RUSSIAN WINTER NIGHTS Read online

  *

  Ekaterina’s senses were suddenly overcome by the feeling of Andrey’s hard chest against hers and the musky scent beneath his chin. She inhaled sharply, but couldn’t find the resolve to pull away immediately.

  “Don’t go,” Andrey murmured softly.

  She could barely hear him over the wild pounding of her heart. She craned her head back to look up at him, and was instantly arrested by his sultry gaze. He had her pinned in place with his arms around her slim shoulders and his green eyes locked with hers. He could feel her heart beat against his chest; it was like the mad fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. One of his arms slipped down to wind about her thin waist while his fingers trailed along her cheek. His fingertips were hot against her cool skin, and Ekaterina instinctively leaned into his warmth.

  There was something between them; a magnetism that drew them closer and set their skin aflame with hunger. Neither could explain it, but it was warm and pulsing and perfect—as real as their breathing, which caused miniature clouds to fan across their cheeks in moist puffs of warm air. Every sense was heightened, and the hyperawareness was a pleasurable pain.

  Ekaterina shivered suddenly, and Andrey pulled her closer. He was so tall, she thought breathlessly, and his hands felt unusually large on her hips. Her knees went weak as he drew her closer, leaning in slowly as if pulled forward by an invisible force. He gathered her tightly in his strong arms, his muscles bunching under his linen shirt. He held her gaze until their noses were nearly touching…and then his lips were on hers, searching gently. Her eyes drifted closed as the sensation of his warm mouth on hers overwhelmed her completely.

  *

  Andrey kissed her slowly, tenderly moving his lips over hers. Then he grew bolder, suckling at her bottom lip and sweeping his tongue past her lips. She obliged with innocent fervour, a small moan escaping her as he explored her mouth with his tongue. His fingers fisted in the material of her overcoat and he dragged her closer still, driven by the instinct to crush her body to his, to feel every inch of her body against his.

  Not enough, his blood sang as his kisses grew in intensity.

  With an impatient grunt, Andrey grabbed at the ends of her coat and pulled it open, his palms searching within the rough material. His hands met the thin cotton of a light shift, and he paused. He pulled away from their fevered kiss to glance down at what he had just unveiled. The sight made the slow rolling of desire in his stomach pitch into a full boil, spiking down his legs and up his chest. He briefly wondered why she was allowing such familiarity, but he was not about to lose his advantage. He pressed forward.

  Ekaterina stood stunned in his arms, her blue eyes wide and glazed over in passion and her lips swollen and pouting from their kiss. Her long, creamy neck led to a delicate collarbone. And her cotton dress swept over the rest of her body in a slightly see-through column of fabric. Had the girl no sense whatsoever? The coat had hidden her well, he mused, but the dress revealed almost all. His impassioned eyes took in the pert swell of her unbound breasts, and the dark peaks of her stiff nipples were beads that stood out in sharp relief beneath the thin material. He could just make out the silhouette of her hourglass figure; the arc of her waist, the rise of her bottom and the sweet curves of her impossibly long legs.

  He grew as hard as rock, the straining uncomfortable against the scratchy material of his trousers. In awe at her beauty, his fingers traced invisible paint strokes over her body. She shuddered, and he snapped.

  He was on fire, and she was his only salve.

  In two long strides, he walked her back to the trunk of a tree, his hands cupping the backs of her thighs and his mouth ravaging hers. Her breathing hitched as he nipped at her lips with his teeth, and she twisted her fingers in his hair. He pushed his hands down her body, and she twined her slim wrists at the nape of his neck. His fingers grabbed at the hem of her dress, and he slid his palms up her bare legs with a groan. He pulled at her thighs and lifted her off the ground, hooking her knees over his hips and pushing her back into the tree trunk. She arched backward, a gasp of delight on her lips as he ground his groin to hers. He pushed her dress even higher, aching for more contact, and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck, his fingers plucking at the tips of her breasts. Revelling in her soft mewls of pleasure, he continued to stroke her body into such flames of pleasure that she writhed against him, her body bucking insistently against his. He claimed her mouth once again, and one of his hands dipped low to catch the inside of her thighs. She whimpered and dug her nails into his biceps, clutching at him as his fingers played a symphony against her core.

