A Champagne Christmas

CHAPTER FIVE

AS THE chauffeur drove through the London streets, Grace watched feather-edged moonlight from the window move over Maksim’s sharp cheekbones, his angular jawline. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Beautiful. A strange word to describe such a powerful, dangerous man. But he was beautiful—hauntingly so. The moonlight caressed his straight nose, the cleft of his hard jaw, the hinted strength and latent brutality of the muscular body beneath the tuxedo and black coat.

He turned to meet her eyes, and his gaze scorched her, his gray eyes like smoke twisting from a deep hidden fire.

Grace suddenly realized…he hadn’t lied. He did want her.

Innocent as she was, she could feel it.

He wasn’t showing pity—or even kindness.

He wanted her.

The Leighton clothes had somehow transformed her into a beautiful, desirable woman. She’d felt downtrodden and invisible—now she felt like a goddess. Or possibly a sex kitten. An answering fire burned inside her with his every touch, every hot glance.

It wouldn’t last. Like Cinderella’s, her dress would disappear at the end of the night. She couldn’t keep these things. She wouldn’t let him buy her. She wouldn’t let him seduce her.

But…for this one night, she could be the woman these clothes had created. She would have one night of magic. One night to be seen.

She would be the princess in the fairy tale.

The limo pulled smoothly to a stop at the curb. Maksim got out of the car and opened her door himself. Holding her arm in his own, steadying her on the icy sidewalk beneath the softly falling snow, he led her down a popular Covent Garden street filled with pubs and restaurants. Her black shearling coat swished against her ankles as she walked. Between the coat and Maksim’s hand on hers, she felt warm in the frozen winter air.

“This way.” He led her into a stately Victorian building, through a hidden door beside a chic tavern. She saw an elegant foyer, complete with a crystal chandelier, a front desk concierge and a security guard.

“Where are we going?”

“The top two floors of this building were converted into a penthouse.” He gave her a brief smile. “A loft.”

She stopped dead on the marble floor. “I’m not going to spend the evening alone with you at your house!”

“I don’t live here. My sister does.” He gave a careless shrug as he led her into a gilded elevator. “It’s a bit colorful for my taste.”

“So why did you buy it?”

Pressing on the elevator button, he looked down at her. “The Sheikh of Ramdah thought he could steal a pipeline deal from me. Instead I took his company and his favorite home in the bargain. To teach him a lesson.”

The coldness in his voice made her shiver even more. “That’s a bit ruthless, isn’t it?” she ventured.

He gave a grim smile. “I protect what is mine.”

When they arrived at the top floor, he knocked on the door. A ponderous, stiffly formal butler opened it to welcome them. His eyes widened. “Your Highness!”

“Oh!” A beautiful black-haired girl suddenly pushed past the butler to fling herself into Maksim’s arms. “You’re here! I can’t believe you’re here!”

He hugged her awkwardly, then drew back. “I wouldn’t miss my own sister’s birthday party.”

“Liar,” the girl said with a laugh. “You’ve missed the last two! And don’t think expensive gifts make up for your absence. I don’t need another Aston-Martin convertible, I need a brother—” She saw Grace and drew back in surprise. “But who’s this?”

“A friend,” he said.

“Funny, you’ve never bothered bringing ‘friends’ around before.” She looked at Grace inquisitively, then pulled them both inside. “But I’m being rude. Come in! Come in!”

As the butler took their coats, the girl turned her piercing gray eyes, so much like her brother’s, on Grace. “I’m Dariya Rostova.”

Of course Grace knew the famous Princess Dariya, the fun-loving party girl who was constantly in the papers with her gorgeous friends. Pale and model slender in her silver sequin minidress, she wore a diamond tiara in her straight black hair.

Beneath her examination, Grace felt shy and out of place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were going to a birthday party,” she stammered. “I’m afraid I don’t have a gift.”

Dariya suddenly smiled, and her lovely face lit up with warmth. “It wouldn’t have even occurred to Francesca to bring a gift, so I already like you loads better. If you ask me, that woman was a snooty dry stick draped in furs.”

“Dariya,” her brother warned.

“What’s your name?” his sister said, ignoring him. She cleared her throat. “Grace.”

“Well, Grace, you’ve actually brought the best present of the night.” She beamed up at her brother fondly. “Come say hello to everyone!”

Dariya led them into the enormous loft, with soaringly high ceilings and big windows overlooking St. Martin’s Lane. In the center of the room, a sharp, metallic chandelier held multicolored orbs for lights. Amid the vast space of the open-walled apartment, the furniture was a cross between 1960s retro and cartoon-ish avant-garde. Grace looked with dismay at backless chairs that were shaped like ripe strawberries.

