by Joanna Rees
But when he kissed her more deeply, she knew that she was lost.
‘Oh Frankie,’ Alex breathed, pressing against her. ‘I want you so much. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’
There was no point in fighting it. She wanted him too.
Right now.
More than she’d ever wanted anything.
A second later, she was ripping open Alex’s shirt and he was pulling her loose top over her head. And then her silk and lace bra was against his bare chest and he leant down, kissing her neck.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Come!’ He grabbed her hand. ‘I’m being a very rude host. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.’
He pulled her after him, and she laughed as he sped up the stairs and through another doorway. She could feel his desperation as strongly as her own. But she stopped, stunned, as Alex flung open the door of the most astonishing room she’d ever seen.
This must be the master suite, she thought. It was vast, the marble floor giving way to a beautiful wooden four-poster bed. A pink marble dome crowned the ceiling. Shafts of low red sunlight slanted through the pale sandalwood shutters. The CD Frankie had selected downstairs was playing through hidden speakers in here, the drums beating out a primeval rhythm.
Alex took her hand again and pulled her after him, sweeping aside the swathes of mosquito nets draped over the carved frame of the bed.
They knelt opposite each other and she cupped his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. They were breathless and wide-eyed, like children.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she said softly.
‘Neither can I. Are you sure, Frankie? I don’t want to force you into anything. It’s just that I can’t help myself whenever I’m near you. But we can wait, if you want . . .’
‘You’re right,’ she said, pretending to be serious. ‘We should wait.’ She looked at him for a moment, putting her hand on his chest. She stared at him, not saying anything, feeling only the pounding of her heart and his below her palm. But his gaze was so open. So honest. ‘OK, long enough,’ she said.
Alex laughed, pulling her on top of him. ‘Come here,’ he said.
And once again, she felt the urgent need for him that had overtaken her in his study. Only this time, there was no one to stop them. There was no Richard buzzing on the intercom. As Alex kissed her more passionately, she reached down, feeling for the hardness beneath his trousers, pulling his zipper until she’d set him free and he was in her hand. She squeezed him, feeling the delicious hardness of his long cock, and he let out a long moan. It felt as if she’d always known his body, as if his was the body she’d been waiting for, to fit hers.
Then Alex was rolling her over on to her back, kissing down the flesh on her tummy, pulling away the fabric of her knickers, nuzzling his face into her, making her gasp with pleasure and surprise.
She strained towards him, crying out as his tongue flicked over her clitoris. And then he buried his face into her and she felt his tongue inside her.
Just as she was about to come, he looked up at her and began kissing his way back up her body.
She strained her hips towards his, guiding his hardness inside her, wrapping her legs around his back as he filled her and she heard herself crying out with joy.
Alex’s eyes locked with hers. ‘You’re incredible.’
She felt lost. Lost in liquid desire. Feeling only the way he filled her completely.
Alex rolled her over until she was on top of him, straddling him. She ran her hands over his tanned chest, feeling the soft hair beneath her fingers. He reached for her breasts, sitting up so that he could cup them. Then he leant forwards and gently began sucking her nipples. Frankie tipped her head back, feeling as if her whole skin were on fire, shaking her hair down her back, lost in the sense of completeness.
‘Here,’ Alex whispered as she slowly started to gyrate on top of him, grinding his throbbing hardness deep inside her. He took her hand and lifted her fingers to his mouth, running his tongue over them until they were wet. Then he guided her hand between her legs. ‘Touch yourself.’
Frankie had never felt so uninhibited as she caressed her own body, rubbing the pink nub of her clitoris beneath her fingers.
She closed her eyes, light-headed. Everything else melted away except the sensation of her and Alex moving slowly, sensuously, perfectly together. And then at last, one final time, Frankie rocked back on Alex and felt herself falling – uncontrollably, shuddering and gasping out loud – into the longest orgasm of her life.
