Untouched by His Diamonds (10 page)

She could hear his deep rasping breathing, the heavy thump of his heartbeat, smell the warm musky scent of his male skin. A light sheen of sweat had broken on the broad expanse of his back and she luxuriated in that too, loving the intense maleness of him. Then it happened. An unexpected series of sweet, unending undulations crashed through her pelvis, spreading all the way out to her fingers and her toes, making the hair on her head stand up.

‘Serge!’

‘
Da
—Serge.’ In response he thrust harder and faster.

Her orgasm met her and she rolled with it. She was contracting around him, and with a deep groan he released into her. It went on and on, spiralling through her body as she unravelled. As he subsided she sank back into the mattress, taking him heavily down on top of her, loving the sensation of being utterly consumed by him.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. Her Cossack.

Clementine felt the absence of his weight even though he had only lain heavily atop her so briefly. He had his eyes closed and gave a couple of deep, gusty breaths, as if bringing himself back to reality. She knew how he felt. She hardly recognised herself in the woman who had clung to him and whimpered, encouraging him to do more, to make her feel more.

She turned her head on the pillow and looked at him.

Beautiful. He’d called her beautiful.

She gathered the word up close and hugged it. She felt beautiful.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. His head tilted and his green gaze tangled with hers. Her heart gave a sudden lovely thump and her pulse kicked up.

Serge rolled towards her and brushed his thumb back and forth over her cheek, traced her mouth. ‘I thought I’d dreamed you up in that store,’ he said in a gravelly voice, ‘but here you are. All mine.’

Clementine’s eyes went soft as down even as Serge’s own thoughts raced to a stunning halt. He didn’t know what it was he wanted from her, but it wasn’t this. Closeness…connection. What in the hell had prompted his soft words?

‘Serge, make love to me,’ she invited, lashes lowering, mouth soft, her body recumbent beneath him, parting her thighs in explicit invitation. She was a fantasy he had never known he had. Until now.

This at least he understood. This he could do. Again and again.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, and moved over her.

She drifted to consciousness to find herself alone. For a moment Clementine wondered if it had all been an erotic dream, before she rolled over into the space where he had slept and buried her face in his pillow, seeking out the remnants of his scent. No dream. All real. Luckiest girl in the world.

There was a tender ache between her thighs. In fact all of her was a bit achy. Memories assailed her—his hands on her, those skilful hands. A big smile spread over her face. Where had he learned to do those things? Had she really let him? When would they do it again? She sat up and winced. Maybe not this morning.

Should she get up and go and find him? What was she going to say? Maybe he wasn’t a morning person. She definitely wasn’t—with the exception of this morning. Sinking back onto his side of the bed, she luxuriated in her happy place. Nothing could ruin this feeling.

Stretching, she felt her hand land on something hard and cold beside the pillow. Curiously she rolled over, put her hand on a small red box.

Even as she opened it a chill was spreading through her chest.

Diamonds glittered from a black velvet bed. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch them. There was a note attached.

Wear this tonight. I’ll be back for you at seven. Dress up.

Clementine didn’t know how long she sat there, cross-legged in the bed, the jewellery case abandoned beside her, the note shouting at her:
He’s bought you; he thinks you’re for sale
.

It took a while for the storm of feeling inside her to subside, but it did, and then she began to think more rationally.

Serge had no idea about her past. He couldn’t know a piece of jewellery like this would push her buttons. Sensibly she told herself this was probably his
modus operandi
. Get the girl, drape her in something glittery—the same way other men bought flowers.

Oh, flowers would have been nice—to wake up to a little bunch of something beside her. Would have cost him a great deal less, too.

She wilted a little and gave a wry smile.

Serge Marinov might be a rich guy who flew in women to warm his bed, but that wasn’t all he was. She’d seen enough
to know this was a really good guy. She would never have slept with him last night if he wasn’t.

He had been everything—tender and passionate and romantic.

He just didn’t have a clue about the morning after.

She picked up the jewellery case and shoved it into the bedside table, then padded barefoot out of the bedroom. Out of sight, out of mind.

