The Russian's Dangerous Game (3 page)

When she reached the top of the stairs, she spun
around, worried that he might have gotten one of those peeks. As he came level with her, she looked into his eyes, trying to gauge how much he’d seen, her hand unconsciously moving to tuck her dress against her skin. A bit belatedly, she realized, but it was instinctive.

“You have beautiful legs,” he said
as his face came level with hers, his voice deeper and huskier.

Rocco stood there on the stairs, his body completely
out of control as he looked into her pretty, green eyes. He wanted this woman. And it wasn’t one of those languorous feelings of desire that slowly spiraled up inside a person. No, this was gut-wrenching, instantaneous lust. It was a pounding, painful, aching need to possess her body, to feel her writhing around him because of the things he wanted to do to her. He wanted to look into her eyes when he pushed himself into her heat and he wanted to watch her face as he took her to a pleasure that was so out of control, she couldn’t even speak.

That need shocked him but he didn’t back away from it. He wanted her and reveled in that feeling. It broke through the boredom that had been pestering him for a while. There was something special about her, a mystery that didn’t add up. Perhaps that was all this was
, he thought with increasing desire.

What was her story? He wondered long and hard as he took the final two steps that would
bring him to the top floor. He didn’t let her move away either. As he looked down at her, his hands trapped her while he pressed her gently back against the railing. The fascinating texture of her soft body pressed against his was startling. Never before had he felt so rocked to the core and by such a simple, relatively innocent touch.

Yes, he would have this woman, he thought silently. And he would
find out why her eyes widened with fear and confusion whenever he touched her. He would learn why she looked almost taken aback by the desire he could see spiraling in her own eyes.

Once he’d solved all of her mysteries, t
his need would dissipate, he told himself. He just had to figure out what her secrets were. Why was she here when she was so obviously uncomfortable? Why was she putting herself through such a strange ordeal when she didn’t like to dance, didn’t drink and didn’t like the music being played?

He suspected that she was here for some reason other than to pick up a man for the night. And the thought that she was here to spy on him occurred to him. Even if that were the case, he was more than prepared to be generous with her. He was always generous with the lovers he took to his bed. He liked them warm and willing
, and he’d found that expensive baubles made them softer and more generous.

They all expected something
, but he didn’t mind. He expected something as well. And he was more than willing to explain exactly what he wanted from each woman. He wasn’t into kink, but a warm, willing, adventurous woman was a delight in bed.

“What do you do?” he asked, bending low so he was speaking into her ear. He actually thought about nipping at the delicate shell of her ear, but pulled back. He suspected that this woman needed a bit more romancing before he could touch her as he wanted to. He’d take things slower than he
would prefer, but he knew that his ultimate goal would eventually be realized.

“I’m a writer,” she said, looking up at him through her thick, black eyelashes, wondering if he could tell she was lying. Technically, she wasn’t really lying. She was a writer. She wrote about beautiful events that made people sit back and appreciate life. But she knew she shouldn’t tell this dangerous, strangely attractive man that she was a reporter. Not simply because she wouldn’t get her story. But there was something about him that drew her closer, a connection that she
irrationally didn’t want to lose simply because of her career choice.

“And what kinds of things do you write about?” he asked, moving closer
when someone tried to move past him, his chest rubbing against her breasts.

She tried to think, but he didn’t move back after the person passed by
. That left her breasts crushed against his hard, muscular chest. Brianna wanted to run her hands against that chest, to feel the body heat and explore the muscles underneath the fine, cotton shirt. But instead, she gripped the railing behind her with her free hand while the other held her drink aloft, not allowing her palms to experience the bliss of discovering the secrets beneath his shirt.

“I write about gardens and flowers,” she said slowly, her lips having trouble forming the words. Her eyes dropped to his lips, wondering if he was having as much trouble speaking as she was.

“And are you an expert gardener?” he asked, thinking perhaps she was a garden blogger or wrote books for a living.

Brianna had to laugh at the idea of anyone thinking she was an expert gardener. She couldn’t even keep a cactus a
live. “Not even in the loosest meaning of the definition,” she replied.

His hand moved up and spun one of her
brown curls around his finger. “So why do you write about flowers and gardening?”

Too late, she should have told him that she was a gardener, a blogger or just something along those lines. She’d actually created this whole persona for herself earlier tonight just in case he asked her personal questions. But she’d messed up and told him the truth. Now what was she supposed to say?

“I like gardening,” she finally explained, which was true. She loved plants, wished she could grow something, anything! But most plants simply died on her for some reason. “I’m just not an expert at it. I write the words of other experts, helping them get their message out to readers.”

He tossed her words around in his mind for a moment. “So you’re a ghost writer?” he suggested and watched her eyes. He knew the instant she decided to lie and almost laughed out loud. She was so easy to read, but he didn’t care that she was dishonest. He wanted her. That was the bottom line.

“Yes. I’m sort of a ghost writer. I listen to what people tell me and then create their stories in my own words.” Whew! That was pretty close to the truth! She’d better change the subject, she thought silently. “So what do you do?” she asked.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Don’t you know?”
He took her drink and placed it on the nearest table since her hand was shaking too much.

She smiled and shook her head. “I know you’re some sort of financier. Obviously, I’ve heard your name a few times.” Wow! That was a whopper! Everyone in the newsroom was speaking his name.
Along with some irritating sheik’s visit to meet with the president, Rocco Antoniv’s name was practically the only thing people were talking about lately. “But what you actually do on a day to day basis, I can’t even imagine.”

