frowned, as if he’d only just realised she was touching him. Obviously her touch didn’t do to him what his did to her.
‘You say that as if you don’t believe in such a concept.’ She pulled her hand back and kept it firmly in her lap.
‘I thought we’d already established that love is something neither of us believe in.’ His dark eyes bored into hers, accusation and suspicion filling them, and she recalled their conversation in Vladimir. She remembered being blasé about looking for a fairy-tale wedding and happy-ever-after. She knew no such thing would ever happen to her, but from the way he was looking at her now he thought she wanted such things.
‘We did; you just threw me when you said it was one of “those rare moments”. As if you really believe they happen.’ She smiled at him, injecting lightness into her voice. It was far better he thought she didn’t believe in love in any shape or form. The last thing he needed to know right now was that she did believe in love and happy-ever-afters; she just didn’t believe it would ever happen to her. It never would now she’d agreed to marry him as part of a deal.
‘Well, whatever you believe, it happened for my mother. She changed from the constantly scared woman who lingered in the shadows of her marriage and blossomed into someone very different—and it’s all thanks to Roger Cunningham. Even in my early teens I could see that, and at sixteen I changed my surname legally to his, although I’d already spent all my years here in New York as Nikolai Cunningham.’
‘I did wonder,’ she said, remembering his insistence that his name wasn’t Petrushov when she’d first met him, and the card he’d tossed on the bed just before walking out on her. She pushed the pain of that moment aside and focused on the present. ‘And now your child will take that name too.’
‘As will you when we are married.’ He looked at her hand, at the emerald ring on her finger, and she wondered if he was regretting what had seemed an impulsive move, telling her they would be married.
‘We don’t have to get married, Nikolai. I would never keep you from your child, not after having grown up without a father myself.’ She swallowed down the nerves as she waited for his response. He looked into her eyes, as if he was trying to read her thoughts, and as much as she wanted to look away she held his gaze.
‘Is the idea of being my wife that abhorrent to you?’ His voice had deepened and a hint of an accent she’d never noticed before came through. The idea of being married was terrifying, but the idea of being this man’s wife was less so. Was that because he was the only man she had truly known?
She shook her head, not able to speak.
He lifted his hand and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘I will never do anything to hurt you, Emma; you do know that, don’t you?’
The words were so tender she had to swallow down the urge to cry. His fingers brushed her cheek, bringing their night together vividly back to her mind. ‘Yes, I know that.’
He leant towards her, his hand sliding round beneath her hair, holding her head gently, and before she could say or do anything his lips were on hers, the same gentle, teasing kiss as in the store. Her resistance melted like ice-cream on a hot day and she kissed him back. He deepened the kiss, sending a fury of fireworks around her body, reviving all the desire she’d felt for him and, if the truth were told, still felt even though she’d supressed it well.
She still wanted him, still yearned for him.
‘We still have the passion we found in Vladimir,’ he said as he broke the kiss and moved away from her, leaving her almost shuddering from the heat coursing through her. ‘And that at least will make our marriage more bearable.’
She blinked in shock at his words. He’d been toying with her, proving his point. He obviously would never have chosen her to be his wife if it wasn’t for the baby, but he’d told her he’d never wanted to be married when he’d first met her. She’d already accepted it was what she had to do for Jess as much as the baby. ‘It will, yes.’
He smiled at her, but the warmth didn’t reach those black eyes. ‘Then we shall marry in three weeks. But first, there is the small matter of an engagement party.’
THE WEEK HAD flown by in a whirl of party arrangements and now it was time to face not only Nikolai’s friends as his fiancée but his mother and stepfather. Emma’s nerves jangled as she waited and she thought back to those two kisses on the day they’d become engaged. She had thought they were a positive sign, that he did at least feel something for her, but for the last week he’d withdrawn into his work and she had spent much of the time out with her camera.
Just this morning she’d been shopping in a store Nikolai had instructed her to visit for a dress suitable for the glamorous event the engagement party had turned into; now she stood looking out over a city which never slept, wearing the kind of dress she’d never imagined possible and feeling more like Cinderella every minute. The only thing she needed was Prince Charming to declare his undying love and sweep her away for a happy-ever-after but she doubted Nikolai would be willing to play that role.
She’d been in the beauty salon for the early part of the afternoon, nerves building with each passing hour. The cream dress, encrusted with beads, fitted to perfection and when she’d looked in the mirror before leaving her room she hadn’t recognised herself. The woman Nikolai had met in Vladimir had gone, replaced by someone who looked much more polished and refined. What would Nikolai think of that? Or had it been his intention all along to mould her into the woman he wanted her to be?
She heard Nikolai’s footsteps and nerves filled her so quickly she didn’t want to turn round, but knew she would have to. When she did her breath caught in her throat. She’d seen him in a suit, but never a tuxedo, and the image he created stirred more than just her creative mind.
The fine black cloth hugged his broad shoulders, caressed his biceps and followed his lean frame downwards. The crisp white shirt set off the black tie to perfection, but it was his face which drew her attention far more. Stubble which had been tamed to look effortlessly sexy covered his jawline, emphasising the firm set of his lips. Dark hair was styled into conformity but a few locks were already breaking free and forming curls at his temples.
‘You look...’ he said softly as he stood and fastened his cufflinks, the movement showing off his wrists and designer watch. His dark eyes were full of controlled anger as he sought the words he was looking for.
‘Very different.’ She didn’t want to hear what he thought and finished the sentence for him. All she wanted was to get his charade over with. She hated the pretence of it all.
He stepped a little closer, dropping his arms by his side, making the cloth of the tuxedo cling even more provocatively to him. ‘I was going to say very beautiful.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’ She blushed beneath his scrutiny and clutched her bag ever tighter.
She was about to walk past him when he caught her arm, the look in his eyes heavy with desire; as much as she wanted to look away, to avoid the way her body sizzled with pleasure, she boldly met his gaze. She stood there, locked in time, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t and finally he let go of her, the connection gone, snuffed out like a candle, leaving a lingering scent in the air.
‘We should go. My mother will be expecting us.’ He turned away from
