Chapter 086
Slowly, he turned to face her.
Illyra’s hazel eyes were luminous, piercing his soul. “When we met, I thought you’d changed completely from the man I loved. But you’re still the same, aren’t you?” she whispered. “The other man—he’s just the mask you wear.”
Andrei’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He felt bare beneath the spotlight. “You’re wrong,” he said roughly. “I am ruthless. Selfish, even cruel. Don’t believe otherwise.”
She shook her head. “You’re afraid people will take advantage, so you hide your good heart—”
“Good heart?” He grabbed her shoulders, looking down at her fiercely. “I am selfish to the bone. I will never put someone else’s interests ahead of my own. I cannot love, L
Illyra. That ability is no longer in me. It died a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Would a good man keep you prisoner against your will?”
She lifted her gaze. Her hazel eyes were suddenly troubled, opaque, full of shadows.
“No,” she whispered.
No. That one word caused an unexpected wrench inside him. As the two of them stood in the huge private dressing room of the designer atelier, her expression became impassive—her poker face. He wondered what she was thinking. In this moment, when he felt so strangely vulnerable, his insight into her soul suddenly disappeared.
“I’m not a good man, Illyra,” he said in a low voice. To prove it further—to both of them—he lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her hard enough to bruise. She kissed him back with fierce passion, but he felt her withholding something he wanted. Something he needed.
Unzipping her blue ball gown, Andrei kissed the bare skin of her neck. Her hair smelled like sunlight and passion fruit, like vanilla and the ocean, like endless summer.
Her strapless silk bodice fell, revealing her white bustier. They were surrounded by mirrors on three sides, and as he saw endless reflections of him touching her, he felt so hard he wanted to take her roughly, against the wall. So he did. As the dress fell to the hardwood floors, he unzipped his pants and lifted her, shoving her roughly against the mirrored wall. Barely pausing to sheath himself in a condom, he thrust inside her. Wrapping her legs around his hips tightly, she clutched his shoulders as he filled her, slamming her against the wall. Five thrusts and she was moaning. Ten thrusts and she clutched her fingertips into his shoulders as her body tightened, her back arching. Fifteen thrusts and she screamed with pleasure in cries that matched his own.
Afterwards, for an instant, panting and sweaty, he just held her, his eyes closed. Then slowly he released her legs, letting her body slide down his. The passion had been hotter than ever.
But he knew something had changed between them. An unbridgeable gap.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have dinner reservations.”
“Fine,” she said dully, not meeting his eyes.
He zipped up his pants, and she put on her new clothes, the slim-fitting black pants, sheer black top over a black camisole, and black leather motorcycle jacket he’d bought for her earlier at a department store on Nevsky Prospekt. All afternoon, he’d insisted on buying everything he saw in her size, anything she could possibly want to wear for the rest of her life, for any season and any event.
Compensating, he thought. Though he knew she couldn’t be bought.
Even if he’d bought her.
“Before dinner,” he said brightly, despising the false cheer in his voice, “I wish to buy you something truly special. A fur coat. White mink, perhaps, or Barguzin sable—”
Illyra shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Russian furs are the best in the world.”
Her eyes were cold. “I don’t want a fur.”
He set his jaw. “You’re pouting.”
“No.” She looked away. “I just used to have a dog when I was a kid,” she mumbled. “I loved that dog. We used to explore the forest all summer long. He had a soul. He was my friend.”
She was talking about her dog? Andrei exhaled. He’d been bracing for her anger, since the only thing she really wanted was the one thing he wouldn’t, couldn’t, give her. Relieved, he lifted his hand and lightly traced the bare skin of her collarbone. “I still don’t understand the connection.”
“I’ll put it in simple terms.” Pulling away from him, she folded her arms. “No fur.”
“As you wish,” he whispered, taking her hand in his own. He felt her shiver. He looked at her. Her expression was completely unreadable. He sighed. “Come.”
Leaving the dressing room, he went out to meet with the salesgirl and finish the details of the order, arranging for the hand-stitched ball gown to be delivered the next day. Andrei took Illyra outside, where his bodyguard awaited them beside his bulletproof limo.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m tired of shopping.”
“You’ll like this.”
Twenty minutes later the limo pulled to a stop. Helping her out himself, Andrei Led her past two security guards into a tiny, high-ceilinged shop in the belle epoque style, with gilded walls and colors like a cloisonné Easter egg. Everything about the jewelry store bespoke elegance, taste and most of all money.
“What are we doing here?” Lyra scowled. “I thought we had dinner reservations!”
He gave her a teasing smile. “This won’t take long.”
A short, plump man with wire-rimmed glasses and a short white beard, wearing an old-fashioned pin-striped suit with a vest, came eagerly from behind one of the glass cases. “Welcome, welcome, Your Highness,” he said in Russian.
“Speak in English so she’ll understand.”
“Of course, Prince Andrei.” Tenting his hands, the jeweler turned to Illyra and switched to accented English. “My lady. You are here for a necklace, yes? For the New Year’s Eve ball at the ancient palace of the Romanov tsarina?”
Illyra glanced up at Andrei. “Um. Yes?”
He smiled back at her, feeling a warm glow at the thought of spoiling her. “I wish to buy you a little something to wear with the ball gown.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Need has nothing to do with it.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Surely you won’t deny me the small pleasure?”
Her scowl deepened. “No. How could I?”
He ignored her insinuation. “Surely,” he said teasingly, “you will not tell me that diamonds remind you of a former pet? That they possibly have a soul?”
She looked down at the floor.
“No,” she whispered. “A diamond is just a cold, heartless stone.” Andrei frowned. She suddenly seemed to recall she was speaking to the CEO of Andreevich Mining, one of the largest diamond producers in the world. Flashing him a wry smile, she amended, “But they are pretty. I’ll give you that.”
“So you’ll let me buy you something.”
“Don’t you have a closetful of diamonds back home? I’m surprised you don’t use them like rocks to decorate your garden.”
“My company produces raw diamonds. We sell them wholesale. The fine art of polishing them into exquisite jewelry is not our specialty.” He lifted his hands to indicate the little jewel box of a shop. “This is the best jewelry store in the world.”
“Really? In the world?”
He gave her a sly smile. “Well, the best in St. Petersburg. Which means it is the best in Russia. Which means, naturally, that it is the best in the world.”
Staring at him for a moment, she shook her head with a sigh. “All right.” Her tone was resigned. “Since it seems I have no choice.”