His Best Acquisition: The Russian's Acquisition / A Deal Before the Altar / A Deal with Demakis. Dani Collins
he moved and the pleasure storm swept through her.
ALEKSY SHIFTED, ROLLING onto his back, snapping Clair out of her deep sleep.
Her naked back reacted to the loss of his heat like the cool, raw flesh under a bandage. She fought a foreign desire to turn and burrow into his warm strength.
Smoothing her hair from her eyes, she let her gaze find shapes in the barely discernible pattern of the wallpaper, trying to make sense of what was happening to her. She’d been so angry, so hurt at being misjudged, and positively crushed at his remark about being adoptable. Did he think she hadn’t spent her entire childhood waiting for new parents? For someone to want her?
He didn’t care about her struggles or pain—he’d more or less admitted it when she challenged him. He only wanted sex from her. That’s all this affair was, and it should have turned her off, should have kept her from making love in public at the very least, but his touch had erased all the hurts. She’d forgotten there was such a thing as loneliness.
And the sense of connection had inexplicably remained, even when he’d wryly apologized for being unprepared with a condom and dried her belly with his handkerchief. It should have been a horribly awkward moment, but she’d found herself giggling as if they shared a secret. His tender kiss had tasted like a promise as he solicitously straightened her disarranged clothing and shielded her from the eyes of the wait staff while they slipped out of the theater, flushed and pinned together.
The drive had been a blur. She’d stared out the window without seeing anything, mind reeling, belly still quaking, skin sensitized with longing. There’d been no misgivings, just a glow of joy like an ember inside her.
She hadn’t recognized the feeling as a state of sustained desire, but when he’d drawn her to him before their shoes and coats were off, she’d met his kiss with an enthusiasm that had made him groan. He’d scooped her into the cradle of his arms and carried her to this bed. She hadn’t given one thought to how long she’d stay here, only that she needed to be naked with him, all of her hurts and worries forgotten.
She very much feared she was losing herself, and that was bad.
Nevertheless, when his big body jerked behind her, her pulse leapt as if they were connected by invisible, electric wires. They’d spent a long time getting to know each other’s body. She’d even let him slide down her to arouse her so selflessly she’d almost died, but oh, the deliciousness of that near-death experience. When he’d risen to thrust into her, they’d locked themselves into a writhing knot of ecstasy. She’d been so exhausted and replete after their final, shuddering culmination that she’d fallen asleep without making a conscious decision to stay in his bed.
She should leave now that she’d woken, but she was reluctant, especially when he crooked his leg against hers and renewed desire tingled through her. Would he wake and love her again? Who knew she could be this insatiable?
He muttered something in Russian.
Drawn by curiosity, she rolled to face him and tried to read his features in the dark. His eyebrows were pulled together in a grim line, his jaw clenched. His long body was one taut muscle weighing down the mattress. More utterances pushed through grinding teeth.
A nightmare? Reaching out with instinctive compassion, she lightly touched the tensed muscles of his neck, thumb accidentally lining up with the ridge of his scar on his chin. “Aleksy.”
He clamped a swift hand around her wrist, the strength of his grip painful enough to make her cry his name again in a warning.
With a jolt he woke, but his grip stayed locked tight. “Clair.” He sounded…fraught, his tone demanding she answer.
“Yes, it’s me.” She tried to rotate her arm and ease his unbreakable hold. “Where were you?”
He drew a shaken breath, letting his fingers loosen, then just as quickly caught her arm again, closing around her fine bones, exploring lightly for damage. “Did I bruise you? I’ll get ice.” He released her and started to leave the bed.
“No, I’m fine.” She dropped a staying palm on his chest, startled to find it soaked with perspiration. “You’re sweating. Do you have nightmares often?”
“Never,” he replied shortly, dragging the corner of the sheet over himself, dislodging her touch as he dried himself.
Smarting from his brush-off, she curled her fist into the blankets and drew them up over her chest. “Maybe it was my being here. I was just leaving, so…” She trailed off.
He didn’t say anything.
She waited too long. Nausea clenched in her stomach as she realized he wasn’t going to protest and ask her to stay. Aghast at herself for making the mistake of fishing for signs she was needed—or at least not unwanted—she forced her stiff limbs to ease toward the edge of the bed. Funny how she had spent years conquering feelings of bereft abandonment, learning never to set herself up for it, yet the tsunami of worthlessness could sweep over her as fresh and coldly devastating as ever.
This was exactly why she avoided intimacy. He was too far inside her if he could bring her to the brink of anguished rejection this easily. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Years of practice allowed her to swallow the lump of unshed tears trying to lodge itself against the back of her throat. She wouldn’t cry, refused to. She found her way down the hall to the spare room and crawled into the icy bed with dry eyes, telling herself the ache clawing at her insides was for Aleksy.
What would haunt him so badly he’d have nightmares? She’d been distracted by his misjudgment of her and the foundation earlier, but he’d said Grigori had given him his first job after his father was killed. He had shut down and diverted her by asking about her own history, but she had a feeling the touchy subject of his scar was related. The way he’d just called her name as if he’d been frightened for her stayed with her, filling her with an urge to go back and ask him about it. Offer comfort.
Rolling onto her back, she flung an arm over her eyes and reminded herself not to give or ask too much. This relationship was temporary and if she got any more emotionally involved with Aleksy, she’d be too deeply attached when it ended. Look how she was reacting to being separated by just a wall. She didn’t want her heart broken when half a world stood between them.
Better to stay exactly where she would spend the rest of her life: alone.
* * *
Aleksy stared unseeingly at the frozen river, still deeply perturbed by his nightmare. He hadn’t had one since his mother was alive, yet the dream and the memory it contained had ambushed him with deadly accuracy.
Except this time, when he’d heard his name, Clair’s voice had called it and torment had nearly ripped open his chest.
Soft footsteps padded on the tiles behind him. Not the bustle of his housekeeper and he felt Clair’s presence like a tangible force anyway. Her sexuality radiated into him, synchronizing to his own. He wanted to touch her with the immediacy that swept through him every time he was near her.
He hesitated to turn, though, dreading what he might see. He had meant to be gone by now, but his driver was caught in one of Moscow’s world-famous traffic jams, so he was loitering in his own foyer, mind jammed with unwanted introspection. When he pivoted, he caught her hovering indecisively, showered and dressed, hair glittering like sunlight in icicles. She took in his suit and tie beneath his open overcoat, then the briefcase on the floor. Her eyes were underlined with bruised half circles. No sleep either? Or something else?
Apprehension made his voice unintentionally severe. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she answered. Her cloak of composure slid firmly into place, hiding anything she might have betrayed.
He felt his mouth twist in dismay, but