The Last Dance (12 page)

Georgina opened her mouth to speak, but she snapped it closed. The sensations were still too much, her body too primed. She did not trust herself to speak. For several long moments she lay, focusing on her breath. “I will not tell you who he is,” she managed to say at last.

The pride in her fortitude immediately turned into disappointment when Roman withdrew his hand. Her body felt empty without him. The temptation to tell him was overwhelming. The things she would do for Roman’s touch shamed her.

“You can stop calling him ‘he.’ I know your handler is Pavel Ivanov.”

Georgina gasped. She snapped her legs together. “You knew! But you did this. What? To torture me.”

Roman shook his head. “To see just how deep your loyalties ran.”

She could have laughed or cried. Her loyalties were to herself, to staying alive and being able to finish her career in relative peace. There was sadness in Roman’s eyes. Behind the anger, there was something more. What?

“It is late. Go to sleep.” His voice was low and gruff; there was no emotion. She had seen something that wasn’t there. He wasn’t sad or conflicted about what he was doing to her.

Roman turned to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Disappointment tugged at her. She tried to ignore it, but it was there. Even now, angry and humiliated, she was disappointed he was not joining her in bed. She could scream; she was certifiably insane. Or she had discovered her type was ugly, scarred, horrible, brutish men. Oh God, she would rather be crazy. At least there was medication for that.

Roman did not answer her. He turned off the light before he closed the door.

* * * *

Georgina got under the covers and pulled the duvet up around her neck. The pillow smelled of him, clean and masculine. She was in Roman Zakharov’s bed again. If someone had told her two weeks ago she would be here, she would have been horrified.

If they would have told her that she would be disappointed that he wasn’t joining her, she would have been…

Georgina shook her head. She still didn’t believe it herself, that she craved his touch and his smell, even the sight of him. The scars were still as grotesque as before, but now they were bizarrely alluring. He had survived. Everyone else in the car had died, but Roman survived.

Oh God, what was she thinking? She was breaking. The stress was finally breaking her. She had held up far longer than most; she would give herself some credit. Others would have crumbled when Pavel came into their lives. And certainly when Lev left.

She sighed. Lev. She thought she would never be able to breathe again when he’d left her, never be happy, never enjoy taking a man inside her body. And she hadn’t for a very long time. Not until Roman. She scrunched her eyes shut in the inky darkness. Why Roman? Why now?

She would find a lover in the States. One that touched her the way Roman did. One that made her heart skip a beat when he entered a room. Yes, that was what she would do. She ignored the small voice that told her it had been a decade since she’d had a man that made her feel that way.

Georgina turned onto her side…and then on to her belly…and then back to her back. She fluffed the pillow and swore. Roman was probably fast asleep. Nice that one of them was getting a nice rest. Her leg was starting to throb again, which meant in was nearing 3:00 a.m. and she still had not slept. She may as well stay up until it was time to take her next painkiller because she would wake up anyway. There was no clock in the room, but she did not need one. She would know when it was time to take a pill. Her body never failed to tell her.

She stared out into the darkness. The floor creaked outside the room. A sliver of light outlined the door. He opened the door and stood silently waiting for something, perhaps for her to stir or say she was awake, but she didn’t.

Roman shut the door and crossed the room. He stood beside the bed, taking off his clothes. It was dark so she sensed rather than saw his movements.

He pulled back the cover and slid in beside her. Her heart forgot to beat and then quickly remedied its oversight with a frantic palpitation. He was here. In bed. Beside her. Naked.

Desire inundated her body, flooding her with sensation. He had not touched her or even spoken, but she was wet. She felt it between her thighs. Her body knew what it wanted and immediately responded, readying for him.

God, she wanted to feel him move inside her. And she wanted to kiss him. She wanted—no, needed—to taste his mouth again, feel his full lips, and his tongue… Oh, the way he moved his tongue.

She closed her eyes. Even this part felt exquisite, good enough that if she never acted on her desire again she would still be happy because her body remembered how to respond. That part of her had not died with Pavel.

