Too Proud to be Bought (14 page)

Sure he was. With a wistful smile, Zara traced the outline of his lips with her finger. ‘You w-want to go home?’

‘Actually …’ his voice was uneven ‘… thought that I
might have a look at your bedroom now that I’m here. Do you want to show me where it is?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered as the unbearable possibility of having to wait a moment longer began to recede.

It seemed somehow daring to lead him up the narrow staircase to the little room she’d had since childhood. She had modified it since then, of course—her jigsaw puzzles and toy farm had long been replaced by books and on the walls were blown-up photos she’d taken at college of misty, early-morning harvests and a much-prized moonlit shot of a deserted beach. But nobody had ever lain on this bed except for her and somehow the fact that it should be Nikolai felt terribly significant. Or was she reading too much into it—because she loved him—loved him in a way he had not asked to be loved?

Don’t frighten him away,
she told herself as she bit back the overwhelming desire to blurt the words out. Yet no matter how hard she tried to temper her feelings, Zara found herself overcome with emotion as he pulled the clips from her hair. In fact, she was so overcome that she just stood there, helpless and unmoving as he peeled off her T-shirt and her bra and pushed the jeans down her trembling legs so that she was left wearing nothing.

He tugged at his belt and impatiently shrugged off his own clothes and she was still trembling when he drew her down onto the bed and covered her with his mouth and his body.

‘Zara,’ he whispered.

His kisses were heated and his fingers roved hungrily over her breasts until he found even more intimate quarry and he gave a little moan as he encountered her slick heat and began to move rhythmically against it.

‘I don’t want to wait,’ he declared.

‘Then
don’t,’
she urged him just as fiercely as she took the condom from him and began to slide it on. Her fingers were shaky and her movements imprecise and she heard him mutter something harsh and fervent in his native tongue.

‘For God’s sake,’ he ground out. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’

‘Do it to me, Nikolai,’ she whispered. ‘Do it to me now.’

The rising notes of her erotic plea splintered his composure as he thrust into her and she gasped as he entered her, just as deep as he could go. It felt so good, he realised distractedly as he filled her hot, tight heat. Better every time. He could feel his control slipping and concentrated instead on her little cries of pleasure which were accompanying every sweet thrust. These walls must be thin, he thought suddenly as he lowered his mouth to hers in a hard kiss which muffled the sound.

He moved on her. In her. Again and again he brought her to the brink until she was mindless with pleasure as she writhed beneath him. Her silken skin felt so cool and welcoming and he could taste the bittersweet taste of lemonade on her mouth. Taut nipples contrasted with the soft weight of her breasts as they pushed against him. And then, just when he thought he could not bear it for one second longer, her supple body began to arch beneath his. Like a marksman’s bow, was his last conscious thought as his orgasm arrowed through him and he lifted his head and cried out.

Afterwards, they lay there, damp limbs tangled due to lack of space as Nikolai traced a little circle around the dip of her navel. Time seemed suspended and all
Zara could hear was the sound of his breathing and the muffled slowing of her own heartbeat.

‘I think there had better be some changes in the future,’ he said eventually.

She turned onto her side. ‘Oh?’

‘I’m giving you a key.’

‘A key?’ she echoed blankly.

‘To my house. It’s impractical for you to have to rely on the housekeeper every time you want to get in.’ Didn’t she realise the significance—he who had never given a woman a key before? And yet something made him wary of telling her—because it might be only a temporary measure. Probably
was
only a temporary measure. He’d be bored with her by the time the year was out—and she would probably be bored with him, too. ‘And I want you in my house as much as possible, Zara.’

She stared at him. Surely giving her a key to his house was a small step forward—perhaps the first of many? Was Nikolai beginning to acknowledge that she
did
mean something to him? She kept her voice studiedly neutral. ‘Do you? ‘

‘Mmm. Preferably in my bed,’ he murmured as he drifted his lips over her throat. ‘You were born to grace my bed.’

Zara’s smile didn’t slip. What had she thought? That because she’d encouraged him to confront the truth of his past he would somehow come out with a great outpouring of love and emotion? That just because he had been tender and sweet with her in the garden, it actually
meant
something? Tender and sweet was what men did when they wanted sex with a woman. And biting back feelings of insecurity was what women did when they loved a man…‘I guess I should say thank you.’

‘Oh, I think you can show your thanks in other ways,
milaya moya.’
He pushed a wayward strand of hair away from the tempting curve of her lips and looked at her consideringly. ‘I take it that you still won’t give up your waitressing work?’

