Lucy Ellis - Untouched by His Diamonds

Straight up sex, not seduction. That was on the menu for tonight and tomorrow night.

He’d save the seducing for a woman who needed it.

CLEMENTINE lingered in her shabby rats’ hole long enough to whip off her boots and slip on jeans and her trainers, then hightail it for the Grand Hotel Europe.

‘You’re doing what ?’ Luke slid his spectacles down to the end of his nose after listening to her story.

That those glasses were only for show made the gesture all the more endearing. They had known each other since Clementine’s teenage years, when Luke had moved in next door. Meeting up with him again in a pub in London had been serendipitous. Without Luke, Clementine doubted she would have lasted more than a few months in London in that first year. He’d got her this job with the Ward Agency.

Clementine sat down on the end of his hotel bed. As head of public relations for the Verado shoot Luke got a whole room in the Grand Hotel Europe.

‘It’s just dinner, Luke.’

‘No, he ogled you in a shoe store and followed you up the Nevsky—’

‘And saved me.’

‘Saved you—right.’ Luke was all cynicism. ‘Some guy stole your bag—’

‘Two—two pretty nasty types. And then he just made the whole problem go away. Took me around in his limo.’

‘Just you make sure that’s all it is. Dinner.’

Clementine blew air up her fringe. ‘Yes, Mum.’

Luke sat down beside her on the end of the bed. ‘Sweetie, this guy isn’t the one.’

‘What one?’

‘The one you’re looking for.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Hey, Clem, remember who you’re talking to. I was there last year, remember? To pick up the pieces. This guy is rich, right? Impressive? It sounds familiar to me. You’re his type, darl, but he’s not yours.’

No, she wasn’t going to believe that. She wasn’t going to let one bad experience alter the course of her life. But she had, hadn’t she? And with Luke’s reminder reality began to seep in fast. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I really want to find out.’ She could feel her face heating up.

Luke shook his head. ‘I’m going to give you my mobile, okay? You ring me here at any hour. Wherever he takes you, you make sure you get the address, and if he wants to take you anywhere out of the city you say no—got it?’

‘He’s not a serial killer.’

‘Probably not, but he knows you’re a tourist. I can’t believe you let some strange man ogle you in public.’ But his blue eyes were twinkling. ‘Those legs of yours should be insured.’

‘They’re not that good.’ Clementine gave her thighs a pinch.

‘They’re sensational, princess. Now, listen to Uncle Luke—are you packing protection?’

Clementine blinked.

‘Hell, Clem, I know you haven’t been dating for a while, but nothing’s changed, love.’

‘Never rely on the guy,’ intoned Clementine, wondering what Luke would say if he knew she’d never had casual sex in her life.

‘Good girl.’ Luke’s expression softened. ‘But you’re not going to sleep with him, are you?’

Clementine went for an insouciant shrug, and Luke threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall when this bloke realises he’s going home alone.’

‘Maybe he just wants to get to know me better.’

Luke squeezed her knee. ‘You go on thinking that, darl, and one day pigs will fly, my flirty little puritan.’

Puritan. Hardly.

She dated. Just not in the last twelve months. But mostly she worked. She’d been working from the age of seventeen, supporting herself in any number of menial jobs, studying at night school. It didn’t leave a lot of time for relationships. Even friendships. She had loads of acquaintances—it went with her job—but only a couple of real friends. She knew the difference—just as she knew this date with Serge Marinov was a bit of fun to celebrate the end of her contract with Verado. She would flirt herself silly, and fantasise about what it would be like to be with a guy like this, and then—Cinderella-fashion—vanish at midnight.

Which reminded her…She retrieved Luke’s condoms from her clutch bag and tossed them onto the nightstand.

She only did relationship sex, whatever Luke might think.

Given the circumstances of their meeting, she tossed aside her pile of short skirts and tight tops and took out the pale green satin dress she had packed for evenings out with her co-workers. On the hanger it looked plain, but once her curves had filled it, the wide belt cinching in her waist, it was something else.

Not that she was complaining about the curves. She couldn’t help the way she was shaped, and despite all the good and bad attention it got her she wasn’t going to waste her youth hiding behind acres of fabric. The pleated bodice covered up her chest modestly enough, and fastened in a halter around her neck, leaving what she considered her best feature—her shoulders—bare.

She wound her hair into a chignon and highlighted her mouth with deep pink lipstick, then slipped on her favourite strappy gold sandals.

From the window she saw a low-slung silver sports car enter the courtyard. It had to be him. She didn’t want him coming up here again. It was too intimate, and it created a bit of a power imbalance she wasn’t comfortable with.

There was an elevator in the building, but the concierge had advised her not to use it. She teetered a bit on her heels as she reached the bottom of the stairwell, and then she saw him striding towards her. She registered the moment he saw her—and that she had literally stopped him in his tracks.

‘Hi,’ she said, a tad breathlessly.

