He reached out to push her away, but a sudden movement of the plane caught them both unaware, jolting Alena so that she lost her balance and fell against him, leaving Kiryl with no alternative other than give in to his instinctive male response to protect by taking hold of her. And once she was in his arms his body reacted to her presence there as though it was something it had hungered desperately for.
Need surged against the barriers of his self-control, its urgent arousal hardening, its ache for so much more than the feel of her mouth beneath his as he took it in a kiss that was far more intense than he had wanted it to be.
As their jet descended from the clouds to what for Alena was the most beautiful winter city in the world, it wasn't St Petersburg that captured and held her attention but Kiryl himself. The hot, passionate swiftness with which he had taken her mouth thrilled and delighted her, and answering arousal rose up inside her to make her strain eagerly and urgently against Kiryl's openly hardened body. His tongue caressed her own in moves as fiercely sensual and urgent as the most explicit of intimate tangos.
It wouldn't have mattered where he had chosen to bring her, Alena acknowledged. What mattered- all that mattered for her-was being with him. The landscape of her dreams and the city of her heart was now Kiryl himself.
CHAPTER SIX
"THIS is your room, so I'll leave you to make yourself at home here before we have dinner, which I've arranged to be served in an hour's time.'
"My room?'
Alena was conscious of the fact that she had barely spoken since the helicopter waiting for them at the airport had dropped them off here, on one of the many small islands in the delta of the Neva, and Kiryl had shown her into a house so perfect that she had only been able to stand and gaze in delight at its fairytale interior.
Obviously dating back to the time of the early eighteen-hundreds, from its exterior architecture, the house was a perfect jewel of its era. All she had been able to say, after taking in its soft sugared-almond-blue-painted exterior and the elegance of the interior, had been, "This house is so beautiful! Is it yours?'
Kiryl had shaken his head. "No, I've rented it,' he'd answered her.
Now, though, Kiryl had shown her up to a beautifully decorated guest suite with overtones of French Empire style. His reference to the room being her room had caused her to turn and look at him in confused uncertainty. She had assumed that they would be sharing a room-that the bed she would sleep in would be Kiryl's bed. She had no past experience to guide her, to tell her what to say or do. No protection against the cold slamming weight of the disappointment and sense of loss that struck her.
Kiryl saw the uncertain and disappointed look Alena gave him, and then the bed. It was an important part of his plan that she should be the one to want him, to commit to him willingly and through her own choice. Now, easily able to read her mind, he asked softly, "You expected that we'd be sharing a room?'
"Yes,' Alena answered him honestly, marvelling yet again at the ease with which he seemed able to read her mind, and the way that created a very special bond between them.
"That must be your wish and your choice,' Kiryl said. "I have practically kidnapped you and brought you here, but the choice, the decision to continue the journey I began, must rest with you. It will be for you to decide whether or not you wish to invite me to your bed or exclude me from it. That is why I have given you your own room. This is my gift to you. Should you choose to give yourself to me that will be your gift to me, given freely.'
The emotional chord struck deep within her by Kiryl's words brought Alena close to tears. He was so special, so wonderful, so perfect-and so everything she wanted. "Tonight we will have dinner here, and I warn you that over dinner I intend to do my utmost to make you want what I already know I want so very desperately,' Kiryl continued. "But if at the end of the evening I have not succeeded, then … '
The look he was giving her would surely have caused ice to burst into flames, Alena thought dizzily.
"Then there is always tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after it, until you decide that you are ready for me.'
She wanted him. She wanted him so badly. His tenderness towards her and the way he had expressed that tenderness made the whole of her ache with love for him. She had always secretly dreamed of a man who would arouse her sensuality until her need for him was beyond her own control and yet at the same time be so noble that she would know she could trust him even when she could no longer trust herself. But she had never expected to find one.
"You are the missing piece that will complete my life, Alena. I believe that more strongly than I have ever believed anything.'
He was only speaking the truth-even if that completion referred to a goal that had nothing to do with loving her, Kiryl acknowledged inwardly. He had no place for love in his life. Love made men vulnerable, and the vulnerability he had experienced as a child had left him determined never to be vulnerable again-to anything or anyone.
"You are my destiny, Kiryl,' Alena responded, her voice choking with emotion.
"And I want control of that destiny to lie in your own hands,' Kiryl told her, holding her gently as he bent his head to kiss her on the forehead.
She was alone in her suite. Alone and yet not alone. She would never be alone again because of Kiryl. She could smell the scent of his skin, hear the sound of his voice inside her head, feel her body kick into excited, aching longing at the thought of his touch.
Her mobile phone chirruped-an incoming text.
Reaching for it, she felt a small pang of guilt when she saw that it was from Vasilii. Vasilii, who thought she was in London-in his apartment.
But there was no need for her to feel guilty, she assured herself. After all Vasilii would not dream of telling her if he was spending time with a woman. She was an adult, with every right to keep her private life private. When Vasilii did get to know about Kiryl he would like and admire him, of course. How could he not do so? He would be relieved, too, that she had given her love to someone he could respect-someone who shared his business values and his hard-working mindset.
Vasilii had no time for playboys and the like-young men with wealthy fathers who had no need to earn their own living. If anything, he despised them. But even they didn't merit the degree of contempt her brother felt for the kind of fortune-hunting young men several of the girls she had been at school with had become involved with-Z-list celebrities in the main, who had attached themselves to the girls at one or other of London's hot nightspots. Such liaisons damaged the reputations of the girls concerned and that of their families, Vasilii had told her. Her half-brother held certain somewhat old fashioned views about family reputations. Their father had often teased him that those views came from Vasilii's mother's family and its nomadic warrior traditions, where family pride and good name was so very important.
Her text back to her brother assured him that she was all right, and then she looked at her watch. In forty-five minutes she would be dining with Kiryl-which meant that she had better hurry up and have a shower … although of course she had nothing to change into. Tomorrow she would be able to buy herself something from the expensive and exclusive designer shops on Nevsky Prospect, but for now she would have to continue to wear her cashmere jumper and taffeta skirt.
Guessing that the double door in the wall next to the room's huge king-size bed must lead into the bathroom, Alena opened them-to discover that a dressing room lay beyond them, with another pair of double doors on the far wall, which were standing open to reveal the bathroom. As she walked towards it a note stuck to one of the doors of the dressing room's wardrobes caught her eye. Pausing to look at it, she read, "Alena-open me.'
Hesitantly she did so-only to stare at the contents of the wardrobe in delighted amazement. Hanging from the rails were the clothes she had bought at the beginning of the winter season from her favourite London shops. Or rather brand-new versions of what she had bought, Alena recognised as she looked at them more closely. Brand-new and in her size.
Kiryl had organised this, she marvelled. But how? How had he known exactly what she had bought for herself? Bemused, and torn between laughter and disbelief, Alena checked through the clothes hanging there, clutching the skirt of the silk dress she had only minutes before been wishing she had with her to wear this evening. Releasing the dress, she pulled open one of the drawers-her favourite underwear, all discreetly tissue-wrapped, and in another drawer her favourite toiletries.