All morning long he’d been thinking about her. Through a tedious meeting with the stadium committee, a photo opportunity downtown at the Mayor’s office, putting in a bid on some venues in California, his thoughts had continuously returned to the sleeping girl he had left at dawn.

Several times he’d almost rung her cell, self-preservation muscling in each time. The minute he phoned her he would be opening up a channel of communication between his working life and the woman in his bed. He’d never done it before. He wasn’t starting now.

‘Serge, you’re not with us,’ Mick’s voice intervened, dragging him back into the present and his office in Upper Manhattan.

No, he wasn’t with them. Serge corralled his stampeding thoughts about a six-foot girl naked in his bed and looked at the stats Alex had handed him. Mick’s word was good enough, but Alex Khardovsky, president of the Marinov Corporation, always came up with cold hard numbers, and Serge knew at the end of the day you could trust figures. Unlike people, they never let you down.

‘So you’ll come down and have a look at the kid?’ Mick was saying.

Dinner with Clementine. He was going to have to postpone it.

‘I’ll meet you there at seven.’ He’d divert on his way across
town and drop in at the hotel—enjoy a quickie with the beautiful girl he had left in his bed.

‘I want to go over these figures with you, Serge. Can we grab a bite and meet Mick at the gym?’

‘No, I need to drop in at the hotel. I’ll take these with me.’

Alex grinned. ‘A woman? I thought you seemed unusually upbeat.’

Usually Serge wouldn’t have hesitated to affirm or deny a question from Alex. He was his oldest friend. They had been in boot camp together. Apart from Mick he was the only other person he trusted. Happily married for three years, Alex joked that the only excitement he got these days was observing Serge’s revolving door policy on women.

But the memory of Clementine’s soft grey eyes as he cuddled her close struck him as he opened his mouth, and he closed it. Shook his head briefly.

‘We still need to talk about Kolcek,’ said Mick flatly. ‘You have to do more than a press conference, son. You need to put your face to the brand.’

Serge folded his arms. ‘And I’m the poster boy for good clean living?’

Alex snorted, but Mick shook his head. ‘Publicity’s everything in this game, and you both know it. Your image is hardly what the moms at home are applauding, and that’s what this political stunt over Kolcek is aimed at. The punters like to see you with a different airhead every day in the papers, but not the general public. You need to be seen with a decent woman at your side. Geez, I shouldn’t have to tell you boys this.’

‘I’m not playing the media game, Mick,’ stated Serge with finality. ‘The business is one thing, my private life another.’

‘The problem being there’s nothing private about it. What about that woman who spilled her guts about “my life with fight promoter Serge Marinov—the highs and lows of a jet-set
playboy”?’ Mick threw the magazine he’d been carrying around onto the desk between them.

Serge ignored it. ‘I barely knew the woman—slept with her twice. Once too many.’

Alex picked up the magazine. ‘I’ll show this to Abbey. She’ll love it.’

Serge smiled, seeing the lighter side of it. Alex’s wife took him to task about his lifestyle every time their paths crossed.

It wasn’t until Mick and Alex were gone that he was given the opportunity to phone Clementine’s cell. She gave him that breathless ‘Serge’ he was beginning to look forward to, and promised to be at the hotel in half an hour.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she’d had a good day, but he knew the minute he did that he’d be feeding into a fantasy that she was in his life in any other way than his bed. His mind went back to the trashy magazine and the brunette he barely remembered. She’d sold her story for five figures, he’d heard. He couldn’t quite picture Clementine selling anything.

He’d been right not to mention her name to Alex.

‘See you then.’ Her voice was in his ear, and was he just feeling extremely restless or did he hear a note of longing? Grinning, he rang off.

The penthouse was quiet as Clementine let herself in, but all the lights were on. She was sticky from her long day sightseeing, and wanted to bathe and get changed, but her heart had started paddling like a kayak up a canyon the closer she’d got to the hotel, knowing Serge would be inside waiting for her. The intimacy they had built up, culminating in last night, felt a million miles away. Not being with him today, in the aftermath of their incredible night, had left her emotions close to the surface and she was feeling a little nervous—but also excited.

