“So come here.” His tone goes low and gravelly. “And let’s put everything we’ve learned from your smut novels to good use.”
Then he gathers me up in his strong arms. His mouth pauses tantalisingly close to mine. His breath is warm on my lips, and despite the movement of the car, he doesn’t let our mouths touch, holding my head gently away, drawing out the tension between us until I could scream for sheer need of him. For desire to have him kiss me.
“What are you waiting for?” I whisper when all my patience is used up. It’s at least half an hour that he keeps me held, kissing me, but not kissing me.
“When we have an audience, I won’t hesitate. I’ll take your mouth like it’s mine, and we can’t have you squirming like you do when I kiss you after a chase. It needs to look as though I’ve kissed you to satiety hundreds of times, and lingered over every caress.” He shifts his hand down to my neck, pressing his fingers into my nape. “So I want to relish this moment where we both anticipate how I’ll kiss you. How good it will feel.”
All I can get out is a little whimper of desire.
“Our first kiss as acouple.” He trails his lips oh-so softly up my cheek. “I’m not going to hurry.”
Shock and arousal strike into me as the tip of his tongue traces over my earlobe—I had no idea I was so sensitive there—and then he withdraws the smallest distance, and blows. The shivers go right down to my heated core in tingles that defy belief.
“Besides, isn’t this what a book boyfriend should do?” he teases, whispering in my ear.
I’m humming with need, every part of me straining towards him like a flower reaches towards the sun.
“I’m going to kiss you, and it’s going to feel like I’m claiming your soul. Tell me no.” His grip tightens on my neck, drawing me closer and keeping me there, as though I might try to escaperather than climb into his lap and plead with him to keep me forever.
He can have my soul, so long as he kisses me and says I can be his girlfriend for real.
Wait, what? Then all my thoughts fly as he tilts his head, and his lips brush mine, soft, and alluring.
“Tess,” he rumbles, and slides his fingers into my hair. The next press of his lips is firmer. Confident and sexy. He doesn’t thrust his tongue into my mouth this time. He lures me. His parted lips tempt mine to do the same, and he moans, his chest vibrating against my hand as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. Heat flares between my legs.
I’m mindless with lust. I need this man inside me. I can’t live without him, and I’m fooling myself that I’m his captive now. I wouldn’t leave Kirill if you paid me. As his lips seduce me, soft and giving, you couldn’t drag me away.
Then there’s a jolt. The gentle breaking of the vehicle.
We both still.
Then Kirill pulls away, and I want to weep.
“Enough practice, lapochka.” He reaches across and unclips my seat belt. In a second he’s slid me out of the car and I’m walking with him into a luxurious hotel, his arm around my waist as though we do this all the time. “Time to meet theMaths Club.”
18
TESS
We’re shown out onto a terrace where people are sitting around, chatting, sipping cocktails, and leaning over the stone barrier and looking over an Italianate garden.
It’s all perfect and sophisticated, and I immediately feel out of place.
For a second, no one notices us, and when I look up at Kirill, he glances down at me with an expression of, “Well, this was a mistake”.
Then the closest knot of people go silent.
The blank expressions and lack of recognition make me want to drop to the stone paving and commando crawl out of here. But Kirill tightens his hold on my hand, our fingers linked together.
I kinda hate this. I’m always the odd one out at parties. I actually prefer to have something to do, which is why I like working in the pub. It’s a party that I’m paid to go to, and I have a clear role.
But when he smooths his thumb over the back of my hand, it feels like we’re a team.
“Who’s that?” asks a male voice with a British accent.
“No idea,” comes a reply.
“Can I help you?” A tall man steps forward. He has a posh accent in a deep tone.
