Was she ridiculous to wonder even for a moment that he might? An icy thrill ran like cold fire through her veins at the thought. Then she realised with a flutter of something between dismay and desolation that she had nothing to wear.
Hannah straightened. She could hardly hope to impress someone of Sergei Kholodov’s wealth and experience. And it was only dinner after all.
By seven-thirty Hannah was dressed and ready. She gazed at herself in the mirror, acknowledging that the simple black dress in soft jersey was flattering but also plain, and three months in a rucksack hadn’t done it any favours. Fortunately the material had mostly smoothed out, and she liked the simple style, ending in a swirl around her calves. Her only jewellery was a single string of pearls her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday. She finished the outfit with low black pumps, a slick of lip gloss, and then she was done.
Now she just had to wait half an hour. She definitely didn’t want to appear overeager, especially since he knew that word. Her lips twitched at the memory. She must have seemed terribly patronising, especially considering how excellent his English was.
She flicked through a few of the television channels, trying to settle her still flip-flopping stomach, until five minutes to eight when she made her way back down to the sumptuous lobby. Not overeager, just punctual.
The restaurant was understated, elegant, and buzzing with people. Hannah stood uncertainly in the doorway, looking around for Sergei, for no more than a few seconds before she felt a sure touch at her elbow.
‘Miss Pearl? Mr Kholodov is waiting for you.’
Hannah turned to see Grigori. He smiled at her, shyly, and Hannah thought how different he was from Sergei. She wondered if his boss scared him with his scowls and sneers, or if he was used to it. Or did Sergei Kholodov just scowl at her?
‘Miss Pearl?’ he prompted, and Hannah realised she’d just been standing there, staring into space. And Sergei was waiting. Somehow she didn’t think he liked to wait. She swallowed, nodding, and followed Grigori through the dining room to a discreet alcove in the back, part of the main dining room and yet also quite private. No one could see into this secluded and intimate corner. A table with an L-shaped banquette in plush crimson velvet was laid with crystal, flickering with candlelight. Sergei slid out of the booth as she approached, and now stood in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her in a brief but thorough assessment.
Her face—her whole body—heated under his gaze. She didn’t think she was imagining a look like that. And yet the thought that he might actually find her attractive was incredible, impossible. Exciting.
He looked, she thought as the thud of her heart seemed to roar in her ears, amazing. He’d exchanged the leather trench coat and jeans for a well-cut silk suit in a charcoal grey, and it did even better things for his shoulders, if that were possible. She couldn’t keep herself from noticing the strong lines of his body: his jaw, his shoulder, his thigh. The man was a painting, or perhaps a sculpture.
‘Good evening,’ he said, and Hannah very nearly bobbed a curtsey back. She felt so out of her element, and no more so than when Sergei slowly reached out a hand, which she took instinctively, and with a sensual smile led her to the table.
Sergei saw Hannah’s eyes widen and flare and felt a shaft of desire stab him as she bit her lip, taking its rosy fullness between her teeth, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the obvious intimacy of their surroundings. Just looking at her he felt desire flood through his veins, fire his resolve. He wanted her, and that made things simple. Lust was easy, desire safe. And as her gaze finally rested on him, open and guileless, he thought she desired him back. A faint flush tinged her cheeks and she dropped her hand from where she’d been toying with her hair.
Sergei let his gaze sweep over her once more. Her hair, last scraped back into a ponytail, now fell almost to her waist in a rippling chestnut waterfall, the candlelight picking out strands of amber and gold. Her dress was cheap and boring but it didn’t matter. The fabric draped lovingly over the gentle curves of her breasts and hips; they were slight and she was almost too thin, yet Sergei was still tempted. Still speechless.
She wasn’t classically beautiful, there was something too open and honest about her for that; she possessed no haughty awareness or distance. Yet she still looked breathtaking, and she was the only woman Sergei had ever met who caused him to break his rules, to want more, more than he ever let himself want.
He pushed the thought—the want—aside. This was lust, pure and simple. That was all. He’d make sure of that.
‘I hope you found everything in your room comfortable,’ he said.
‘Comfortable? Are you kidding me? It was amazing. The tub alone—I stayed in there for an hour.’ She held out her hands for his inspection. ‘My fingers are still wrinkled like prunes.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed all the room’s amenities,’ he said smoothly, and she dropped her hands, laughing a little.
‘Definitely. Thank you. This is all so … like something out of a fairy tale. Really.’ Her eyes held a playful, teasing light. ‘Are you my fairy godmother?’
‘No,’ Sergei said, ‘Just someone assuaging his own guilty conscience.’
‘You hardly need to feel guilty,’ she said as she slid into the booth. He caught a whiff of her honeyed scent: snowdrops, the signature scent of the complementary toiletries found in every room in his hotel. The scent, he’d always thought, of sweetness and courage.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, reaching for the bottle of red already open.
‘Oh … well. Okay.’ She smiled, trying to be sophisticated, clearly nervous. ‘Thank you.’
She was, Sergei thought, incredibly open. Those eyes, that face, every word she said … she hid nothing. Having hidden every emotion since he could remember, he was both disturbed and moved by the thought.
He handed her the glass and poured one for himself. ‘To unexpected moments,’ he said, raising his glass, and after a second’s hesitation she self-consciously clinked her glass with his own.
‘I’ve certainly had a few of those today,’ she said after she’d taken a tiny sip of wine.
‘So tell me about this trip of yours,’ Sergei said as he sat next to her. ‘This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’
‘Well …’ She paused, frowning faintly. ‘My parents died. They were elderly, and it wasn’t unexpected, but it was all kind of … intense, and I decided afterwards that this was an opportunity to take some time out for myself.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Even if I didn’t have any savings.’
‘I’m sorry about your parents,’ he said quietly. Her admission had given him a flicker of surprised sympathy. She was an orphan, of a sort, just as he was. ‘Savings aside,’ he continued, ‘you obviously had enough money to fund the trip at least.’
‘Just,’ Hannah agreed. ‘But it was tight. I had to close the shop, of course, and scrimp quite a bit—’ She stopped suddenly, shaking her head ruefully. ‘But you don’t want to hear about that. Very boring stuff, especially to a millionaire like you.’
Billionaire, actually, but Sergei wasn’t about to correct her. He was curious about this shop of hers, and her whole life, and the way she stared at him as if she trusted him, as if she trusted everyone. Hadn’t life taught her anything? It made him want to destroy her delusions and wrap her in cotton wool all at the same time.
Desirable, he reminded himself. That was it. Simple. Easy.
‘You mentioned a shop,’ he said. He shifted in his seat and his thigh nudged hers. He saw her eyes widen and she bit the lush fullness of her lip once more.
‘Y-yes, a shop,’ she said, stammering slightly, and he knew that brief little nudge had affected her. And if that affected