Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence(18)
His perception was uncomfortably close to the mark, and Ella flushed. ‘You’d prefer me to wear a sack?’ she demanded tightly.
‘You would look beautiful whatever you wore.’ He paused for a heartbeat before adding outrageously, ‘And exquisite wearing nothing at all.’ He had closed the gap between them and was standing too close for comfort, the scent of his after-shave-a subtle blend of citrus and sandalwood-teasing her senses. ‘However, I’d like to make one improvement.’ He moved before she could guess his intention, placed his thumbpad over her lips and wiped off her lipstick. ‘That’s better. Your lips are infinitely more kissable when they’re not covered in gunk.’
‘You’ve got a damn nerve,’ Ella breathed, trembling with anger. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go to dinner alone. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.’
‘That is a pity, because I’m ravenous.’ His eyes glinted wickedly as he trailed them down from her elegant hairstyle to her red stiletto shoes. ‘And I hate to eat on my own; it makes me irritable, which is bad for my digestion. Anyway, you have to have something for dinner, and there’s nothing in your fridge apart from a yoghurt that’s past its sell-by date-I noticed when I helped myself to a glass of water and pinched a couple of ice-cubes.’ He took advantage of Ella’s fulminating silence to drop a stinging kiss on her lips before he spun her round and, to her utter fury, tapped her lightly on her derriere. ‘A word of warning, angel face: I can’t abide women who sulk,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘Shall we go?’
‘You are the most arrogant, overbearing…’ Cheeks the same shade of scarlet as her dress, Ella snatched up her stole and purse and swept through the door he’d opened for her, her steps faltering as she passed the vase of roses on the dresser. The last rays of evening sunshine slanting through the windows turned the petals blood-red, and their sensuous fragrance seemed to mock her, but good manners forced her to turn to him. ‘Thank you for the roses,’ she muttered stiltedly. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘My pleasure.’
How could he infuse two simple words with such a wealth of meaning? she wondered. Or was she badly overreacting? She guessed that most of the women he dated were skilled in the art of flirting, and happy to indulge in verbal foreplay. But she felt on edge, unsure of her ability to handle a man as self-assured as Vadim, and it didn’t help that her lips were still tingling from that last unsatisfactorily brief kiss.
On the way to the restaurant she was relieved that he did not seem to want to talk, although his brooding silence did nothing to ease her tension, and she darted him a surprised glance when he activated the CD player and her latest recording of Mendelssohn violin concertos filled the car.
‘I first heard you play a year ago,’ he said quietly, ‘and I was blown away by your incredible talent. Undoubtedly your career will go from strength to strength.’
Sales of the CD had been high-hundreds, if not thousands of people must have listened to her play-but as the haunting notes of Mendelssohn’s exquisite composition trembled between them in the close confines of the car Ella once again felt as though she had revealed her deepest emotions to Vadim, and it made her feel acutely vulnerable.
She was glad when they arrived in Mayfair. Simpson-Brown was reputed to be one of the best restaurants in the capital, and bookings were taken months in advance, but when they walked into the elegant front bar Vadim was greeted by the maître-d’ like a long-lost brother and they were immediately escorted to a table.#p#分页标题#e#
‘Do you come here often?’ Ella queried when they finally took their seats, after Vadim had paused several times on their journey across the restaurant to greet other diners who had eagerly sought to gain his attention. The clichéd line sounded horribly gauche, and she coloured and quickly stared down at her menu, irritated with herself for acting like a teenager on her first date. It didn’t help that Vadim was so impossibly gorgeous. She had been aware of the speculative glances directed his way by several beautiful women as he had crossed the restaurant. But his magnetism was due to more than the perfection of his sculpted features and the inherent strength of his lean, hard body. He possessed a raw, primitive quality which, laced with unquestionable power and more than a hint of danger, made him utterly irresistible to just about every female between the ages of sixteen and sixty.
He shrugged. ‘I dine here maybe two or three times a month. I don’t yet have a permanent base in London, so I’ve been living at a hotel in Bloomsbury for the past six months.’ He paused fractionally and gave her an enigmatic glance across the table. ‘But that situation is about to change.’