unabashedly enjoying the short tour. It had become fashionable to pretend a jaded indifference to the world, and he could not deny it was refreshing to be in the company of a woman willing to reveal her emotions.
Her eyes widened in fascination as she spotted the Peter and Paul Fortress on the northern bank of the Neva, she sighed at the beauty of the summer gardens, and shivered at the forbidding Mikhailovsky Castle, a fortress built by an insane Emperor Paul where he was later to be murdered.
It was almost a disappointment when they crossed the bridge leading to the lower Nevsky and turned onto a narrow street lined with unpretentious elegant buildings.
Emma turned to him in surprise. “Why are we slowing?”
“I prefer not to leap from a moving carriage unless absolutely necessary,” he informed her dryly.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze taking in the building painted a brilliant yellow with a wide entrance that was guarded by two servants. Although it was early, there was already a steady line of opulently clad gentlemen climbing the stairs and producing their gilt-edged cards that marked them as members.
“This is your club?”
Ridiculously, Dimitri discovered himself offended by her shock. “Did you expect a hovel in a dark alley?”
She drained the last of her cognac before setting aside the empty glass.
“I have never given much thought to gambling establishments. Now I realize they must be quite profitable.”
He shoved open the door, assisting her onto the paved walk. “Sin is not without its reward.”
“Spoken by an unrepentant sinner.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
As the bastard of a nobleman he had received a fine education, but was forbidden to take his place among society. At the same time, he was too cultured to be accepted among the peasants. With no true place in the world, he had turned his ruthless willpower to creating an empire of his own making.
Leading Emma up the stairs, he nodded toward his guards and entered the large octagonal vestibule that was tastefully decorated with a black-and-white-tiled floor reflected in the silver-framed mirrors that lined the walls.
At their entrance a tall servant with a regal bearing approached to offer a deep bow.
“Vladimir will take your wrap,” Dimitri informed his silent companion, his brows lifting as she clutched the velvet cloak with a white-knuckled grip. Did the chit fear his servant intended to make off with her clothing? “I promise you it will be returned.”
“Very well.”
Her chin lifted as she tugged off the cloak with a swift motion and handed it to the waiting servant. In a heartbeat, the crowd came to a captivated halt as all eyes turned toward Emma.
It was not that her gown was particularly shocking. Indeed, it was a deceptively simple sheath cut to reveal her shoulders and gathered beneath the gentle swell of her bosom. It was more the shimmer of the gold satin that molded to her slender body. And the tiny diamonds that glittered along the low-cut line of her bodice that drew attention to the perfection of her ivory skin.
Combined with the satin tumble of honey hair and the promise of her sensuous lips, it was enough to make every male in the club crave to have her in his bed.
Including Dimitri.
Muttering a startled curse, he grasped her upper arm and hauled her through a nearby alcove, tugging her down the short hall until he could thrust her into the privacy of his office. It was a plain room, with cream walls and parquet floor. The desk set near the fireplace was a pale cedar that matched the rest of the furnishing and the draperies were a soft shade of rose.
Slamming shut the door, he turned to glare at his companion in the muted light of the fireplace.
“What the devil are you wearing?”
With a sharp tug, she freed her arm from his grasp. “You were the one to insist I dress in an appropriate fashion.”
Clearly, he had been out of his mind, he acknowledged, searing a hungry gaze over the delectable curve of her breasts.
“Appropriate, not designed to create a riot.”
“It is no more revealing than those gowns worn by the finest ladies in St. Petersburg,” she protested.
“Then why did Prince Matvey nearly knock himself senseless by walking straight into a wall? And why did one of my most trusted servants drop an entire tray of champagne?” he growled.
“You are being ridiculous. I witnessed women wearing far more daring gowns before you so rudely hauled me away.”
A voice of reason whispered that he was overreacting, but Dimitri was in no mood to listen. Not when his entire body burned with the need to haul her to the nearest bed.
“Perhaps more daring,” he husked, “but none so enticing.”
She nervously licked her lips, the unwitting gesture making Dimitri groan in frustration.
“First you complain my gown is too prudish and now you complain it is too revealing. Are you never satisfied?”
Unable to resist temptation, he stepped close enough to trail his fingers along the elegant line of her shoulders. His body stirred, hardened; responding to her with a near painful intensity.
It wasn’t uncommon for him to desire a woman.
He was a healthy male with all the normal appetites.
But this biting ache combined with a fierce possessiveness was utterly unfamiliar.
And equally unwelcome.
“Ironically I was quite satisfied until my peaceful existence was disrupted by an intimidating spinster who is far too fond of her independence.”
She shivered as his fingers traced the plunging line of her bodice.
“Dimitri.”
He stepped closer, breathing in the tantalizing scent of warm woman and clean soap.
“I never knew such skin truly existed,” he rasped. “It is as soft and perfect as fresh cream.”
“We are supposed to be searching for the gentlemen who took Anya.”
“In a moment.” Wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully lifted the veil, his gaze sweeping over her pale, beautiful features. “First I must taste you.”
“No—” Her protest fell on deaf ears as he captured her lips in a branding kiss. He wanted to wrap her in his arms until she melted with soft compliance. He wanted to mark her with his touch, his scent, his desire. He wanted to ensure that every man who caught sight of this woman understood that she belonged to him. Only him. “As sweet as honeyed almonds,” he muttered, his tongue teasing her lips until they slowly parted in invitation. “Yes, moya dusha, open for me.”
She groaned, her hands
