"Staying right here in this very hotel," Manny said, "is none other than Serena Gibbons. The Serena Gibbons. You know, the photographer. She's here doing a fashion shoot."
Misha nodded. He'd heard of her, of course—who hadn't?—and he recalled having seen some of her celebrity photos in magazines. As he remembered, they were good, but he knew nothing about her.
"And naturally," Manny continued excitedly, "yours truly has gotten to know her. I think she's just the person to do the pictures of you. In fact, I know she is. She's brilliant, Misha, and ...beau-ti-ful. You're going to ...love her!"
"Not tonight, Manny," Misha begged off. "Not tonight."
"But she's right upstairs waiting for us!" Manny cried.
Misha stared at Manny. He'd really like to choke him at times like this. But he had to admit his enthusiasm was infectious.
"Only for a quick drink," Manny cajoled. "Just one quick quaff. Then off to bed with you. She knows you have a concert tomorrow and doesn't expect a long visit. Come on, sport! Ten minutes max. For me?"
Misha expelled a sigh. "You won't give me any peace, will you, Manny?"
"Ten measly minutes? That's all I ask."
Misha sighed again, then reluctantly nodded. "Okay, Manny, but ten minutes," he said, wagging an admonishing finger in the air. "And not one single minute more."
"Great, old sport," Manny cried. "I promise, you won't be sorry."
Misha was anything but sorry.
Serena Gibbons was the most striking and enchanting woman he'd ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. And a privilege it was, he thought. If he'd seen her on the street, he'd have taken bets that she was a high- fashion model, not an accomplished photographer who worked on the other side of the camera.
Nearly six feet tall in heels, she had a long torso and long but shapely legs. Her lustrous, raven black hair fell below her shoulders and contrasted dramatically with her flawless, lightly tanned skin. Huge hazel eyes that seemed to change color continuously, shifting from brown to gray shot through with blues and greens, were alert, mischievous, and imbued with a lively curiosity. Her full, sensual lips, high forehead, and swan's neck were complemented by exquisite bone structure: high, prominent cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and perfect chin. Surprisingly, she wore very little makeup, at least not that he could detect.
Unlike so many beautiful women, Misha perceived that hers was a careless beauty, one she wore easily and comfortably. She seemed not to work at it, and perhaps was not even completely aware of how truly dazzling she was. As he watched her move about the suite making their drinks, Misha wondered if she'd been a tomboy growing up. Her stride was long and purposeful, her movements quick and efficient. She wasn't dainty, or girlish.
The most striking—and decidedly disturbing—quality about Serena Gibbons, however, was something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew that it had to do with an aura that surrounded her, an almost palpable sensuality that was combined, very unusually, with an innate elegance. During the course of the evening—an evening that stretched from ten minutes to more than two hours—he quickly discovered other, more surprising, qualities about Serena Gibbons. They were characteristics he would never have suspected in a woman so utterly beautiful—and accomplished, he reminded himself.
She was completely down to earth, humble even. The pretentiousness he'd seen in so many beautiful women seemed alien to her. But most surprising of all, Serena seemed to be totally honest, both with herself and others, a characteristic that Misha found rare in anyone. He found it both refreshing and alluring. Like everything else about her, he thought.
He wasn't surprised that she was a much sought-after photographer. She seemed to have an extraordinary inner eye—part of that innate elegance, he supposed— through which she viewed the world around her. She'd made it clear that she was poorly educated, but Misha could see that she was possessed of a native intelligence that was daunting. Classical music, she'd told him, was something she knew next to nothing about, but she was anxious to learn what she could.
"If I get the commission to photograph you," she said in her smoky, alluring voice, "then you'll have to educate me a bit." She took a sip of her drink, a green tea with ginseng and honey.
"How?" Misha asked, his eyes glued to hers.
"Well, for starters, I'll want to hear you play," Serena said. Then she added in a soft voice: "I'm ashamed to say that I haven't."
