on climbing the colourful glass staircase without tripping over her long skirt. ‘Not really. Staying on The Hawk has been an experience but it’s hardly been what I’m accustomed to. I’m looking forward to getting home, pulling on my jeans and gossiping with my sisters,’ she fielded, pride lifting her head high, for she would have sooner thrown herself down the stairs than reveal just how cut up she truly was at the prospect of leaving Mikhail.
‘The boss will be a hard act to follow. I hope you don’t find that he’s spoiled you for other men,’ Lara commented.
‘Who knows?’ Kat quipped. Not for the first time it occurred to her that Mikhail’s PA was a little too impressed by her boss and the unattainability factor he was famed for. The girl was gorgeous, Kat acknowledged, and perhaps it annoyed the beautiful blonde that Mikhail could remain impervious to her appeal while choosing to spend time with a woman who had neither Lara’s glossy perfection nor her youth.
‘The chef has really pushed the boat out tonight with the meal. Everyone knows you’re leaving tomorrow,’ Lara remarked laconically before she left her.
Lara had not been joking, Kat registered as her attention fell on the impressive dining table festooned in crisp pastel linen, sparkling candles and a light scattering of artistic pearls and rosebuds. Her brows rose as Mikhail strode out of the salon chatting on his cell phone in Russian. He put away the phone while studying her with shrewd assessing eyes. Was he looking for evidence of tears or sadness? Her chin tilted and a resolute smile softened Kat’s tense lips as she took a seat.
‘You look stunning this evening,’ Mikhail said, startling her, for he rarely handed out compliments. ‘The emerald brings out the remarkable green of your eyes, milaya moya.’
Bellini cocktails were brought to the table and then the meal was served and Kat’s mortification began to climb, for the starter arrived cooked in a heart shape and every edible aphrodisiac known to man featured on the menu, accompanied by a good deal of chocolate. It was like an over-the-top Valentine’s Day meal, wholly inappropriate for a couple on the brink of parting for ever. Mikhail, furthermore, preferred plain Russian food and a good deal of it, not the dainty elaborate portions he was being served.
‘I suppose all this is in your honour,’ he said drily, watching Kat bite into a chocolate truffle. ‘Clearly my chef is your devoted slave.’
‘Hardly that. François understands that I appreciate his efforts,’ Kat countered lightly, for while Mikhail paid his staff well and rewarded them for excellence, he generally only spoke to them about their work when they did something to displease him, an attitude that Kat had combatted with praise and encouragement.
Sadly, on this particular occasion François’ wonderful food was wasted on her because she was sitting there thinking that she would never dine with Mikhail again. He had treated her as he always did, with engrained good manners and light entertaining conversation. If he was ill at ease with the situation, it didn’t show.
Kat, on the other hand, felt increasingly gutted by his steady self-control. She watched him, hungry for every last imprint of him, her troubled gaze winging constantly back to the remarkably beautiful eyes that illuminated his handsome face, the strength that dominated his features, and there was not a sign that he was experiencing an ounce of the regret that was torturing her. The remnants of the glorious truffle turned to ashes in her mouth. For a dangerous moment she wanted to cry and rail at the heavens for what Mikhail did not feel for her.
‘I’m pretty tired tonight,’ she admitted, although she already knew she would not enjoy a single wink of sleep.
‘Go to bed. I’ll join you later,’ Mikhail breathed, his husky dark drawl smooth as a caress.
Halfway out of her chair, Kat froze, for it had not occurred to her that he might expect her to share his bed as usual. Had he no sensitivity, no comprehension of how she felt? Stifling her anger, she lifted her russet head. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’d prefer to be on my own tonight.’
Mikhail frowned, for he had cherished a fantasy of seeing her reclining on his bed, those pale soft curves embellished only by the emerald he had bought her.
‘It wouldn’t feel right to be with you tonight,’ Kat muttered in harried explanation, her pale face flushing with self-conscious colour. ‘We’re over and done now and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.’
Mikhail was taken aback by that candid assessment and the insulting suggestion that she might have to pretend anything in his arms, and his stubborn mouth clenched hard. Let it go, logic dictated. A celibate night might not be what he wanted or even what he felt he deserved when he had handled her with kid gloves and all the respect he could muster, but even less was he in the mood for feminine drama. Not that Kat looked likely to offer him tears: her heart-shaped face was as still as a pond surface. With an odd little smile and a nod she walked away fast.
Dinner had felt like the condemned woman’s last meal, Kat conceded wretchedly as she got ready for bed, but she wasn’t going to cry about him. It was over and she would pick herself back up and go on. From the first moment they had met this hour of hurt and rejection had awaited her as surely as disillusionment. He said all the right things, he did all the right things, but he didn’t feel them. There was only a superficial bond between them and it meant a lot less to him than it did to her. And so Kat tormented herself with wounding thoughts that kept her tossing and turning until she put the bedside light on at about two in the morning and dug out a magazine in the hope of quieting her over-active brain.
When a light knock sounded on the door that communicated with Mikhail’s suite she froze as if a thunderclap had sounded and then slid out of bed in a rush. She had locked the door earlier, not because she feared he might ignore her desire to spend the night alone, but because she wanted to underline for her own benefit that their intimacy was now at an end. Now, with her heart beating very fast, she unlocked the door and opened it.
‘I saw the light. You can’t sleep either?’ Mikhail had stepped back a couple of feet from the door, his lean, powerfully muscular body clad only in light boxer shorts.
‘No, I can’t.’ Her palm sweated against the door, her heart thumping in her ear drums at an accelerated rate as she noted, really could not have avoided noticing, that he was sporting a hard-on that tented his boxers. Her mouth ran dry and she tore her gaze from him, heated colour burnishing her cheekbones.
‘Pridi ka mne … come to me,’ Mikhail murmured slightly raggedly, black eyes smouldering like firebrands over her, lingering on the generous curve of her soft mouth.
And it was as if that one look lit a fire inside her treacherous body because her breasts stirred, the nipples tightening, and moist heat made her uncomfortably aware of the ache at the heart of her. She froze in denial of those lowering sensations. ‘I can’t,’ she muttered tightly. ‘It’s over now. We’re finished.’
Kat closed the door fast, shot the lock closed again and rested back against the cold unyielding wood to support her weak lower limbs. She had resisted him and she was proud of her self-discipline. Another bout of wildly exciting sex was not going to cure what ailed her heart and it would only make her feel ashamed of herself. It was one thing to love a man, another thing entirely to drop one’s self-esteem in pursuit of him. Her teeth clenched, she moved back to the bed, doused the light and clambered below the sheet with hot tears stinging her eyes. She ignored the tears, determined not to let go of her control, determined not to greet him in the morning with swollen reddened eyes that would destroy her pride.
Cursing below his breath, Mikhail went for another cold shower. It was sex, that
