‘Please.’
The menus came again and she looked through her choices, tempted to order the chocolate soufflé, just to prolong the inevitable end.
‘Crême brulée,’ Libby settled for instead. ‘You?’
‘Just coffee.’
It was eight twenty-seven when her dessert was served and it was already over.
‘Nice?’ Daniil asked.
‘Very.’ Libby nodded, yet she could more than sense his distraction. He glanced out to the street and once more she saw him check the time.
Thank him for dinner and go home, Libby told herself, but instead she dragged things out a tiny bit by going to the loo. Then she had a coffee and little chocolate mints but all too soon their drinks were done and all that was left for Libby to do was slip a serviette into her bag as a memento of the evening.
A few moments later they walked out into the street and there, waiting for him, was his driver.
‘I’m going to get a taxi home,’ Libby said.
‘Why would you do that when I have a car waiting?’
A car that, from the way she was feeling, would only lead to his door. She looked up at him. ‘I think we both know why.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was very refreshing to meet you, Ms Tennent.’
‘It was very daunting to meet you.’ Libby smiled. ‘Well, it was at first.’
‘And how about now?’
His hands went to her hips, the move sexy and suggestive as he framed where their minds were. Libby had a sudden urge to be lifted by him, to wrap her legs around him.
‘I’m very daunted,’ she admitted, ‘though the middle bit was fun.’
It was daunting only because she was about to be kissed by the devil.
Why the hell did I order French onion soup, she thought, wondering if she could press Pause on him and scrabble in her bag for mints.
Oh, that was right, she’d had those chocolate ones with her coffee.
‘What are you thinking?’ Daniil said, because her eyes were darting and it was as if she was having a conversation with herself.
‘I’m not going to tell you.’
He didn’t test the waters, he didn’t start slowly, he just lowered his head from a great distance and Libby got the most thorough kissing of her life. His lips parted hers, his lips, not his tongue, and he held her so firmly that even as she went to rise onto her toes still he held her down. And when her lips were opened his tongue tipped hers and he explored her, not particularly softly. His jaw was rough and delicious, and when she tried to kiss him back she was met by a refusal.
This was his kiss to her, his mouth said. It wasn’t a dance of their mouths. He didn’t even lead, he simply took over, tasting her, stilling her, making her body roar into flame with his mouth. So solid was he Libby felt as if she were leaning against a wall. Even when someone knocked into them they were barely interrupted, such was the shield of him.
His kiss had her hot, right there in the street, but the only movement he allowed was to let her hands reach for his chest. She slid her fingers over the cool fabric of his shirt and found the nub of his nipples. Yes, she was hot and aching for more, her hips were pushing frantically against his hands so their bodies might have more contact. But then, when he coiled her so tight, he released her mouth. He’d let her glimpse a fraction of what being held by him felt like and then he cruelly removed the pleasure.
She sucked in the summer night air while craving his mouth again.
‘Bed,’ Daniil said.
‘I don’t...’ Libby halted. What had she been about to say—that she didn’t want to?
Well, yes, she did.
Since the age of eight, dancing had come first, which had meant self-discipline.
In everything.
How nice to stand here on the brink of making a decision based purely on now, on her own needs and wants right at this moment.
And she did want.
So she chose to say yes when the wisest choice might have been to decline.
‘Bed.’ Libby nodded and then blinked at her response. She didn’t retract it but her voice was rueful when she spoke next. ‘I am so going to regret this in the morning,’
‘Only if you expect me to love you by then.’
Third warning bell.
She could turn and walk away now.
‘Oh, no,’ Libby said, and in that at least she was wise.
‘Then, there’s no reason for regret.’
CHAPTER THREE