‘Nothing that would change a thing. So why don’t we accept that as fact and move on?’
‘Do we have anywhere to move on to?’
Where could they go from here? He had declared that everything she had heard about him was the truth. He had taken the weak, idealistic image she had once had of him and dashed it viciously to the ground, letting it splinter into tiny, irreparable shards that would never again let her form the picture of a wild but generous-spirited boy who had once been her rock, someone she could turn to when things got too bad to bear.
‘I know my father’s no saint, but you—you’re hateful.’
She was past thinking now, past caring about what she said. Deep inside, where she prayed he would never be able to find it, she knew she was having to face up to the painful bitter truth. And that truth was that when she had found out the reality of what her father had been up to, what he had planned, then she had come running to find Alexei, to find her friend, hoping, believing that he of all people would be there for her, that he would help her. But the reality was that her friend Alexei no longer existed and this cold-eyed monster could be an even more deadly enemy than the cousin she feared so much.
‘Not so hateful a moment ago,’ Alexei tossed at her. ‘Not when you were hungry for my kisses, my touch—for anything I would give you.’
‘You took me by surprise!’ Ria broke in sharply, knowing she was trying to avoid the image of herself he was showing her.
‘And it was only the surprise that made you react as you did.’
‘What else could there be?’ Ria challenged, bringing up her chin as she glared her defiance at him, wanting to deny the cynicism that burned in his words. ‘You’re not so damn irresistible as you think...’
‘Except when I have something that you want. So if I were to kiss you again...’
‘No!’
It made her jump, taking a hasty step backwards, banging into the chair and almost sending it flying. The bruise stung sharply but nothing like the feeling inside as she faced the dark mockery in his face and knew that her reaction had only confirmed his worst suspicions.
‘You wouldn’t...’ she tried again.
Her wary protest had his mouth curling at the corners, the sardonic humour more shocking than the cold anger of just moments before. She should have taken that anger as a warning, Ria acknowledged to herself. If anything, that should give her her cue to get out of here—fast. She had tried to persuade him to come back to Mecjoria. Tried to make him see that he was the best—the only—man who could take the throne. Tried and failed. And the worst realisation was the fact that she had miscalculated this so totally. She had thought that she was the best person for this task, but the truth was that she had really been the worst possible one. She had blundered in where she should have feared to tread, raising all the hatred and the anger he had been letting fester for ten long, bitter years and the only thing she could do was to walk out now while she could still hold her head high.
‘Oh, but I would.’ That dark mockery curled through his words like smoke around a newly extinguished candle, sending shivers of uncomfortable response sliding down her spine. ‘And so would you, if you were prepared to be honest and admit it.’
‘I wouldn’t.’
She was shaking her head desperately even though she knew the vehemence of her response only betrayed her more, dug in deeper into the hole that was opening up around her feet. Impossibly she was actually wishing for the cold-eyed serpent back in place of that wicked smile, the calculated mockery.
‘Liar.’
It was soft and deadly, terrifyingly so as he emphasised it with a couple of slow, deliberate steps towards her, and she could feel the colour coming and going in her cheeks as she tried to get a grip on the seesaw of emotions that swung sickeningly up and down inside her. It would be so much easier if her senses weren’t on red alert in response to the potently masculine impact of his powerful form, the lean, lithe frame, the powerful chest and arms in contrast to the fine linen of his shirt. Her eyes were fixed on the bronzed skin of his throat and the dark curls of hair exposed by the open neckline. He was so close that she could see the faint shadow on his jaw where the dark growth of stubble was already beginning to appear, and the clean musky aroma of his skin, topped with the tang of some bergamot scent, was tantalising her nostrils.
The memory of that kiss was so sharp in her mind, the scent of his body bringing back to her how it had felt to be enclosed in his arms, feel the strength of muscle, the heat of his skin surrounding her. The trouble was that she did want him to kiss her—that was something she couldn’t deny. It was there in the dryness of her mouth, the tightness of her throat so that she could barely breathe, let alone swallow. The heavy thuds of her heart against her ribs were a blend of excited anticipation and a shocking sense of dread. She wanted his kiss, wanted his touch—but she knew just what she would be unleashing if she allowed anything to happen. And she already had far too much to lose to take any extra risks.
‘No lie,’ she flung at him. ‘Not then and not now. I can see I’m wasting my time here.’
‘That’s one thing we can agree on.’
It was when he swung away from her that she knew every last chance of being heard, or even getting him to give her a single moment’s consideration, was over. The hard, straight line of his back was turned to her, taut and powerful as a stone wall against any appeal she might direct towards him. And the way his hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his trousers showed the fierce control he was imposing on himself and the volatile temper she sensed was almost slipping away from him.
‘It seems that you’re not going to be any use to me so I might as well call it a day.’
‘Please do.’
If he stayed turned away, Alexei told himself, then he might just keep his wayward senses under control until she had left. It was shocking to find the way that cold fury warred with an aching burn of lust that held him in its grip, unable to move, unable to think straight.
In the moment that she had stood up and faced him he had known that the rush of hard, hot sensuality of a few moments before had not been a one-off. And that it was not something that was going to go away any time soon. Something about the woman that Ria had become reached out and caught him in a net of sexual hunger, one that thudded heavily through his body, centring on the hardness between his legs. The fall of the shining darkness of her hair, the gleam of her beautiful almond-shaped eyes, the rose-tinted curve of her lips, shockingly touched with a sexual gleam of moisture where she had slicked her small pink tongue along them, had all woven a sensual spell around him, one he was struggling to free himself from. He could still taste her if he let his tongue touch his own lips, the scent of her skin was on his clothes, topped by that slight spicy floral scent she wore that made him want to press his lips; to her soft flesh, inhale the essence of her as he kissed her all over.
He still did. He still wanted to reach out and haul her into his arms, kiss her, touch her. She was the last person in the world he should feel this way about, the worst person in the world to have any sort of association with, let alone the hot passionate sex his body hungered for. She came with far too much baggage, not the least of which was the connection with Mecjoria, the country that had once been so much a part of his past and had almost destroyed him as a result. Everything about her threatened to drag him back into that past, to enclose him in the memories he hated, imprison him again in all that he had escaped from. Ria might tempt him—hell, the temptation she offered was so strong that he could feel it twining round him, tightening, like great coils of rope, almost impossible to resist—but he was not going to give in to it. It would only drag him back into the past he had barely walked away from, reduce him all over again to the boy he had once been, lonely, needy, and that was not going to happen.
And then she had done it again. She had turned that look on him. The Grand Duchess Honoria look. It had hit him hard. It was the same look that she’d turned on him ten years before. He didn’t know which was the worst, the fact that she still thought she could look at him in that way or the fact that it could still get to him. That she could still make him feel that way. As if all he had done and achieved had never been. As if he was still the Alexei who had hungered for approval and friendship, especially from her. From Ria. His friend.
No longer a friend. That was too innocent a word, and what he felt now was definitely not innocent. Hearing her voice and the way that something—pride? Anger? Defiance?—had hardened it, he knew what he was going to do, even if the roar of heat in his blood made it a struggle to make his body behave as his mind told him he should. Hungry sensuality and coldly rational thought fought an ugly little battle that tightened every muscle, twisted every nerve.
But it was a battle he was determined to win.
‘I would appreciate it if you left now.’
It was something of a shock to find that echoes of the training his father had given him before the cancer had stolen even his voice had surfaced from his past to make him impose the sort of control over his tone that turned the formal politeness into an icy-cold distance. She would have had something of the same training so he didn’t doubt that she knew exactly what that tone meant.