One Stolen Kiss (16 page)

“Put it on.”

Her chest tightened.

“Now?”

“
In the dressing-room,” he conceded. “I don’t want any surprises from you. I need to see you in it. So I know that it’s not a trick.”

She accepted the slip in silence and went to the dressing-room to change. Reading that article about all of those women, who thought they had a previous claim on him, had probably been a little unwise. Christie knew that she had just made an uncalled-for dig at his issues.

Feeling that she had been mean, she stripped down to her underwear and threw the slip on over the top, checking briefly that it was straight. It had lace edging, and ended about four inches above the knee – nothing scandalous.

“
Okay, I’m coming out,” she called. “No nasty tricks here.”

She stepped back out of the dressing-room. Adrik was an outline against the setting sun through the French windows. Arms still folded, jaw set determinedly, turning to face her.

His arms dropped abruptly to his sides. Christie realised she’d taken a step backwards, when the doorframe bumped against her spine.

“
So now you’ve seen it,” she breathed. “No surprises.”

“
No surprises…” he echoed quietly.

He crossed the gap between them tentatively – like a panther again, she thought, carefully and meticulously stalking its unwary prey. When he was close enough for his shadow to fall across her, she could make out his features. His eyes, in particular, seemed to be ready to devour her on the spot.

“There’s certainly less of it to search,” he remarked. “In bed.”

She nodded. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. So near to her now, he smelled like heaven.

“But, you still have your underwear on.” He traced a line down her sternum through the silk, setting butterflies loose in her stomach. “Not like in bed.”

“
Should I…?” Christie gulped.

“
Take it off,” he told her.

She reached behind herself to unhook her bra, and slipped the straps free, disentangling it while keeping the nightdress in place.

“Better?” She held it up in front of him.

He took it from her fingers, and then dropped it away from them, at arm’s length. His hand returned to trace a line over her hip.

“And these,” he prompted.

Christie’s hands trembled a little as she inched the elastic of her panties down over her hips through the slip. With a small shimmy, they dropped to her ankles.

“Stop there,” he said, as she made as if to step out and reach for them. He knelt down in front of her, and held the sides of her panties for her. “Now step out of them.”

Too wary to steady herself on his broad shoulders, Christie gripped the doorframe behind her to do as bidden. The panties went the same way as the bra had done.

“No surprises now,” he said, looking up at her. “Much less searching needed.”

“
Yes,” she whispered.

His fingers ran up to the backs of her knees lightly, and this time her own hands did fly to his shoulders, to brace herself as her legs threatened to give way.

“I like the way you say ‘yes’,” he murmured, exploring the lace edging of the slip, where it ended halfway down her thighs.

He tweaked it a little, almost testing to see that it didn’t unravel. Christie’s insides, on the other hand, were already more than halfway to being completely unravelled.

“Do you think I’m easy to seduce?” he asked, as his hands slid higher over the fabric of the slip, moulding themselves over and around her hips.

“
I think it’s
you
, doing all the seducing…” Christie managed to reply. “Just like last time…”

“
You think I’m seducing you now?” Adrik smiled to himself. “I don’t believe you’d be able to handle it, if I was.”

He increased the pressure under his hands slightly as he circled them around her hips, causing the skirt of the slip to ruck up a fraction of an inch. Christie gave an involuntary gasp.

“See what I mean?” He straightened up slowly and looked down into her eyes, and she realised her hands were still gripping his shoulders, terrified of losing control of herself. “When was the last time you let anyone seduce you properly?”

Never.

He skimmed one hand higher, into the curve of her waist. His thumb outlined the lower contour of her breast through the silk, sending a contraction of anticipation shooting downward through her solar plexus. Her eyes dared to dart to his mouth, so close to hers.

They hadn’t kissed – not since that one stolen kiss, eleven years ago…

“When?” he asked again, and it sounded as though finding out the answer mattered to him. “Tell me.”

Her lips parted, but no reply was forthcoming.

Leaving her breast wanting, he slid his hand around her ribcage to her back, and up her spine into the nape of her neck. At the same time, he lowered his other one, from her hip to the hem of the nightdress. Christie’s fingers dug into his shoulders as arrows of sensation crisscrossed between them.

