Kholodov's Last Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

or if he was used to it. Or did Sergei Kholodov just scowl at her?
    ‘Miss Pearl?’ he prompted, and Hannah realised she’d just been standing there, staring into space. And Sergei was waiting. Somehow she didn’t think he liked to wait. She swallowed, nodding, and followed Grigori through the dining room to a discreet alcove in the back, part of the main dining room and yet also quite private. No one could see into this secluded and intimate corner. A table with an L-shaped banquette in plush crimson velvet was laid with crystal, flickering with candlelight. Sergei slid out of the booth as she approached, and now stood in front of her, his gaze sweeping over her in a brief but thorough assessment.
    Her face—her whole body—heated under his gaze. She didn’t think she was imagining a look like that. And yet the thought that he might actually find her attractive was incredible, impossible. Exciting.
    He looked, she thought as the thud of her heart seemed to roar in her ears, amazing. He’d exchanged the leather trenchcoat and jeans for a well-cut silk suit in a charcoal grey, and it did even better things for his shoulders, if that were possible. She couldn’t keep herself from noticing the strong lines of his body: his jaw, his shoulder, his thigh. The man was a painting, or perhaps a sculpture.
    ‘Good evening,’ he said, and Hannah very nearly bobbed a curtsey back. She felt so out of her element, and no more so than when Sergei slowly reached out a hand, which she took instinctively, and with a sensual smile led her to the table.
    Sergei saw Hannah’s eyes widen and flare and felt a shaft of desire stab him as she bit her lip, taking its rosy fullness between her teeth, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the obvious intimacy of their surroundings. Just looking at her he felt desire flood through his veins, fire his resolve. He wanted her, and that made things simple. Lust was easy, desire safe. And as her gaze finally rested on him, open and guileless, he thought she desired him back. A faint flush tinged her cheeks and she dropped her hand from where she’d been toying with her hair.
    Sergei let his gaze sweep over her once more. Her hair, last scraped back into a ponytail, now fell almost to her waist in a rippling chestnut waterfall, the candlelight picking out strands of amber and gold. Her dress was cheap and boring but it didn’t matter. The fabric draped lovingly over the gentle curves of her breasts and hips; they were slight and she was almost too thin, yet Sergei was still tempted. Still speechless.
    She wasn’t classically beautiful, there was something too open and honest about her for that; she possessed no haughty awareness or distance. Yet she still looked breathtaking, and she was the only woman Sergei had ever met who caused him to break his rules, to want more, more than he ever let himself want.
    He pushed the thought—the want—aside. This was lust, pure and simple. That was all. He’d make sure of that.
    ‘I hope you found everything in your room comfortable,’ he said.
    ‘
Comfortable?
Are you kidding me? It was amazing. The tub alone—I stayed in there for an hour.’ She held out her hands for his inspection. ‘My fingers are still wrinkled like prunes.’
    ‘I’m glad you enjoyed all the room’s amenities,’ he said smoothly, and she dropped her hands, laughing a little.
    ‘Definitely. Thank you. This is all so … like something out of a fairy tale. Really.’ Her eyes held a playful, teasing light. ‘Are you my fairy godmother?’
    ‘No,’ Sergei said, ‘Just someone assuaging his own guilty conscience.’
    ‘You hardly need to feel guilty,’ she said as she slid into the booth. He caught a whiff of her honeyed scent: snowdrops, the signature scent of the complementary toiletries found in every room in his hotel. The scent, he’d always thought, of sweetness and courage.
    ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, reaching for the bottle of red already