He reached up and touched her neck where her pulse was beating rapidly. “Well, I find a person who
is interested in another person,” his finger slid down her skin erotically, “or people who will work well together,” his finger slid across her collar bone, “and I mesh everything so that it works out perfectly.”

Brianna didn’t miss his double meaning.
She swallowed painfully, her eyes moving down to his lips. “That sounds…too simplistic…” she was going to ask another question, or maybe she was going to challenge him. She wasn’t completely sure since his other hand moved up her back, causing her to gasp as heat traveled quickly through her body.

“Some things don’t need to get complicated,” he suggested. His hand moved along her waist, smoothing against the material of her stomach. “For instance, some things just need the basic instruments to work out perfectly. Adding anything complicated into the mix,” he commented as his eyes dropped to her mouth, “only adds confusion and chaos.”

She tried to take a breath, but everything inside of her was waiting breathlessly for him to kiss her. A part of her mind reminded her that she’d only met this man…a half hour ago? She was not here to be seduced. She was the one who was doing the tricking.

But nothing in her could have moved her body away from his touch. The man who’d accosted her when she’d first entered the nightclub had been good looking. The man she’d dated a few times last month had been handsome. But Rocco Antoniv, she was finding, was both of those things and neither.
He wasn’t traditionally handsome but the dangerous aura around him, the magnetic pull that drew her closer and wouldn’t relinquish its hold, was shockingly powerful. There was something about him that pulled her closer, shutting off her mind. Dangerous for a reporter, but unavoidable nonetheless.

“I have to leave,” she told him
in a whisper, but she didn’t even shift on her aching feet.

“You have to kiss me,” he countered.

She gasped, her eyes moving from his lips to his eyes. “That would be dangerous,” she whispered up at him. It seemed like they should be screaming at each other over the din of the music and other conversations, but she didn’t hear anything other than his words, his breathing. Her mind focused only on this man and the way he was touching her.

“Kissing would be…” whatever she was going to say was gone as his lips touched hers.
This was not a kiss. She’d been kissed before. Kissing was a mild, tender touching of lips, a pleasing greeting or goodnight. This was neither of those.

This was possession!

Brianna didn’t have the experience with men to deal with this kiss. She couldn’t counter the feelings his lips, and then his tongue, demanded of her and she shivered, but couldn’t hold back. She was this man’s captive, reacting to his mouth, whimpering with equal need as his hands pulled her closer, pressing her hips against his. She felt the hardness of his body, moved, shifted and struggled to get closer. She couldn’t handle this, so she simply reacted as his mouth devoured hers in a demanding kiss that she felt all the way down to her toes.

She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It could have been moments or hours. She’d completely lost the ability to gauge time, or even to think logically. All she knew was that this man, his touch and the hard body under her fingers, was her universe at the moment and she never wanted this feeling to stop.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, his eyes heating her up more than the bodies surrounding her. “Let’s dance,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer, simply took her hand and led her right back down the spiral staircase. When they reached the dance floor, there was yet another pulsing song but Rocco simply pulled her into his arms. The song that had originally felt like a rock/techno beat turned into a love song with his arms around her. He didn’t give her an inch of space but instead, pulled her body against his, moving to the beat of the music, but there seemed to be a different song in her head. Her arms lifted languidly, wrapping around his neck while her body shifted and moved against his. Her mouth fell open slightly when his leg pressed between hers but, for some reason, she wasn’t able to stop him. In fact, as the song progressed, she needed that leg, his strong thigh, those muscles….

She could barely breathe as his hands held her waist, inching ever so slightly higher until his thumbs were resting just below her breasts, his fingers on her waist. But she didn’t want his hands there! She wanted, needed, his hands…higher. Her eyes looked up into his and she didn’t even feel the crick in her neck from staring up at him. She was begging him for something she didn’t really understand.

Gone was her mission for the evening. She was his to control and she loved his raw power, relinquished her own control to him, giving him whatever he wanted because it was what she wanted as well. She wanted to demand more, but wasn’t sure how. She wanted to curl up into his lap and beg him to move to the next step, but her lips wouldn’t move unless he’d commanded them to move.

And she was thrilled with all of it. Never had she felt so soft and feminine. Never had she wanted any man like she wanted Rocco Antoniv. She might not know him intellectually, but there was something about him that captured her, held her
as his prisoner while he tenderly controlled her movements with his hands, his hips and his eyes.

“We need to get out of here,” he growled. Taking her hand, he
started pulling her along behind him. Brianna didn’t want to leave with him, knowing exactly what he wanted from her. She’d never done that before, and yet, she’d never wanted it so powerfully.

“I can’t do that,” she whispered
and her body was now trembling, both in anticipation and fear of what he wanted from her.

Rocco looked back down at her, saw the fear in her eyes and reacted to it. He wanted her with a powerful, painful desire but the look, the terror in her eyes stopped him. He touched her cheek, cradling her face with his hand and tamped down the lust until it was a resonant, throbbing pain deep in his groin. “Let’s just leave here and talk,” he suggested.

Talk. She mulled that word over in her mind. “I’d like to talk,” she finally replied. “Talking is good.”

Rocco nodded to a man Brianna hadn’t even noticed standing on the edge of the dance floor. That man immediately nodded and lifted his wrist to his hand, just like the secret service agents on television tended to do
. “Let’s go,” he said. He nodded only once to the man standing by the elevator and it was already open by the time the two of them reached the doors. They were able to walk right onto the elevator which immediately closed behind them.