He laughed softly. “And?”
“And we don’t even know each other, Mikhail!” she attempted to protest.
“Sex is a good way for people to get to know each other,” he assured gruffly.
She gave a humorless smile. “Sex is just sex, Mikhail.”
“If you really believe that then you’ve been having sex with the wrong men!” he drawled dryly.
Lindsay was tempted, so damned tempted, knew that sex with Mikhail would be mind-blowing.
Life-changing.
For her, not Mikhail.
Chapter Seven
MIKHAIL KNEW WHAT Lindsay’s answer was going to be before she made it.
“I can’t.” She gave a shake of her head as she stepped away from him, her face pale. “I… Thank you for asking, but no.”
Mischa gave an inward growl of protest.
“Why the hell not?” Mikhail growled outwardly as he ran an agitated hand through the dark thickness of his hair.
He could see Lindsay wanted him; her nipples were hard and pressing against her blouse. There had been a catch in her voice when she said no. Her bottom lip had trembled in response when he caressed it with his thumb. He could smell the musk of the arousal between her thighs, and damn it, he wanted to taste her there. Wanted to lick and suck and pleasure her until she cried out again and again as she came and her juices flowed over his lips and tongue into his mouth.
There were tears in those emerald green eyes as she looked up at him. “You could so easily sweep me off my feet, Mikhail,” she softly acknowledged what he already knew.
“But?” A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw.
Her smile was tinged with sadness. “But I have to wake up tomorrow morning and face myself in the mirror.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he rasped angrily.
She gave a shake of her head. “It means I’m not like you. I can’t—I don’t jump into bed with a man just because I’m sexually attracted to him. To you,” she added softly.
It was a good that she was willing to admit to being sexually attracted to him, at least. Didn’t change the fact that she was saying no to him, though.
When had that last happened?
Never, came the mocking answer.
Mark it up as another first for Lindsay, because Mikhail sure as hell didn’t chase after a woman in the way he had her either.
He gave a self-disgusted shake of his head. “Sexual attraction sounds like exactly the reason to go to bed with someone to me!”
“But not to me.”
A nerve pulsed in his jaw. “I’m not going to beg, Lindsay!”
Lindsay didn’t expect this proud and arrogant man to beg. She didn’t believe any human being should ever have to beg another for anything, least of all sex.
Besides which, this was Mikhail Lysenko, and he only had to raise an eyebrow or crook his little finger and he could have any woman he wanted.
Except her, apparently.
But she hadn’t exactly told him the truth just now. Because now she was going to be kicking herself in the morning for not spending the night with him—with or without looking in a mirror!
Was she making mistake by saying no to Mikhail?
Roger had called her old-fashioned when she refused to take their relationship to a physical level, and after she had literally caught him in the act with his secretary, he had accused her of being frigid and told her it was her fault he turned to another woman for the sex she wasn’t willing to give him.
Quite where those accusations fit in with his wanting her to take him back earlier this evening, Lindsay had no idea!
Would she ever see Mikhail again if she continued to say no to him?
Did she want to see him again?
Mikhail unsettled her, unnerved her, and caused her to want things she knew would ultimately hurt her. Maybe even destroy her. Whether he meant to do so or not, Mikhail was capable of doing that when he eventually walked away without so much as a backward glance, bored with their relationship, and looking for the next woman to share his bed.
Lindsay had been brought up by loving parents who were deeply in love with each other, and even though they were no longer with her, their example was. She wanted what her parents had with each other—love, respect, a future together. Even if that future had ultimately been cut short for them, she knew that the years her parents had spent together had been good ones, loving ones, and that their two children had been included in that love and happiness.
She was old-fashioned, Lindsay acknowledged heavily, even as a part of her wished she wasn’t. The part of her that ached to make love with Mikhail more than she wanted to take her next breath!
But not enough that she was willing to forego what she wanted, needed, just to keep him in her life. If she never saw Mikhail again after tonight, because she refused to go to bed with him, then that was the way it had to be.
“I don’t want either of us to beg, Mikhail,” she assured him huskily. “I’m really not playing hard to get. I just—” She gave a helpless shake of her head.
“You’re still in love with the fool who cheated on you, is that it?” he rasped disgustedly.
“How do you know about that?” she gasped.
He shrugged. “You were vehement in your agreement yesterday when I told you I don’t share.”
Ah. “No, I’m not still in love with the fool.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I ever was.”
“Roger?”
Her mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“I wouldn’t cheat on you.”
“That’s because our relationship wouldn’t last long enough for that to happen!” she came back dryly.
He scowled. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m not saying no because I want to, Mikhail!” She looked up at him appealingly. “It’s who I am. Who my parents were. Who they brought me up to be.”
Mikhail didn’t need to meet Lindsay’s parents to know who they were. It was there, shining from inside her and in everything she said and did. The Carlisles had been loving, upright citizens, who had brought their daughter up to expect and believe she was deserving of the same love and devotion the two of them had felt for each other.
And she was.
It was part of what attracted Mikhail to her.
