The Russian's Acquistion(73)

                He almost had her. She almost said it. He felt her begin to shape the word, sensed her tongue tucking behind her teeth. If she’d said no, for any reason, he would have made himself stop.

                Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her open mouth to his.

                She smelled of snow and chocolate and vodka, sweet and hot. And he was hurting. His deepest shame was never meant to be on display like this. He felt flayed to pieces by today’s revelations. By her reaction. But when he drew her into him, the pain subsided. The tattered edges of his soul came together and began to mend.

                She moaned softly, igniting him. With one step, he had her back against the wall, her neck and the curve of her hip filling his hands, her delicate softness cushioning all his hard angles. Her fingers wove into his hair, pulling him into a kiss he couldn’t have ended if the house had fallen down around them. Her tongue stroked his, her throat straining as she reached for the same oblivion he was in. With a growl, he fumbled the fly of her jeans, pushing them down, lifting her as she kicked free and bracing her against the wall so she could lace her legs around him. He needed to be inside her. Needed her.

                As he tried to free himself, her fists clenched in his hair, pulling his scalp tight as she dragged him back from the kiss enough to gasp, “Condom?”

                It wasn’t no, but it made him hesitate. He distantly put together that he was about to risk a pregnancy. He couldn’t put a baby in her. Him, with his tainted soul.

                The deepest agony filled him as he carefully pushed her legs off him and supported her until she stood. Confusion broke through her flush of arousal. “What’s wrong?”

                “Leave me alone, Clair.” He walked outside where the gathering darkness, frozen and harsh, matched what was inside him.

                * * *

                His rejection devastated her, but, Clair realized, she’d hurt him first.

                The knowledge stunned her, hovering like a dark cloud as she took a long bath and tried to sleep. She’d always been the one hurt, always taking it to heart when she was overlooked or misjudged or found wanting. To her knowledge she’d never delivered anything but mild disappointment when she declined a date. The fact that she’d penetrated Aleksy’s hard shell was as shocking to her as how deeply she’d stabbed him behind it.

                She stared into the dark, her mind unable to stop replaying those few minutes in Moscow when she’d learned about his past. I saw how you looked. I know what you think of me. She had let him down when he’d already been feeling humiliated by the uncovering of his deepest pain before the entire world.

                Maybe she should have read more into his scar from the very beginning, but even though he was formidable and ruthless, she’d only ever seen that blaze as an injury, never a warning of cruelty or aggression. She’d instinctively understood it was the result of deep pain.

                And maybe if they had more going on than sex between them, she might have had more immediate trust! She was nothing to him but his latest mistress, though. He’d made that clear while she was performing her little exercise in proving he had honor.

                And she had certainly failed to think that through! She clenched her eyes shut, still throbbing with heat between her thighs while the rest of her ached with wounded disappointment and fear. Had honor stopped him or did he not want her anymore? He’d seemed as excited as she was, only stopping because she’d reminded him about birth control. She’d said it because she couldn’t bear to trap him into something he didn’t want. If they ever married, she wanted—

                Clair sat up, instantly shaky and clammy all over. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t want to marry anyone.