"That's okay, Serena," Misha said with a smile. "Not everybody's a classical music fan."
"I'm glad you feel that way," she said. "Anyway, I'll want to know which composers you prefer. The type of music you favor. You know, like Bach or Bernstein? Your favorite musical places. I mean, like your favorite concert halls, or places that are important to the history of music."
"But why would you want to know all those things?" Misha asked, still entranced by her hypnotic eyes. "All you'd be doing is taking a few pictures." He picked up his scotch and water and took a sip.
Serena smiled, exposing her perfect white teeth. "It's obvious," she replied. "To get to know more about you. It's the only way I can take a really great photograph. The better I know you, the better the picture's going to be. At least that's been my experience."
Misha nodded. "I guess it makes sense," he allowed. "But it sure is a lot more complicated than showing up at a studio and sitting down in front of a camera and smiling." He grinned, then mugged a frown. "Or brooding or trying to look mysterious," he added.
Serena laughed. It was the most beautiful laugh he'd ever heard, deep, throaty, sexy, and stirring.
"Yes," she said, "it's a lot more complicated than that. If you want really great photographs, not the merely good."
She paused, looking at his nearly empty glass. "Oh, here," she said, "let me make you another drink. I'm ready, too." She turned to Manny. "You ready, Manny?"
"No, thanks, Serena," he said.
Misha watched her get to her feet, pick up his glass, then take long strides to the minibar. She was wearing tight black kidskin trousers that clung provocatively to her firm buttocks and a black sweater that hinted at breasts which, if not exactly voluptuous, would certainly be more than ample. Despite her tall, fit thinness, Misha observed, she had curves in all the right places. Oh, yes, indeed.
Manny caught Misha's eye and winked lewdly. The sexual vibrations between Serena and Misha had certainly not been lost on him.
Misha ignored him, his gaze returning to Serena. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked her.
"I've got it under control—" she began. Then: "Shit!" She laughed again, that same smoky, sexy laugh. "I've spilt the scotch."
Misha quickly got to his feet and crossed to the mini- bar. He grabbed a towel and squatted down to wipe up the puddle on the carpeting.
"Oh, here, let me," Serena said. "I did it."
"It's okay," Misha said, scrubbing the rug vigorously. After a minute, he stopped and examined the spill.
"Gone," he announced, getting back to his feet. "It's as good as new."
As he handed the towel to Serena, his long tapered fingers brushed hers, and Serena jerked involuntarily. Misha looked at her with a startled expression, and saw that her face, beneath its healthy tan, was flushed bright red.
She must have felt the same jolt that I felt, he thought. The same rush, the same thrill, the same precursor to ...?
He wasn't sure what, but he knew what he wanted. She had drawn him to her like a siren from the moment he had first seen her, and he felt like a helpless victim who had fallen under her spell. It was a physical reaction—a chemical reaction, he thought—that he had never before experienced. Not with anyone.
As they sat back down, Manny looked over at Misha, stifling a yawn. "Excuse me," he said sleepily. "I'm a bit knackered and have an early morning meeting, you know." He began getting to his feet.
"Serena," he said, proffering his hand. "It was a delight to meet you and get to know you better."
"It was great to get to know y
ou, too, Manny," Serena said, starting to get back up again.
"No, no," Manny said. "Please keep your seat. I can show myself out." He turned to Misha. "Why don't you two carry on the discussion?" he said. "I'd better hit the sack. Long day tomorrow."
Misha looked up at him, then turned to Serena. She smiled at him knowingly.
"Fine," he said, his dark eyes still on Serena. "Get a good night's sleep, Manny."
Manny let himself out, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.
Misha got up and walked over to the couch where Serena sat, watching him with her huge hazel eyes. He stood before her, his tall, muscular body towering over her.
"Do you mind?" he asked, indicating the cushion next to her.
"Please," Serena said, patting it with her hand.
Misha sat down, sliding an arm across the back of the couch, behind her. He turned his face to hers. "I'm glad we're alone," he said softly. He could smell her intoxicating scent and hear her quickening breath.