  *

  For her part, Ekaterina could hardly understand what was happening between them. One minute she’d been admiring the gorgeous stranger, and the next she was being covered in his kisses! It was scandalous, terrifying and…absolutely wonderful. She knew she shouldn’t be letting herself get carried away so completely, but she’d never felt desire so fiercely before. So she threw caution to the wind and let him sweep her away in sensation.

  So lost were they in the heat of each other’s touch that the cold lost its bite, and all they knew was each other; each panted breath, each finger stroke, each clenched jaw.

  Ekaterina could not stop trembling, her nearly naked body pressed up against this man’s steely muscles. Dimly, she wondered what had got into her. How had this man so completely captivated her and overtaken her steely self-control? How had he penetrated all her defences?

  And then he twisted his fingers just so, and she lost all coherent thought completely.

  *

  Andrey could not believe what was happening. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was warm putty in his artist’s hands, her body bending and shuddering under his careful direction. Her plaintive cries were beautifully sweet—each a reward that added to his own pleasure.

  Still, in a distant corner of his fogged mind, he wondered…just who was she? He truly believed that no man could not be so drawn to her, but how had they so instantly fallen into such a passionate embrace? How was it that he was already so intimately physical with her?

  I don’t care.

  His questions dissolved into desire as he plied her with more and more kisses. Her dress was now over her bust, the offending material pushed away as he cupped one of her breasts with one hand and smoothed his palm up her stomach with his other. As she tightened her legs around his waist, he imagined what he would do next.

  He longed to rip away his own clothing and take her, right then and there in the forest with no one but the geese to see. He wanted to push her into the tree and thrust himself deep while he watched her flushing face. He wanted to dig his fingers into her hips as he watched her head loll backward with every rocking motion. Then he would spin her around and let her clutch blindly at the tree while he drove into her from behind, watching her arch and scream as they climaxed together.

  Yes, he thought wildly. Yes!

  He dropped his arms, reaching to fumble for the buttons on his trousers. She slid down his body, her feet dropping back to the snow-covered ground. But just as he managed to pull the top button loose, he felt her dainty hands on his. He pulled back to look her in the face. She was flushed pink, but her eyes were apologetic.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Andrey took two heaving breaths and sighed, leaning forward to plant a heavy hand on the trunk behind her.

  “Why?” he groaned, closing his eyes.

  Ekaterina awkwardly pulled down her dress and wrapped her coat tightly closed. She pursed her lips and looked away. Opposite emotions duelled within her. One part of her was thrilled and amazed with the sizzle of his lips still warm on her skin. But the rational part of her was shocked and horrified. She was a noblewoman who prided herself on being different from the rest of the fickle courtiers—and yet here she was, throwing herself at a stranger.

  “I don’t understand this. And I don’t know you,” she whispered, her feelings finding words.


  He was silent and grim. It was true. The fire between them had been unexpected and inexplicable. On top of that, they didn’t know one another. He didn’t even know her name.

  “Yet,” she said.

  Her voice was small, but crystal clear. Andrey lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her expression was open. Earnest. Honest.

  “No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”

  *

  Ekaterina smiled then, and the lifting of her lips brightened her face. She cupped his cheek in her small hand, and he covered her fingers with his. The magnetism between them was undeniable. The echoes of their passion still pulsed under her skin. But she couldn’t risk everything on a stranger, no matter how magnetic.

  At least, not yet.

  She wanted to find some measure of happiness in the stifling court atmosphere, and perhaps he was her chance. There was obviously something that had drawn them together, be it destiny or chance. This man wasn’t one of her aunt’s tools, nor was he a candidate for a political marriage. So surely, surely he might enjoy her company and her body without ulterior motives. She desperately wanted to know him deeper, in soul and in body.

  “Will you meet me again?” she asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

  “Yes.” A million times, yes, he added to himself.

