A scandal of their own making

Nikolai Cunningham has kept his family history secret for seventeen years. So when photographer Emma Sanders is granted exclusive access to his childhood home, he returns to Russia to ensure it stays hidden.

Though she tries to keep her eye on the story, Nikolai’s potent sexuality proves too much for Emma’s untouched body to resist! But, convinced she only wanted a scoop, Nikolai casts Emma out, unaware she’s pregnant!

When the consequence of their recklessness is revealed, Nikolai will legitimize his heir—with a gold wedding ring!

‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Nikolai,’ Emma said defensively, and looked away from his dark eyes and feigned interest in the tall buildings clearly visible above the newly green trees of the park.

Maybe if she took a few shots from the carriage he’d see she was as unaffected by him as he appeared to be by her.

The lens of the camera clicked, but she had no idea what she’d taken. Concentration was impossible with his dominating presence opposite her and the looming discussion of their baby. She turned the camera off and looked at him, to see he’d been watching every move she’d made.

‘We need to talk about our predicament.’

Still his dark eyes watched her, assessing her reaction to his words.

‘Predicament?’ she snapped, giving him her full attention. ‘Is that what this baby is to you? A predicament? Something else you have to deal with? Just what do you suggest, Nikolai?’

‘It is a predicament.’

He said it calmly. Far too calmly. And it unnerved her. What was coming next?

‘One I never wanted, but one which now means we must get married.’

One Night With Consequences

When one night…leads to pregnancy!

When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

But, with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

Only one question remains:

How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?

Find out in:

Her Nine Month Confession by Kim Lawrence

An Heir Fit for a King by Abby Green

Larenzo’s Christmas Baby by Kate Hewitt

Illicit Night with the Greek by Susanna Carr

A Vow to Secure His Legacy by Annie West

Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire by Susan Stephens

The Secret that Shocked De Santis by Natalie Anderson

The Shock Cassano Baby by Andie Brock

An Heir to Make A Marriage by Abby Green

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption by Maisey Yates

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal by Carol Marinelli

A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir by Jennie Lucas

Claiming His Christmas Consequence by Michelle Smart

The Guardian’s Virgin Ward by Caitlin Crews

Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!

A Child Claimed by Gold

Rachael Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHAEL THOMAS has always loved reading romance, and is thrilled to be a Mills & Boon author. She lives and works on a farm in Wales—a far cry from the glamour of a Mills & Boon Modern Romance story—but that makes slipping into her characters’ worlds all the more appealing. When she’s not writing, or working on the farm, she enjoys photography and visiting historical castles and grand houses. Visit her at rachaelthomas.co.uk.

Books by Rachael Thomas

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Sheikh’s Last Mistress

New Year at the Boss’s Bidding

From One Night to Wife

Craving Her Enemy’s Touch

Claimed by the Sheikh

A Deal Before the Altar

Brides for Billionaires

Married for the Italian’s Heir

The Billionaire’s Legacy

To Blackmail a Di Sione

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

One Night With Consequences

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

NIKOLAI CUNNINGHAM BRACED himself against the icy-cold winds of the homeland he’d turned his back on as he waited for Emma Sanders to arrive on the next train. The heavy grey sky held the promise of more snow and matched his anger that a complete stranger had interfered in his life, bringing him back to Russia and a family he’d long ago disowned. He and his mother had left Vladimir for New York when he was ten years old and the shadow of the events preceding that day still clung to them, threatening to unravel everything.

The train rumbled into the station and he prepared himself for what he was certain would be the worst few days imaginable. His life was in New York, and returning to Vladimir had never been part of his plans. That was until his estranged grandmother had crept from the past, offering her family story to World in Photographs.

He’d also been contacted, no doubt because his grandmother had very graciously provided the name he now lived under, but he’d refused. At least, until he’d learnt his grandmother was more than ready to talk and expose everything he and his mother had fled from, probably putting the blame firmly at his mother’s feet. In a bid to protect his mother from their painful past, and prevent his name being linked to the family name of Petrushov once more, he’d had no option but to return.

He stood back and watched the travellers climbing down from the train, scanning them quickly, trying to remember the image he’d seen of Miss Sanders on the Internet and match it to one of the disembarking passengers. Then he saw her, wrapped up against the cold in true Russian style, only her face visible between the faux fur hat and scarf. She looked about her nervously, clutching the handle of her small case in a gloved hand. She could have been Russian, she blended in so well, but her apprehension and uncertainty singled her out as a stranger to Vladimir.

Accepting he had to do this and face whatever came from it for his mother’s sake, he pulled his coat collar tighter against the cold and walked towards her. She looked at him and he held her gaze as he strode along the platform, the determination to get this over with as fast as possible dominating all other thought.

‘Miss Sanders.’ He stopped in front of her, registering her height, which almost matched his, something he found strangely pleasing.

‘Mr Petrushov?’ Her voice was as clear and crisp as a frosty morning, but by contrast her eyes were a mossy green, reminding him of the depths of Russian forests in summer. Why was he noticing such details? She distracted him, knocked him off course, and only now he registered how she’d addressed him.

Nikolai’s anger intensified. Beautiful or not, Miss Sanders obviously hadn’t done her research well. It had been seventeen years since he’d abandoned the name Petrushov in favour of his stepfather’s name, Cunningham.

‘Nikolai Cunningham,’ he corrected then, before any questions could be asked, continued, ‘I trust you enjoyed your train journey from Moscow?’

‘Sorry—and yes, I did, Mr Cunningham.’ He saw her dark brows furrow in confusion, but refused to elaborate on why he, a Russian-born man, had a distinctly American surname. That was none of her business and he had every intention it would stay that way.

He looked down at the young woman, wrapped up against the cruel winds of winter, and although her alluring green eyes were a distraction he was unable to put aside his anger towards her. ‘And you must be Miss Sanders from World in Photographs?’ He added silently to himself, the woman who wants to rip open my mother’s past and delve into my childhood, no doubt in order to further her career.

‘Please, call me Emma,’ she said and held out her gloved hand to him. He didn’t take it but looked into the lustrous green of her eyes and wondered what colour her hair was beneath the fur of her hat. Her photo on the Internet hadn’t done her any justice: she was stunning.

Irritation mingled with the anger. This was the last woman he wanted to stir his interests. Just being here in Vladimir meant she had the power to cause real hurt to his mother and he strongly suspected she didn’t know yet just how much. It was up to him to ensure she never realised just how dramatic the true story of his family was.

