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‘I have to say, dushka,’ he said in a gravelly voice, ‘leaving is the last thing that’s on my mind.’
He propped himself up, those big shoulders rising over her like cliffs, making it impossible to see over or around him, and Sybella found herself sinking under him again because this old bed, despite being a double, was really not made for two when one of them was six feet six. She enjoyed, however, that sensation of being rendered small and delicate and in thrall to him.
‘You shouldn’t have dragged me up here if you didn’t want me to stay the night.’
‘What do you mean I dragged you up here?’
‘Lured me, then.’ He gave her that slow, sexy smile and laid a kiss on her shoulder, her collarbone, the slope of her right breast, grazing dangerously close to her nipple. Little traitors sat up. She shivered as he brushed the underside of his unshaven jaw over one.
‘You look like a wanton dairymaid—how could I resist?’
‘Is that a reference to the size of my breasts?’
‘Da,’ he chuckled, brushing his lips over them, ‘and your blonde hair and your dimples—and your roomy arse.’
‘My what?’ She hit his chest playfully as he slid his hands under her.
‘More to get a grip on.’ He laughed, doing just that. She’d never been more proud of her wide, womanly behind.
Then a thought hit her. ‘I just imagined you’d be wanting to get back to your superyacht or whatever.’
He studied her. ‘Superyacht?’
‘Meg, my sister-in-law, has this theory that’s where all the rich Russians live.’
‘You’ve been talking about me?’
‘Everyone in the village is talking about you.’
‘I’m only interested in what you had to say.’
Sybella stroked his chest in seemingly idle circles. ‘I said you weren’t very happy with me.’
‘I’m happy with you now.’ He gave her bottom a squeeze.
She gave him a gentle shove.
‘My yacht is about this big.’ He measured it out to about an inch between his thumb and forefinger.
Sybella couldn’t help it. ‘Lucky for me that’s only your yacht.’
‘I could show it to you some time.’
‘I thought you already had.’ He smothered her giggle with a kiss and her blood began to hum again.
‘I also have another estate in Northumbria,’ he murmured against her mouth, and he named it and Sybella went a little pale.
‘That’s one of the finest castles in the north.’
‘Too far and too cold,’ he dismissed.
Sybella sat up, dislodging the sheet in her surprise. ‘Then why did you buy it?’
‘Tax purposes.’
‘If you keep buying up my nation’s history at this rate I’ll end up working for you.’
‘Would that be so bad?’ He traced a line from her collarbone to her nipple. ‘If we could keep doing this.’
Sybella’s breath stuttered in her chest and not just because her breasts felt sensitive and responsive to him. Did he think they could find a way to keep doing this?
‘Any more grand estates I should know about?’ she asked, pulling at the sheet to cover herself again.
‘No, just the two.’ He kissed the exposed slope of one breast and then the other, dislodging the covers so he could look at her while he played with them. Sybella was put in mind of a boy with a new toy.
‘Real estate in London is more profitable. Russia isn’t the safest place to keep all your eggs—’ he spread his hands to cup either side of her breasts ‘—so I’ve got other baskets.’
Then mercifully he stopped talking about real estate and concentrated on their mutual pleasure.
* * *
When she opened her eyes hours later it was light. Nik was pulling on his shirt, and she sat up on her elbows, dragging the covers with her.
‘What time is it?’ She yawned.
‘Almost nine.’
‘I guess you should go,’ she said half-heartedly.
‘I should go,’ he concurred.
He was looking down at her as if he still wanted her and Sybella’s ego swelled a little more than it should, along with the plummeting feeling she was going to have to let him go and there didn’t seem to be a clear-cut path for them, assuming he wanted one.