Much, much later, they sat opposite one another in the deep bath, surrounded by candles. Soft guitar music played through the speakers. Frankie reached through the cinnamon-scented bath-foam bubbles for the glass of champagne on the small tiled table.
She was still reeling from their encounter earlier. The sex they’d had was amazing. More mind-blowing than she ever could have imagined was possible. It had been like all the best sex scenes she’d watched in movies or read in books. But she’d thought that those were only fantasies. She’d never even considered that sex could be like that for real. It was as if she’d discovered something incredible about herself, and she couldn’t stop grinning.
It had all happened so quickly and had been so intense that she wanted to pinch herself. But it was real. She was here. With Alex. In this incredible place.
Yet, as she faced Alex through the bubbles, she realized she hardly knew anything about him. The discrepancy between her physical and her mental knowledge of him filled her with illicit excitement.
And fear.
Because now was the real test. Now, after she’d given herself away so easily, she could really blow it. Surely, if he wanted to, Alex could dismiss her as easily as he’d got her.
She searched for a subject to talk about. And then she remembered scuba-diving and what Alex had said about Yuri wanting him to have a bodyguard. Alex himself had told her that he’d tell her everything about him when they were in Marrakech. Well, now seemed as good a time as any.
‘So tell me more about Yuri?’ she said.
‘Yuri? Why him?’ Alex said defensively. His eyes had darkened.
Oh no, she thought. She’d clearly touched on a raw nerve. She hoped she hadn’t ruined the moment. They’d both been so relaxed.
‘We don’t have to,’ she said quickly. ‘If you don’t want to.’
Alex kept staring at her, as if trying to read her thoughts, until finally his face relaxed. ‘No, you’re right. Why shouldn’t we talk about him?’
The question was rhetorical, as if he were giving himself permission to do just that.
‘Where do you want me to start?’ he asked. His face was lit by soft candlelight and, once again, she was overwhelmed by how handsome he was.
‘Anywhere. Anywhere you like.’
Alex took a sip of champagne, then put the glass down. ‘I suppose you could say that he’s the father I never had.’
‘You never had a father?’ Frankie asked.
‘I did, but my parents died when I was young. Yuri was good friends with them both. When they went, he took care of me. He sponsored me through all the best schools.’
Frankie sat up in the bath. ‘You mean . . . ? You mean you’re an orphan too?’ she asked.
Alex looked at her quizzically. ‘I don’t understand?’
So she told him all about her own parents. How they’d both been killed in the car crash and how her aunt and uncle had brought her up.
‘Do you think that’s why we have the connection we do?’ Alex asked. ‘Do you think it could be because we both had similar experiences as kids?’
Frankie smiled at him. ‘Maybe. Or maybe it’s just because you’re possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever met.’
Alex laughed.
‘Seriously,’ Frankie continued, wanting to hear more, thirsty now to know as much about him as possible, ‘my circumstances were very different from yours, I guess. My family weren’t rich, b
ut Yuri sounds as if he was very generous.’
Alex sighed. ‘He still is. He’s given me so much. After my MBA at Harvard, he got me a management position in one of his smaller companies. He made me work hard, though. It hasn’t been free. I’ve worked my way up. But now I’m the Managing Director of Forest Holdings, his company.’
‘He must respect you a lot.’
‘I guess Yuri wants to take a back seat. He’s out of Russia now and he’s determined to enjoy his success. He wants to leave his day-to-day business with someone he trusts.’
‘So? What’s he like to work for?’ Frankie asked, intrigued.
‘Difficult sometimes, just between you and me. He doesn’t like delegating much. He’s always checking up on me. But then, if I was him, I’d find it hard handing over control to a successor. If, indeed, that’s what I turn out to be.’
From the way he said this, and the short, introspective pause that followed, Frankie was unsure whether he meant that this might not happen, not through his choice, but Yuri’s. But before she could ask, he continued, ‘Loyalty is the most important thing to him. To both of us. I’d never let him down. Or lie to him. About anything. I owe him everything.’