“Look everyone,” Dariya announced happily. “Look who came! And he even brought a friend. Everyone, say hello to Grace!”

As a cheer of welcome went around the room, Grace felt happy in a way she hadn’t felt for months. She suddenly realized how much she’d missed having friends. She hadn’t kept up with her old friends since she’d started working for Alan, much less tried to make new ones. She’d given up the idea of friends or hobbies or anything but being Alan’s perfect on-call secretary.

But now…

The laughing, friendly group around her reminded Grace of bonfires on the beach when she’d been in school, before her father had died. Before she’d started working for Alan. Back when her life had been simple and easy. She ached remembering the fun she’d had, getting together with friends to eat, drink, talk and laugh.

The only difference being that these people were all impossibly rich and good-looking. And that the party was in an artistic, soaring two-floor loft that had once been the treasured possession of the Sheikh of Ramdah.

“I told you Maksim would come!” Dariya said triumphantly to a young man hovering nearby. “You owe me ten pounds!”

“Best bet I’ve ever lost. Hello, Maksim. Lovely to meet you, Grace,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for putting a smile on my girl’s face.”

“Your girl?” Dariya tossed her dark hair. “In your dreams, Simon!”

Maksim growled something incomprehensible to the aristocratic young man. He was obviously being protective, but it still seemed rude. Grace cleared her throat and turned to Dariya. “So it’s your twenty-fifth birthday?”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. She suddenly looked alarmed, putting her hands on her perfect face. “Do I look it?”

Grace laughed, then pointed at the hand-painted banner slung from the high, frescoed ceiling that read, Happy Twenty-fifth Birthday, Dariya! It was a charming homemade touch amid all the exorbitantly expensive, bright, sharp modernity.

“Oh. Right.” The girl followed her glance with a sigh. “A quarter of a century, and what have I done with my life?”

“I just turned twenty-five on Sunday,” Grace said sympathetically, “and I spent the day huddled in my flat in total denial.”

“No, really!” Dariya exclaimed. “Not even a party?”

“My boss gave me a gift card for a week’s worth of lunches at my favorite Japanese restaurant.”

“You had no party,” the girl repeated, shaking her head in horror. “You simply can’t turn twenty-five without a party! Maksim,” she turned to her brother, “tell her it’s ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous,” he agreed laconically.

“Lulu,” Dariya called over her shoulder, “get a party hat, will you? Right. So this party will be for both of us.” When Lulu brought the colorfully decorated hat, Dariya took the tiara off her head and stuck the hat in its place. “This will be for me.” She placed the diamond tiara on Grace’s blond head. “And that will be for you.”

“Oh no,” Grace gasped, feeling the weight of the diamonds on her head. She’d come without a gift, and now she was going to upstage Maksim’s sister, the famous socialite Princess Dariya, during her own birthday party? “That’s so generous of you, really, but I couldn’t—”

“To be honest, it suits you better.” She leaned forward and whispered mischievously in Grace’s ear, “It was a gift from my brother, anyway, and not at all my style!”

“Dariya, you promised to dance!” Simon called from the other side of the loft, where a four-person jazz band had started to play.

“In a mo!” She gave Grace one last hug. “Must go dance, I’m afraid. Otherwise he’ll pout, but I’m so glad you’re here. My brother looks happy. Make yourself at home!”

After she left, Grace touched the top of her head. Was it possible that they were actually real diamonds? The thought shocked her…frightened her. The wealth around her was already far beyond anything she’d ever seen, even working as Alan’s secretary. She felt like Alice who’d just stepped through the looking glass to a world where money really did grow on trees. And the tree branches were made of gold. And the berries were all diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

She felt Maksim come up behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the crook of her neck. Her nipples instantly went hard, her breath shallow, her mind went dizzy. Then he whirled her around, handing her one of the crystal flutes from his other hand.

She took it with an awkward attempt at a smile. “My first champagne.”

“Cristal is not a poor way to start.”

She took a sip. The bubbles floated inside her, all soft and lovely and warm going down.

Maksim tilted her head upward with his hand, looking down at her from his towering height. His gaze was dark and intense. She suddenly knew he meant to kiss her again and she couldn’t think. Couldn’t even breathe.

Everything about him tempted her. Transfixed her. Made her long to really and truly be the woman who could mesmerize him in equal measure.

When would he kiss her?

Kiss her? What was she thinking? Clearly the tiara had constricted the blood flow to her brain!

Nervously she pulled away. She gulped down the rest of the expensive champagne as if chugging a can of soda, then pushed the tiara back crookedly on her head. “This thing isn’t real, is it? The tiara’s not real diamonds?”

