Luring a Lady by Nora Roberts

dismissed the tense scene in the Soho hallway from her mind. He’d been posturing and preening, that was all.
    And she could have killed him for it.
    As she watched, Mikhail backed away from Margerite, laughing. Then he looked down. The instant their eyes met, Sydney declared war.
    She whirled on Channing, her face so fierce he nearly babbled. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
    â€œWhy, Sydney.”
    â€œI said kiss me.” She grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him against her.
    â€œOf course, darling.” Pleased with her change of heart, he cupped her shoulders in his hands and leaned down to her.
    His lips were soft, warm, eager. They slanted over hers with practiced precision while his hands slid down her back. He tasted of after-dinner mints. Her body fit well against his.
    And she felt nothing, nothing but an empty inner rage. Then a chill that was both fear and despair.
    â€œYou’re not trying, darling,” he whispered. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
    No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing at all to fear from Channing. Miserable, she let him deepen the kiss, ordered herself to feel and respond. She felt his withdrawal even before his lips left hers. The twinges of annoyance and puzzlement.
    â€œSydney, dear, I’m not sure what the problem is.” He smoothed down his crinkled lapels. Marginally frustrated, he lifted his eyes. “That was like kissing my sister.”
    â€œI’m tired, Channing,” she said to the air between them. “I should go in and get ready to go.”
    Â 
    Twenty minutes later, the driver turned the car toward Manhattan. In the back seat Sydney sat ramrod straight well over in her corner, while Mikhail sprawled in his. They didn’t bother to speak,not even the polite nonentities of two people who had attended the same function.
    He was boiling with rage.
    She was frigid with disdain.
    She’d done it to annoy him, Mikhail decided. She’d let that silk-suited jerk all but swallow her whole just to make him suffer.
    Why was he suffering? he asked himself. She was nothing to him.
    No, she was something, he corrected, and brooded into the dark. His only problem was figuring out exactly what that something was.
    Obviously, Sydney reflected, the man had no ethics, no morals, no shame. Here he was, just sitting there, all innocence and quiet reflection, after his disgraceful behavior. She frowned at the pale image of her own face in the window glass and tried to listen to the Chopin prelude on the stereo. Flirting so blatantly with a woman twenty years older. Sneering, yes positively sneering down from the rooftop.
    And she’d hired him. Sydney let out a quiet, hissing breath from between her teeth. Oh, that was something she regretted. She’d let her concern, her determination to do the right thing, blind her into hiring some oversexed, amoral Russian carpenter.
    Well, if he thought he was going to start playing patty-cake with her mother, he was very much mistaken.
    She drew a breath, turned and aimed one steady glare. Mikhail would have sworn the temperature in the car dropped fifty degrees in a snap.
    â€œYou stay away from my mother.”
    He slanted her a look from under his lashes and gracefully crossed his legs. “Excuse me?”
    â€œYou heard me, Boris. If you think I’m going to stand by and watch you put the moves on my mother, think again. She’s lonely and vulnerable. Her last divorce upset her and she isn’t over it.”
    He said something short and sharp in his native tongue and closed his eyes.
    Temper had Sydney sliding across the seat until she could poke his arm. “What the hell does that mean?”
    â€œYou want translation? The simplest is bullshit. Now shut up. I’m going to sleep.”
    â€œYou’re not going anywhere until we settle this. You keep your big, grimy hands off my mother, or I’ll turn that building you’re so fond of into a parking