He was hot against her back, and she could feel his arousal hardening against her. She could not remember ever being so acutely aware of a man in this way, certainly not when she had kissed Nathan all those years ago. What she had done then had all been conducted with a girl’s desire. She had wanted, but it’d been nebulous and vague. But right now she was a twenty-eight-year-old woman and she knew very well what she wanted. There was no misty veil drawn over her idea of sensuality and sex. No, Victoria was well aware of what went on between men and women. She had just never imagined she might want it, not like this.
She had intended to marry; she certainly had never intended to remain a virgin all these years, much less the rest of her life. But that was just one reason Stavros had been such a perfect pick. Not only because he was a prince, but because she felt nothing for him. Because her attraction to him had been almost nonexistent and therefore unchallenging. This had nothing to do with logic; this had nothing to do with bettering her position. This was all about feeling, all about need. All about every little thing she had spent years shunning and reducing in importance.
But she couldn’t stop, not now. Even though the back of her mind was screaming that this was wrong, that she couldn’t give in, her body was screaming louder. Her entire body demanded more.
He squeezed her breast again, dragging his thumb across one sensitized nipple before pinching her lightly between his thumb and forefinger. She flexed her hips, pressing her body more firmly against his hardening erection. She knew what she was asking for. And all she could do was pray that he would give it to her.
“Dmitri,” she said, her voice husky, almost unrecognizable.
He responded, his words harsh, broken and in a foreign language. And though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, she could understand exactly what he was doing. His hands sliding over her curves, ramping up her arousal, pushing her to the brink without even touching her beneath her clothes.
“Look at them down there,” he said, pressing a kiss to her neck. “They think they are in the throes of ecstasy, that they are in the midst of the party. But they have no idea.” He shifted, his hand moving between her thighs, the heel of his palm pressing against the center of her need. “If they looked up here they might. Do you think they could see?” The idea should have shocked her, but it didn’t. Instead she found herself morbidly fascinated. Intrigued by the idea that the partiers could be watching her as she had watched them. That they might envy her, as she had once envied them. She did not now. Because Dmitri was holding her in his arms, so how could she wish to be anywhere else?
He applied gentle pressure between her thighs, sending a shot of pleasure straight to her core.
“If they could see you now,” he continued, “they would see the most passionate creature in existence.”
His words made her feel as if it might be true, that she wasn’t hollowed out, that her passion hadn’t been stolen from her. How could it have been? How could it have been when she was letting him hold her like this? When her entire body was crying out with need for him, with need for completion. Here on the balcony, out in the open, shrouded only by a few vines.
“But I’m glad they cannot see,” he said, kissing her neck again. “I’m glad you’re all mine. I’m glad this is only for me.” His words should anger her, because she wasn’t his. Instead, the roughly spoken claim in combination with the gentle rocking of his palm against the sensitized bundle of nerves was all it took to push her completely over the edge she hadn’t even realized she’d been on.
She felt as if she was falling, over the balcony and down to the street below. Lights, sounds, swirled in her head, her mind empty of anything but the searing pleasure burning through her.
And when it passed, she was being held steady, still in Dmitri’s arms. She hadn’t fallen at all, because he had held her fast.
Then suddenly, it was as if her vision cleared. And she saw herself clearly. Saw this clearly. She was standing in the open on a balcony, and she had just let Dmitri bring her to orgasm. Dmitri, whom she had a business deal with. Dmitri, whom her entire future rode on. This was the one thing she could not afford to throw into jeopardy, and she had done just that by bringing something so volatile and personal into it.
She hadn’t changed. She hadn’t changed at all. When things became important, essential, she failed in the end.
All of the sweet, fuzzy pleasure that had been buzzing through her turned to ash, curling at the edges, folding in tightly on itself and wrapping her up tightly with it.
She pulled away from him, needing to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She looked back down at Bourbon Street, at the people below. The hen party was gone. And she felt as if she could suddenly see everything down there for what it was. Nothing more than drunken excess. Sad people trying very hard to trick themselves into believing they were having fun.
It was nothing to aspire to. It was nothing to covet.
And she was a fool.
“I think I’ll skip dessert.” She ran her hands over her hair, desperately trying to straighten it, desperately trying to erase the evidence of what had just occurred. She started to walk away, her entire body beginning to shake.
“I think you already had dessert, Victoria.”
She stopped, her body going stiff. “You bastard.” She didn’t turn around. She just kept walking.
And she vowed then and there that this wouldn’t happen again. He was right—she had changed because of Nathan. But it was a change that had been for the better.
One thing she would not be doing was changing herself for Dmitri Markin.
DMITRI HAD SPENT the entire rest of the night lying awake, fighting a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.
It was an interesting experience going to bed unsatisfied. And not only unsatisfied, but with a deep feeling of shame and failure that wrapped itself around the arousal, making it feel more potent, making it feel both worse and better at the same time.
Dmitri was very rarely rejected, if ever. When he wanted sex he was able to get it. Moreover, when he did not want sex he was able to resist it.
Somehow, neither of those things had happened last night.
He hadn’t wanted to touch her, and yet he had. Then he had wanted her, and he had not got her.
He didn’t know which was worse.
Today saw the harsh New Orleans sun shining brightly in the sky, and he had immediately decided to go for a run in the obstacle-ridden streets before going back to the suite to face both the day and his accomplice from last night. She had been sleeping when he left, but he knew she would be awake now. It was after nine, and Victoria seemed very much like the kind of person who was up with the birds. Especially when there was a project to be done, and today definitely had a list of projects to tackle.
He stepped into the living area that he and Victoria shared just as Victoria was emerging from her bedroom. She froze like a startled cat when she saw him, her hands drawn up against her chest as though she were looking for pearls to clutch.
She was not wearing pearls; a polka-dot dress fell down past her knees, a wide patent leather belt highlighting her narrow waist. The neckline was high, demure almost, as all of her clothing seemed to be. And like the rest of her clothing he found it unbearably sexy.
“Good morning,” she said, her tone crisp.
“Yes, good morning.”
She appraised his appearance, and clearly found him wanting. Or at least, he was certain that was what she wanted him to think. But he