she felt her jaw clench.