Naturally. She imagined telling him the truth. I’m thinking of sleeping with you. What would he do? Would he smile? Laugh? Maybe she had this all wrong—again—and she’d be rejected for a second time.
Third, if she counted Matthew, although his rejection had been the least of her humiliations there.
‘You can keep wondering,’ she informed him, and kept her voice light enough that he might think she was flirting. Was she?
What was she doing?
Sergei stared back, saying nothing. Then he reached for the wine bottle and topped up both their glasses. ‘So,’ he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, ‘you’ve also been doing something other than working in the shop this last year.’
‘Eating and sleeping.’
‘And making love,’ he finished softly, and she saw a flare of cobalt in those blue eyes of his that made her wonder if he was actually jealous.
Love. There had been no love with Matthew. No love, no respect, no joy. And she had no intention of telling Sergei any of that. ‘Eat, drink, and be merry,’ she quipped, but it fell flat for Sergei’s eyes just narrowed. Dangerously. Hannah laid down her fork. She didn’t want to think about Matthew, but she couldn’t stand Sergei’s apparent double standard either. ‘You can’t be jealous. You said you didn’t even like virgins. And you’ve probably slept with a hundred women in the last year.’
‘Hardly a hundred.’
She kept her gaze even, a challenge. ‘I’m not going to quibble over numbers.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but Hannah saw he still looked annoyed. Maybe even angry. She picked up her fork again and stabbed a slice of melon. ‘So is this just some kind of typically Neanderthal behaviour? “I don’t want her, but no one else can have her?”’
Sergei’s breath came out in a soft hiss. ‘I never said I didn’t want you.’
Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut. ‘Yes, you did. Quite clearly. In fact, I happen to remember the exact words.’ She paused, her throat suddenly tight, aching. ‘“Isn’t it obvious?”’ she quoted. ‘“I stopped wanting you.”’
Sergei said nothing for a moment, his assessing gaze sweeping over her. ‘I started again,’ he finally said, his jaw tight, and Hannah gave a harsh laugh.
‘Well, thanks very much. Too bad I don’t want you.’
She might as well have slapped his face. Issued a direct and insulting challenge to his masculinity. Sergei leaned forward, his eyes glittering like cold sapphires.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you do.’
And Hannah couldn’t deny it. How could she, when her heart beat hard and warmth flooded through her limbs in a honeyed river and she’d just—crazily—considered sleeping with him? Still was?
And he knew it.
‘You want me,’ Sergei clarified silkily, ‘and I want you. Simple.’
Hannah stared at him. Simple? There was nothing simple about it—and yet why shouldn’t it be simple? Why shouldn’t she sleep with him? She had no more illusions about love, no more optimism that Sergei—or anyone else—was a better man than anyone thought. No reason to keep from doing exactly as her body wanted … to satisfy this craving.
And then do what her mind and maybe even her heart demanded. Walk away.
She could do it. She wasn’t the same woman who had stared at Sergei a year ago with her heart in her eyes and practically begged him to want her. No, she was older now. Wiser. More jaded.
She smiled. Slowly. Sensually. Saw Sergei’s eyes flare, pupils dilate. Ha. Two could play at this game. Except it didn’t feel like a game, and she wasn’t playing. Suddenly, it mattered too much. Maybe it always had. ‘You’re right,’ she told him, her voice a husky murmur. ‘I do want you.’
Sergei’s eyes flared again, this time in surprise. Had he expected her to lie? She’d always been honest with him.
You’re very candid, aren’t you?
No more so than now.
‘And since you’ve apparently started wanting me again …’ she continued, stopping suggestively. And unable to suppress that stab of hurt. The stopping and starting thing wasn’t great for her ego. Or her heart.
What was she doing?
‘What,’ Sergei asked, his voice sounding rather terse, ‘are you suggesting?’
Not exactly the come-on line she’d been half hoping to hear. ‘What do you think?’
Sergei leaned forward. ‘Don’t play games with me, Hannah.’
‘Does this feel like a game to you?’ she asked, her voice a thread.
‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘it doesn’t.’
Hannah swallowed. The very air seemed to hum and buzz around her. She had not expected this when she’d agreed to dinner. She hadn’t let herself consider what might happen if they shared a second meal.
Sergei rose from the table in one graceful, fluid movement. Hannah stared at him. ‘Where are you going?’
His eyes met hers in a blaze of challenge and desire, and he held out one hand for her to take. ‘Where do you think?’ he said softly. ‘Upstairs.’
UPSTAIRS.
Hannah stared at Sergei’s outstretched hand, knew if she took it she would be saying yes. Yes to a single night. Yes to a meaningless, no-strings affair. At the thought something in her withered, shrivelled. Perhaps it was hope.
Yet wasn’t this just what she wanted? She didn’t believe in love any more; she wasn’t holding out for a happy ending. Certainly not with Sergei. And still this attraction pulsed between them, a tidal wave of longing that threatened to pull her under. Why not let herself go? Just for a night? No emotional strings, no messy attachments. Just sex.
Sergei’s eyes glittered. ‘Scared?’
Did he think she was bluffing? Was she? Hannah stared right back and with her heart still thumping hard she took his hand. It was warm, dry, strong, and his fingers folded over hers as he tugged her up from her chair. Upstairs.
What was she doing?
Silently they walked from the restaurant. Hannah had no idea what would happen with the bill, but it hardly mattered. Her heart was thumping so hard it hurt. She could barely believe that she’d taken his hand, that she was letting him lead her past the reception desk, through the warm and welcoming lobby, up the open staircase, down a plushly carpeted hallway. She jerked to a stop in front of the last door, a brass plaque indicated this was the Adirondack Suite.
‘Wait … you booked a room already? You thought …’
He turned around to face her, his hand still holding hers, his eyes glinting in the dim light, although with amusement or desire Hannah couldn’t say. ‘I booked myself a room. I needed somewhere to sleep tonight.’
Hannah swallowed. Didn’t speak. Sergei took an old-fashioned brass key from his pocket. ‘Having second thoughts?’
‘No,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I just didn’t like you thinking I was a sure thing.’
Sergei stared at her for a moment, the key resting in his palm. ‘You’ve become rather cynical, haven’t you?’ he said finally, and he almost sounded sad.
‘Realistic,’