Adrik lowered his head, but not to kiss her. Instead, he nipped her earlobe gently. His breath was warm on her neck, chasing away all of the remaining tension in her muscles.

“Tell me,” he whispered into her ear, his lips close enough to brush against it. “Or you won’t be able to handle it when I do.”

His words fell upon her heart like splinters of melting ice, cascading down inside her. He moved to kiss her neck lightly, and the hem of the slip began to hike up under his exploring fingers.

“I… I don’t know,” she gasped, fighting to control the desire to arch into him, press herself wantonly against his hard body. “I don’t remember…”

“
You didn’t give me the chance to demonstrate properly last time,” he remarked, his fingertips straying higher back up her hip, trespassing on her bare skin. “Too keen to complete your job and make your escape, I think.”

God…
If nothing in her life had lived up to that last time so far, what could he have held back? What had she failed to experience since?

His hand was as high as her waist now, underneath the silk slip. The backs of his fingers trailed inwards, and described a sweeping circle around her navel. Christie bit her lower lip, hard, feeling the muscles contract under his touch. All of the other muscles in her body fell in line to join it.

He raised his head from her shoulder to look directly into her eyes, and he drew one knuckle slowly downward.

It was too much. The room spun, and she imploded under his caress with a sob of surrender, clinging tightly to his shoulders. He stopped at once and his arms instantly locked around her, pulling her into the sanctuary of his embrace to keep her from falling.

“You won’t be able to handle it,” he warned, against her hair, as the tremors sporadically dissipated at last. “Unless you can talk about it first. At some point, you’re going to have to tell me everything.”

* * * *

Adrik worried that he had pushed things too far, too soon. She might be a thief, but in terms of seduction, she clearly didn’t know what to expect. What the possibilities were. Whatever she had done eleven years ago wasn’t down to skill or experience. It was down to luck.

Luck that
he
had wanted
her.

He knew that was the reason he had played along since that night in
Harding’s
in New York. He was partially responsible for losing the diamonds. He had been too easily distracted and reckless. He couldn’t be trusted. His father had been right to test him.

Christie was obviously an opportunist, but she had also been a pawn.

And he still wanted her. Which was why he’d turned the tables on her when he saw his own opportunity too, that night. They had – unfinished business.

But for it to be resolved in any satisfactory way that he could imagine, she had a lot to learn. And a lot of her own issues to resolve first.

“I ran you a bubble bath,” he announced, finding her sitting at the counter in the dressing room, staring at all the clothes he had hung up earlier, with one of his dressing gowns quite swamping her. “Go and relax. I’ll put the rest of your things away.”

“
What about the bikini?” she asked. “If you hate it, I’ll send it back for a refund. Get a sports swimsuit instead.”

“
No – I want you to bring it,” he said, having considered how this would work. “If it stays in my suitcase. And if you want to put it on, you have to let me tie it. Because I know you can’t undo my knots. No surprises.”

“
No surprises,” she repeated, and smiled weakly.

He knew that meant from him, as well.

“Go and have your bath,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Let me confront the great demon bikini on my own.”

* * * *

Christie lay back in the tub and watched the candle-light flicker off the ceiling. Her body still echoed from Adrik’s brief exploration. She’d never experienced anything like it. How did he do that – barely touching her anywhere? The rest of her had screamed out for him in denied need.

But he still didn’t kiss her – not on the lips.

The guilt of stealing that one kiss before she left him on that first occasion preyed on her mind. What if he couldn’t kiss anyone now? What if it was a punishment designed only for her, knowing perhaps that she’d wanted his kiss again, ever since?

The heat of the bathwater made her tortured muscles throb, but it was with an ache of frustration she felt she deserved. She had stolen from him – at least once. As for having seduced him… his whispered words were now branded into her.

You won’t be able to handle it WHEN I do…

A slight tremor rippled the bath, and she blushed again, even though she was alone.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. Her hands went to cover her face, feeling her cheeks scorching hot. “Help…”

* * * *

“Do you want to search me?” she asked warily, from the doorway of the dressing-room.

Adrik looked up from his diary where he was writing, as he usually did, in Russian.

His face softened as he took in the long cotton pyjamas.

“
No,” he said, and put the diary away. “I think I might scare you too much if I do that tonight.”

“
The bandage is gone.” She pulled up the hem of one leg to show him. “Just a sticking plaster now.”