  She was a strange woman, he thought. But one worth pursuing. He didn’t want to scare her away, so he didn’t volunteer any more information about himself. Let her find out in due time, he decided.

  She leaned into his willing embrace and pressed her ear to his chest. For a moment, she listened to the steady beat of his heart.

  He was an enigma, she thought. But he was as interesting as he was seductive. She didn’t want him to abandon her, so she said nothing about her true identity. Let him believe she was a peasant girl on equal footing, she decided. She frowned. Let him wonder—except for one detail.

  “My name,” she said, “is Ekaterina.”

  Chapter Two

  The Winter Court was in full swing. Lavish drapery in silver and ivory hung from tall windows. Wreaths adorned with red and gold decorated every windowsill, and candles set in red glass spheres of varying sizes hung from the ornate ceiling. Court jesters clad in Christmas colours performed flips and cartwheels among the mingling courtiers dressed in all their finery.

  And at the centre of it all, sat in a ridiculously gaudy throne on a raised platform, was the Empress Anna.

  Ekaterina gritted her teeth as she glided through the hall, her golden fan clenched in a death grip and her lips a line of thinly veiled displeasure. This should have been a joyous Yuletide celebration. Oh, there were cakes shaped into Christmas trees and presents wrapped with shiny bows aplenty. And the spiced wine was flowing freely into greedy glasses. But still, her aunt’s tastes ran towards the vicious and distasteful.

  In one corner of the magnificent hall stood a giant Christmas tree that was completely lit up with candles. But at the foot of that Christmas tree was a small group of nobles dressed fabulously but walking about barefoot…on a thick carpet of sharp pine cones. It was a punishment her aunt had thought up the night before, specifically for an aristocratic family that she felt had snubbed one of her current lovers. They grimaced and pretended to smile as the sharp edges of the dried cones pierced the tender soles of their feet, while they were forced to pace as her aunt watched in morbid amusement.

  And that was only the least of the macabre displays in the great hall.

  Ekaterina bit her tongue and exhaled slowly, desperately trying to tamp down her rage at the indecent and cruel party amusements. It was wrong. It was horrible. It was definitely not behaviour worthy of an empress.

  She chastised herself inwardly, gently tapping the tip of her closed fan against her chin. Such thoughts were dangerous. If ever voiced, those words would earn her not just humiliation, but a secret and painful execution.

  “My Lady Ekaterina. You look absolutely beautiful tonight!”

  At the sound of the voice, Ekaterina turned suddenly, her satin skirts swishing. An eligible aristocrat stood in front of her, his cheeks flushed with drink. He leered at her. She snapped her fan open, hiding her face. She knew his type. He was her aunt’s favourite type of courtier: dumb, loud, money-grubbing and abusive. He was after status and power, and he would do anything to rise in Empress Anna’s favour.

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency?” she asked, arching an imperious brow.

  “Please, call me Vladimir. And I said you look beautiful,” he repeated with a grotesque smirk.

  “Do I, Vladimir?” she asked, her tone superior.

  “Yes, you look radiant,” he said, his lips smacking together hideously.

  “Well then,” Ekaterina said crisply, “that’s a shame, as you do not.”

  With that she spun on her heel and marched away, only to be stopped a few seconds later by another tipsy social climber. Alternately ignoring and insulting her would-be suitors, Ekaterina slowly made her way to the edge of the room. She paused to press her gloved fingertips to her throbbing temples. She hated these royal functions; the decadence gave her a headache and the false smiles made her cheeks hurt. But most of all, she hated, hated the fact that she was being dangled like a prize, a treat to reward the courtier who managed to impress her aunt the most. Her jaw clenching, Ekaterina hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

  Her aunt was doubled over in obscene guffaws of laughter as two miserable women—who were no doubt suspected of some trivial slight—were subjected to a humiliating face-painting. They were already smeared from head to toe with filth, and scraps of old food clung to their skin.

  Ekaterina looked away, troubled and disgusted. Shaking her head, she edged nearer the exit and slipped around the ornate doors into the corridor. She quickly paced down the hall, lifting her skirts as she practically ran away.

  Just a few moments, she told herself sternly. I just need a little bit of air.