He fully intended that she would be distracted by the undeniable beauty of a Russian winter and had already organised plenty of photo opportunities to keep her from the real story. A story that would destroy his mother and upend his world if it got out. All he had to do was prevent her meeting with the grandmother he hadn’t seen since he was ten but he didn’t yet know how to achieve that.

‘We should get out of the wind,’ he said firmly, trying to ignore the way the colour of her eyes reminded him of his childhood summers here in Vladimir. It was a place he hadn’t thought of for a long time and certainly didn’t want to think of now. ‘I took the liberty of booking into the same hotel; that way, I can be of as much help to you as possible.’

His motives were much less honourable. All he intended to do was ensure she saw only what he wanted her to see and certainly not what he feared his grandmother wanted to share with her—a family torn apart by deceit.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him and satisfaction made him return the smile. He was already winning her round. Just a few more days of this nonsense and he could head back to New York and put all this behind him. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

‘The hotel has a very comfortable lounge where I suggest we go over just what you need for your article.’

She believed he was being thoughtful. What would she say if she knew he was determined to hide all he could, despite his grandmother’s attempt to ruin the family name? That was another matter he had to deal with and one thing was for certain: Miss Emma Sanders wouldn’t be a witness to that particular showdown.

‘That would be a good idea.’ She laughed softly and, although the scarf around her face hid her lips and she drew her shoulders up against the cold, from the way her eyes sparkled he could imagine she was smiling at him. The image stirred sensations which contrasted wildly with the anger and irritation he’d been harbouring since discovering that his grandmother had agreed to be interviewed for the magazine.

‘Allow me,’ he said and reached for her luggage, pleased it was a small case and her photography bag. This meant she didn’t have any intentions to make her stay any longer than the three days World in Photographs had requested from him and his family.

His family. That was a joke.

‘Thank you.’ This time, as she pulled her scarf a little lower with gloved hands, he could see she was smiling. It also had an unexpected effect on him. The idea of kissing those lips flashed through his mind, sending a trail of blazing lust hurtling through him. That train of thought would achieve nothing and he grimly pushed it away. This was not a time to allow lust to reign and certainly not with this woman.

‘This way, Miss Sanders,’ he said purposefully, ignoring her invitation to use her first name, and walked briskly away without ensuring she was following, heading for the hotel he’d booked into. He’d purposefully chosen the same hotel as the interfering Miss Sanders, enabling him to ensure she didn’t meddle in the dark, hidden past of his family. Had that been the right decision?

Now that he’d met Emma Sanders he knew he’d be able to charm and distract her, making sure she learnt only the romantic ideals about his family story she was no doubt searching for. The only problem was that he suspected he himself was in danger of falling victim to her charms and distractions.

‘I expect you are used to this cold, but it’s a shock for me,’ she said as they stepped inside, out of the wind. The warmth of the hotel, set out as if a village of cosy log cabins, gave it an intimate and even romantic feel that would no doubt help his cause. Very soon he’d have Miss Emma Sanders believing he was more than pleased to talk about his family history.

‘My home is in New York, Miss Sanders.’

‘Oh,’ she said, pulling off her hat as they entered the lounge area of the main part of the hotel, the heat of the log fire a welcome relief from outside. ‘I’m sorry; I assumed you lived here with your grandmother.’

He watched as she removed her scarf, revealing long, straight hair the colour of sable, and for a brief moment he forgot himself, forgot that this woman had the power to hurt his mother and expose him for what he really was, as that earlier trail of lust streaked through him again. Mentally he shook himself. He might have a history of brief and hot affairs with women, but this was one woman he could not want.

‘Never assume anything, Miss Sanders.’ Angered by his reaction at seeing beneath the layers of dark fur she wore, as if born to Russian winters, he fought to keep his tone neutral. She was a beautiful woman, and his body’s reaction to her meant that his voice was anything but neutral and much harsher than it should have been.

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, her slender dark brows furrowed into a frown of confusion. ‘Life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov.’

‘Cunningham,’ he corrected her again, but something in the way she said those words and the look of haunted fear which had rushed across her beautiful face as she’d spoken nudged at his conscience. He shouldn’t be so hard, so aggressive. Not if he wanted to steer her away from the truth of his family. Maybe playing to the attraction sizzling between them would be the way to create that distraction?

He wondered what she meant as he picked up on the inference that life hadn’t been easy for her. He resisted the urge to ask, not wanting to draw her into a conversation that may turn back on him. Over the years he’d become adept at providing just enough information about himself to satisfy people, but never enough for them to know the full facts.

‘Then we already understand one another.’ He pulled off his coat and hat, hung them up then took hers from her, his fingers unexpectedly brushing against hers. A jolt of heat surged through him and, as she pulled her hand back, she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled. Her full lips, slicked with gloss, parted and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to lower his head and kiss her. Not a gentle brushing of lips but a hard, demanding kiss. The kind of kiss which led to fierce and passionate sex.

What the hell was he thinking?

She stepped back away from him as a flush of colour covered her pale face and her eyes darkened to resemble the deepest ocean. She’d felt it too, of that there was no doubt. If she had been any other woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about acting on the attraction. But she wasn’t any other woman. She could tear open his past, threatening not just his mother’s happiness but his reputation. He wouldn’t allow it to happen—not at any cost.

‘Yes, yes, we do. We—we understand each other perfectly.’ She stumbled over her words and he stifled a smile of satisfaction. Maybe the attraction could be used to ensure she didn’t find out just who he really was. If a touch and a brief moment of sexual chemistry could disarm her, that would be a pleasant way to distract her from digging around too much into his family’s past.

* * *

Emma hated the way she could hardly form a sentence as Nikolai Cunningham all but scrutinised her. He had muddled her mind and sent her insides into turmoil from the moment they’d met. It was as if a spark of recognition had reached out from him, inexplicably drawing her closer.

She thought of Richard, the man she’d always wished could be more than just a friend, and compared him to this powerful specimen of masculinity. Richard was attractive but safe, but this man was undeniably handsome and oozed a lethal kind of sex appeal. She shivered as something arced between them. He held her gaze and she knew she had to remember he was also the man who held the key to her successfully completing this assignment and securing a long-term contract with World in Photographs.

