One Kiss in... Moscow: Kholodov's Last Mistress / The Man She Shouldn't Crave / Strangers When We Meet

Hannah froze, then forced herself to turn around. In the darkness she could barely make out the face of the man who stood there, lounging in the doorway. She could still feel how he was studying her, his gaze arrogant as he completed an insultingly thorough sweep of her body.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know you,’ she said stiffly. He came closer, and she saw the sardonic cast of his features; he was handsome, but his mouth was thin and cruel and his eyes were bloodshot.

‘You could get to know me,’ he offered in a soft drawl. ‘When Sergei’s done with you.’

Hannah recoiled physically from his blatantly crude suggestion. ‘Excuse me,’ she said coldly, and made to move past him, her legs weak and watery with the shock of such an awful encounter. He grabbed her arm, and Hannah froze again, her skin crawling at the feel of his fingers on her bare flesh.

‘It’s happened before, you know. I don’t mind taking Sergei’s leftovers.’

She shook his arm off, her body trembling with affront and even fear. ‘You’re disgusting.’

He laughed, the sound one of genuine amusement. ‘So self-righteous. You are his mistress, aren’t you?’

And this time Hannah froze both inside and out. Not just her body, but her heart. She stood there, as unable to move as if she were encased in ice.

His mistress. That was exactly what she was. And this clearly was how she should expect to be treated.

‘Well?’ the man demanded, his voice turning surly and slurred. He was clearly drunk; perhaps he wouldn’t have taken such obnoxious liberties with her otherwise. Still the bleak truth of her position both in society and Sergei’s life remained, unavoidable, undeniable.

‘Yes,’ Hannah said stiffly, ‘that’s exactly what I am. Sergei’s mistress. Never yours.’ And with her head held high and her heart still icy, she stalked past him, only to give a little scream of fear when yet another hand clamped around her wrist and someone swung her around.

She stared in shock at Sergei, his eyes blazing blue fire. ‘What the hell,’ he demanded, ‘do you think you’re doing?’

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_fb338a88-c85a-5bf7-9d85-e5c26f27e939)

‘WHAT I’m doing—’ Hannah gasped, startled by the raw fury in Sergei’s blazing gaze.

‘Don’t say another word. We’re leaving.’ He glanced beyond her to the man who still lounged, smirking, on the terrace. ‘And you, de Fourney,’ he said in a low growl, ‘I’ll deal with you later. Consider this your warning.’

The undisguised menace in Sergei’s voice made Hannah shiver even as she hurried to keep up with him, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

‘Sergei, what is wrong with you?’ she demanded in a harsh whisper as he pushed through the hotel’s front doors. ‘Why are you so angry?’

‘What were you doing with de Fourney?’

‘The man on the terrace?’ She jerked her arm away from him, forcing him to stop and turn to face her although he still seethed barely leashed anger. ‘Are you actually so—so bone-headed to be jealous of that slimy toad?’

‘I’m not jealous.’

‘Then why are you acting like some kind of Neanderthal?’ Hannah demanded. ‘Dragging me back to your stupid cave?’

‘I’ll remind you,’ he told her softly, ‘my cave costs five thousand dollars a night.’

She felt as if he’d slapped her. ‘Thanks for making me feel cheaper than I already did,’ she whispered, and pushed past him.

‘Hannah—’ He caught up with her, and a driver leapt to attention, opening the door of the limo idling by the kerb. Hannah slid inside, knowing she had no choice. What could she do? Where could she go? She was virtually Sergei’s prisoner. Worse … his mistress.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could stem the wave of pain that engulfed her at the thought. Sergei slid in next to her and slammed the door.

She still didn’t understand why he was angry. If he’d overheard one second of her conversation with that jerk he could hardly be jealous.

She glanced at him, saw his harsh profile, his jaw bunched so tight Hannah thought he might break a tooth. Biting her lip, she turned away and stared out of the window as the limo slid seamlessly into the traffic near the Arc de Triomphe.

They didn’t speak all the way back to the hotel. The tension in the limo was heavy, thick with anger Hannah didn’t fully understand. Finally as she entered the royal suite, her heels clicking on the marble floor of the elegant foyer, she confronted him. She threw her wrap onto a fragile-looking antique chaise as Sergei jerked off his tie and tossed it onto a chair.

‘What,’ Hannah asked, her anger a hot, hurting lump in her chest, ‘do you think you’re doing?’

He turned around, his jaw still working, his fury evident in every taut line of his muscular body. ‘What were you doing, talking to that zhopa? Guy de Fourney?’

‘Is that his name? Obviously the two of you are good friends.’

‘What?’ Sergei glared at her. ‘He is as sleazy and corrupt as they come. I have nothing to do with him.’

‘Nothing?’ Hannah repeated, her voice silky despite the tremors that now racked her body. ‘He indicated otherwise.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? He said he’s—’ she swallowed, her voice hitching revealingly ‘—had your leftovers.’

Sergei stared at her for a long moment. Then he swore in Russian. ‘That man is—’ He slashed a hand through the air. ‘He seeks to offend.’

‘I don’t know if he meant to be offensive,’ Hannah replied with a lift of her chin. ‘He was just stating facts, wasn’t he?’

‘No,’ Sergei ground out, ‘he wasn’t.’

‘So he hasn’t shared a mistress of yours?’

Sergei’s face darkened dangerously. ‘Shared? Of course not! What do you think—?’

She folded her arms, half wondering why she was pushing this. Did she really want to know? ‘He didn’t ever have sex with a woman you’ve had sex with?’ she demanded, her voice only just level. Sergei said nothing. Silence was damning. ‘See,’ Hannah said softly. ‘He was just speaking the truth.’

‘That is not the truth!’ Sergei snapped. ‘Not the way he said it. And in any case I hardly keep track of the man’s movements.’

‘Or those of your discarded mistresses.’

He let out a low breath. ‘Very well. I do believe it is possible that once a woman I—A woman went to him after she’d been with me.’ His expression razored her, sharp and cutting. ‘But that hardly matters—’

‘Oh, no?’ Hannah interjected. He was right; it didn’t matter, not really. What mattered was how cheap the exchange with Guy de Fourney had made her feel. How cheap this affair made her feel.

Sergei stabbed a finger towards her. ‘I have no interest in what a piece of trash like Guy de Fourney says. I care what you say,’ he continued. For the first time since she’d met him his accent, usually faint, became so pronounced that Hannah stepped closer to understand him. ‘You called yourself my mistress.’

She blinked, baffled by his remark. ‘That’s what I am.’

‘No, it is not.’ He folded his arms, still furious and maybe even—hurt? Was it possible?

‘What do you intend to call me, then?’ she demanded. ‘You whisk me away to Paris, you buy me clothes, you have sex with me every night—’ Her voice rose, all the hurt she’d been holding in tumbling from her lips. ‘You buy me this—this dog collar!’ With one jerk she pulled the choker from her neck, the stones cutting her skin deep enough to draw tiny droplets of blood. Hannah flung the necklace onto the floor; it landed with an expensive-sounding clatter.

‘Hannah—’ Her name was an inadvertent cry as Sergei stretched a hand out to her, his horrified gaze on the bloody marks on her neck.