“
Good,” he nodded. “Let’s go to bed, then.”

He lifted the covers aside for her to get in first, and slid in alongside. He hesitated before switching off the lights.

“Can I ask your permission for something else?” he said.

“
What?” Her face was suddenly a picture of trepidation.

“
Permission to give you a cuddle before we go to sleep.”

Christie’s eyes widened, but the colour returned to her cheeks in a healthier fashion.

“Permission granted,” she murmured in reply.

He scooted across towards her, and drew her into his arms as she reached up around his neck. Trembling a tiny bit at first, she seemed to melt into him.

“Mmmm,” he breathed into her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her coconut body-wash. “Reminds me of when we danced, in Switzerland.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he allowed himself to stroke her back in turn.

“This is a little like searching you,” he teased. “Only nicer.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze before reluctantly having to loosen it, feeling the unavoidable sensation of becoming aroused by having her not only in his arms, but in his bed at the same time. “Are you all right?”

She looked up at him, and nodded.

“Good.” He released her from his embrace, pausing only to drop a feather-light kiss on her collarbone. “I’ll have to stop now, or I’m really going to scare you.”

She gave a wry smile as he withdrew, unconsciously wrapping her own arms around herself afterwards.

He straightened the covers over her and turned out the lights, settling himself down and waiting for his own instinctive urges, both sexual and defensive this time, to gradually subside again.

“
You’re beautiful, Christie,” he said eventually, into the darkness. There was a little intake of breath beside him. “Don’t let anyone hide you away in future.”

“
Thank you,” the reply came, after a pause. “You too.”

CHAPTER TEN.

Being photographed for the magazine at home was exactly as Christie imagined it was like to be a real-life Barbie and Ken. The house sparkled due to Elsie’s attentions, florists had been delivering since before breakfast, and Lucas had taken ‘bastard cat’ to a pet grooming parlour. The evil ginger tabby looked incredibly smug in his black satin bow-tie, which managed to stay in place for a whole three photographs in the conservatory before he escaped, bored, and went to chase the green parakeets from the sycamore tree down the garden.

“
Who will be doing your hair for the wedding?” Mary-Lynne the stylist asked, as Christie’s blonde waves were unpinned and reconfigured for the third time in the front sitting-room, which had been designated for Hair, Styling and Make-up.

“
I don’t know,” she replied, sticking to their story. “That’s up to Adrik.”

Her hands knotted in her lap under her current copy of the magazine she was trying to read. She could feel her lip begin to wobble, just saying his name aloud.

“Any clues about when it is?” Mary-Lynne grinned, in a conspiratorial way.

“
I haven’t been told.” Christie adjusted the bodice of the strapless party dress self-consciously in her chair. Who wore a party dress around the house during the day? Everyone in the magazine, apparently…

“
Ooh.” The stylist fanned herself in a mock swoon. “So exciting… I’ve only met one other couple who did the surprise wedding thing. He sprung it on her saying they were going to follow sperm whales in the Antarctic. They got married on an ice sheet surrounded by penguins. Well, they are both scientists… but you couldn’t see them in the one photo beyond the goggles and thermals and everything. Then they had a honeymoon in Madagascar – that’s where we saw them properly…”

Adrik strolled into the sitting-room to pick up a different tie, humming to himself, and walked behind Christie on his way out again. She felt his fingertip brush like gossamer across the top of her bare shoulder-blades as he passed, and was immediately grateful to be seated already when a small supernova seemed to explode in her solar plexus.

“Do you know anything about the honeymoon?” Mary-Lynne continued, oblivious.

“
No.” Christie shook her head. Suddenly, madly, she wished everyone else would leave, and Adrik would come back in, so they could finish whatever he had just started. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”

“
I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I’d be hacking his phone and his computer and bribing everyone at his office, looking for the details.” Mary-Lynne sighed wistfully. “That’s probably why I’m still single. That, and the fact I’m holding out for a Brazilian footballer. But the only one I’ve met so far was married – and a terrible kisser. All tongue and no lips.”

Christie sighed with Mary-Lynne, in sympathetic unison. She wanted Adrik’s kiss so badly now, it was consuming her.

But this time, instead of stealing it, she knew that she was going to have to earn it.