  Sure that her absence would be noted sooner rather than later, she quickly ducked around a corner…only to slam face first into a muscular chest. She looked up, eyes wide in panic.

  “Andrey?!” she stammered out in shock. “What are you doing here?”

  Andrey stared back at her, his jaw slack in surprise. Here was his mystery woman, his muse. But she no longer wore a simple cotton shift and rough coat. Here she was decked out in the most gorgeous finery, her hair up in ringlets and her face subtly painted according to the fashion of the day. She wore a simple yet elegant gown with a gold, satin corset top and full, voluminous skirts.

  “Ekaterina,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m…” She paused, her mind racing. She wasn’t ready for him to find out who she really was. “I’ve been forced to attend.”

  “Forced to attend a Christmas ball?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” she rushed to say. “I’m here for the Empress’s amusement.”

  Andrey’s suspicions melted away into concern. Even he knew what type of amusements pleased the Empress. She was cruel to excess, and he despised her every smirk. He did not want to see his sweet Ekaterina fall prey to her sick games. No, he must not let her fall into the Empress’s pudgy hands. He took her by the hand and began to drag her away.

  “Let’s go,” he commanded briskly.

  “To where?” she asked, trying to pull her hand from his. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “We have to get away from here,” he said grimly. “You do not want to be at the Empress’s mercy.”

  “What?”

  Frustrated by the strange turn of events, Ekaterina jerked backwards and pulled away sharply.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  Andrey took her by the shoulders and leaned in close, his green eyes darkly serious.

  “You do not want to go to that ball,” he told her, squeezing her shoulders. “When the Empress sees you…sees how beautiful you are…” He paused and shuddered with revulsion. “I won’t let
her use you for her twisted games. I won’t let her hurt you.”

  *

  Andrey grabbed at her wrist but Ekaterina kept her distance. Her eyes narrowed in thought. How had Andrey known of her aunt’s demented behaviour?

  “I thought you worked in the workshop,” she said slowly, her tone accusatory.

  “I do,” he replied flatly as he took her hands in his. “Now, let’s go.”

  “No!” Ekaterina snapped angrily. “Who are—?”

  He stopped her with a kiss—and what a kiss it was! He cupped her cheeks with his calloused palms and pulled her close. His mouth covered hers, and his tongue and lips worked fiercely against hers. Despite her misgivings, Ekaterina responded immediately, her angry words melting into a lusty sigh as Andrey plundered her mouth. She simply could not deny the hot wave of desire that flooded her senses when he touched her. She pressed in closer and tilted her head back farther, her lovely lashes fluttering.

  *

  Andrey dropped his hands to her waist and his lips to her smooth neck. He suckled at her earlobe and drew trails up the column of her neck with his tongue. She gasped and moaned as he lavished her with kisses, his hands searching her body.

  And then he noticed it.

  Her dainty hands were also exploring his body. Her fingers tentatively smoothed over his arms, down to his hands. Then they wandered over his chest and down his back. Slowly. Carefully. Shyly. Andrey slowed his kisses to match her unhurried pace.

  Andrey just could not understand this woman, nor the hold she had over him. Why should he care about a peasant girl about to be devoured by the Empress’s schemes? Why would he risk his own career for just one taste of her sweet sensuality? Then she took his lower lip between her teeth, and he decided he couldn’t care less.

  *

  Ekaterina revelled in Andrey’s sweet caresses, her heart beating madly and her blood racing. Her suspicions grew dim in comparison to the heat rising in her stomach. As her mind grew foggy in the daze of pleasure, her instincts grew sharp. Despite her inexperience, she could not still her trembling fingers. Her hands roved over his body shamelessly, curiosity fuelling her exploration. Her hands dipped down past his hips, her fingers fanning over his taut thighs. Her thumb caught on one of the buttons at his crotch, and Andrey let out a slow hiss. Piqued, she slowly brushed her thumb over the growing ridge in his trousers. His breathing hitched. Her lips curving over his, she pressed her open palm over the swelling there. It was hard and warm. She began to rub experimentally, and it quivered under her touch.