He took a drink of champagne, his dark eyes resting on hers. “Set in platinum.”

She swallowed, thinking that she likely could pay off her mother’s whole mortgage with the sparkling tiara on her head.And maybe their neighbor’s house in the bargain!

“What if I break it?” She gave a weak laugh. “Do you have insurance?”

“Diamonds don’t break.” Finishing his champagne, he took both flutes and set them on the tray of a passing waiter. He took her in his arms. “The tiara suits you. You should keep it.” He slowly lowered his mouth toward hers. “You were born to wear jewels, Grace,” he whispered. “Born to be adored and pampered in a life of luxury.”

Someone turned out the side lights, leaving the loft lit only by the multicolored globes of the steel chandelier high above. Wide spotlights of red, green and blue shimmered in the semidarkness. In the wide space, she was aware of other people dancing, laughing, swaying to the music. She was in some strange fantastic world of stylish art, youth and limitless wealth.

But it wasn’t the luxury that lured her most.

It was Maksim.

“I won’t let you seduce me,” she whispered, trying to reassure herself. “I won’t.”

Every inch of her body, down to blood and bone, ached for him to kiss her. Her body arched toward his, taut with longing as her teal silk dress slid like a whisper against his tuxedo.

Pulling her against his hard body, too arrogant to care who might be watching, he lowered his mouth to hers.

He kissed her so deeply that their tongues intertwined, kissed her so hard that with one embrace he bruised and branded her forever as his own.

No! She sagged against his chest, her heart pounding wildly when he released her from the kiss. She couldn’t belong to Maksim. She couldn’t!

He straightened the diamond tiara, stroking the long hair that brushed her bare shoulders, making her shiver. He took two more flutes of champagne from a passing tray. Then, taking her hand, he led her to the dance floor.

For the next few hours they drank champagne and danced together, their bodies swaying to the music. Time moved strangely, sliding sideways so hours felt like minutes, and minutes felt like eternity. They danced to the soulful jazz music, to the poignant cry of the saxophone, until finally he pulled her gently to the furthest side of the loft.

There, alone in the shadows and away from the others, he pushed her against the wall. He gently bit at her neck, sucking on her ear. She gasped, breathless and desperate for more.

He finally kissed her mouth, his tongue stroking hers deeply, luring her. And suddenly she could barely remember Alan’s name, let alone why she should be loyal to him.

“Grace,” Maksim murmured between kisses. “It’s time to go.”

“Go? Already?” she faltered.

“It’s past midnight.”

“Oh.” And like Cinderella, that meant her time was up. The dream was over. She swallowed. “All right. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, anyway.”

“Then you’ll be tired.” He held her close, so close she could hear the beat of his heart. “I’m taking you to my hotel.”

Hotel? A hard shiver racked her body.

“Come with me now,” he whispered. “I can wait no longer. I want you in my bed.”

She sucked in her breath, staring up into his eyes, caught by his dark, commanding gaze. She’d somehow wandered into a fairy-tale world, a place beyond her comprehension. She’d been drawn from the real world to become a princess in diamonds and teal silk, enslaved by a fantasy prince who compelled her to follow her deepest desires.

He was so handsome, she thought in a daze. Brutally masculine, like a sixteenth-century barbarian warlord. A dark czar from a mist-shrouded medieval age.

“Can you walk,” he asked in a low voice, “or should I carry you?”

Walk? Her knees felt weak, whether from champagne or desire she wasn’t sure. She glanced down at feet, at the cheaply made silver pumps, scuffed up at the toes, that she’d bought for fifteen dollars at a discount warehouse in Los Angeles. The shoes threatened to break the spell.

He led her from the dance floor. As he said their farewells to Dariya and her friends, Grace could barely speak as she looked up at Maksim.

He intended to take her to his hotel.

Could she resist?

Did she still even want to?

Maksim put her coat over her shoulders, pulling her close to button it up. She felt every brush of his fingertips like an earthquake through her body. He led her back to the elevator. Suddenly they were alone, and she trembled.

“Do you swear,” she whispered, “seducing me isn’t some backhanded way to hurt Alan?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.

“I swear it to you.”

“On your honor?”

He looked away and his jaw clenched. Then he turned to face her.

“Yes,” he said tersely.

When she remembered to breathe, she nodded, believing him. He was a prince. He wouldn’t look her straight in the eye and lie.

“So why me?” she said. “Why be so nice—”

“Call me nice again and you’ll regret it.” His dark eyes gleamed as he pulled her from the elevator and out onto the street. “I am selfish. I take what I want. Any man would desire you, Grace. In his arms. In his bed. Any man would want you.”