Frankie was surprised at the fervour with which Alex spoke these words. But just as suddenly, Alex smiled and sat up, running his hands up her legs beneath the water. ‘Anyway, there’s no point in me telling you about him. You’ll like him. You’ll see.’
‘You mean I’ll get to meet him?’
‘Of course you will. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?’
‘I am?’
Alex’s face clouded. ‘If you want to be?’ he checked.
‘Probably more than anything I’ve ever wanted . . . ever,’ she gasped.
Alex lunged forward through the bubbles, the water splashing over the side of the bath. She laughed as he kissed her.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s settled, then.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was four in the morning and Peaches couldn’t sleep. Instead, she sat in the top bar of the Moscow hotel, nursing a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.
Outside, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the lights of Moscow twinkling into the distance against the black sky. It could have been any city in the world and this could have been any other five-star hotel bar and, not for the first time tonight, Peaches felt as if she was caught in a bubble.
Around her, with the low soft lighting and plush carpets, the scene was a familiar one. The pianist had given up for the night, but low jazz fusion played through the speakers. Ten tracks on a loop. She’d counted them. Twice.
It was still fairly crowded in here with late-night party-goers. It seemed that Moscow, like any big city in the world, never slept. In the corner, a group of guys playing cards sat smoking cigars, their ties, like their laughs, loosened. A group of hookers with rich Western bankers lolled at the far end of the bar, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Their cocaine consumption was obvious from their wide eyes and incessant chatter.
Peaches glanced up. The small television behind the bar was playing a news channel. The bartender seemed interested in the story and turned up the sound. Peaches couldn’t understand what had happened, except there was a photograph of some middle-aged guy and a live outside broadcast from the crime scene, with yellow police tape flapping behind a serious-looking reporter.
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fella,’ an American voice said.
Peaches could usually suss out a man just from his voice, but this one’s accent was hard to place. He was American for sure, though. His voice was deep, yet strong. An ex-smoker. Probably divorced, she thought, before looking along the bar to see if she was correct. The owner of the voice was a dishevelled-looking man with floppy salt-and-pepper hair. No wedding band.
‘Oh yeah?’ Peaches asked. ‘Who was he?’
‘Boris Nazin,’ the man said knowingly, taking a slug of his drink. ‘The Governor of Smolenskaya. Garrotted, Mafia style.’
‘What a way to go,’ Peaches mumbled, not wanting to continue the conversation. The guy looked kind of nice, but Peaches had too much on her mind to deal with a stranger. She hoped that whoever the man was, he would take the hint from her tone and go away. She didn’t want to make conversation with anyone.
She fiddled with her glass. The Jack Daniel’s had made her feel lightheaded, woozy. She watched the ice-cubes rattle over the golden liquid.
Since meeting Irena Cheripaska, Peaches’ mobile had been ringing off the hook. For the first time ever, she’d ignored all her calls and hadn’t spoken to anyone – even Angela.
She couldn’t seem to focus on the usual stuff. Organizing parties and girls and thinking about the underwear line didn’t seem possible when the image – that image, of Irena’s burnt-out eye-sockets – remained imprinted in her head, along with a thousand questions.
Had Gorsky done that to her? Was his story true? Or had Irena been damaged by someone else? What could she possibly have done that could have merited such brutality? And what could Peaches do about it, even if she were to find out?
It was all so complicated and Peaches couldn’t help feeling that she was getting in way too deep. It was her own fault for coming here, she knew that. But somehow she couldn’t find it in her heart to book a flight back to LA, so she was stuck. A victim of her own curiosity. And now the two things that always came most easily to her – sleep and sociability – remained elusive.
Tomorrow – in fact only a few hours from now, she suddenly realized – Peaches would be returning to the nursing home. Mercifully, Irena Cheripaska had survived her fit and now, after a few days’ rest, was apparently much calmer. Peaches had been calling Yana constantly to ask about Irena’s condition and, after much persuasion, Yana had finally allowed Peaches visiting rights, but only on the strict condition that Peaches didn’t upset Irena again. Peaches had promised, even though she knew it was a promise she might have to break. Yet the prospect of another scene like the one she’d witnessed the other day filled her with dread.
