eager to please you.
But not Erin. Erin was different. She did what she thought was right—no matter at what cost to herself. And she was the mother of his child. She deserved his respect—he realised that now. And maybe she also needed to know some of the things he was fast discovering about himself.
‘I understand now why you kept Leo from me for so long,’ he said.
Her eyes were wary. ‘You do?’
He nodded. ‘Why would you want an innocent child being corrupted by someone who saw life through the bottom of a glass, as I did? Whose idea of fun was being the last person left in the casino after he’d emptied his wallet? Who revelled in the sense of danger, as much as the thrill of risk? I don’t blame you for cutting me out of his life, because that’s what any good mother would do and you are a fantastic mother,’ he said slowly. ‘And our son is beautiful. He’s just beautiful, Erin.’
Erin didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this hadn’t even featured on her list of possibilities. And the crazy thing was that the things he’d said made her want to cry. She found herself wishing he’d come and found her a long time ago to tell her he had cleaned up his act and then he could have met Leo a whole lot sooner. She thought of all those wasted years which they could never get back and suddenly she didn’t want to risk a moment’s more regret.
She blinked away the incipient tears which were pricking at the backs of her eyes. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.
‘Erin—’
‘Shut up,’ she interrupted and in the midst of her hunger and heartache she realised that she was one of the few people he would allow to interrupt him like that. ‘Just shut up and kiss me, Dimitri. Please.’
He moved forward and cupped her face in his hands and suddenly he was driving his mouth down onto hers, his tongue coaxing her lips apart as he began to explore her with an urgency which made her feel weak. She wondered if it was her self-imposed embargo on sex which made this kiss seem so...profound, or because it was underpinned by a distinct air of reconciliation?
She didn’t know and, right now, she didn’t care. The only thing she cared about was the way he was touching her—running the flat of his hand down over her flower-sprigged nightdress.
‘Is this what the English call a passion-killer?’ he questioned drily as he peeled off her long nightdress.
‘Why?’ She shivered as the cool air hit her heated skin. ‘Is it working?’
‘Are you kidding? It’s the sexiest piece of clothing I’ve ever seen,’ he growled as he picked her up and carried her over to the bed.
She helped him undress—her inexperience forgotten in the midst of her excitement at revealing the powerful body. She traced her fingers experimentally over his hair-roughened thighs, feeling stupidly pleased by his exultant shiver and the little groan of satisfaction he made. And wasn’t that the thing about Dimitri—that somehow, despite everything, she always felt like his equal in bed?
The sheets felt cool against her naked body but Dimitri was all welcoming warmth as the mattress dipped beneath them. Tilting her chin, he looked at her for one long, wordless moment before slowly lowering his mouth to kiss her.
He wrapped his arms around her—his powerful legs entwining with hers and his fingers stroking her skin, so that at first she shivered and then relaxed. It felt so good to be here with him like this. Unbearably good. She found herself praying that he wouldn’t hurt her—before vowing that she wouldn’t ever allow herself to get hurt.
His hands moved to her hips, urging her even closer, and her nipples grew hard against his chest. She could feel the heavy weight of his erection pushing against her belly and her face grew hot. The blood in her veins seemed to be growing thicker. She could feel the molten heat between her legs and when he slid his fingers there, she writhed with pleasure—moving her body against him in a silent message of invitation.
‘You like that, don’t you, milaya moya?’ he whispered and when she nodded eagerly, he whispered into her ear. ‘Then tell me.’
‘I...love it,’ she whispered shakily. ‘You know I do.’
Somehow he found a condom but his hands were unsteady as he slid it on, before entering her with such exquisite precision that Erin gasped.
He moved slowly at first—as if he had all the time in the world. And wasn’t that exactly what it felt like? That for once there were no constraints, or questions. That she could simply enjoy this for what it was.
She was aware that his eyes were open and she felt confident enough to hold his gaze as each thrust took her higher. Every time he moved it increased her pleasure—tightening it, notch by delicious notch. And just when it became almost unbearable her orgasm hit her in waves so powerful that it felt as if it were tearing her body apart. Her fingers tightened around him as he shuddered inside her with a ragged groan of his own.
It seemed like ages before he withdrew and Erin had to fight the urge to claw at him—wanting to bring him back inside her. She turned to look at him. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping—and she knew him well enough to realise that he’d probably like her to turn over and go to sleep, too. She remembered once overhearing him saying to his friend Ivan: The trouble with women is that they ask too many questions.
For a long time she had tried to abide by his preferred diktat, because she’d wanted to be the perfect secretary. She had questioned him only when absolutely necessary—but those days were gone. Even if the intimacy they’d just shared didn’t give her any rights—surely the fact that they had a son between them allowed her the luxury of asking questions for once. Wasn’t it time he told her stuff—instead of making out that it was presumptuous of her to dare ask?
‘Dimitri?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I want to ask you something.’
He opened his eyes. ‘Must you?’
She ignored that, positioning herself more comfortably on the pillows so that she was in the direct line of his cool gaze. ‘You know when you were going off the rails?’
‘What about it?’
‘You just never told me why. What made you do it?’
‘Does there have to be a reason, Erin?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
He was so quiet for a moment that Erin wondered whether he was just going to ignore her question, when suddenly he started talking.
‘It was a combination of factors,’ he said. ‘I was living in London—and that was the world I was inhabiting at the time.’
She rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him. ‘What kind of world was that?’
He shrugged. ‘The world of success—and excess. My company was doing better than I could have ever dreamed. Suddenly, I had more time. More money. More everything, really. Whatever I touched seemed to turn to gold. My stocks were touching the stratosphere. Women were throwing themselves at me—’
‘How unbearable that must have been.’