Serena nodded. "Yes," she said. "I am, too."
Misha saw the expectant expression on her face and brought his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her very gently, closer to him, looking into her eyes.
Serena responded immediately, drawing herself toward him, her eyes never leaving his as their lips met. They began kissing, slowly at first, then with more urgency, beginning to devour each other passionately. After that first taste, which had been so long awaited, their hunger was all the more ravenous, consuming them with its need.
It seemed like a lifetime of anticipation but was only moments before they were disrobing each other in the bedroom of her suite. Quickly, recklessly, intent on feasting upon each other after the hours of tantalizing yearning, they tossed their clothing to the floor, where it lay scattered harum-scarum. Finally naked, they stood drinking in the magnificence of each other's bodies, but their overwhelming desire made lingering impossible. They tumbled onto the bed, their hands and lips all over each other, stroking, patting, prodding, kissing, licking.
Misha entered her quickly but gently, and Serena gasped with pleasure, pulling him to her. As he plunged deeper and faster, he heard her moan in ecstasy, and a torrent began to rise within him. He felt omnipotent and thrust with all his might. His was the power to give pleasure, to conquer, to possess this exquisite creature.
Serena began to tremble, then convulsions seized her, and she began to writhe wildly from side to side.
"Oh, Misha," she cried. "Oh, Misha ...I ...I ...ahhhhhh—!"
He plunged in with a bellow, his seed joining her sweet nectar, then collapsed atop her, smothering her face with kisses. He hugged her to him tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go.
Later, after their breathing had returned to normal, they lay facing each other in the dim light. Misha's long fingers roved over her beautiful flesh, stroking, patting, his lips tenderly planting kisses in her hair, on her face, her neck, her breasts.
Serena didn't think she'd ever felt so wanted, so appreciated, and she knew that she had never felt such desire for anyone as she did for Misha. She ran her hands through his long black hair, over his handsome features, and down his powerful shoulders and chest, returning his sweet kisses, inhaling his masculine scent.
She looked into the dark pools that were his eyes. "I think that was like a mazurka," she said with a smile.
"Prestissimo?" he replied.
"Something like that. Very fast. Almost over before it started."
"Disappointed?" he asked quietly, squeezing her shoulder. He knew with a certain knowledge that she wasn't. She had been as driven by her own lusty appetites as he had been.
"Oh, no," Serena said. "Anything but that. It was wonderful, Misha." Her hand moved slowly down his stomach to the prize of his manhood. "Wonderful," she repeated.
He looked into her hazel eyes. Even in the dim light, they shone bright with lust. "I think it should be much slower this time," he said, his fingers lightly thrumming her nipples, feeling them become erect. "Much, much slower."
His mouth went to one breast, kissing, licking, and sucking it ever so slowly. Then he looked up at her. "Adagio, I think." Then his mouth went to the other breast.
Serena moaned with pleasure, and felt his cock come to life in her hand. "Oh, yes," she whispered. "Oh, yes, Misha. Yes, yes, yes."
The eternal dance began again, more leisurely this time, as they explored each other's bodies, becoming more familiar, relishing their newly found intimacy until the wee hours of the morning.
When they lay sated at last, their bodies suffused with a glorious tiredness, Misha held her in his arms, and they talked and laughed. In this magical afterglow of their lovemaking, they began to explore on another level, gradually coming to know more about each other's professional lives, their families and friends, their likes and dislikes.
Before they finally drifted off into a peaceful slumber, Serena said: "You've played my body like an instrument."
"Oh?" Misha said with amusement, kissing her on the ear. "And what instrument are you?"
"I don't know," she replied huskily, "but you're a master musician." She rubbed the tip of his nose playfully with a finger.
"And you, Serena Gibbons, are the finest instrument ever made," he said, taking her finger and kissing it.
Serena looked into his eyes. "Just remember," she said, "mazurkas are great. Adagio is fabulous. But I don't like nocturnes. So please, don't play any nocturnes? They make me sad."