Peaches sensed the man shift up a couple of bar stools towards her. Oh Jesus, here we go, she thought. Couldn’t this guy understand that she just wanted to be left alone? She was off duty, goddamnit! And it wasn’t as if she was dressed for male attention, in her jeans and black roll-neck jumper, her hair tied back in a ponytail, with just a slick of lip gloss and nothing else. Tonight, she wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. To be wallpaper. And left alone to think.
Besides, if it was female company this guy was after, he just had to open his eyes. Moscow was crammed with some of the most beautiful girls Peaches had ever seen. Even now there was a stunning blonde by the door who clearly had her sights on him. She was wearing a long shimmering green evening gown and a crystal choker necklace. As she walked down the steps towards the bar, Peaches could see her impossibly long legs. If she lived in LA, Peaches would guarantee she’d earn a fortune.
But the guy was far from interested. He studiously ignored the blonde, turning his back on her in order to face Peaches.
‘So? You got jet lag too?’ he persisted. ‘You’re American, right? I’m guessing LA?’
Peaches sighed heavily. Only now did she look up into the man’s blue-grey eyes. She saw that beneath the shadow of stubble, he was younger than she’d thought at first – only in his mid-forties. She was about to tell him to get lost, but something stopped her. He didn’t look as if he was trying to make a move. There was no threat in his eyes, no lust, only a glimmer of curiosity. Perhaps he was just another soul far from home who couldn’t get to sleep and only wanted to chat.
‘That’s right,’ Peaches said warily, raising her eyebrows at the man and nodding in the direction of the blonde behind him. ‘Hey, I think you’ve got an admirer.’
‘I know,’ the man said. He winced. ‘I tell you, it’s tempting to pay them to leave you alone.’
Peaches looked again over his shoulder at the blonde, who had now clocke
d that the man was talking to Peaches. Peaches had been in the business long enough to know what the blonde’s look meant: Hands off, bitch. Don’t steal my thousand-dollar meal ticket . . .
But the guy was still talking.
‘Do you mind . . . ? I mean, I’m sorry about this, miss, but can we just look like we’re having a conversation, and then I promise I’ll leave you alone.’
The guy was serious! He was genuinely looking to Peaches for protection.
‘But she’s nice,’ Peaches said, stifling an amused smile by taking a sip of her drink.
The man put his hands up. ‘No kidding. She’s gorgeous. But she keeps following me around. It’s kind of freaking me out. Back home they call it sexual harassment.’ He pulled a face at Peaches. ‘These Russian girls? If you so much as smile at them, that’s it – they tail you. Let’s face it, there’s only one reason she’s interested in me. It’s not exactly as if I’m some kind of oil painting.’
Peaches smiled. It was unusual to meet someone so self-deprecating. And he was right, he wasn’t classically good-looking. But he had a friendly face and kind eyes. Dependable. And that voice. A voice like that could work magic in a softly lit room. Or between the sheets . . .
‘You’re not so bad,’ Peaches said, shaking her head even as she did so, amazed at herself for even being capable of thinking about sex when she was this tired. Especially sex that wasn’t work. But that’s all it was, she reminded herself. A thought. A tired and lonely thought that she had no intention of acting on.
‘I know they’re just doing their job,’ he went on, ‘and most of them are bright too. College degrees, the works . . .’
‘. . . but you disapprove of hookers?’ Peaches prompted.
‘Hell no. They say it’s the oldest profession in the world. Why? Because of us men. Because we’re just dumb-ass suckers. No, you can’t blame the girls. I just want to be left alone, that’s all. I need some peace. Rough day at work.’
‘Well, you’re safe. She’s gone,’ Peaches said, glancing behind the man to see the blonde turning on her high stilettos and strutting away.