The Russian's Ultimatum(17)

Pascha didn't think he'd ever felt as inadequate as he did at that   moment. All he could do was stroke her hair with the palm of his hand,   his guts a tangled knot.

His mind raced, a confusion of thoughts he couldn't begin to decipher.

Only three months...

'I miss her so badly.' Emily spoke in gasps, her breaths warming his   stomach. 'I can't believe she's gone. I just want her back.'

What could he say? Nothing.

'When she was diagnosed we knew she wouldn't have long but it happened   so quickly. Seven months. That's all we had-that's all she had. Seven   months. All the time in the world would never have been enough.'

It was as if a floodgate had opened. Emily's anguish spilled out, unable to be contained.

'What happened to her?' he asked quietly, nestling his hand into her hair and cradling her scalp protectively.

It took a few attempts for her to get the words out. 'She had Progressive Bulbar Palsy.'

'What's that?'

'A form of motor neurone disease. Very aggressive. So cruel....' Her words tailed away.

'Is that why you took all that time off work?' he asked, his stomach   clenching. He'd assumed it had all been tied to her father's recent   mental breakdown; he'd had no idea it stretched back so long.

She rocked into him. 'I had to be there. So little time.' Emily couldn't speak any more, her vocal cords choked by her grief.

Since the diagnosis, Emily had worked on autopilot, on the go all the   time, never sitting still long enough actually to face what was   happening to her mother full-on. It had been the same when she'd died.

She hadn't cried since the funeral, too worried about her father to grieve for the woman they'd all adored.

'Let me ask you something.' Pascha spoke in a gentle tone that soothed   her as much as the tender movements of his hand in her hair, massaging   her scalp. 'When your mother died, did she know how much you loved her?'

She tilted her face to look at him. His face was crinkled, his eyes a   litany of emotion. She nodded in response, still unable to speak.

'Then you did have enough time, milaya moya.' His finger brushed against   her cheek, his grey eyes swirling with emotion. 'I know it doesn't  feel  like you did and you're right-all the time in the world would  never  have been enough. But for your mother to go to her grave knowing  how  much you all loved her is the greatest gift you could have given  her.  For that, you were blessed with all the time you needed.'

Even through the pain of her grief, Emily could feel the sorrow beneath   the empathetic tone of his words. Her hand moved on its own accord to   touch his face. Dark stubble had slowly spread along his jawline   throughout the evening, a roughness to the touch that felt impossibly   comforting.

She shifted a little, moving her face up his chest so her cheek rested on his shoulder. 'Are you thinking of your father?'

His jaw clenched but he nodded. 'I never got the chance to say goodbye   or to-' He cut his own words off, tilting his head back to look at the   sky thickening with clouds once again. 'I never told him how much he   meant to me.'

'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

He looked back down at her, his usually composed features raw.

Emily had been there at the end, holding her mother's hand when she'd   slipped away. They'd all been there. It was a comfort knowing her mum   had been with the people she loved most when the end had come, that she   hadn't left this life alone.                       
       
           



       

All Pascha had was regrets. She could feel them as keenly as she felt their mutual sorrow.

She had no idea how long they sat there gazing at each other, his hand   nestled in her hair, her fingertips tracing his stubbly jawline.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel those wide, firm lips upon   hers and learn for herself what they'd feel like upon her mouth. And   from the deepening of Pascha's breath and the growing intensity in his   eyes she could tell that he wanted it too.

His head dipped at the same moment she raised her chin, their lips   coming together in a whisper of movement. He exhaled at the same moment   she expelled the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and,   inhaling again, she breathed him in, a dark, masculine essence that   filled her with such deep longing.

She pulled back to stare at him, recognising the same puzzlement in his own stare as she knew must be in hers.

But then their lips came together again, his strong arms enveloped her   and he was kissing her properly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth,   filling her senses with his exotic taste.

As if they had free will, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders   and she pressed her hands to his skin. It was smoother to the touch than   she could ever have imagined and she traced her fingers over it in   circles.

The deeper his kisses, the more she wanted, soaking in as much of his taste and touch as she could consume.

Time slipped away, the world shrinking just to them, a mesh of hungry lips and tongues devouring each other.

His hand swept down her back to clasp her thigh over the restriction of the blanket she was nestled in.

Her blanket.

For the first time, she considered how cold he must be in the whipping wind.

While she was all snuggled up in the fleece blanket, Pascha was sat in nothing but a pair of shorts.

It wasn't just the wind lashing around them either; the rain had started   again, not as fierce as earlier but picking up quickly, big, fat   droplets of it.

'We should go back inside before we get pneumonia,' she said, disentangling her arms from around him, swallowing hard.

Pascha hadn't noticed the rain. He'd stopped feeling the cold.

One kiss and he'd forgotten himself.

He'd forgotten his health.

For the first time since the age of five, he didn't care.

How the hell had that happened?

Emily slipped off his lap-when had she climbed onto it?-and got back to   her feet in such an unsteady fashion he grabbed her arm to stop her   falling.

'Thanks,' she muttered, stepping back with wide, pained eyes before disappearing back into the shelter.

Pausing only to collect the seat covers on the bench, he followed her in, locking the door behind him.

She'd disappeared into the bathroom. He took the moment of solitude to inhale deeply and calm his racing thoughts.

Never had he felt desire so strong.

Or so wrong.

To allow anything more than a kiss to develop between them was to take the first steps on the road to madness.

Emily was nothing like the women he usually entertained for his   gratification. She was all too real. All too human. And she was   vulnerable.

But his good intentions died when she reappeared from the bathroom, a   white towel wrapped around her, accentuating her feminine curves.

All the moisture left his mouth. All the words he'd planned to say left with it.

She passed him a hand-towel with which to dry himself. Wordlessly he accepted it, rubbing it over his hair and face.

She closed the gap between them and placed a hand on his chest. The heat   from her skin warmed him more than any fire ever could have.

Slowly Emily traced her fingers over him. It was every bit as beautiful   as the tantalising glimpse she'd caught on the veranda had promised,  his  chest hard and golden, the dark hairs covering it soft.

His chest rose, as if he were struggling for breath. He caught her   wrist. 'Emily, I do not want to take advantage of the situation.'

She could see the pain on his face as he spoke the words. As she closed   the final gap between them, pressing herself so her mouth was against   his collarbone, she could feel the strength of his erection through his   shorts, a movement that sent a bloom of heat straight between her   thighs. 'You might not want to take advantage of the situation, but I   do,' she whispered.

How could she not? The whole day felt like a dream. So many emotions had   been churned up, so much desire. And right then it was the desire that   burned the strongest, enough to drive out all the other emotions  living  within her, all her fears.

Stepping back, she tugged at her towel and let it fall to the floor, watching as his eyes widened, the grey darkening.

It was her turn for eyes to widen when a strong hand clasped her waist   and wrenched her to him. Before she had time to breathe, Pascha's hot   mouth had found hers, his hold on her the only thing keeping her   boneless legs upright.                       
       
           



       

She wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, kissing him back   with everything she had, her tongue winding around his, dancing a tune   she never wanted to end.

When Emily had been a child she had always adored watching couples   kissing on the television and had eagerly anticipated her own first   kiss. In her head, she'd envisaged it would be just like the movies and   would send her into a frenzy on the spot. Needless to say, her first   kiss had been a disappointment. It was nothing she could put her finger   on but kissing had never sent the shockwaves through her that she had   always secretly hoped for.