But she would act on her desire again.

There was no choice. They were like magnets pulled together by a force neither could see nor completely understand. Roman must feel it too.

Actually it did not matter. Georgina felt it enough for both of them. This could never be anything more than stolen moments of physical pleasure. In the cold light of day she accepted the fact that they were nothing more than a criminal and a spy. She welcomed it, embraced it even.

But at night…

Georgina turned to him. In an instant their hands were on each other. She did not know who reached out, and it didn’t matter. They both wanted it, and it was going to happen.

She needed to kiss him. She pulled his head to hers. Oh God, his mouth, his lips, his kiss… It was exactly how she remembered. She had not imagined it, and it had not been the fear. Roman was an excellent kisser, divine. Like everything about him, his lips were firm. As her mouth opened, his teeth grazed her, nipping at the sensitive flesh. Heat radiated down her body. If she had one last wish on Earth, it would be to kiss him, like this, with his naked body against hers and his fingers laced through her hair.

Roman rolled her onto her back. His mouth never left hers. Their need was frantic. Both of them needed this, to be together, to feel, to enjoy, to forget. The world stopped when they came together. Nothing else mattered.

Roman’s fingers laced with hers, pressing them down into the bed. Slowly, almost reverently, he entered her. He felt so good inside her, filling her, completing her.

Georgina moaned into his mouth. Over and over he pumped into her, each stroke taking her higher. Her hips tilted up to meet each thrust. With a low groan he came inside her.

Roman collapsed onto her. His weight was heavy, but she loved it. She had just enough room to breathe; that was all she needed. She had not come. But it didn’t matter. She enjoyed his orgasm as much as she would have her own.

Too soon, Roman moved. Her body felt bereft when he left her. His hand untangled from hers.

It was over. Their connection was gone. She closed her eyes to fight against the hot pressure that was building behind her lids.

Roman lowered his head to her breasts. He sucked one taut nipple into his mouth while his callused finger worked over the other. She moaned again as sensation overtook her. His head lowered farther; he licked the flat plane of her belly and then lower.

Roman spread her legs wide. For a long moment he did not touch her. It was just his breath against the entrance of her body. Hot and then a chill as the air cooled. But then he licked her. He started low on her body where he had just been.

Molten desire shot through her, overpowering and destructive in its intensity. His tongue darted into her body. Could he taste himself? The idea was powerfully erotic, Roman tasting his cum in her pussy. She wanted to taste him too. She could not remember the taste, but she remembered the power she felt with cum on her tongue. She felt desired and beautiful and connected in a primal way. She wanted to feel that again.

Roman’s tongue moved higher. He traced a circle around her clit, slowly at first and then faster, meeting the tempo of her cries. She was going to come with his head buried between her thighs licking her. God, she wished she could see him. The sight of him the first night, fucking her with his mouth, was the most erotic experience of her life.

Oh God, she was going to come. Her body jerked and twitched as the crescendo began. She fought to keep it at bay. Not yet. She wanted to come, but more than that she wanted right now to taste him. She had to; it was more than want; it was need.

“Kiss me,” she begged. Her voice came out in a pathetic whimper.

“I am, angel.”

Georgina smiled. She pulled on his broad shoulders. “My mouth,” she begged. “Please kiss my mouth. I want to taste you.”

Roman positioned himself above her so his lips were almost on hers, but he did not kiss her. If he asked her to beg again, she would. He thrust his finger into her, stroking her gently. “You want to taste this.” He fucked her with his hand until the sweet pressure began to build again, taking her higher. When her hips rose to meet his thrusts he eased his finger out of her and brought it to her mouth. “You want to taste this. You want to know what I tasted. You and I together.” She sucked on his long finger, her tongue licking at the moisture from their bodies. This was what she needed. He knew.

Roman laced his fingers in hers again and kissed her. She opened her mouth to him, wanting more of him, all of him.