"Nocturnes," Misha promised, and hugged her tightly. "I promise you, I won't ever play you a nocturne."
Misha's concert at Dvorak Hall was a smash success. Critics and concertgoers praised him to the skies. Personally, he felt that he had never before played with such unabashed passion. Although he'd planned upon returning to New York before his next performance, he changed his mind and decided to remain in Prague. And celebrate with Serena.
Through lovers' eyes, the old city took on even more of a fairy-tale aspect. They strolled its cobbled streets from Wenceslas Square to Old Town.
There, in the very heart of the city, they stopped to watch the Town Hall's famous fifteenth-century astronomical clock strike the hour. From its two windows Christ and the Apostles emerged one by one, then disappeared as the skeleton of death inverted an hourglass. Finally, a cock flapped its wings and crowed.
Serena looked at Misha and made a face. "Creepy, isn't it?"
Misha laughed. "Not a happy reminder, that's for sure."
Calories be damned. They stopped at one of the famous coffee shops and indulged in a taste-fest of delicious pastries.
"I've got to walk this off," Serena said, guilty after happily stuffing herself.
"A very good idea," Misha agreed, taking her hand in his.
They crossed the Charles Bridge with its many statues and walked up to Prague Castle, where they feasted their eyes on the splendor of St. Vitus's Cathedral, myriad chapels, royal apartments, courtyards, and picture galleries.
"It's all like a giant movie set, isn't it?" Serena said.
"And you look like the star of the movie," Misha replied sincerely.
Serena smiled self-consciously but was immensely pleased. She believed the compliment was heartfelt coming from him, unlike so many men she'd known in the past.
Finally exhausted from the walking and the constant visual stimulation, she turned to Misha. "What would you say to going back to the hotel for a drink and maybe a shower before dinner?"
"I thought you'd never ask," he said, and kissed her on the forehead.
At the hotel Misha called room service and ordered champagne. They took their first sips in the sitting room, then took the bottle and their glasses to the bedroom. Quickly undressing, they lay naked in bed, entwined in each other's arms, the champagne losing its sparkle as they feasted instead on each other for the remainder of the afternoon.
That evening, they went to U Maliru Restaurant, one of Prague's best, where they dined on venison pate with lingonberries, smoked
trout, rack of lamb, and a rich strudel with ice cream.
"I shouldn't be eating like this," Serena said, sighing with contentment. "But it's absolutely wonderful."
"We can both go on diets tomorrow," Misha answered, smiling.
Serena suddenly frowned. Tomorrow. She didn't want to think about tomorrow, because the next morning they had to part company. Misha had to get back to New York before the next leg of his tour, and she had to leave for another fashion shoot, this one in Paris.
He saw the expression on her face and reached over and took her hand. "What's wrong, Serena?" he asked.
She sighed. "Oh, Misha, I ... I just hate to think about leaving," she said, studying their hands, joined there on the table as they were.
"We have the rest of the night together," Misha said, giving her hand a squeeze. Her disappointment touched him deeply.
"I know," she said, "and believe me, I'm glad. But I can't help but think about ...about ...afterward." Her gaze shifted from their hands up to his face. "You know. After we've both gone back to work."
The look on her face was almost imploring, Misha thought. He could see that she was truly distraught about being separated from him, and while he certainly didn't want to see her unhappy, he couldn't help the thrilling sensation that passed through him. She feels the same way I do. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him.
"We'll be able to see each other," he said with confidence, looking into her eyes. "We'll make the time, Serena. Somehow. Whether it's in New York when we're between trips, or meeting up on the road."
"We'll be like ships passing in the night," she said. "We're both on the go so much."
"Look," Misha said, "we can work it out. I know we can, Serena. Don't you see? If you're in London and I'm in Paris, one of us can make a quick hop over to see the other."
"I hope so," she said.
"I know so," he said, chucking her under the chin. "So put a smile back on that gorgeous face of yours."
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