of her mouth.
He dismissed the rumour circulating among certain individuals of her social group that she was frigid. No one could play an instrument with such fire and passion and have ice running through her veins. But her resistance was certainly a novelty. He had never before encountered a problem persuading any woman into his bed, Vadim mused cynically, aware that his billionaire status accounted for much of his attraction.
But Ella was different from the models and socialites he usually dated. She was a member of the British aristocracy; beautiful, intelligent and a gifted musician. The sexual attraction between them was indisputable, and as Vadim turned his head to watch her slender figure walk out of the Garden Room he felt a surge of determination to make her his mistress.
The evening at Amesbury House was a fundraising event organised by the patron of a children’s charity, and after the performance by the RLO a selection of cheeses and fine wines were served in the Egyptian Room. Ella smiled and chatted with the guests, but she was conscious of the familiar empty feeling inside her that always followed a performance. She had put her heart and soul into playing, but now she felt emotionally drained, and the hubbub of voices exacerbated her niggling headache.
She had not seen Vadim since she had caught his amused stare on her way out of the Garden Room, and she assumed that he had left immediately after the performance. It was a relief to know she would not have to contend with his disturbing presence for the rest of the evening, she thought as she stepped through the door leading to the orangery—a glassroofed conservatory that ran the length of the house, and which was blessedly cool and quiet after the stuffy atmosphere of the Egyptian Room. It was beautiful here among the leafy citrus trees, but she longed to be back at Kingfisher House, beside the River Thames, her home for the past few years. She glanced at her watch, wondering how soon she could slip away from the party, and gave a startled gasp when a figure stepped out of the shadows.
‘I thought you’d gone.’ Shock lent a sharp edge to her voice, and Vadim Aleksandrov’s dark brows rose quizzically.
‘I am flattered that you noticed my absence, Lady Eleanor.’
His deep, accented voice was so innately sexy that she could not restrain the little shiver of reaction that ran through her. The only light in the orangery came from the silver moonbeams slanting through the glass, and she hoped he could not see the flush of colour that surged into her cheeks.
‘Please don’t call me that,’ she said tautly. ‘I never use my title.’
‘You would prefer for me to call you Ella, as your friends do?’ In the pearly grey half-light Vadim’s smile revealed a set of perfect white teeth which reminded Ella of a predatory wolf. ‘I am delighted that you regard me as a friend,’ he drawled. ‘It marks a major step forward in our relationship.’
She froze, infuriated by his mocking tone, and aware of an underlying serious note in his voice that warned her to be on her guard. ‘We don’t have a relationship to move forward, backward, or anywhere else,’ she snapped.
‘An unsatisfactory situation that can easily be remedied. I have two tickets for Madame Butterfly at the Royal Opera House for Thursday evening. Would you care to join me? We could have dinner after the performance.’
‘I’m flying to Cologne to play at the Opernhaus on Wednesday,’ Ella told him truthfully, assuring herself that the faint twinge of regret she felt was only because Puccini’s famous opera was one of her favourites.
Vadim shrugged, drawing her attention to the formidable width of his shoulders, and she felt a curious tugging sensation low in her stomach. ‘I’ll rearrange the tickets for another night.’
His supreme self-confidence was that of a man who was used to getting his own way, and his arrogant smile made Ella’s hackles rise. Clearly he expected women to fall at his feet, and no doubt there were plenty who would leap at the chance to spend an evening with him—and then probably leap into his bed with the same eagerness—but she wasn’t one of them. She had tried to rebuff him politely, but obviously blunter tactics were needed. ‘Which part of no don’t you understand?’ she queried icily.
Far from seeming offended, he widened his smile and strolled towards her, his piercing blue gaze trapping her as helplessly as a rabbit confronted by car headlights. She was of average height, and her heels gave her the advantage of another three inches, but he still towered over her, the muscular strength of his chest a formidable barrier which barred her escape from the orangery. He had invaded her thoughts day and night for the past week, and now, as she inhaled the exotic tang of his cologne, her senses swam and she could not deny her agonising awareness of him.
‘This part,’ Vadim said softly, sliding his hand beneath her chin and lowering his head before she had time to comprehend his intention—or react to it.
CHAPTER TWO
‘NO!’ ELLA’S outraged gasp was muffled beneath the firm pressure of Vadim’s mouth on hers, and shock rendered her immobile. His lips were warm and beguiling as he kissed her with an expertise that caused her heart to slam against her ribs. He moved his hand from her chin to her nape, while his other hand settled on her hip and urged her closer. He did not exert force, and she could easily resist—should resist, her brain pointed out—but her body seemed to have a will of its own, and it craved even closer contact with the most mesmeric man she had ever met.
His tongue traced the shape of her mouth, playing havoc with her equilibrium, but when he probed gently between her lips, demanding access, she stiffened and her pride belatedly stirred. She knew what kind of man he was. After meeting him in Paris she had been sufficiently intrigued to find out more about him, and had discovered that he had a reputation as a playboy whose wealth and undeniable charisma attracted women to his bed in droves. His relationships never lasted long before he moved on to his next conquest, and she would not be one of them, Ella vowed fiercely.
She did not want a love affair, and she was certain that love was not on Vadim’s agenda. He wanted to have sex with her.
She might be inexperienced, but she was not completely naïve, and from the moment their eyes had met in Paris she had recognised the hungry desire in his gaze. He wanted her, but she was determined he would not have her. She’d never had a problem freezing out other men who had shown an interest in her, and the fact that she was finding it hard to remain cool with Vadim was all the more reason to stick to her resolve.
She knew about men like him, she brooded bitterly. Her father had repeatedly broken her mother’s heart with his affairs. Even when Judith Stafford had lain dying the Earl had been cavorting with his mistress on the French Riviera, and had barely made it back to England in time for his wife’s funeral.
But as Vadim continued his unhurried exploration of her lips she was aware of a curious melting sensation that seeped into her bones, undermining her determination to resist him, so that she could not prevent herself from sagging against him. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer still, so that she could feel the solid hardness of his thigh muscles. In a frantic attempt to push him away she laid her hands flat against his chest, and was instantly entranced by the warmth of his body through his fine silk shirt.
Now he increased the pressure of his mouth, forcing her lips apart, and with a bold flick of his tongue he delved into her moist warmth, taking the kiss to another level and demonstrating a degree of eroticism that was beyond anything Ella had ever imagined. She felt strangely light-headed as her blood drummed through her veins, every nerve-ending in her body acutely sensitive, so that the faint rasp of his cheek against her tender flesh sent a quiver of reaction the length of her spine. Just