He was hard again. His cock positioned at the entrance of her body. She pushed her hips up, urging him back into her, where he belonged. He sank his full length into her. She moaned into his mouth as he began to move. Over and over he plunged into her. This time there was no holding back her orgasm, and she did not want to. He was in her and she was tasting him—them. There was nothing more her body desired.

Georgina cried out as an orgasm slammed into her. Roman continued to pound into her with ruthless force. She did not have time to enjoy the glow of her release before another orgasm claimed her, harder than before, sending tendrils of pleasure down her legs and into her toes.

Roman grunted and filled her again, hot and wet, his body slick with exertion. His body still in hers, he moved to roll over, but Georgina held him in place. “Stay in me.” She couldn’t let the moment end. Nothing mattered now, who they were, what they had done. None of that mattered when he was inside her.

“I will crush you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Roman rolled them over until he was on his back and Georgina was on top, straddling him, his cock still buried in her. “There. We both get what we want. Now go to sleep, angel.”

Georgina traced her hand along his scarred jawline. “Now I will crush you.”

“You could not crush linen. If you were my woman, I would feed you.”

Georgina smiled, allowing herself to acknowledge that she would like that, being his woman and eating and letting herself get a bit fat. Nothing unhealthy, just a bit of padding.

Roman ran his hands down her spine, settling them on her bottom. Any other time she would have not been able to fall asleep like this, but she was too exhausted and satiated and something else—an emotion she did not let herself feel. She was content, happy even. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t, not with Roman, but she was going to enjoy it until it was over, just like her career.

ROMAN RAN HIS hand over Georgina’s back. Her breaths were deep and even. She was asleep. Their bodies were still connected, but neither of them felt a desire to separate. Everyone with eyes knew she was beautiful, but how many knew her strength? That was what he liked about her, admired even. He did not trust her, but he admired her.

And he desired her, more than any woman he had ever been with. He enjoyed fucking her; that was to be expected. She was too beautiful not to enjoy. He could get off just by looking at her. His cock would only require a few strokes; her beauty would do the rest.

Surprisingly he also enjoyed lying beside her and just being in the same room with her. She was smart, both in an educated way and in the cunning way that had kept her alive.

She belonged to Pavel Ivanov, both as his lover and his spy. Either of those things could have gotten her killed by now. Ivanov was a mercenary coward. Roman had no doubt Pavel would sacrifice Georgina to get what he wanted. He had many times before, and all to get him. All of Georgina’s targets were linked to Roman. Every man she had fucked had information on Roman. Georgina knew that; she had to. Had she and Pavel worked the plan together from the start? How? How did she get involved with Pavel? She was in deep. This was not going to end well for her. There was no way it could.

A cold terror washed over Roman when he realized how far Georgina was willing to go to protect the identity of her handler. And how much further Roman had been prepared to go to get it. Fuck. What was he doing with her? What was this?

He had been consumed by an irrational jealousy when she’d said she had slept with Pavel this morning. Clearly it was a lie; that was obvious. The part that drove Roman to the brink was that she loved this man, a man who had endangered her life and farmed out her body. She still gave him her loyalty. Did she know Pavel was behind the car bomb that had disfigured him?

He would not let himself hope that she didn’t because he would only be disappointed. So much of his life had disappointed him.

He reached out to stroke her cheek, so beautiful. In his arms, yet completely unattainable. They could have this, they could fuck, but that was it. Roman would never trust her, and at some point he would need to destroy her.

Unlike Pavel, Roman would not enjoy her downfall. He would not relish her pain, but he would not stop it.

* * * *

Roman woke up to the sound of birds. He glanced at his watch. It was half past eight. He had slept longer than he normally did. He ran a hand down Georgina’s back. She was still asleep on top of him. He had felt her stir once in the night. She took a pill and had a glass of water and then climbed in bed, again crawling onto his chest. Unlike in her bed, there was no need for her to sleep on top of him, but he was glad she did. Their bodies fit together, her small weight a comfort to him, knowing she was so near. It was easy to forget, in these moments, who she was. He let himself pretend when they were fucking because it heightened the experience, pretending that it was real. There was nothing real about them. Both of them were in it for themselves.