that she was complaining about the curves. She couldn’t help the way she was shaped, and despite all the good and bad attention it got her she wasn’t going to waste her youth hiding behind acres of fabric. The pleated bodice covered up her chest modestly enough, and fastened in a halter around her neck, leaving what she considered her best feature—her shoulders—bare.
She wound her hair into a chignon and highlighted her mouth with deep pink lipstick, then slipped on her favourite strappy gold sandals.
From the window she saw a low-slung silver sports car enter the courtyard. It had to be him. She didn’t want him coming up here again. It was too intimate, and it created a bit of a power imbalance she wasn’t comfortable with.
There was an elevator in the building, but the concierge had advised her not to use it. She teetered a bit on her heels as she reached the bottom of the stairwell, and then she saw him striding towards her. She registered the moment he saw her—and that she had literally stopped him in his tracks.
‘Hi,’ she said, a tad breathlessly.
He wore tailored trousers, the shirt open at his throat was expensive, and the dark jacket screamed money. He was so physically imposing she ground to a halt. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and there was nothing friendly in the look he gave her. For a moment all she saw was a flare of almost feral wildness in those beautiful Tartar features but then he was pulling it back, hooding his green eyes and covering the ground between them in a few steps.
Oh, Lord, she was toast.
Clementine drew her little clutch up to her waist, bent her elbows in a classic expectant pose, and waited for him.
‘You look breathtaking.’ His deep voice held the same appreciation she saw in his eyes, and for a giddy moment she thought he might bend to kiss her. But he merely reached for her elbow to guide her.
He looked so good—radiated such strength and confidence. What was it about this man that sent the blood thrumming through her body? It was all wrong, because this couldn’t be anything more than dinner.
It was a lot more than dinner. If he could, he would have driven her straight to his place and set aside the ‘getting to know you’ niceties.
He couldn’t help but admire her ability at sliding into a low-slung car. She had it down to an art form. Like much else. He watched her do it with only a slight hitching of her skirt and acknowledged she’d probably had lots of practice. Women like this required high performance cars—it came along with the body she had on offer, and Clementine was a piece of strategically engineered female design straight off the make-me-a-bombshell factory floor.
And he had her exactly where he wanted her.
He shut the door with an expensive-sounding snuck.
In under a minute he was beside her, his hand throwing the car into gear, taking in a discreet scan of that body.
‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Was she nervous? A little thrown by that thought, he let the motor throb and she actually jumped.
‘Do it again,’ she encouraged.
Smiling at her enjoyment, he reversed back towards the road with the expertise he’d built up with this car, aware he was showing off. He made a mental note. She liked the car. She liked surprises.
Then she opened her mouth and trotted out that cute little accent.
‘So, where are we going, Slugger?’
‘There’s a place on the Neva I think you’ll enjoy.’
He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. How had he forgotten how much of a bombshell she was?
‘This is an incredible car,’ she commented.
‘You like fast cars, kisa?’
She gave a little shrug. ‘I guess. I like the rush.’
‘I can open it up on the highway, but it’s a no-go in the centre of the city.’ He flicked a glance over her recumbent body. ‘Why don’t you sit back and relax and enjoy the ride?’
‘I will.’
She had angled her body so that one leg was tucked behind the other, showcasing the long shapely line of her body from shoulder to breast and then to the luxurious curve of her hip and down her long, long legs to the clasp of her strappy shoes.
She was watching him; he could feel her curious gaze all over him. He almost growled as she said, ‘I like the red leather. It looks expensive.’
They’d hit a snag in traffic, and instead of looking for a way out of it he leaned back and followed the length of her slender arm, the curve of her breast, lifted his eyes to the smile on her lips. Her eyes were gleaming mischief at him.
Everything about her told him she was practised at being provocative, but her smile and the look in her eyes spoke of the fun she was having with it.
‘You like expensive things, kisa?’
‘I really like it that you’re rich,’ she answered, batting those false eyelashes at him outrageously.
‘And I really like a woman who appreciates leather. I liked your skirt this afternoon.’
‘It’s nice against my skin.’ Her cheeks were starting to turn pink.
He had to ask. ‘What else do you like against your skin?’
She laughed—that husky sound again. ‘Warmth.’ She suddenly sounded more down to earth. ‘I get cold easily.’
‘Good to know. I’ll make it my responsibility tonight to keep you from getting cold.’
‘You’ll loan me your jacket?’ Her eyes were sparkling. Her little smile had blossomed. ‘Such a gentleman.’
He gave her a look, then a second look—as if to check and see that what he’d seen the first time hadn’t altered—and then his eyes went all speculative. Male speculation.
Clementine drew herself together and settled back a little further in her seat. Maybe it was time to rein in the flirting.
She concentrated on the traffic outside, telling herself she could handle this guy. He asked her a few light questions about her time in St Petersburg and the atmosphere in the car settled down.
Feeling a little more confident, she covertly ran her gaze down the length of him. From his unruly close-cropped hair to the high planes of his face that revealed a southern Russian ancestry, the sensual jut of his mouth, the clean, solid lines of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat to his big husky body that made her cheeks burn. He was a sight to incite a female riot.
He looked at her again, and his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was doing.
Deciding to brazen it out, she said outright, ‘I like your jacket.’
He smiled, forming appealing creases around his mouth