She shook her head. ‘You know I can’t do that, Nikolai.’

Their conflicting needs hovered in the air between them but Nikolai knew that it would be dishonest to make her any promises. Not unless he was sure he could keep them …

‘In that case, you have to be prepared for me to travel—because that’s what much of my work entails. If you’re free to come with me, so much the better—but if not, then I will need to go on my own. Oh, and maybe we should venture out a little beyond the bedroom from now on. And if you’re going to start regularly accompanying me to social events, then you really will have to let the stubborn pride thing go.’

She creased her face up in a frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re going to have to start letting me provide you with a suitable wardrobe. You can’t keep borrowing dresses from Emma at the last minute.’ He slipped his hand between her legs and saw her eyes darken. ‘Can you?’

Zara swallowed as she tried to quell the rising tide of desire—but she was lost. She was about to bury her principles and take whatever it was that Nikolai wanted to offer her, because she loved him too much to walk away. And because there was a small spark of hope deep inside her, which made her wonder if he could ever open his cold and empty heart and find some warmth within.

He would give her a key to his house, and the price for that would be that she would allow him to clothe her as he saw fit. And she would let him because she loved
him and would never give up hoping that one day he might love her back.

Love had weakened her and desire had sapped what strength was left, allowing her to morph into being a wealthy man’s commodity; his mistress.

‘S
O YOU’LL
be back…when?’

With a smile, Nikolai removed Zara’s arms from around his neck and reluctantly pulled her dress back down in place. He had planned to say goodbye to her, yes—a lingering kiss at the door of his Kensington house, perhaps. What he had not planned had been that rather frantic kiss which had quickly escalated into an urgent and very erotic coupling up against the wall of the bedroom. But that was what she did to him. Still did to him. Intoxicated him so that he couldn’t think straight.

‘I’ll be back at the weekend,’ he murmured. ‘Jet-lagged and probably very bad-tempered, but at least while I’m in New York I should get the chance of an uninterrupted night’s sleep—without you tempting me every minute of every day.’

‘I don’t do anything to tempt you, Nikolai.’

‘Oh, yes, you do. You exist.’ He gave a low laugh. ‘And don’t be so coy,
milaya moya.
You know damned well the effect you have on me.’ He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I wish you were coming with me,’ he said suddenly.

Zara felt the little leap of her heart but she shook her head with a smile. Because hadn’t she decided that she
needed
these breaks from him, when he went away on
business? Needed them to assure herself that she
could
function without him and that it was good to practise doing exactly that. To get used to living without him in case it ended tomorrow.

‘Well, I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m a working girl.’

His mouth hardened, because the independent streak he had once so admired had become nothing but a millstone around their necks. Her insistence on working for little more than a pittance kept her away from his side—and weren’t mistresses supposed to be always available? ‘So you are,’ he agreed drily. ‘In which case you’d better go and put your panties back on and I’ll see you at the weekend. Do we have anything in the diary?’

‘A party in Primrose Hill the evening you get back.’

He pulled a face. ‘Damn.’

‘We don’t have to go.’

‘No, we don’t.’ He planted a last kiss on her lips. ‘But I think we ought to. Someone from the government who’s in charge of promoting green energy in south-east Asia is going to be there and I’d like to talk to him.’

‘Okay.’ Zara stood at the door, watching as he got into the back of the limousine, realising how many different balls he juggled to keep his empire going. He flashed her a brief smile but she could see that already his thoughts were elsewhere and that he was reaching in his briefcase for paperwork to do on the way to the airport. He worked hard, she’d realised very early on. In fact, he did everything hard. Played, partied, made love, made millions.

She shut the front door, realising that all her own unanswered questions about what she was going to do with her life had become largely academic. Because she knew now that she’d boxed herself into a corner the moment she had agreed to start living with Nikolai. Her
future was as uncertain as it had ever been—maybe even more so. There was now no possibility of going away to agricultural college to restart her course—because then she would see hardly anything of him. And he wouldn’t put up with that, she recognised. He just about tolerated her waitressing work—as long as it didn’t eat into their evenings together.

These days they went out as a couple much more than they’d ever done before, with Zara sporting one of the many exclusive items he insisted on buying for her and which now hung in the closet. She still liked to use Emma’s designs wherever possible, but there were a whole host of other things which it seemed were essential to her wardrobe and which her friend couldn’t possibly supply. Soft, leather boots and spiky, sexy shoes. Fragile little wisps of lacy underwear. There were day-dresses and sharp little skirts with silk blouses—as well as satin nightgowns which were never designed to be worn for very long.