* * * *

The last photographs of the day were for the one they called ‘the wildcard’ – an extra set-up in case of an additional page being required for the issue, or for if any of the other shots were either unsuitable, or too similar to images in different features.

They had agreed on using the workshop.

“So we’ll have some fun with this,” said Mary-Lynne. “Adrik in his overalls and welding mask, and you in the halter-neck Chloé satin. Maybe make it look a bit mischievous, like you’ve walked in while he’s working unexpectedly, to surprise him…”

“
I don’t know if he’d like that,” Christie worried.

“
It was his idea,” said Mary-Lynne, fluffing out Christie’s hair to look tousled and sultry, helped with a smidgen of shine serum. “Don’t worry, it’s not a peep-show shoot. The magazine won’t even allow images of kissing or hand-holding – too many customers in the Middle East to keep on our good side. It’s all implied in the clothes and make-up. You’ll just pose normally, like in all the other shots. What you really need over the dress is a designer flasher mac or something. I don’t suppose you have a Burberry, or a Prada trench-coat or anything?”

“
Oh…” Christie obligingly closed her eyes as the make-up girl brandished a heavy charcoal eyeshadow. “Millie Watkins-Mosse lent me a coat recently. I know she’d love to see it in the magazine. It’s a black leather trench. Chanel, I think.”

“
Perfect! Audrey and Millie are a riot, aren’t they? More like partners-in-crime than mother and daughter. They’re regulars of ours. And the Chloé heels too, I think…”

* * * *

“How’s this, Adrik?” the stylist asked, holding the workshop door open for Christie.

The photographer and his assistant were adjusting the lighting to focus on a section of the workbench, with the overflowing shelves and pigeonholes in the background. The half-finished owl, and some tools and other items, had been positioned to dress the area that would be visible in shot.

Adrik, already in his overalls, turned around as she entered. His eyes glinted in the additional illumination, while he absorbed the new vision that Christie presented.

“
My angel has become a devil,” he remarked. “I like it.”

“
Is it too trashy?” Christie looked down at herself helplessly, trying to recall Derek’s extensive list of fashion
Don’ts
when courting the media – or avoiding its more negative attentions. “I look like I should be in the doorway of a Bowery flophouse. With a CBGB stamp still on my hand.”

“
I knew there was a bad girl in there somewhere,” Adrik grinned. “The editors might not like it, but I like it.”

“
I’m loving it,” Mary-Lynne said, encouragingly. “Makes me wish we were shooting outside an actual New York flophouse.”

The photographer gave them their marks to stand on, and took a couple of test pictures.

“Try using that bench vice between you to illustrate a connection,” he suggested, as Mary-Lynne made a repair to Christie with lip-gloss and powder-puff. “Not touching each other, mind. Christie, you could lean your hip into it on one side, and Adrik, just rest your hand on the top.”

They rearranged themselves as directed.

“Nice.” The camera clicked away enthusiastically.

“
How about a lipstick mark on Adrik’s visor?” Mary-Lynne mused. “Could we get away with that?”

The photographer cogitated, scratching his goatee beard.

“Can’t hurt to try,” he admitted at last. “If they like the shot, but not the lippy, I can always edit it in post. Same for if they like it, but it needs enhancing.”

The stylist produced a paler pink shimmer stick than the gloss Christie currently wore.

“This is a bit more opaque,” she said. “It should show up better on the tinted visor.”

She blotted the gloss away for her and applied the new lipstick, while Adrik removed the visor and helped himself to a make-up remover wipe to run over it, ensuring that it was clean.

Christie held her hand out for it, to oblige, but he winked at her and put it back on.

“
Where do you want it?” she asked.

“
Over the cheek area, to be on the safe side,” said the photographer.

Adrik leaned on the workbench and lowered his head towards her. She could just make out his eyes on her in a faint challenge, through the darkened shielding.

Wishing for the second time that afternoon that they were alone, Christie raised her chin, and planted a slow, careful kiss on the glass.

“
No smears – well done,” said Mary-Lynne, approaching to retouch her lips.

Adrik was straightening up again, in what seemed to Christie to be a rather ominous silence.

“I practised a lot on the mirror when I was at school,” she replied.

“
Looks great,” remarked the photographer. “Let’s hope the high-and-mighties agree. Okay – back in the same pose next to the vice, that worked well.”