What happened over the next few days could launch her career as a photographer. More importantly, it would provide a regular income, which was badly needed if she was to stand any chance at all of supporting her younger sister Jess as she embarked on a lifetime dream of becoming a ballerina. They’d both had so many knockbacks in life, going from foster home to foster home, that she wanted her younger sister to do what made her happy. And she was good at it—talented, in fact. After the things they’d experienced together, they both deserved happiness, and if Jess was happy then so was she.

The tall, dark-haired man who’d just sent a frisson of awareness zipping around her had been distinctly cold towards her initially, more so than the icy winds. Something had inexplicably changed in the last few moments. He’d looked at her differently, making heat surge through her in a way she’d never known before, and she wasn’t sure she was able to deal with it. Thoughts of Richard had never done that to her.

‘I shall accompany you to the meeting with Marya Petrushov, who is my grandmother, but first I will take you to several locations you can use for the photographs you require.’ Something about the tone of his voice made it clear that to ask for more than this right now would be inadvisable, especially the way he’d said his grandmother’s name. She immediately sensed unresolved issues and wondered how often he saw his grandmother with so many miles between them.

Throwing caution to the wind and quelling her curiosity for now, she looked directly at him, her chin lifted slightly, and clearly set out her terms. ‘I not only need photographs of locations, Mr Petrushov, but of you and your grandmother—along with any other family members.’

Her brief was to step inside the life of the Russian family which had made its wealth only decades ago and see just how it lived. If she didn’t deliver on that brief, she’d never get her contract, which would mean she’d have no way of funding Jess in one of Russia’s elite ballet schools. The fact that this meeting was taking place in a town only a night-train-ride away from where Jess had a much-coveted place at a world famous ballet school was a good sign and she’d believed it couldn’t go wrong, that it was meant to be.

Now, looking at Nikolai as he laid down his own rules about the interview, she had serious doubts it would ever go right. He dominated the entire room they’d walked into; even though the residents’ lounge was large and spacious, he had taken command of every bit of that space. He was undoubtedly in control.

He also intimidated her, not that she would ever let him know that. It wouldn’t do to let a man who was obviously used to being in charge see subservience. No, she would stand her ground. She sensed she would have to be as strong as him if she wanted to get what the brief dictated.

‘There are no other family members, Miss Sanders.’ He made his way towards a group of comfortable chairs around the warmth of the fire and she followed, determined he wasn’t going to put her off so easily. She only had a week here in Russia and she wanted to see Jess before flying back to London.

He gestured to her to sit and then took the chair next to hers, his long legs suddenly emphasised as he sat. Nerves filled her and the way he watched her unsettled her more than she’d ever known. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but those dark eyes of his were unreadable.

‘A photo of you and your grandmother...’ She hadn’t even finished her suggestion when he leant forward, bringing them close to one another in an intimate kind of way. It was too close and her words faltered into nothing.

‘No.’ That one word silenced any suggestions she had, the anger in it reverberating around the room like a rogue firework. Then, as if he realised how hard and unyielding that sounded, he sat back and offered an explanation. ‘I have not seen my grandmother for many years, so a loving family photo will not be possible, Miss Sanders.’

This wasn’t going well. With each passing second, her dream of easily pulling together the article and then slipping away to Perm to see Jess for a few days was rapidly disintegrating. The wild and untamed look in his eyes as he regarded her suspiciously left her in no doubt that he meant what he said.

‘Look, Mr Petrushov—sorry, Cunningham.’ Now, to make matters worse, she’d called him by his family name again and, judging by the tightness of his jaw, that was not something which would endear her to him. She pressed on, not sure this whole situation could get any worse. ‘I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I am here to do a job. Your grandmother agreed with World in Photographs to be interviewed and photographed for the magazine and my job is to ensure that happens.’

She glared up at him, hoping to match his dominance with her determination, and wondered why she’d ever agreed to take on the interview role when photography was her field. The answer to that was her commitment to allowing her sister to follow her dreams.

He looked at her, his gaze slowly searching her face, lingering just a little too long on her lips. Tension crackled in the air around them and she was totally unaware of anything except the two of them. Mentally she shook herself free of it. Now was not a good time to become attracted to a man, and certainly not this man.

All through her teenage years she’d steadfastly held on to to a vow never to succumb to the temptation of a man. She’d managed that until she’d met Richard, a fellow photographer and the first man to pay her any kind of attention. She’d hoped their friendship would turn into something more, but two years down the line nothing had changed, and she watched in disillusion from the sidelines as he dated other women.

‘And it is my duty to ensure my family isn’t upset by your intrusion into our life, Miss Sanders.’ He spoke slowly, his dark eyes hard and glittering, a very clear warning laced into every word. How could she be intruding when the old lady had agreed to be interviewed?

‘I have no wish to upset anyone.’ She looked up at him, into those midnight-black eyes, and knew she couldn’t fight fire with fire. Her life with her mother, before she and Jess had been put into care, had taught her that. If she tried to match his strength and determination, she’d never get this assignment done. She lowered her gaze and looked down at her hands before looking back up from beneath her lashes. ‘I apologise. Can we start again?’

* * *

The request completely stunned Nikolai. Moments ago she’d been brimming with fire. Passionate indignation had burned in her eyes, making his fight not to give in to the temptation to kiss her almost impossible. Now within seconds she’d become soft and compliant. Such a drastic changed filled him with suspicion. She was playing games with him.

‘You want to go back into the cold and shake hands?’ He couldn’t resist teasing her and was rewarded with a light flush of pink to her cheeks.

‘No.’ She laughed softly and her smile made her eyes shine, as if the sun was breaking through the forest and bouncing off fresh, green, spring leaves. ‘I think we should start again with our conversation. Let’s have a hot drink and discuss how we can both help each other out.’

Now he really was surprised. She was up to something, trying to manipulate the situation round to what she wanted. It was what the woman he should have married had always done and he’d been fool enough to let her—until he’d ended the charade that had been their engagement. She’d only wanted him for what he could provide for her.

‘I don’t think there is anything you can offer that will help me, Miss Sanders, but we will have a drink, and I will tell you how the next few days are going to work.’

Before she could say anything else, he signalled to a member of staff and ordered tea—something he wouldn’t have requested in New York but, being back in Russia, his childhood memories were resurfacing in an unsettling way. Until he saw the flicker of interest in her eyes, he hadn’t registered he’d used the first language he’d spoken as a child before his world had been torn apart by the pain of his mother’s secret.

A secret that now haunted him. It was the same secret he suspected his grandmother wanted to unleash in the article and, just like her son, his cruel father, she was spiteful enough to manipulate him back to Russia to witness it all.

