God, Misha, I'm
such a terrible hostess," she cried. "Would you like something to
drink? There're all kinds of goodies in the minibar."
"What're you having?" Misha asked. "Are you
on one of your crazy diets?"
"Noooo …" Serena said. "Well, I am trying to
sort of do a purge starting right now. Just mineral water for a
couple of days. Nothing else. All this Viennese food, you know.
Everything drenched in whipped cream."
Misha laughed. "I see that money and fame
haven't changed you all that much," he said.
"I guess not," Serena said as she looked at
the contents of the minibar's refrigerator. "Oh, look," she said.
"There're two splits of champagne. Why don't we have them?" She
turned to Misha with a questioning look on her face.
"Definitely," he said. "Here, let me open
them."
"No," Serena said, "I can do it."
But Misha got up and walked over to the
minibar. He held out his hand for the bottle of Taittinger. "Let
me," he said. "I insist."
Serena was suddenly disconcerted by his
nearness. She could feel his warm breath on her, could smell his
masculine smell, could swear that she sensed about him a heightened
arousal that was charging the very atmosphere between and around
them.
Wordlessly, she handed him the bottle, and as
she did, Misha took her hand and held it in his for a moment.
Serena felt a surge of desire rush through her, like an electrical
charge, suffusing her not with embarrassment but with a heated
lust, galvanizing her entire body, melting her resolve, weakening
her knees. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she suddenly felt
breathless. She desperately wanted nothing more than for him to
take her in his powerful arms and wrap himself around her. To take
her here and now, on this very spot, and devour her
passionately,
Oh, God , she thought. I want him!
And ...and I want him to want me!
With a barely perceptible, but sharp, intake
of breath, she forced herself to remove her hand from his. She was
certain that she was visibly shaken, that she must look like a
fool. Without a word she turned and went back over to the couch,
where she sat down and pulled her legs up underneath her again.
Misha, who was anything but oblivious to
Serena's disconcertedness, quickly popped the cork on one of the
splits and poured the pale, golden liquid into two glasses at the
minibar. He walked back over to the couch and handed one to Serena,
then sat down at the other end of the couch, turning to face her.
He extended his arm with the glass and smiled.
"To ... old friends," he said, looking into
her hazel eyes.
Serena clinked her glass against his. "To old
friends," she repeated. She took a sip of the champagne. It tasted
delicious and bubbly against her tongue.
Misha sipped, then set down his glass and
looked over at her. "Now tell me," he said. "About your day. You
didn't finish."
"Oh, it's such a bore," Serena said. "You
don't want to hear about it, Misha."
"Yes, I do," he said definitely. "Tell
me."
"Well, the men were a little rowdy. You know,
I was photographing some of the new leaders of Eastern and Middle
Europe. And"—she looked at him—"I guess I'm just getting a little
tired of some of the assignments I get." She took another sip of
her champagne.
"What?" Misha looked surprised. "But you're
doing so well, Serena. I'd have thought you were very happy. I read
about the huge contract Coral negotiated for you."
"Everybody did, didn't they?" Serena said in
a somewhat embittered tone of voice.
"That goes with the territory," Misha said.
"But I don't understand why you're not happy. All that money! And
you get exposure in the best magazines. You get to travel all over
the world. Meet all those famous people. You're even a celebrity
yourself now."
"I know. I know." Serena groaned. "I must
sound like an ungrateful child. It's just...well, the money's
great, and I love the travel. I guess I'm just tired of the shoots.
Doing fashion shoots and taking pictures of celebrities year after
year can get to be a bore,
such a terrible hostess," she cried. "Would you like something to
drink? There're all kinds of goodies in the minibar."
"What're you having?" Misha asked. "Are you
on one of your crazy diets?"
"Noooo …" Serena said. "Well, I am trying to
sort of do a purge starting right now. Just mineral water for a
couple of days. Nothing else. All this Viennese food, you know.
Everything drenched in whipped cream."
Misha laughed. "I see that money and fame
haven't changed you all that much," he said.
"I guess not," Serena said as she looked at
the contents of the minibar's refrigerator. "Oh, look," she said.
"There're two splits of champagne. Why don't we have them?" She
turned to Misha with a questioning look on her face.
"Definitely," he said. "Here, let me open
them."
"No," Serena said, "I can do it."
But Misha got up and walked over to the
minibar. He held out his hand for the bottle of Taittinger. "Let
me," he said. "I insist."
Serena was suddenly disconcerted by his
nearness. She could feel his warm breath on her, could smell his
masculine smell, could swear that she sensed about him a heightened
arousal that was charging the very atmosphere between and around
them.
Wordlessly, she handed him the bottle, and as
she did, Misha took her hand and held it in his for a moment.
Serena felt a surge of desire rush through her, like an electrical
charge, suffusing her not with embarrassment but with a heated
lust, galvanizing her entire body, melting her resolve, weakening
her knees. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she suddenly felt
breathless. She desperately wanted nothing more than for him to
take her in his powerful arms and wrap himself around her. To take
her here and now, on this very spot, and devour her
passionately,
Oh, God , she thought. I want him!
And ...and I want him to want me!
With a barely perceptible, but sharp, intake
of breath, she forced herself to remove her hand from his. She was
certain that she was visibly shaken, that she must look like a
fool. Without a word she turned and went back over to the couch,
where she sat down and pulled her legs up underneath her again.
Misha, who was anything but oblivious to
Serena's disconcertedness, quickly popped the cork on one of the
splits and poured the pale, golden liquid into two glasses at the
minibar. He walked back over to the couch and handed one to Serena,
then sat down at the other end of the couch, turning to face her.
He extended his arm with the glass and smiled.
"To ... old friends," he said, looking into
her hazel eyes.
Serena clinked her glass against his. "To old
friends," she repeated. She took a sip of the champagne. It tasted
delicious and bubbly against her tongue.
Misha sipped, then set down his glass and
looked over at her. "Now tell me," he said. "About your day. You
didn't finish."
"Oh, it's such a bore," Serena said. "You
don't want to hear about it, Misha."
"Yes, I do," he said definitely. "Tell
me."
"Well, the men were a little rowdy. You know,
I was photographing some of the new leaders of Eastern and Middle
Europe. And"—she looked at him—"I guess I'm just getting a little
tired of some of the assignments I get." She took another sip of
her champagne.
"What?" Misha looked surprised. "But you're
doing so well, Serena. I'd have thought you were very happy. I read
about the huge contract Coral negotiated for you."
"Everybody did, didn't they?" Serena said in
a somewhat embittered tone of voice.
"That goes with the territory," Misha said.
"But I don't understand why you're not happy. All that money! And
you get exposure in the best magazines. You get to travel all over
the world. Meet all those famous people. You're even a celebrity
yourself now."
"I know. I know." Serena groaned. "I must
sound like an ungrateful child. It's just...well, the money's
great, and I love the travel. I guess I'm just tired of the shoots.
Doing fashion shoots and taking pictures of celebrities year after
year can get to be a bore,
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