He wore tailored trousers, the shirt open at his throat was expensive, and the dark jacket screamed money. He was so physically imposing she ground to a halt. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and there was nothing friendly in the look he gave her. For a moment all she saw was a flare of almost feral wildness in those beautiful Tartar features but then he was pulling it back, hooding his green eyes and covering the ground between them in a few steps.

Oh, Lord, she was toast.

Clementine drew her little clutch up to her waist, bent her elbows in a classic expectant pose, and waited for him.

‘You look breathtaking.’ His deep voice held the same appreciation she saw in his eyes, and for a giddy moment she thought he might bend to kiss her. But he merely reached for her elbow to guide her.

He looked so good—radiated such strength and confidence. What was it about this man that sent the blood thrumming through her body? It was all wrong, because this couldn’t be anything more than dinner.

It was a lot more than dinner. If he could, he would have driven her straight to his place and set aside the ‘getting to know you’ niceties.

He couldn’t help but admire her ability at sliding into a low-slung car. She had it down to an art form. Like much else. He watched her do it with only a slight hitching of her skirt and acknowledged she’d probably had lots of practice. Women like this required high performance cars—it came along with the body she had on offer, and Clementine was a piece of strategically engineered female design straight off the make-me-a-bombshell factory floor.

And he had her exactly where he wanted her.

He shut the door with an expensive-sounding snuck .

In under a minute he was beside her, his hand throwing the car into gear, taking in a discreet scan of that body.

‘Ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’

Was she nervous? A little thrown by that thought, he let the motor throb and she actually jumped.

‘Do it again,’ she encouraged.

Smiling at her enjoyment, he reversed back towards the road with the expertise he’d built up with this car, aware he was showing off. He made a mental note. She liked the car. She liked surprises.

Then she opened her mouth and trotted out that cute little accent.

‘So, where are we going, Slugger?’

‘There’s a place on the Neva I think you’ll enjoy.’

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. How had he forgotten how much of a bombshell she was?

‘This is an incredible car,’ she commented.

‘You like fast cars, kisa ?’

She gave a little shrug. ‘I guess. I like the rush.’

‘I can open it up on the highway, but it’s a no-go in the centre of the city.’ He flicked a glance over her recumbent body. ‘Why don’t you sit back and relax and enjoy the ride?’

‘I will.’

She had angled her body so that one leg was tucked behind the other, showcasing the long shapely line of her body from shoulder to breast and then to the luxurious curve of her hip and down her long, long legs to the clasp of her strappy shoes.

She was watching him; he could feel her curious gaze all over him. He almost growled as she said, ‘I like the red leather. It looks expensive.’

They’d hit a snag in traffic, and instead of looking for a way out of it he leaned back and followed the length of her slender arm, the curve of her breast, lifted his eyes to the smile on her lips. Her eyes were gleaming mischief at him.

Everything about her told him she was practised at being provocative, but her smile and the look in her eyes spoke of the fun she was having with it.

‘You like expensive things, kisa ?’

‘I really like it that you’re rich,’ she answered, batting those false eyelashes at him outrageously.

‘And I really like a woman who appreciates leather. I liked your skirt this afternoon.’

‘It’s nice against my skin.’ Her cheeks were starting to turn pink.

He had to ask. ‘What else do you like against your skin?’

She laughed—that husky sound again. ‘Warmth.’ She suddenly sounded more down to earth. ‘I get cold easily.’

‘Good to know. I’ll make it my responsibility tonight to keep you from getting cold.’

‘You’ll loan me your jacket?’ Her eyes were sparkling. Her little smile had blossomed. ‘Such a gentleman.’

He gave her a look, then a second look—as if to check and see that what he’d seen the first time hadn’t altered—and then his eyes went all speculative. Male speculation.

Clementine drew herself together and settled back a little further in her seat. Maybe it was time to rein in the flirting.

She concentrated on the traffic outside, telling herself she could handle this guy. He asked her a few light questions about her time in St Petersburg and the atmosphere in the car settled down.

Feeling a little more confident, she covertly ran her gaze down the length of him. From his unruly close-cropped hair to the high planes of his face that revealed a southern Russian ancestry, the sensual jut of his mouth, the clean, solid lines of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat to his big husky body that made her cheeks burn. He was a sight to incite a female riot.

He looked at her again, and his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was doing.

Deciding to brazen it out, she said outright, ‘I like your jacket.’

He smiled, forming appealing creases around his mouth that made him appear younger, more relaxed, as if he was enjoying her company. He got the joke. He’d play nice. She found she could relax.

The traffic eased as they went over the bridge. One of his hands rested lightly on the wheel, the other throwing gears as he negotiated the car in and out of snags and got them across town with a skill that mesmerised her.

Other images began to crowd her head and it was difficult to censor them. The way he had lunged at those men—all that aggression and cracking of bone—the way he had taken physical blows for her and scared those guys off. He’d done it because underneath all the politesse and courtesy he had shown her he was a big, strong, rough guy—and didn’t it make all the girly parts of her tingle? She’d been on the money the first moment she saw him. They just didn’t make men like this any more.