‘Please, call me Emma,’ she said, leaning back in the chair opposite him, her jeans, tight around long, shapely legs, snagging his attention, filling his mind with thoughts he had no right to be thinking. ‘And may I call you Nikolai?’

‘Nikolai, yes,’ he replied sharply. He had wanted to change his name to Nik when he’d left Russia as a young child—it had been his way of distancing himself from his father’s family—but his mother had begged him to keep Nikolai, telling him she’d chosen the name because it was a family name and that he should keep some of his Russian roots.

‘I get the distinct impression that you are not at all willing for me to talk to your grandmother, Nikolai—and yet it was her who approached World in Photographs, which makes me think there is something you don’t want told.’

‘How very shrewd.’ And he’d thought he was going to turn on the charm and make her bend to his will. It seemed he’d greatly underestimated this woman. Her act of innocent shyness was exactly that. An act. Just like his ex, she was able to be whatever was necessary to get what she wanted.

‘Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement, one that will give me enough information to complete my job and afford your family enough privacy.’ She sat back in her chair and looked at him, her dark brows raised in a silent show of triumph. If that was what she thought she’d achieved, he’d let her think that—for now.

‘On one condition.’ He picked up his tea, took a sip then met her gaze. He looked into her eyes and for the briefest of moments thought he’d seen anxiety. No, more than that—fear.

‘And what is that condition?’

‘That you tell me why this job is so important to you. Why come all the way from London to Vladimir for the ramblings of an old woman?’ He had no idea if his grandmother rambled; he hadn’t seen her for almost twenty-three years. It had been the day of his father’s funeral and as a bemused ten-year-old he’d had no idea what was going on. No idea why his grandmother had turned him and his mother out. It was only six years later he’d learnt the disturbing truth and had vowed to do all he could to protect his mother from any further pain. A vow he fully intended to keep now.

‘I took the job because it was a way of coming to Russia. It was as if fate was giving me the perfect opportunity. My sister, Jess, has a place at Perm Ballet School and once I’ve got what I need I’m going to spend a few days with her.’ Her lovely green eyes filled with genuine excitement and that familiar pang of injustice almost stifled him. She’d had a happy childhood, had formed bonds with her sister, but his had been far from that thanks to one brutal act by his father, a man he had no wish to acknowledge as such.

‘Your sister is here? In Russia?’ This was the last thing he’d expected to discover and certainly hadn’t turned up when he’d had Emma Sanders’s background checked out. She had debts and she was far from well-known in the field of photography. Other than that, he’d found nothing of any significance. Nothing he could manipulate to make this situation work for him.

‘Yes, ballet is her dream, and I intend to see that she can follow it.’ Her face lit up and pride filled her voice and he saw an entirely different woman from the one he’d met outside just a short while ago. ‘She’s only sixteen and taking this job means I will be able to see her sooner than we’d planned, even if it’s just a few days before I head back to London.’

At least now he could understand why she’d taken the job. Initially his suspicious mind had come to conclusions that weren’t even there. She simply hadn’t enough money to fly to Russia and see her sister so had taken the job. He did, however, still have doubts as to his grandmother’s motives for instigating it all. Just what was she hoping to achieve? But, worse than that, how far was Emma prepared to go in order to impress World in Photographs in an attempt to launch her career?

‘Then we can help one another, Emma. I can take you to places linked with my family’s past where you can take as many photographs as you desire.’ He paused, unsure why he’d used that word. Was it because of the way her body distracted him, making him want her? Colour heightened her cheeks again, making her appear shy and innocent, and he wondered if she understood the underlying sexual tension which was definitely building between them.

‘And can I meet your grandmother? Ask her a few questions?’ Her voice had become a little husky and she bit down on her lower lip, an action he wouldn’t read into. Not if he wanted to stay in control of this nonsense and thwart his grandmother’s attempt at stirring up trouble once more.

‘Yes, but first we’ll go to the places that are linked to my family. I have already made the arrangements for tomorrow.’

She looked happy, as if he’d just handed her a free pass. ‘In that case, I will look forward to spending a few days with you.’

The irritating thing was, he also found himself looking forward to being with her. The very woman he’d wanted to despise on sight and he was undeniably attracted to her.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING Emma was full of excitement and it wasn’t just that, after a shaky start, this assignment, thanks to Nikolai’s plans, would be done quickly and she could head off to meet Jess. She was taken aback to realise she was also excited to see Nikolai Cunningham again. After yesterday afternoon in his company, she was convinced he couldn’t be as severe as he’d first appeared when she’d stepped off the train. Then he’d created such a formidable picture of power and command and she’d wished she’d been able to photograph him as he’d stood there, glaring at her.

It unnerved her to admit the excitement hadn’t dissipated after they’d met and he’d shown her to his car. If anything it had increased and she had no idea why. After wasting several years worshipping Richard from afar and not being noticed, she didn’t want to fall for the charms of another man—especially one as unattainable as Nikolai Cunningham.

‘Where are we going now?’ The large black car seemed to have glided silently through the white landscape and she’d wished many times she could stop and take photographs. Not for the magazine, but for herself. Her creative mind was working overtime and she saw images as if through the lens all over the place.

‘To the place I knew as home until I was ten years old. It’s just on the outskirts of Vladimir.’ He looked straight ahead as he drove, his profile set into firm, determined lines. She had the distinct impression it was the last place he wanted to go and wondered at his motives for taking her there. He didn’t strike her as a compliant man. Far from it.

‘And who lives there now? Your grandmother?’ she couldn’t help but ask. The brief for the assignment and the need to be professional, to get the job done and leave on time, pushed to the forefront of her mind. She had to get this right, had to put the spin on it the magazine wanted, but everything she’d seen or been told so far was in total contrast to what she was supposed to portray. This wasn’t a happy-ever-after story, unless you counted the global success of Nikolai’s banking business that he’d created to complement his stepfather’s exclusive real-estate business.

His silence deepened and she turned her attention to the road ahead. Moments later the car turned off onto a snow-covered lane that had no tracks on it at all, no hint that anyone had gone that way recently. Was the house empty?

Nikolai spoke harshly, in what she assumed was Russian, and most definitely sounded like a curse. She looked from him to the crumbling façade ahead of what must have once been a great house. It had rounded towers, some with turrets and others with pointed roofs, which reached into the grey sky above. The black holes, where once windows of assorted sizes had looked out over the flat landscape, seemed like watchful eyes.

