Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(25)

“Lemon vodka.”

“I've never had vodka before.” She took a large swallow, closed her eyes against the smooth, searing burn, then took another. Coughing, she held out the glass to be refilled.

Amused, Nikolas poured more vodka for her, and one for himself. “Drink it slowly. It's much stronger than the wine you're accustomed to.”

“Do Russian women drink vodka?”

“Everyone in Russia does. It's best when consumed with caviar and buttered bread. Shall I send for some?”

Emma shuddered at the thought of food. “No, I couldn't possibly eat anything.”

Nikolas sat next to her, handing her a linen napkin, watching as she blotted her damp face.

“I can't seem to stop crying,” she said in a muffled voice. “I think my heart is broken.”

“No.” He pushed back a straggling curl from her forehead, his touch as light as a butterfly's. “Your heart isn't broken. It's only wounded pride, Emelia.”

She jerked back, glaring at him in sudden outrage. “I should have known you'd be patronizing!”

“You don't love Milbank,” he said flatly.

“I did! I always will!”

“Oh? And what did he do to earn this great love? What did he give to you? A few smiles, some flattering words, a stolen kiss here and there. That wasn't love. It was seduction, and apparently a poorly executed one. When you have more experience, you'll be able to recognize the difference.”

“It was love,” she insisted, gulping down the rest of her vodka. Coughing, gasping for air, she dried her stinging eyes. “You don't understand anything about it because you're too cynical.”

Nikolas laughed as he took the glass from her hand and set it aside. “Yes, I'm cynical. But that doesn't change the fact that Adam Milbank is unworthy of you. And if you're going to give your heart to a scoundrel, you may as well choose one who will give you luxury and freedom…one who knows how to please you in bed. That kind of man would be far more useful to you than Milbank.”

If she were sober, she would have taken further offense at his bluntness. A gentleman would never have used such words to a girl he respected. But the alcohol had wrapped her brain in a cool white fog, and all she could think was that Adam had been her only chance, her only hope. Certainly no one else was waiting in the wings. “Whom do you have in mind?” she asked bitterly.

His hands gripped her shoulders, then eased downward. Gently his palms brushed the sides of her br**sts. Emma stiffened, her breath catching. She started at him without blinking, the light from the crystal lamp hovering on her gold-flecked skin. Emotions chased across her face…confusion, anger, denial…and her mouth trembled as he lifted a hand to her cheek. Gently his thumb touched the edge of her lower lip.

Emma spoke in a scratchy whisper. “I…I didn't come here for that.”

“Why are you here, then?” he asked softly.

“I don't know. I wanted…comfort. I wanted to feel better.”

“You were right to come to me, ruyshka.”

She made a move to get off the settee, but Nikolas held her there in a light, steely grip, one hand at her shoulder, the other at her waist.

“Nikki…” she said, half-defiant, half-pleading.

He leaned forward and caught her lips with a light kiss, then spoke with his mouth almost brushing hers. “I can offer you more than your family has, more than Adam ever could. I can help you, take care of you…give you pleasure you've never felt before.”

“I have to leave,” she said desperately. The vodka had made everything blurry, her thoughts drowning in a tide of feeling.

“Stay with me, Emma. I'll do only what you want. Only what you choose.” The tip of his tongue flickered against her lips, and then he nibbled at her bottom lip, his teeth closing gently on the soft curve. He possessed her mouth with slow, seeking kisses, pausing to brush his lips over her eyebrows, her temples, her cheeks. His hand played lightly in her hair, pushing the red curls aside to bare her neck.

Emma shivered at the new sensation. His mouth moved softly over her throat, exciting her nerves, seeming to draw a flush of heat up to the surface of her skin. Gradually she lifted her arms around his neck. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man, the hard body beneath the snowy white shirt, the muscles filled with crushing strength. It was wrong to be here with him, wrong to feel his lips and hands caressing her. But it seemed the perfect act of rebellion against her father, against her unfaithful lover, against all the people who had ever called her an eccentric or a wallflower. Why not let Nikolas make love to her? Her virginity was hers to give—it no longer mattered, since she had lost the one man she had ever wanted. Perhaps this was a sin, but there was undeniable pleasure in it.

Emma raised her hands to his beautiful hair, the tawny locks springing like coarse silk beneath her fingers. At her hesitant touch, he took a sharp breath and pulled her closer, stretching along the settee until they were matched together. Emma pressed close to him, wanting friction, pressure, his masculine weight bearing down upon her. His kisses became longer, deeper, changing from question to demand.

She made no protest as Nikolas unfastened her shirt. The garment parted in front, and his hand slipped inside, fingertips spread wide as they traced the smoothness of her stomach. She had never dreamed a man's touch could be so tender, so reverent. The heat of his palm covered her breast, fitting over the soft roundness. Her nipple contracted and ached sweetly from the warmth. Opening her eyes, she found his gaze locked with hers.