Kholodov's Last Mistress by Kate Hewitt Page B

really can’t imagine why you’re here or what you want.’
    ‘Why are you so angry?’
    ‘Why?’
She stared at him. ‘You really need to ask? After—after the way you treated me? Made me feel?’
    ‘It was a year ago, Hannah.’
    ‘And when you waltz back into my life it brings it all back.’
    ‘You see,’ Sergei said, stepping closer, close enough for her to breathe in the tangy scent of his aftershave, ‘I have this theory.’
    She planted her fists on her hips and gave him as scathing a look as she could muster. ‘Oh, really?’
    ‘Really. And it goes like this.’
    ‘I don’t recall asking to hear your theory.’
    He smiled faintly, and she felt that singeing bolt of awareness. Still. Her response to him had been—and clearly still was—impossible to ignore or deny. ‘Humour me,’ he said softly, and too weary—as well as a tiny bit curious—to argue, Hannah just shrugged. ‘It goes like this,’ he repeated, taking a step closer to her. Hannah forced herself not to move. ‘You’re angry because you’re still affected. If you’d forgotten me, as you surely should have done, you wouldn’t be looking at me now as if you’d like to carve my heart out with a teaspoon.’
    Her lips twitched in something close to a smile despite her determination to stay angry and in control. ‘I would, rather,’ she said. Her heart had started thudding in response to his words … and the truth they held.
    He smiled, that mobile mouth she remembered so well curving in sensual triumph. ‘So you are affected.’
    ‘Only according to your outrageous theory.’
    ‘Oh, it’s not just my theory,’ Sergei told her softly. He’d stepped even closer now, only a hand-span away, so not only could she breathe in the scent of him but she could feel his heat. Remember his touch. ‘I have evidence,’ he continued in no more than a whisper, and with one finger he touched the pulse that fluttered wildly in her throat. And if that wasn’t evidence enough, her indrawn breath, a gasp of shock—or was it pleasure?—damned her all the more.
    Colour flamed in her face and she wished she had the strength to say something cutting, or at least step away. The trouble was, it felt too good to be standing so near him. And the single touch of his finger on her skin sent her body spinning into sensual remembrance.
    ‘The thing is,’ Sergei continued, his finger lightly stroking the column of her throat, ‘I’m affected as well.’
    Hannah shook her head, a matter of instinct. ‘No, you aren’t. You weren’t. I don’t know why you came here, Sergei, but—’ She dragged in a desperate breath and finally stepped away. ‘Surely you’ve satisfied your curiosity by now.’
    He let his hand fall, his gaze resting on her thoughtfully. ‘Not even close.’
    ‘What do you want, then?’ she demanded, and heard the ragged note in her voice. She couldn’t hide anything.
    ‘To have dinner with you.’
    ‘Dinner?’
    He raised his eyebrows. ‘A meal? Food? Wine?’
    And memories of another meal. Another night. Hannah knew she should shake her head, but somehow she couldn’t. She could only stare. Sergei smiled. ‘There must be a half-decent restaurant in this area.’
    ‘Half-decent, maybe,’ Hannah allowed, and his smile widened.
    ‘Show me?’
    He made it a question, and, despite her absolute intention tosay a sane and self-respecting no, Hannah opened her mouth and said something else instead. Something she could not keep herself from saying—and feeling—even as her mind hammered out a desperate protest. ‘All right.’

CHAPTER SIX
    S ERGEI gazed at Hannah over the rim of his wine glass. She really looked rather cross. Her eyes were shadowed, her mouth a set line. No ready smile for him, or anyone, now. He wondered what her life had been like in the last year and just how she had changed.
    Hannah took a sip of wine and gazed around the restaurant—looking anywhere, it seemed, but at him. Sergei had rung Grigori to