Emma’s heart went out to Nikolai as she pieced together the small amount she knew about him. None of it made sense, but it was obvious he hadn’t expected this empty shell. She’d planned to take photographs of the place he’d grown up in, maybe even convince him to be in one, but now none of that felt right.

He got out of the car, seemingly unaware of her presence, and for a moment she sat and watched him. Then the photographer in her made that impossible for long. The image of his solitary figure, dressed in dark clothes, standing and looking at the neglected building, stark against the white landscape, was too much of a temptation. She had to take the photo.

Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she got out of the car, her camera in hand. The snow crunched under her boots as she moved a little closer. Seconds later she began taking photos. He remained oblivious to the clicks of the lens and as she looked back through the images she knew she wouldn’t be using them for the article. These told a story of pain and loss and they were for her alone.

‘This is where my family lived before my father died.’ He didn’t turn to speak to her, as if doing so would give away his emotions. Was he afraid of appearing weak? His tone had an icy edge to it, but she waited for him to continue. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen it since I was a ten-year-old boy. My mother and I left for a new life in New York after that.’

‘That must have been hard.’ She moved instinctively towards him, but the cold glare in his eyes as he finally turned to face her warned against it. She just wanted him to know that she understood what it felt like to be displaced in life, not to know who you really were. Just like her and Jess, he’d been pushed from one adult to another and had known great sadness.

‘Hard?’ Nikolai could barely control his anger—not just at this woman, who was bringing all he’d thought he’d forgotten about his childhood back out for inspection, but also at his grandmother for instigating it. ‘I don’t think you could possibly know.’

He thought she’d say something, defend herself, but instead she shrugged, walked back to the car and took out her camera bag. He watched as she set up her tripod and again started to take photos of the old house. The camera clicked and, each time he heard it, it was as if it was opening yet another memory.

‘Do you have any happy memories of this place?’ She looked at him. Against the white snow and grey sky she looked stunning and he allowed this to distract him from the past. He didn’t want to go there, not for anyone.

It was too late. A sense of terror crept over him as he saw himself, a young boy of eight, hiding beneath the antique table his father had been so proud to buy with his new-found wealth. He’d gone there seeing it as a place of safety, sure his father’s temper wouldn’t hurt his latest prized possession. He’d been wrong, very wrong. As his mother had begged and pleaded for his father to leave him alone, he’d been dragged out from beneath the table and lifted off his feet. He’d wriggled like mad, kicking and squealing, desperate to get away, yet knowing if he did his father would turn his attention to his mother. It was him or her and, in a bid to save her from at least one beating, he’d snarled words of hatred at his father. After that he couldn’t remember what had happened.

He didn’t want to.

He pushed the memories back. Analysing them wouldn’t help anyone now, least of all himself.

‘Not here, no,’ he replied sternly and walked over to Emma, who was looking over her shoulder as she viewed the images she’d taken. The house didn’t look so insidious on the screen of the camera, as if viewing it through the lens had defused the terrible memories of living there with his mother and father.

Emma’s scent drifted up through the crisp air to meet him and he closed his eyes as summer flowers triggered happier memories. ‘I was happiest in the summer, when we visited my mother’s family.’

Why had he said that? Inwardly he berated himself for giving her information she could act on. At the thought of the country home his mother’s parents had kept, he realised it was the perfect place to take her. He could hire a troika and sit back and watch as the romance of Russia unfolded. What woman wouldn’t resist such a romantic story? It would be just what he needed to charm her away from the dark secrets he had to keep hidden away.

‘Where was that? Close by?’ Her interest was caught and she looked up at him, smiling and looking happier than he’d seen her since she’d arrived on the train. Then she looked vulnerable—beautiful and vulnerable.

‘It is, yes.’ He could hardly answer her as the attraction wound itself round him, drawing him ever closer to her.

‘Can we go there?’ she asked tentatively, her genuine smile and soft blush doing untold things to him. Why, he didn’t know. He much preferred his women to be bold, dramatic and experienced at mutually beneficial affairs. Instinctively he knew Emma was not like that at all. She was the sort of woman who’d planned out a happy-ever-after, even as a small child. Definitely not for him.

‘We will go tomorrow,’ he said, stepping back from the temptation of this woman.

* * *

The next morning, as instructed by Nikolai, Emma waited, wearing her warmest clothes and even more excited than yesterday. Somehow they had drawn closer with each passing hour yesterday and, even though he didn’t talk to her about the past and let her into his thoughts, he had shown her many wonderful places and she already had lots of images.

She also realised she liked him—perhaps a little too much. If she was honest, she was attracted to him in a way she hadn’t known before, not even with Richard.

‘Ready?’ he said as he met her in the hotel reception.

Like a child about to be shown a Christmas tree, she couldn’t stem the excitement and smiled up at him. He was clean shaven this morning, and as wrapped up as she was, but that didn’t stop the pulse of attraction leaping between them. The only difference was this time his smile reached his eyes and they smouldered at her, making her pulse rate soar.

‘Yes; are we going to the house you told me about yesterday?’

‘We are, yes. The house I spent summers at with my mother and her parents.’

She wanted to ask if his father had gone there too, but didn’t dare risk spoiling the softer mood he was in. She sensed his father was the cause of the sudden change in his mood yesterday at his childhood home, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead she focused her attention on what was happening now. ‘Is it far?’

‘No, a short car ride, then something special,’ he said and to her surprise took her hand and led her into the street to the same big, black car he’d driven the previous day. Her heart fluttered as she fought to control the powerful surge of attraction rushing through her; she’d never felt anything like it before.

Then the something special Nikolai had teased her with turned out to be a ride across the snow in a sleigh, pulled by three proud horses, and Emma was totally blown away by the whole experience—and by the enforced close proximity of Nikolai as they sat snuggled under a heavy throw. ‘This is amazing. I can use it in the article.’

‘It’s called a troika; racing them is a tradition from over one hundred years ago that’s enjoying a resurgence.’ She could barely focus on what he was saying as his thigh pressed hard against hers and even through all their layers of clothes her skin felt scorched.

After a little while the troika driver slowed to a halt, the horses snorting into the cold air, and Emma looked at Nikolai. Again something fizzed between them, but this time he held her gaze, looking intently into her eyes just the way she would have envisaged a lover doing. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered softly, her breath hanging briefly in the air, mingling with his in the most intimate way, and making her blush.