He, in sharp contrast, was the son of a complete waste of time and an angel—and the grandson of the man who ran the Russian mafiya!
It hadn’t taken Mikhail long during his visit to Russia to realize how powerful and deadly Viktor Romanov was. To realize exactly why his mother had been determined to escape that life. Why she had refused to return to that life even after her husband died and she was left to bring up her baby alone.
Viktor’s world was one of violence and death, power and corruption.
And he had taken Mikhail back to Russia with him to become his heir.
For almost a year Mikhail had allowed himself to be seduced by that life. The women. The booze. The drugs. The power of being the grandson of Viktor Romanov.
Even now it made Mikhail shudder to think of what he might have become.
It had taken the near death of the man who had taken a bullet meant for Viktor, for Mikhail to realize that being Viktor’s successor also made him a target for every other mafiya family in Russia. Cut the head off the snake and the snake died.
His grandfather had fought against Mikhail’s decision to return to England, of course, but ultimately he’d had no alternative but to accept Mikhail’s choice. The two men hadn’t spoken again since.
But Mikhail sensed Viktor from a distance. Watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce if Mikhail showed the slightest sign of weakening.
Only Mikhail’s own wealth, and the power that now gave him, protected him from the older man.
Even now, Mikhail was wary of getting too close to anyone, most especially a woman. Of giving his grandfather the leverage he needed to force Mikhail to his will.
Mikhail and Lindsay
’s backgrounds couldn’t have been more dissimilar if they had been born on different fucking planets!
Probably something he should have considered much sooner than this.
“Okay.” He straightened abruptly before moving away from her. Away from temptation. “But, whether it’s in your bed with you or on the couch, I am spending the night here,” he stated firmly once he was a reasonable distance away.
“Mikhail—”
“I either stay here, or you come back to my apartment with me, or we both move to a hotel for the night,” he told her implacably. “Make your choice, Lindsay, because I am not leaving you here alone when some maniac is leaving ‘gifts’ outside your apartment.” It made him angry just to think of someone breaking in just to leave those black roses outside her door. “Accept it, Lindsay, because that’s the way it’s going to be until we find out who’s doing this,” he added grimly.
Who the hell knew what the next gift would be, or if it would be as harmless as a black rose? Or if the giver was friend or foe, the former being some man obsessing over Lindsay, the latter someone who was deliberately out to hurt her. Either one was dangerous.
Mikhail was capable of becoming equally as dangerous if anyone threatened to harm her.
He may not want any part of his grandfather’s world, but that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize some of Viktor’s traits within himself.
Single-mindedness.
Arrogance.
Lethal if provoked.
Possessive…
The latter was a trait Mikhail had only recently discovered in himself.
Since meeting Lindsay…
* * *
“ARE YOU SURE one pillow and two blankets will be enough?” Lindsay hovered in the doorway of her bedroom as she watched Mikhail make up the bed on her couch.
“Fine.” He nodded distractedly.
Lindsay had changed into faded denims and a white T-shirt before they prepared and ate a light meal of omelet and salad together, and all the time she argued against him staying the night here. She assured Mikhail it wasn’t necessary, that she was sure the roses were just someone’s idea of a stupid joke—even if she didn’t really believe that.
Her arguments were all a waste of time anyway. Mikhail was adamant—he either stayed here with her tonight or she left and stayed somewhere with him.
Either way, she was spending the night with Mikhail.
Lindsay felt that now familiar ache between her thighs at the thought of having him so close to her throughout the night. She was so totally aware of everything about him; she didn’t stand a chance of actually sleeping, when she knew he was physically just feet away. Touchable. Caressable.
Maybe she shouldn’t have said no to him earlier, just taken what he was offering, and to hell with what happened tomorrow or the next day—
Oh. My. God!
While she had been lost in self-recriminations, Mikhail had straightened and unbuttoned his shirt before removing it completely, revealing—revealing—
Lindsay’s mouth went dry as she stared at him.
Mikhail’s skin was that beautiful bronze tone all over, and without his shirt she could clearly see every defined muscle and sinew in his chest and arms, with just the lightest dusting of dark hair veeing across his chest and down that hard washboard stomach, before disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
All that smooth and naked flesh was reason enough for Lindsay to stare, but it was the unexpected tattoos that covered one arm, shoulder and the top of his back that now held her completely mesmerized. Beautiful swirls of black ink etched into that bronzed flesh, the pattern looking almost tribal, and possibly it was.
She never would have guessed that beneath those formal suits and silk shirts—
“Lindsay?”
She dragged her fascinated gaze up and away from those tattoos in order to look at Mikhail’s face. A face that was hard and closed off, the expression in his eyes challenging.
Because of the tattoos?
Nowhere, not in a single newspaper or magazine article, had there ever been any mention of Mikhail having these distinctive and beautiful tattoos.
Because they didn’t fit in with the image of the superrich, suave, and sophisticated Mikhail Lysenko?