“Alan didn’t.” As soon as the bitter words escaped her, she wished desperately she’d kept them to herself.

“Barrington is a fool.” He stopped on the sidewalk. His mouth curved into a sensual smile. “He lost his chance. Now you will be mine. Only mine.”

He slowly stroked up the inside of her bare arm beneath her coat, causing her to give an involuntary shudder of longing.

“Grace,” he whispered. “Let me show you how truly selfish I can be.”

CHAPTER SIX

DECEIT was part of the art of war.

The truth could be a flexible thing in Maksim’s opinion. Stretching it correctly was partly how he’d built a vast empire out of nothing. As a teenager, he’d gotten investors by pretending to already have them. He’d deceived competitors, making them believe deals were finished when they weren’t. He’d bought commodities cheap and sold them high because he knew information that others didn’t. Information he’d ruthlessly kept to himself.

It was not Maksim’s responsibility to do the due diligence of others and reveal any truth against his own best interests. He looked out for himself. He assumed others did the same. Only a fool would blindly trust the word of another.

But that was business. Lying in his personal life—that was something new.

And swearing on his honor…

His neck broke out in a sweat to think of it. He’d never looked into a woman’s face and lied against his honor. It made him feel…cheap.

I had no choice, he told himself fiercely. She gave me no choice. And this wasn’t personal. It was business.

Wasn’t it?

If he’d told Grace the truth, it would have ended everything. And he was getting so close. He could feel her weakening by the moment.

Seducing her away from Barrington was the best thing that could happen to her, he told himself. The man was obviously using her own feelings against her, working her like a slave without pay.

And it wasn’t as if she were an innocent. No, her kisses were too perfect for that. She’d kissed Maksim slowly, sensually, holding herself back with such restraint. As if she’d been born to enflame a man’s senses and make him crazed out of his mind with longing until he would do or say anything to possess her.

Even lie against his honor.

He took Grace’s hand in his own. “I gave my driver the night off,” he said. “I thought we’d walk.”

“All right,” she whispered, never taking her eyes from him.

Snow whitened the sidewalk, covering patches of slippery ice beneath. He held her arm tightly as they walked past the pubgoers enjoying last call, making sure she didn’t slip and wasn’t accosted by some drunken lad seeking a beauty for his bed.

Grace was all his.

Maksim could see their breath joined in swirling white puffs of air, illuminated by the moon in the winter night. He looked at her as they walked down the snowy street toward the southern edge of Trafalgar Square.

She looked so beautiful, he thought, lit up like an angel in front of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Her light blond hair tumbled down her shoulders, looking like spun silver and gold in the frosted moonlight. The diamond tiara sparkled in her hair, making her a spun-sugar princess. No. There was a layer of grief, of steel, beneath the sweetness. She was no helpless pink princess. No. She was a Valkyrie, from a Gothic northern land.

Her shoulders were set squarely, her hands pushed into the pockets of her long black coat that whipped behind her like a regal cape; and yet there was a softer side to her as she leaned up against him, her tender pink lips pressed together, as if she were trying to hold herself back. As if she were trying not to think.

“Thank you for bringing me to your sister’s party,” she said softly. “I’d forgotten what it was like to be around friends.”

He felt another pang of an unpleasant emotion perilously close to guilt. It had been ruthless of him to take her to the party. But he’d wanted to see Dariya on her birthday. And, he admitted quietly to himself, he’d known it would lower Grace’s defenses to meet his family. She would think she could trust him. Another lie.

The only thing that wasn’t a lie: he wanted her.

“Are you, Maksim?”

He focused on her. “Am I what?”

She looked up at him as he led her by Charing Cross station. “Are you my friend?”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He felt her shiver beneath the brush of his lips against her skin. “No,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not your friend, Grace.”

They passed down a slender street full of restaurants and pubs, crowds of young people and a few Chelsea football fans in blue-and-white scarves celebrating loudly over a pint. He took her hand and led her down to the embankment by the river. As they walked, they passed a dark garden.

“I don’t want your friendship,” he said. “I want you in my bed.”

The intimacy of his words, as they passed the quiet darkness of the park drenched in crystalline moonlight, was perfect. She looked up at him, her mouth a round O. A mouth made for kissing. A mouth he wanted to feel under his.

Right now.

But as he stopped, leaning down to kiss her, she suddenly turned away, her pale cheeks the color of roses in the moonlight.

“Did you learn to flirt like that in Russia?” she whispered. She gave a sharp, awkward laugh and started walking again. “You have some skills.”