* * * *

Concerned about the effect that the Bad Girl outfit was having on Adrik, Christie was relieved to change out of it and have the make-up removed before rejoining him and the magazine’s team for a traditional afternoon tea, prepared by Elsie and Lucas. Apart from a stealth attempt on the Coronation Chicken made by the cat earlier, the housekeeping pair would have done the Savoy proud.

“
You’ll find the engagement party crew are slightly different,” Mary-Lynne told her. “Eileen is an old hand, though. Have you seen her hats? Anyway – they do the more spontaneous shots as well as having a discreet set-up on site for the formal poses. But it’s not like getting papped. All of the photos have to go through the same suitability screening process for the issue as ours do. The general rule of thumb they go by is to show nothing that would be considered offensive in a Dubai hotel reception magazine rack. That’s what makes us different from the rest.”

* * * *

After the team left, while Elsie and Lucas proceeded with the tidying-up, Adrik and Christie went for a stroll through the park. To give any opportunist paparazzi their opportunity, he said.

“
What – just walk around, cruising for potential photographers?” Christie was puzzled.

“
It’s not only about turning up at public engagements, or appearing in magazine features,” Adrik replied, reasonably. “Real couples do other things together. They shop. They go for walks. They feed the ducks and the pigeons, and God help them, the squirrels. Sometimes they go for coffee, or out for dinner, or to the movies. Why do I get the impression you haven’t done any of these things before?”

Christie glanced at one or two other couples also strolling comfortably around their local territory. She’d noticed these things, certainly. As something that another type of human being indulged in. She was aware of what couples did, as part of the general scenery and backdrop of life – but as it had never applied to her, she’d never had to incorporate it into her own perceived needs.

Looking at the other couples in the park, she could interpret no more meaning into their lives than if they had been walk-on actors, background artists playing roles.

That was it. She had no empathy with them. Their significance as couples, out together in public, was lost on her.

“I haven’t,” she admitted, and sniffed back the threat of an emotional response which she could feel building in the back of her throat. She tried to make it sound a minor issue. “He wasn’t into that.”

“
Why ever not?” Adrik’s eyes seemed to bore right through her, searching for an explanation. “And why would you allow life to pass you by like that?”

Christie shrugged, but the weight of the new realisation failed to leave her shoulders with the usual gesture.

“Never thought about it,” she replied.

“
No,” he said, quietly. “I can see that.”

Another moment of eternity unravelled between them.

Christie felt as though the light at the end of the tunnel, which she had always been chasing with Derek, turned out to be merely a small bulb over a sign that read
‘No Stopping’ –
and that bulb had just blown, leaving her in the pitch dark.

“
Close your eyes for a second,” Adrik told her. “It’s not a trick, trust me. I’m going to help you with this.”

Christie sighed, and shut her eyes to humour him. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere to run with her side of the discussion.

“Remember the ballroom in Switzerland,” he said. “We’ve just danced to a waltz. Our first dance as a couple. The music stops. Like all the other dancers, we’re going to leave the dance floor. Because we’ve been dancing together, and there’s a spark, we’re both kind of giddy. But there’s also the formality of being out in public, and at a very special occasion – so we’re both on our best behaviour, exactly like you were taught to behave in class. How did we walk from the dance floor together?”

Eyes still closed, Christie felt her arm move of its own accord, to link through his.

“Now we walk,” he said, gently drawing her closer into the intimacy of his personal space, until she could feel their heat being shared on the whole length of that side of her body, in contact with his. “We already danced. We know one another’s pace. You can open your eyes now.”

She fell into step beside him, and as she did so, walked out of the dark tunnel in her mind.

* * * *

The only way to arrive at Eileen’s lakefront villa complex with dignity was by water.

The long jetty already hosted a small variety of cruisers, antique sailing dinghies and speedboats. A private beach was currently home to a row of jet-skis, being washed by a couple of tanned individuals in short sleeveless wet-suits. The collection of impressive buildings comprising the former model’s estate sprawled decadently against the green hillside, punctuated by secluded terraces and infinity pools, overlooking Lake Como.

Eileen herself, in another turban and a billowy, batik-dyed kaftan, holding a pair of opera-glasses to her eyes by their decorative handle, waved to them from one of the terraces.