‘The pleasure is all mine, Emma.’ The fact that he’d used her name didn’t go unnoticed and a shimmer of pleasure rushed over her, making her shudder, but it wasn’t from the cold. ‘Are you cold?’

‘No, not at all,’ she said, shyness creeping over her, and she lowered her gaze, concentrating on the throw which covered their legs, locking them into the small space together.

With a gloved hand, Nikolai lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him once more, and what she saw in the inky black depths of his eyes was as terrifying as it was exciting. ‘You are very beautiful, Emma.’

She swallowed hard, unable to move away from him, trapped with her legs all but welded to his beneath the cover. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’

Was that really her voice? She had no idea she could sound so husky and so trembling at the same time. Deep within her, silly, romantic notions she always shunned sprang to life. Did he really find her attractive? Would he want to kiss her and, if he did, what would it be like?

‘It’s the truth.’

Her heart was thumping in her chest and she was sure he must hear it. Her breathing had become more rapid, and so had his, if their white, misty breath was anything to go by. She searched his face for any hint of teasing, any sign that he was toying with her. She didn’t have any experience with men, but she knew well enough from friends how they could make a woman lose all sense of self, something Richard had never done to her.

There was nothing, not a single trace of him teasing her, and she knew she was in danger of slipping under the spell that the magic of the moment was weaving around them. If they had been in a hotel lounge, talking in front of an open fire as they had done the afternoon she arrived, would he be saying these things to her?

‘I didn’t come here to become mixed up with a man.’ Even as her body yearned for the unknown, her mind kept to the practical issue of keeping her feet firmly on the ground.

‘Do we have to get “mixed up”, as you so nicely put it?’ His voice was deep and laden with a hidden agenda.

She looked away, across the vast, white expanse of the snowy landscape, and asked herself the same question. If she took the kiss she was sure he wanted to give, would that change anything between them? No, because it couldn’t. She had a job to do and then it would be time to move on with her life.

She’d waited in the hope that Richard would move their friendship to something more intimate and now she wondered if that had been wrong. Or was it just Richard who was wrong?

‘No, I guess we don’t.’ She hoped she sounded as though she knew what she was doing, as if she’d been in this very situation many times before. The reality was very different. She’d never had a man look at her with such fierce desire in his eyes, never wanted to feel his lips claim hers.

He responded by moving closer and brushing his lips over hers very gently and suddenly she wasn’t cold any more as heat scorched through her. She moved her lips against his, a soft sigh of pleasure slipping from her, only to be caught by him. What was happening to her?

A jolt threw her away from him and she dragged in a long, cold breath as the restless horses shifted in their harnesses. The driver spoke to Nikolai and she blushed, burying her face deeper in her scarf to hide her embarrassment. What was happening to her?

‘The driver says snow is on the way and suggests we see what is necessary and head back.’ Nikolai hadn’t intended to kiss her like that; he’d just wanted to make her feel special, to give her the fairy-tale ride through the snow to a beautiful location. He’d wanted all that to distract her—at least, he had, until he’d tasted her lips, felt them welcoming him and encouraging him to take more.

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She sounded flustered as she took her camera out of its protective case. ‘I’ll just take a few frames and then you can tell me about it on the way back. I’d rather be in the warm when the snow arrives.’

He pushed back the image of that warmth being his bed and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to distract her from the truth of his family history by showing her the façade they had lived behind.

‘This,’ he said as he helped her from the troika, ‘Is where my mother and I spent each summer until we left Russia. In the summer, though, it was much greener and warmer than now.’

He hadn’t thought of those summer days for such a long time, consigning them to the past he wanted to forget, but now, as he began to talk to Emma, it wasn’t nearly as hard to look back on them as he’d always feared.

‘And this was your mother’s family home?’ she asked as she lined up the shot and took a photo of the one place he’d been happy as a child.

‘It was, but I never saw it like this, all covered in snow. It was always summer when we visited and I’d run with the dogs in the orchard, enjoying the freedom.’

It hadn’t been just the freedom of running free in the summer sun, it had been the freedom from the terror of his father: from not having to hide when his filthy temper struck; of not having to worry about his mother as his father’s voice rose to aggressive shouts. It had been freedom from pain—for both of them. He’d realised much later on that his mother’s parents must have known what was going on and it had been their way of offering sanctuary. He just couldn’t understand why his mother hadn’t taken it permanently.

‘And is your grandmother here to talk to us now?’ Hope was shining in her voice. She thought he meant the grandmother who had started this whole nonsense off.

‘No, they passed away before my father. Marya Petrushov is my father’s mother. The one who contacted World in Photographs. She lives in Vladimir.’

‘So we can see her?’

She turned her attention to packing away the camera, obviously happy with the photos she’d taken, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face—because right now he was sure it must be contorted with rage and contempt for the woman who had done nothing to help him or his mother. Instead she’d preferred to make excuses for her son and for that he could never forgive her.

‘Tomorrow. But right now we should return to the hotel.’

Just as he couldn’t put off returning to the hotel because of the impending snow, he knew he couldn’t put off meeting his grandmother again any longer. Maybe facing her for the first time would be easier with someone else at his side. It might also be the worst possible decision he’d ever made.

CHAPTER THREE

NIKOLAI LOOKED OUT of the window of the hotel bar as darkness descended. The snow was falling ever harder and he couldn’t help but feel relieved. At this rate they wouldn’t be able to get to his grandmother’s home before Emma had to return to London. He’d almost given away the secret himself when he’d taken her to his childhood home; but at least she now had something for her story, and he could relax, maybe even enjoy the evening with her.

‘It’s snowing really hard.’ Emma’s voice, soft and gentle, held a hint of anxiety as she joined him in the hotel bar.

‘That is normal for these parts,’ he said as she sat down, unable to drag his eyes from her. She wore a black dress which moulded to every curve of her body, but when she removed her jacket, exposing her shoulders and slender arms, that spark of attraction he’d been trying to ignore roared forward, more persistent in its need for satisfaction.

She sat down opposite him in the comfortable chairs of the lounge area and crossed her legs, affording him a tantalising view of her lower leg, now deliciously on display, and the black high heels she wore only reinforced his need to feel those legs around him. Was she doing it on purpose? Was she trying to distract him?

‘Thank you,’ she said firmly and he looked at her face, liking the extra make-up she wore. It accentuated the green of her eyes and he wondered how they would look filled with passion and desire. ‘For what you have shown me, I mean. It can’t have been easy seeing your childhood home in ruins.’