Possibly. Although Lindsay would have thought at least one of Mikhail’s women might have mentioned—
Lindsay didn’t want to think about the other women who might have seen these tattoos, or the circumstances under which they had.
The truth was the tattoos did reveal a different Mikhail. The same one she had glimpsed occasionally when she looked into his eyes—raw, primal, totally unleashed, as if something or possibly the real man these tattoos belonged to, was trying to break out.
Had he removed his shirt deliberately in order to reveal them—him—to her?
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Can I—may I touch them?”
His mouth twisted humorlessly. “Playing with fire, Lindsay?”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “I just… They are truly beautiful.” He was truly beautiful. All dark golden skin, and she literally ached to touch him.
Some of the tension eased out of Mikhail’s shoulders, but not all of it. “Go ahead,” he invited gruffly.
Lindsay crossed the room almost in a daze, her gaze fixated on those swirling tattoos. As she grew closer she could make out a more distinct pattern, the swirls on the top of his arm looking like different textured ropes, the one on his shoulder more ropes surrounding a pattern similar to but not quite Celtic circles.
She drew her breath in sharply as she stepped behind him and saw the tattoo, visible at the top of his neck, actually covered the whole of his back.
A black bear.
Standing tall and majestic, front paws raised and claws bared. Its head was huge, long teeth visible as it seemed to let out a roar, and its eyes—dear God, its eyes, the only color visible amongst the black, were a pale ice blue.
Eyes the exact same color as Mikhail’s…
Chapter Eight
MIKHAIL’S SHOULDERS TENSED again as Lindsay continued to stand behind him, not speaking as she looked long and hard at the tattoo on his back.
Mischa.
He drew his breath in sharply, back stretching, arching, and his cock swelling painfully as he felt the light brush of her fingertips against his skin.
Mikhail knew every line, swirl and claw of Mischa, could trace that pattern in his mind. Lindsay’s fingertips now traced those lines and swirls, first brushing the top of the furry black head, then the wide powerful shoulders, the length of claws, strong back legs, before moving up again to the long length of the teeth, pausing before moving slightly higher.
The eyes.
Pale blue eyes, the color of Siberian ice.
Mikhail’s eyes.
And it was as if Lindsay touched and stroked him rather than the tattoo. Her fingers tangling in his hair, caressing his shoulders, sliding down to link her fingers briefly with his before stroking the long length of his muscled thighs, and then back up to his face as she touched his lips and eyes.
Touching him everywhere but where he really wanted to feel those long, sure fingers, curling about the throbbing length of him, stroking him, pumping him as her other hand cupped and rolled his balls.
He let out a long, low groan, fingers clenching into fists at his sides as both of Lindsay’s hands moved lower, away from the tattoo and down to the base of his spine, the muscles in his ass clenching, tensing, and his cock throbbing inside his pants as he felt the warmth of pre-cum dribbling from the bulbous tip.
“Lindsay…?”
“Let me, please…”
Let her? Despite what he had said earlier, Mikhail knew he would get down on his knees and fucking beg her to continue, if Lindsay attempted to stop touching him now!
He felt the warm of her breath against his sweat-dampened skin as she stepped closer, her lips a hot caress against his sensitized flesh even as he
r hands slid forward about his waist and rested against the fastening at the front of his trousers.
He looked down and watched in fascination as those slender and disembodied fingers unclipped the top of his trousers and then slid the zip slowly downwards, allowing one of those small warm hands to slip inside and beneath his boxers.
He gave a loud groan as Lindsay’s fingers encircled and then gripped him, the soft pad of her thumb brushing across the sensitive slit now slick with the increasing flow of his pre-cum.
Mikhail had known many women—too many!—but this, here and now, with Lindsay standing behind him, her disembodied hands touching him, stroking him, was the most erotic thing he had ever watched or felt.
“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed against the dampness of his skin as her fingers continued those firm and arousing caresses along the length of his cock.
He gave a gruff laugh. “I think that’s supposed to be my line…”
“No line, Mikhail, just the truth,” she assured softly.
“I only meant—”
“I know.” She kissed the dampness of his back, tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness of his skin.
Right over where he knew Mischa’s tattooed heart to be.
Mikhail’s own heart was pounding in his chest, pulse racing in tune with the throbbing of his cock as Lindsay’s fingers tightened and she began to pump him harder, faster.
And he didn’t want to come yet, wanted to kiss and caress Lindsay first, to taste her, to give her pleasure before burying himself to the hilt inside her heat, and then he would take her in long and deep thrusts until they came together.
He moved his hands, fingers clamping tightly about her wrists, halting her movements before pulling her round to face him so that he could look deeply into those candid green eyes. “Is this what you want, Lindsay? Earlier you said—”
“I was a fool earlier,” she groaned achingly. “I want this, Mikhail. I want you!” she added shakily, that emerald gaze unwavering.
Lindsay did want him. She wanted Mikhail so badly she was shaking with the desire to touch and caress his nakedness and be touched and caressed by him in return.
Pursued by the Devil Page 6