full of excitement and hope; she’d felt as if she were filled with bubbles. Now she felt flat.
‘What have I been doing this last year?’ she repeated slowly. ‘What you’d expect. Working. Paying bills. Trying to keep body and soul together.’
‘Have you taken any poetry courses?’ Sergei asked, and she stared at him for a moment before answering.
‘No,’ she said flatly. There had been no money. No time. No reason. Sergei toyed with his wine glass, his gaze seeming to rest on the ruby liquid glinting within. Their starters arrived, and Hannah stared down at the artfully arranged melon slices, her appetite vanished. ‘Why are you really here, Sergei?’ she asked quietly. ‘What do you want?’
He didn’t answer for a long moment, long enough for Hannah to look up and see a surprising bleakness in those penetratingly blue eyes. ‘I wanted to see you again,’ he said, and Hannah had the feeling he was being more honest than he wanted or even meant to be.
She arched her eyebrows. ‘You didn’t give that impression the last time I saw you.’
His eyes narrowed, lips thinning. ‘There is still something between us, milaya moya.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she snapped. A whole year, and yet the memories still hurt. They made her want to lash out.
‘Can you deny it?’
‘You certainly did,’ she replied. ‘You told me quite clearly that you’d lost interest and I wasn’t worth the effort the last time we shared a meal.’ She smiled, no more than a mirthless curving of her lips. ‘Remember? You don’t do virgins, Sergei. Especially ones who barely know how to kiss.’ She reached for her wine glass and took a large sip. ‘Fortunately,’ she said, her voice spiking, ‘that’s not an issue any more.’
She saw Sergei’s long, tapered fingers tighten around the wine glass and felt a shaft of savage satisfaction—and a pang of loss. She half wished she hadn’t shared so much information, even though she was glad he knew. Surely that proved she’d moved on, even if her one attempt at a relationship had been an unmitigated disaster. Just thinking of Matthew caused a tremor of humiliated pain to rack her body.
‘What a relief,’ he finally said, his voice light, his eyes veiled. He turned to his starter and they didn’t speak for several minutes.
Hannah felt the pressure build within her, rising up, making her want to say something. Do something. It was so strange and infuriating to see Sergei here, to be sitting here across from him just as before, to know he’d travelled all the way to Hadley Springs to see her … why?
And then of course she knew. It was obvious. Why else would a man like Sergei—powerful, sensual—come all this way? Just to see her?
Of course not. No, he must want to finish what he’d started a year ago. There had been something between them, something powerfully passionate, and, just as he’d said, it was still there now. She could not deny its magnetic, sensual tug, as much as it aggravated her.
Sergei looked up from his meal. ‘So you’ve kept your parents’ shop going,’ he remarked mildly.
‘Barely.’ She felt like being honest, even if it hurt. ‘I’ll have to sell it or close it eventually.’
‘It’s not making money?’
‘What do you think?’ She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere. Tourists drive through Hadley Springs, but they don’t often stop.’
‘And locals?’
‘Hardly provide enough business to keep it going.’
‘So how have you kept it going?’ Sergei asked and Hannah shrugged.
‘By cutting my own expenses. I also worked nights at a local diner, but they had to let me go. No business does well here, frankly.’
‘Then leave.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘It could be.’
She stared at him, eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you care?’
He had started to lift one powerful shoulder in the kind of dismissive shrug only a man with his authority and wealth could give, and then stopped. Stared back. ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, and a lightning bolt of longing blazed through her.
She still wanted him. Desperately. No matter what had happened before. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, his body on hers. She wanted it just as much—or maybe even more—than she had a year ago. And if he wanted her back …
Hannah reached for her wine, her mind spinning crazily. For surely it was crazy to actually consider finishing what they’d begun before. Yet even so the thought had slid into her mind, sly, seductive. One kiss … one night. And then she could be the one to walk away.
‘What are you thinking?’ Sergei asked, his voice husky, and Hannah jerked her startled gaze up to meet his own hooded one. He was leaning forward, his expression intent.
‘Why … why do you ask?’
‘Because your cheeks have turned pink and your pupils are so dilated they look black,’ Sergei informed her softly. ‘So naturally I wonder.’
Naturally. She imagined telling him the truth. I’m thinking of sleeping with you. What would he do? Would he smile? Laugh? Maybe she had this all wrong—again—and she’d be rejected for a second time.
Third, if she counted Matthew, although his rejection had been the least of her humiliations there.
‘You can keep wondering,’ she informed him, and kept her voice light enough that he might think she was flirting. Was she?
What was she doing?
Sergei stared back, saying nothing. Then he reached for the wine bottle and topped up both their glasses. ‘So,’ he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, ‘you’ve also been doing something other than working in the shop this last year.’
‘Eating and sleeping.’
‘And making love,’ he finished softly, and she saw a flare of cobalt in those blue eyes of his that made her wonder if he was actually jealous.
Love. There had been no love with Matthew. No love, no respect, no joy. And she had no intention of telling Sergei any of that. ‘Eat, drink, and be merry,’ she quipped, but it fell flat for Sergei’s eyes just narrowed. Dangerously. Hannah laid down her fork. She didn’t want to think about Matthew, but she couldn’t stand Sergei’s apparent double standard either. ‘You can’t be jealous. You said you didn’t even like virgins. And you’ve probably slept with a hundred women in the last year.’
‘Hardly a hundred.’
She kept her gaze even, a challenge. ‘I’m not going to quibble over numbers.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but Hannah saw he still looked annoyed. Maybe even angry. She picked up her fork again and stabbed a slice
