Golden Paradise

leaving the two men openmouthed, began stalking toward the terrace doors.

They were the focus of everyone's breath-held scrutiny, but the three people who might actually have done something were all missing at that moment. Nikki was in the card room as was his custom at balls, Alisa had been cornered in the refreshment room by a young matron intent on describing her last confinement in lurid detail, and Nadejda was petulantly upbraiding a maid in the powder room for not adjusting her shoulder flounce properly. So Stefan was allowed to pull Lisaveta from the room unimpeded.

Stiff-armed, he pushed the terrace door open, dragging her through without ceremony onto the flagstone terrace overlooking the manicured grounds falling away to the shoreline. The evening was cool, the breeze off the Baltic harboring the first faint touches of fall, and Lisaveta shivered at the sudden contrast to the heated ballroom. Walking no more than a few paces from the opened door, a distance just barely outside the range of direct illumination from the lighted entry, Stefan pushed her back against the ivy-covered stucco and, bending down, kissed her.

Chapter Twelve

It wasn't a kiss of welcome or greeting or even pleasure; it was distinctly a kiss of possession, as if the harsh pressure of his mouth somehow indelibly acknowledged ownership. Struggling against his strength the moment she realized his intentions, she protested verbally as well as physically to his brutal kiss.

'You're drunk,' she remonstrated, turning her mouth away with effort, shoving uselessly against the solid muscle of his chest, her hands small in contrast to his massiveness.

'I haven't had a drink in five days, dushka,' he replied, his voice a growl, the endearment an epithet in tone, his arms tightening around her. He'd been traveling day and night for five days while she'd been smiling her special smile and offering more no doubt to every fawning man in Saint Petersburg. He knew what she could offer, he knew what her smile prefaced. He had been told she was everyone's darling and jealousy ate at his reason. His lips brushed over her cheek, his lower body pressed into her, and intent on being the next recipient of the Golden Countess's favors, he said, 'Relax, darling, this won't take much of your time.'

Those were not words of love or the sentiments of a lovesick swain, and while he'd come and taken her away, his intent appeared wholly without feeling. 'Take me back inside, Stefan, damn you,' Lisaveta whispered hotly. His mouth was millimeters from hers, and her body was pressed against the ivy wall with such force she could feel the buttons of his jacket imprinted into her flesh.

His soft laugh was unpleasant, his breath warm on her mouth. 'Do your new lovers take orders?' He hadn't moved and the weight of his body was solid and resistant.

'Does your fiancee?' she snapped, ignoring the fact she was powerless against him, too angry at his seizure, rude purpose and insinuation to consider her precarious position.

His head lifted abruptly and his eyes in the moonlight darkness gleamed like Fire. 'Yes, as a matter of fact,' he said very softly, his mouth curled in derision. 'Your turn.'

'Then so do my lovers.' She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd refused all the men because they hadn't measured up to him.

His eyes narrowed at her confident tone, a cold fury overwhelming him. 'I've heard,' he said in a taut low whisper, 'you're much in demand.' So all the rumors were true. She'd been entertaining herself with a variety of lovers since she'd arrived in Saint Petersburg. Loris and Dmitri and Kadar and Tamada had all been telling the truth. How many lovers had she had? he hotly thought. He could almost feel his temper as a palpable heat rising in his body-or was it lust… or both? He knew too well how eager and erotic the Countess's style of entertainment was and knew she had the spontaneity and energy to delight a great number of lovers.

He wanted to punish her for her bewitching ways, and then call out and kill each man she'd slept with. In an earlier era he may have done that without a second thought. But one didn't publicly beat women any longer or lock them away in nunneries, and duels were, at least in theory, uncivilized.

He was, however, feeling uncivilized and savagely angry. He was, in fact, very near to losing control, so Lisaveta's answering words were exactly wrong.

'You taught me well,' she said, her voice snide and too sweet and taunting.

It wasn't what he cared to hear. He would have preferred all the gossip to have been false; he would have preferred finding her asleep in her bed instead of at a ball, or discovering her quietly studying in some isolated library or embroidering, if women actually did that, or performing any number of other safe, innocuous, acceptable feminine pursuits. He would have preferred anything but her last reply. A strange wildness overcame him, as if he were an adolescent again, totally without restraint.

'Let's see then,' he murmured, his chill voice matching the breeze off the Baltic, 'if you remember everything I taught you.' His hands moved up her back as he finished speaking and came to rest on her shoulder, his fingers sliding under the neckline of her gown in a small gesture of possession.

'Don't you dare.' Her own fury and self-determination reverberated through her heated words. Her eyes shone like golden flame.

He stood, his hands lightly cupping her bare shoulders, his touch gentle as though his intentions were benign, as though her fury were irrelevant. 'Darling, don't be naive. I attack redoubts bristling with artillery and enemy. Surely-' his fingertips traced the curve of one shoulder, an incongruously delicate juxtaposition to his heated words '-you don't think one small woman can stop me.' His voice was very low, unhurried, almost tranquil.

'I'll scream,' she challenged. Her hands were still caught against his chest, his body still curtailing her freedom.

'Perhaps later,' he replied casually, his palm already sliding up the slender column of her neck. 'You always scream,' he softly murmured, 'at the end.' The tip of his finger gently tapped the yellow diamond pendant swinging from her ear. 'I'm glad you like the earrings.'

'You can't do this, Stefan,' she warned. 'Someone could walk out any moment.' Her voice was more contained than her emotions with Stefan's aroused body pressing into her flesh. 'Just release me now and you can go about your business.' She tried to keep her tone reasonable and moderate.

'But you're my business.' His answer was a teasing murmur, his hands drifting down her shoulders once again, stopping to test the resistance of the gold lace ruffle just below the curve of her shoulder.

'You came all the way to Saint Petersburg to see me?' Her query was laced with doubt and a dizzying curiosity and suspicion, too.

'Of course.' His reply was so blatantly nonchalant it resisted belief. 'And now,' he said, the hush of his voice as languorous as his half-lidded eyes, 'I'd like to see you.'

'Stefan, be sensible,' Lisaveta pleaded, suddenly realizing he was fully intent on satisfying his passion, here, now, within sight and sound of the ballroom. 'Please…'

'I remember,' he said with a faint smile, 'you always pleaded-' his voice dropped to a whisper '-and were impatient.'

His tone and words kindled heated memory and Lisaveta fought against the images evoked. She would not be seduced by him; she wouldn't be dragged from a ballroom with abrupt and staggering discourtesy and then begin to melt because his deep low voice was reminding her of endless hours of shared rapture and, yes, of her impatience and the reasons for it. Taking a breath to steady her tremulous feelings, she forced her mind away from those arousing memories.

'Stefan,' she implored, not certain she could curtail his full intent, 'at least move away from the vicinity of the door, I beg you.'

He didn't pretend not to understand. Her voice and inflection were intense. Glancing briefly at the opened doorway no more than three feet away, he said, 'Darling, you've taken on new refinements in Saint Petersburg.' His words were sardonic and challenging, as if he wanted further concessions from her. 'What will you do if I move?'

She didn't answer for a moment, provoked by his suggestion she had to somehow please him first. 'Why must I do something to keep you from being pigheaded?'