She would have been a liar if she’d denied enjoying the clothes and finally she could understand why they were essential to her new life. She’d quickly realised that people were intensely interested in her Russian oligarch and that, in a way, what she wore reflected on him. She didn’t particularly like the attention his presence always attracted, but she was learning to deal with it.

And if sometimes she stopped to think about how little had changed, well—she quickly pushed those thoughts away. What was the point of dwelling on the fact that his feelings for her hadn’t deepened? She couldn’t really start complaining about it, could she? Not when he’d warned her at the very beginning what kind of man he was. It was
her
who foolishly kept that little spark of
hope alight. Who prayed that one day he might open his heart to her.

She’d packed in loads of jobs to coincide with his trip to New York and the busy days gave her life some kind of structure. Made her feel she had some purpose instead of just idling around, waiting for the return of her lover. And it meant that she had her own—modest—source of income, independent of him. She’d already decided to buy him something from her modest salary—a little welcome home gift—something she could give to
him,
to show him how much she’d missed him. Show him how much she cared, in a way she never dared express with words.

The day before he was due home, Zara went to work at a directors’ lunch, right in the very heart of the City. It was a long and boozy affair and one of the executives she knew well by sight fixed her with a curious look as she began to hand out the coffee.

‘Is it true that you know Nikolai Komarov?’ he questioned.

The cup she was holding rattled as she saw several whoozy heads turn quickly in her direction. ‘Er, yes. Yes, I do.’

‘Good God! How come?’

Stupidly, Zara could feel a flush beginning to stain her neck. What could she say—that he’d picked her up at a party she’d been gatecrashing and it had taken off from there in an explosion of sexual chemistry which had since shown no sign of abating?
You’re not being paid to satisfy this man’s curiosity,
she told herself.
He’s a client, not a friend.
‘Oh, it’s a long story. Er, will you excuse me?’ she added hurriedly as she scooped up an empty coffee pot from the table. ‘I’d better go and refill this.’

She managed to finish the job without further interrogation and later on she met Emma for a drink, expecting her friend to be bursting with excitement about the fact that the chief buyer at Nikolai’s New York store had requested a meeting, with a view to commissioning a future collection from her.

But Emma was not bursting with excitement. In fact, she looked uncharacteristically glum as they sat down at a corner table with two glasses of wine and a packet of salted peanuts.

‘Don’t tell me they’ve cancelled the meeting?’ asked Zara anxiously.

‘No, no—that’s all still going ahead.’

‘So why the long face?’

There was a pause as Emma licked some salt from her finger and when she looked up her expression was uncomfortable. ‘Um, is everything…okay between you and Nikolai?’

Zara frowned. ‘What kind of a question is that? ‘

There was another pause. ‘This is very difficult for me, Zara. Especially because I really like Nikolai and he’s opened up a load of doors for me.’

‘Emma, stop it—you’re scaring me. What is it?’

‘This.’ Pulling a newspaper from her bag, Emma threw it down on the table. ‘I know you don’t read the tabloids and it’s probably all a pack of lies, but …’

Zara snatched the paper up. It was folded so that the society pages were open—with its usual batch of PR plants thinly disguised as articles. And at the top of the page was a picture of Nikolai, taken near some stunning looking house, with a woman beside him who was even more stunning.

Zara hadn’t seen the latest blockbuster adventure film which was currently smashing records at the box office but
she knew that the French actress pictured with
Nikolai was starring as the obligatory love interest. And one look at her gamine beauty told her exactly why.

Her throat dried and her heart pounded as her eyes scanned the text. It said that they’d attended a party together. It said that they’d been engrossed in each other’s company. It said that he’d given her a lift home.

Of course he had.

It also said that the actress was currently promoting her new film in …

Zara’s mouth dried as the two words leapt off the page and punched her in the eyes.

New York!

She put the newspaper back down, noticing that her hands were trembling. ‘Thanks for showing me,’ she said hoarsely and drank down a large mouthful of wine. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘Zara—’

‘No. Don’t say anything. It’s
fine,
Emma—honestly. I’m not under any illusions about my affair with Nikolai. I mean, do you really think I thought it was going to last?’

