hands through the silk of his shirt. His heart thudded hard under her palm. He stared at her, inhaled her honeyed scent, and his heart beat harder.
‘I suppose,’ she said softly, tilting her head back so she could look at him, her hair cascading down her back in a glinting chestnut river, ‘it all depends on whether you mind.’
‘Mind?’ he repeated blankly. The honest, artless placement of her hands on his chest—especially when he’d just, through silence, rejected her—made him incapable of thought.
He’d never been so blindsided by a woman before, not just by her touch but by her whole self. He could see such an openness, such a willingness to be
hurt
in Hannah’s eyes that it humbled and amazed and angered him all at the same time. No one should be so vulnerable. It could only lead to disappointment and pain.
‘Mind me being an idiot,’ she clarified in a whisper, her voice lilting and playful even though her eyes were dark and wide and he felt her fingers tremble against him. Sergei knew this needed to stop. He also knew how to do it.
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ he assured her in a lazy murmur, and then he closed the space between their mouths in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle embrace of a moment ago. This kiss was hard, demanding, a proof of power.
You don’t move me.
He felt Hannah’s yielding response and he slipped his hands from her shoulders to her hips, pulling her to him in shockingly intimate contact. At least
she
was shocked, innocent that she was, for he heard her gasp against his mouth before he deepened the kiss once more, an endless demand for her surrender.
And surrender she did, her body becoming soft and pliant, melting towards his as her mouth slackened under his onslaught and her hands came up to clench his hair. Her heart trembled against his and her breath came in mewing gasps; Sergei lost all conscious thought, blindly driven by a need that was far more than merely physical.
Why did this woman—this irritatingly optimistic Pollyanna of a woman—make him feel so much? Need so much?
Remember?
His hands slid under her bottom and he pressed her against the door, pulling her legs around his waist, his hands rucking up her skirt. Needing to feel skin against skin. Forgetting that this was just meant to be a way to make her push him away.
Her arms locked around his neck, her head thrown back, her lips parted as her heart thundered against his. His breath came in harsh, tearing gasps, and his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. ‘
Sergei,
’ she said, his name a ragged whisper, and the desire and anger that had been rushing throughhim in a molten river of emotion so he couldn’t tell one from the other froze to an icy stream of lucidity.
She was a
virgin.
And he was mauling her against a door, her mouth swollen and maybe even bruised from his kisses.
What was he doing? What had he
done
? He’d meant to scare her off with a kiss, but
this …
willing or not, she still didn’t know what she was doing.
He did.
He pushed away from her, half stumbling, a self-loathing so deep and consuming it felt like acid corroding the soul he’d thought he’d lost long ago.
‘Sergei,’ she said again, and this time he knew it was a question, one he couldn’t answer.
He ran his hands through his hair, dragged a breath into his lungs and then let it out in a long, slow shudder. Hannah straightened, fixed her dress. Her hands trembled.
Sergei looked away. It was better this way, he knew. Better to end something he never should have begun … for both their sakes.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She might be a virgin, innocent and optimistic as Sergei had said, but even with the most positive outlook possible Hannah knew this wasn’t good. Sergei wasn’t even looking at her. And after his mouth—and his hands—the places they’d been on her body, the way they’d made her
feel—
Until now. Now she felt pretty close to wretched. She swallowed, her throat
‘I suppose,’ she said softly, tilting her head back so she could look at him, her hair cascading down her back in a glinting chestnut river, ‘it all depends on whether you mind.’
‘Mind?’ he repeated blankly. The honest, artless placement of her hands on his chest—especially when he’d just, through silence, rejected her—made him incapable of thought.
He’d never been so blindsided by a woman before, not just by her touch but by her whole self. He could see such an openness, such a willingness to be
hurt
in Hannah’s eyes that it humbled and amazed and angered him all at the same time. No one should be so vulnerable. It could only lead to disappointment and pain.
‘Mind me being an idiot,’ she clarified in a whisper, her voice lilting and playful even though her eyes were dark and wide and he felt her fingers tremble against him. Sergei knew this needed to stop. He also knew how to do it.
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ he assured her in a lazy murmur, and then he closed the space between their mouths in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle embrace of a moment ago. This kiss was hard, demanding, a proof of power.
You don’t move me.
He felt Hannah’s yielding response and he slipped his hands from her shoulders to her hips, pulling her to him in shockingly intimate contact. At least
she
was shocked, innocent that she was, for he heard her gasp against his mouth before he deepened the kiss once more, an endless demand for her surrender.
And surrender she did, her body becoming soft and pliant, melting towards his as her mouth slackened under his onslaught and her hands came up to clench his hair. Her heart trembled against his and her breath came in mewing gasps; Sergei lost all conscious thought, blindly driven by a need that was far more than merely physical.
Why did this woman—this irritatingly optimistic Pollyanna of a woman—make him feel so much? Need so much?
Remember?
His hands slid under her bottom and he pressed her against the door, pulling her legs around his waist, his hands rucking up her skirt. Needing to feel skin against skin. Forgetting that this was just meant to be a way to make her push him away.
Her arms locked around his neck, her head thrown back, her lips parted as her heart thundered against his. His breath came in harsh, tearing gasps, and his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. ‘
Sergei,
’ she said, his name a ragged whisper, and the desire and anger that had been rushing throughhim in a molten river of emotion so he couldn’t tell one from the other froze to an icy stream of lucidity.
She was a
virgin.
And he was mauling her against a door, her mouth swollen and maybe even bruised from his kisses.
What was he doing? What had he
done
? He’d meant to scare her off with a kiss, but
this …
willing or not, she still didn’t know what she was doing.
He did.
He pushed away from her, half stumbling, a self-loathing so deep and consuming it felt like acid corroding the soul he’d thought he’d lost long ago.
‘Sergei,’ she said again, and this time he knew it was a question, one he couldn’t answer.
He ran his hands through his hair, dragged a breath into his lungs and then let it out in a long, slow shudder. Hannah straightened, fixed her dress. Her hands trembled.
Sergei looked away. It was better this way, he knew. Better to end something he never should have begun … for both their sakes.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She might be a virgin, innocent and optimistic as Sergei had said, but even with the most positive outlook possible Hannah knew this wasn’t good. Sergei wasn’t even looking at her. And after his mouth—and his hands—the places they’d been on her body, the way they’d made her
feel—
Until now. Now she felt pretty close to wretched. She swallowed, her throat
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