The sincerity in her voice made him curious about her childhood and he remembered what she’d said within those first moments of meeting him: life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov. Had life been equally unkind to her?

‘What of your family home?’ he asked, instantly recognising the way she tensed and the tightening of her jaw. He wasn’t the only one with secrets which still hung over him.

‘A family home isn’t something I was lucky enough to have. My sister and I were put into care when we were young.’ She looked away from him; he watched her swallow down her pain and had to fight hard against the urge to go to her and offer comfort—sure it wouldn’t be comfort for long.

‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’ He leant forward in the chair and her perfume weaved itself around him, increasing the desire for her which pumped around his body. Desire he couldn’t act on, not if he wanted to keep this whole situation free of complications.

‘Maybe it’s only fair, after what you endured yesterday. It must have been heart-breaking, seeing your family home like that.’ She turned to look at him and suddenly they were very close. He held her gaze, looking into those green eyes and seeing an array of emotions swirling within them. He watched her lips move as she spoke again. ‘I feel responsible for that.’

She looked down again at her hands clasped in her lap. For a moment he followed her gaze and then something he’d never experienced before pushed him on. He needed to touch her so he reached out and with his thumb and finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

The spark of attraction that had been between them from the moment she had got off the train mutated into desire as her gaze locked with his. It arced between them, pulling them together. He pressed the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip and he knew he’d already crossed the line, already passed the point of no return. All he could hope for now was that she would stop this madness from going further. She didn’t. She stayed still, her eyes wide and beautiful, and when his fingers caressed her soft skin again her eyes fluttered closed, long lashes spreading out over her pale skin.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

‘Maybe we should eat.’ Her voice was husky as she looked back up at him, her eyes full of desire. Food was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t give in to the hot surge of lust racing through him, not when he’d decided this woman was off limits; he’d always prized himself on control.

As she closed her eyes slowly, her lips parting slightly, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to hang on to any sense of decency. She was so alluring, so tempting. When she opened her eyes again the mossy green was swirling with the same lust-filled desire which coursed wildly through his veins and he knew it was too late. There was only one way this heated attraction could be calmed now.

‘It is not food I hunger for.’ He leant even closer, still holding her chin, and pressed his lips briefly against hers, leaving her in no doubt what it was he hungered for. Was he insane? He’d gone past caring. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he knew this was so wrong, but the thought of kissing her, making her his, was so very right.

* * *

Emma could hardly breathe. The message in Nikolai’s eyes was so very clear she couldn’t miss it. He wanted her. She had no idea how she knew that, having done nothing more than kiss a man. But on a primal level that she’d never known existed within her she recognised the hunger in those inky-black eyes.

Hunger for her.

After years of believing she was unattractive to men, this powerful, dominating man wanted her. Worse than that—she wanted him too. She wanted to taste his kiss and feel his arms around her. She was so far from home, and everything she’d hoped this trip would bring looked in doubt, but right now none of that mattered. Only the searing hot attraction between them mattered. Only the promise of being desired for the woman she was.

What was it her last foster mother had always said? Live for the moment. She let the advice swirl in her mind, pushing back the cruel words her father had taunted her with the one and only time she’d met him.

She looked again at Nikolai, at the intensity in his eyes. She’d never done that before, never taken the lead with a man, even though she’d always hoped she and Richard could be something. Now she knew why. What she felt for him was purely friendship, whereas what she felt for Nikolai, and had done since the moment they’d met, was far more intense. She had no choice but to live for the moment. If she kissed him, allowed herself to step into the sanctuary of his strong arms, would that be living for the moment?

‘Neither am I.’ Her whisper was so soft she wondered if she’d actually said anything, but the slight rise of his brows and the deepening intensity in his eyes told her she had—and he’d understood.

In answer he lowered his head and covered her lips with his, moving them gently until hers parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Heat exploded through her and she knew this was far more than a kiss; this was a prelude to something she’d never done before. He deepened the kiss again, setting light to her whole body. They couldn’t do this here. Anyone could see them.

She pulled back, alarmed at how her heart raced, thumping in her chest like a horse galloping across the finishing line. Except this wasn’t the end. This was only the beginning. Empowered by that knowledge and the need to let go of restraint and become a real woman, one who knew desire and passion, she smiled at him. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers, and she hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell how inexperienced she was. A man like this must have had many lovers and the last thing he’d want would be a shy virgin. Although she couldn’t change the fact that she’d never done more than kiss a man lightly on the lips, she could stop herself from being shy. All she needed to do was let go and live for the moment.

‘It can’t be anything more than this night,’ he said as he took her hand. ‘I don’t want a relationship and commitment. I’m not looking for love and happiness. I want to know you understand that, Emma.’

‘Love and happiness,’ she said, a little too sharply, if his hardening expression was any gauge. ‘It doesn’t exist, Nikolai. I’m not a fool. In just three days we will go our separate ways and it will be as if this night never happened.’

Where had all that come from? Had passion muddled her mind? She was actually asking to spend the night with him, just one night and nothing more. She who’d told herself she would wait for her Prince Charming, although deep down she knew he didn’t exist. Her childhood might have been hard, but it had grounded her expectations of life. She knew true love didn’t exist—or, if it did, it never lasted once passion had subsided.

He said nothing. Instead he took her hand in his and led her away from the hotel lounge. Her hand was small in his as she glanced down at it, but she didn’t pull back. Her step didn’t falter. She was emboldened by the fizz of powerful desire humming in her body, the freedom to be a very different woman and a chance to erase the ever-present doubt her father had planted within her by denying she existed.

As they walked along the corridors of the chalet-style building she wondered if anyone else could tell that she was on fire at the thought of what she was about to do. But there wasn’t anyone around and finally he stopped outside his room. She leant against the wall, needing the support of something solid as her knees weakened just from the intensity in his eyes.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ His voice broke as desire turned it into a very sexy whisper. He touched his hand to her face, brushing his fingers down her cheek, but she kept her gaze firmly on him.

Did he think she was playing games? She’d never been as sure of anything in her life. Whatever had ignited between them during those first moments they had met was destined to end like this. There could be no other outcome. Even she knew that and this was exactly what she wanted.

‘Yes.’ The word came out as a husky whisper and boldly she placed the palms of her hands on his chest, relishing the strength beneath his shirt and cashmere sweater.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him, and a startled gasp slipped from her as she felt the hardness of him pressing intimately against her, awakening her further. To hide her embarrassment she slipped her hands around his neck, her fingers sliding into the dark hair at his collar.