He was standing out on the balcony, those muscular arms of his spread on the railing, supporting him as he looked out over the city. From behind he was all masculine grace, with his lean height and the powerful spread of his shoulders. Clementine experienced an inner trembling as her body recognised what it liked. She’d never known anything like it when she was with him. It was as if the air between them lit up like sheet lightning.

She stopped on the threshold of the balcony. ‘Hi,’ she said, endeavouring to sound as casual as she could.

He turned around, and the intensity of his gaze was full of everything they had shared. The answering pulse in her body brought soft colour to her cheeks.

‘Hi yourself,’ he answered, as if he knew what was happening to her.

‘Busy day?’ She knew she sounded inane, but her heart was pounding.

‘They’re all busy,
kisa
.’ He smiled slowly. ‘You’re late.’ But it was said without animosity.

‘Am I?’ She knew she was. But he hadn’t been beside her when she woke up. So let him deal with it, niggled the thought, and a little of her excitement fluttered away.

He strolled inside, shutting the glass doors on the city behind him, and casually reached for her. As his big hands slid over her hips, bringing her up against him, she experienced a flare of longing in her body that had nothing to do with the resistance in her head.

She waited for him to say something, allude in some way to this morning, but he merely bent his head and kissed her.

Clementine put her hands up to his chest and gently disengaged herself with a murmured, ‘Not so fast.’

He released her, disconcerting her by patting her on the backside. ‘Off you go, then.’

She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I’ll just go and change. I
won’t be more than twenty minutes.’ She hesitated, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. ‘Are we going somewhere fancy?’

‘There’s been a change of plan.’ He turned his back on her as he strolled over to the side table to collect his phone and keys. ‘I’ve got to go downtown tonight. I can’t take you out to dinner.’

‘You’re going out?’

‘It’s work, Clementine. Happens all the time.’ His expression said
get used to it
.

‘That’s okay,’ she replied, determinedly cheerful. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘You’ll come—’ He broke off, frowning at her. ‘No, it’s not a place for you.’

Her hand found her hip. ‘What is it? A mosque?’

‘A gym,’ he said briefly. ‘A lot of sweat and testosterone.’

‘So a lot like last night?’ she replied, scooting after him as he headed over to the wet bar.

He slowed to a halt, turned. Some of the tension eased around his mouth. He smiled. ‘Maybe, but without the important addition of a soft landing.’

It was the smile that got to her. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you just describe me as a soft landing?’

‘You supplied the soft landing, Clementine. I would describe
you
as a miracle of natural engineering.’

Somehow it wasn’t a compliment. It wasn’t what you said to the woman you’d made love to for the first time and then abandoned the next morning.
Yes, Clementine
, a little voice niggled. Abandoned.

She didn’t like the way he catalogued her body either—as if examining the parts he liked best. Guys did that to her a lot. It made her feel less than a person. She wanted him to see the whole woman—had imagined he had last night. But she guessed that wasn’t the reality.

Unimpressed, she muttered, ‘Careful with the sweet-talk, Slugger, you’ll melt my knickers off.’

He grinned. He liked her like this—making him work for it. The other Clementine—softer, a little unsure of herself—put the wrong thoughts in his head. Thoughts of looking after her.

This Clementine could look after herself.

He relaxed.

‘I’m going to freshen up,’ she said stiltedly, a little afraid that when she came back he would be gone. ‘It’s been a long day.’

Serge didn’t attempt to stop her. She had a right to be annoyed with him. He wasn’t going to be able to do justice to her beautiful body this week with so much going on in the outside world. But he could make it up to her now—soothe that little temper of hers in a mutually satisfactory way.

Clementine satisfied herself by calling him every name in the book as she stripped off in the bathroom, stepping into the pressure-activated shower and letting the warm water do its soothing job. Where was the sweet, attentive man who’d listened to her over dinner and held her hand going in and out of the restaurant, who’d been so romantic with her last night?