She managed to sustain the brave face until she was back home—or, rather, back at Nikolai’s house—and then she went outside into the beautiful gardens as she thought about what she was going to do.

She remembered the night she had come here, oblivious to the fact that Nikolai had secretly summoned her to work for him, and she had seen him standing at the other end of the lawn, his eyes gleaming with ice-fire as he’d watched her. He had wanted her for all kinds of reasons and she had wanted him. It had been that simple. Her desire for him seemed to have been woven into her DNA and nothing which had happened since had made that desire lessen.

But what of the future? The future she had resolutely tried not to think about since they’d been reunited? Had she really been stupid enough to nurture hope that they might have a future
together
when international actresses of great natural beauty were there for the taking?

She’d just assumed …

What? That he was giving her fidelity? Why would she think that when he had never offered her his fidelity? Never offered her anything more than the physical attraction between them which burned so fiercely. Not even when they’d got back together after their break. The brief episodes of closeness they’d shared hadn’t really deepened, had they? And she had just turned a blind eye to it, caring more about smoothing over the surface of their life together than having the courage to explore what lay beneath it. What a pathetic person she was. Why wouldn’t a man treat you with contempt when you had shown him that you were prepared to settle for so little?

The homecoming she had planned for him was abandoned—the arty book of photographs of Moscow she’d bought was banished to the back of the wardrobe by hands splashed with her own hot tears. She’d planned on wearing some very naughty underwear—or at least some of it. She’d planned a saucy seduction when they got back from their party—but now all those plans made her feel sick.

Why, wasn’t she behaving like some kind of high-class hooker—the kind of woman she had always despised?

The hours until his return ticked by with excruciating slowness until eventually he rang to say that he was on his way back from the airport. She paced the floor until she heard the sound of his car drawing up outside and then the slamming of the front door, and Zara mentally
composed herself to greet him. She wasn’t going to scream or shout or get hysterical. She was going to be grown-up and as calm as she could.

She had given the housekeeper the afternoon off—much to the woman’s surprise—and she supposed it
was
ironic that she should start behaving like the mistress of the house just before she left it. Her heart hammering, Zara went to wait for him in the big sun-room at the back of the house where the French windows were opened to the fragrant scent of the summer evening. On one of the coffee tables lay the newspaper, folded to show the black and white photo of her beautiful, duplicitous lover.

‘Zara?’

‘I’m in here!’

Her heart twisted with pain as she heard the sound of his footsteps approaching—a sound so unique and distinctive to him. How on earth could she have learned to know and love that particular sound in so short a time?

Nikolai halted in the doorway, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her frozen stance as she turned her unsmiling face to his. The last time he’d been away she had greeted his homecoming with all the pent up passion of a woman who had been left by a man while he went away to fight a war. She had hurled herself into his arms and covered his face with a thousand kisses and started tugging hungrily at his tie. But not tonight. Tonight her face was pale and there were shadows beneath her eyes. And there was no soft silk-satin caressing the curves of her body, either. Instead she wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt which bore the defiant and faded logo of her old college. Weren’t they supposed to be going straight out to a party?

‘Hello, Zara,’ he said softly.

‘Hello, Nikolai.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘No kiss?’

Did she kiss him and pretend nothing had happened? Maybe ask him later, when his guard was down and he might blurt out the truth, however hurtful that might be.

How sad was
that?

She still hadn’t got it, had she? If he was seeing other women then there
was
no getting round him and neither should there be. The relationship was essentially over—it just depended on whether she wanted it to have a painful, protracted death or do the kindest thing and kill it off quickly.

‘You’re not dressed for the party,’ he observed, when still she didn’t move.

‘No.’

‘You don’t want to go?’

‘Not really.’ She sucked in a deep breath and looked at him. ‘How was New York?’

‘Somehow I get the feeling there’s a sting in the tail of that question.’

‘And is it guilt which gives you that feeling, Nikolai?’

‘Guilt?’
His mouth tightened with growing comprehension as he pulled off his jacket and threw it onto one of the sofas. Impatiently, he loosened his tie—as if it had been a noose hanging around his neck. ‘If I am to be accused of something, isn’t it only fair to let the prisoner know what he is being accused of?’

Prisoner?
His bizarre choice of description jarred. Zara shook her head, searching for words which would allow her to keep her dignity—and not make her sound like some discordant fishwife. And acknowledging that there was no point in berating him just because—for all his money and possessions—he could not give her the one thing she most
wanted.