His mouth claimed hers in a demanding kiss, one which stoked the fire he’d lit, sending it roaring higher until she knew it would totally consume her. The dark stubble on his face burned her skin with pleasure. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her. She matched his kiss, demanding as much from him as he did from her. Whatever this was, she intended to make the most of it. Just for one night she would give in to her own needs and do exactly what she wanted. For one night she was going to put herself first, believe in herself, believe that at least someone cared, someone wanted her.

His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her tighter against him. His breathing had become as ragged as hers and she plunged her fingers deep into his hair, kissing him harder still. When he broke the kiss she gasped and let her head fall back, her carefully pinned-up hair beginning to fall apart—just as she was.

He kissed down her neck and she arched herself harder against him. She gasped as he kissed lower still over the swell of her breast and right along the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more, much more.

‘Take me to your bed.’ Horrified and excited that she’d been bold enough to say what she felt, what she wanted, she laughed. Who was this woman?

‘That is exactly what I intend to do, Emma Sanders. You can be sure of that.’ Instead of letting her go and opening the door of his room, he kissed her again, one hand holding her back as the other slid up her side and to her breast.

Pleasure exploded around her as his fingers teased her hardened nipple through the fabric of her dress. She couldn’t take much more of this. As if he read her thoughts, he pulled back and let her go. She stood and watched as he unlocked the room and pushed the door open. Was she really doing this? Was she really about to step into this man’s room and give herself to him?

Embarrassment rushed over her again, but she hid it with boldness, walking towards him with a suggestive smile on her lips. Tonight she wasn’t Emma Sanders, responsible for everyone else, she was just a woman drowning in desire. With a gentleness which surprised her after the kiss that had bruised her lips, he took her hand and led her into the room. Quietly he clicked the door shut and they were left in almost darkness, the only light coming from outside, creeping in through the blinds in beams of whiteness.

* * *

Nikolai looked at Emma, not wanting to turn the lights on, but wanting to see how beautiful she was. In one minute she seemed bold and seductive and then, as if a switch had been flicked, she looked innocent and shy. He had no idea which was the real Emma, but either way she was full of passion and desire. More importantly she shared his views. Love and happiness were only for the select few and they were not destined to be two of those.

‘You are very beautiful,’ he said as he moved towards her. Those expressive green eyes widened, pushing the desire within him higher still. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her and for that very reason he intended to savour every moment. Was it because she didn’t threaten him by hinting at beyond the here and now, looking for more than just one night? Or was it because they had both known pain and hardship in their lives? Either way, he wasn’t going to rush one minute of their night together, not when it was all they had.

‘Nikolai...’ She breathed his name, a hint of a question lingering in her whisper.

‘Now is not for talking,’ he said gently, pulling her to him. ‘It’s for pleasure like this.’

Before she could say anything else, he kissed her, resisting the urge to deepen the kiss and demand so much more. Savour the moment. Those words played in his mind as her lips parted beneath his, her tongue tentatively entwining with his.

With practised ease, his fingers found the zip at the back of her dress and pulled it slowly down her back as she deepened the kiss. He pulled back from her, needing a moment to gather his control again. Her lips were parted and her eyes so full of desire they were almost closed.

He took the straps of her dress and slid them slowly off her shoulders and down her arms. The only movement was the rise and fall of her delectable breasts as she breathed deeply. He let the straps go as his hands lowered past her elbows and the dress slithered to the floor, leaving her in a black bra and panties.

Her eyes had widened and she looked at him, the innocent woman who’d slipped in and out of the limelight back once more. Then she smiled and the innocence was gone, the bold temptress returning as she reached behind and unfastened her bra, letting it fall away to expose full breasts, testing his control further. Then slowly, without breaking eye contact, she pulled her panties lower, wriggling with ease out of the black lace. Finally she stood and looked at him, a challenge in her mischievous smile. Was she daring him to resist her or daring him to make her his for tonight?

‘You are even more beautiful now... I want to taste every part of you.’ Just saying those words made his pulse leap with heated desire, but when she stepped towards him, her naked body highlighted by the pale light from outside, it was almost too much.

‘I want you to.’ She reached up and stroked the backs of her fingers over his stubble. It was such an erotic sensation he was glad he was still fully clothed, otherwise he would have pushed her back on the bed and plunged into her; all thought of making the pleasure last would have gone.

He caught her wrist, putting a stop to her caress before it pushed him over the edge. She looked up at him and for a second he thought he saw shock, but she recovered before he could analyse it, pressing her naked body against him wickedly. He let her wrist go and trailed his fingers down her arm and then to her breast, circling the tight bud of her nipple. She wasn’t the only one who could be so wickedly teasing.

‘And so I shall,’ he said and lowered his head to tease her nipple with his tongue. She pushed her hands into his hair as he moved to her other breast to begin the torment again. Then he dropped to his knees and kissed down her stomach, holding her hips tightly as a spike of lust threatened his control. Gently he moved lower, teasing at the dark curls as she gasped her pleasure and gripped her hands tightly in his hair.

‘I never knew,’ she gasped, writhing beneath his exploration, ‘that it could be so nice, so...’

‘You make is sound like you’ve never made love.’ He looked up at her, each breath she took making him want her all the more.

‘Would that be so bad?’ She looked at him and bit at her lower lip. He frowned in confusion, wondering if this was why one minute she was a temptress, the next an innocent. Was she telling him she was inexperienced—or even a virgin? After the moments they’d just shared, and her boldness, could that really be true?

‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just that I’ve never... I’m a...’ She blushed, unable to finish the sentence, the temptress gone.

‘You are a virgin?’ Shock rocked through him, followed by something else. She’d never made love and was choosing him to be her first lover.

‘Yes,’ she whispered and looked down at him, her eyes full of longing. ‘And I want you to be the man who shows me what desire and passion is like.’

He stood up and took her hands in his, looking at her as she stood naked before him, uncertainty all over her beautiful face. He shouldn’t want her, shouldn’t want to be the man who showed her the pleasures of sex for the first time, but an overwhelming need to be that man flowed through him, making him want her more, testing his control beyond endurance.

‘It wouldn’t change anything, Emma.’ He wanted her to be sure, wanted her to know that after this there wasn’t anything else. ‘If we have sex it will still be just tonight. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t intend to settle down any time soon.’

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