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something more complicated, intruded, Ruth tightly closed the
door on it.
"I'm too tired to think about that now," she told a totally
disinterested Nijinsky. "I'm going to bed." When he made no sign
of acknowledgment, Ruth rose and stepped over him to switch off
the television. Leaving the plate of cookie crumbs for morning, she
flicked off all the lights on her way to bed.
Nick stared up at the dark windows of Ruth's apartment. It's one
o'clock in the morning, and she's asleep. If I had any brains, I'd be
asleep, too, he said fiercely to himself.
He jammed his hands into his pockets and started to walk. You've
no business here, Davidov, he told himself. You've known that all
along. The night was cooling with the first true hint of fall. He
hunched his shoulders against it. He'd been an idiot to come. He
had told himself that over and over as he had steadily walked the
blocks to her apartment building.
If she had been at the party, if he could just have looked at her&
Oh, God, he thought desperately, he was long past the time when
looking was enough. The nights were driving him mad, and no
other woman would do. He needed Ruth.
How long had it been going on? he demanded of himself, never
giving a glance as a police car sped by, sirens screaming. A month,
a year? Five years? Since that moment in Lindsay's studio when he
had first watched Ruth at the barre? He should have known, with
that first impossible stir of desire. Good Lord, she'd only been
seventeen!
How was he to have known she would taste that way when he
kissed her? Or that she would respond as if she had only been
sleeping waiting for him? How was he to have known that the
sight of that small, slim body would torment him day after day,
night after night? Even when he danced with her, the thought of
taking her, of having her melt against him, throbbed through him
until he knew he would go mad. He began to walk away.
Nick stopped and turned around. Good God, he wanted her. Now.
Tonight.
The banging at her door had Ruth sitting straight up in bed. What
was the dream she had been having? Nick? She shook her head to
clear it. Even as she reached for the clock, the banging started
again. Sliding from the bed, she groped for her robe.
"I'm coming!" she called, urged to hurry by the ferocity of the
banging. Pulling the robe on as she went, she rushed through the
darkened apartment. "For heaven's sake, you're going to wake the
neighborhood!" Ruth peered through the peephole, blinked and
peered again. She fumbled for the chain; he pounded again.
They stared at each other when the door was opened. Ruth stood
bewildered by the traces of temper she saw in his eyes. Her hair
was a riot of confusion over the hastily drawn on robe. Her cheeks
were still flushed with sleep, her eyes heavy. Nick took a step
forward, knowing he had crossed over the line.
"I need you."
Her heart skidded at the three simple words spoken quietly,
roughly, as if they fought to be said. Before she knew what she
was doing, Ruth held out her arms to him.
Then they were pressed together, mouth to mouth. The hunger was
raw, unbelievably strong. It was a devouring kiss long, desperate,
deep. Ruth clung to the wildness of it. She felt his hand tighten its
grip on her hair, pulling her head back as if in fury. His mouth left
hers only to change angles and probe deeper. There was a hint of
brutality, as if he would assuage all his needs by a single kiss.
"I want you." It was a groan from a well within him as he drew her
away. His eyes were dark and burning. "God, too much."
Ruth gripped the front of his sweater until her fingers hurt. "Not
too much," she whispered. She drew him inside.
Her throat was dry with the pounding of her heart as she closed the
door and turned to him. They were only silhouettes as they stood,
inches apart, in the dark.
She swallowed, sensing his struggle for control. It wasn't control
she wanted from him. Not tonight. She wanted him to be driven
for her, by her. The overwhelming need to have him touch her was
terrifying. Slowly, hardly conscious of her actions, Ruth reached
up to draw the robe from her shoulders. She let it slide soundlessly
to the floor as it left her naked.
"Love me," she murmured.
She heard his low groan of surrender as he drew her into his arms.
His mouth was hot, his hands rough and possessive. She could feel
the urgency of his need.
Ruth tugged at his sweater as they moved toward the bedroom.
Somewhere in the hallway she pulled it over his head and threw it
to the floor. His muscles flowed under her hands.
They were at the bedroom door when she fumbled with the snap of
his jeans. She felt his stomach suck in as her fingers glided over it
and heard the hoarse, muffled Russian as his teeth nipped into her
shoulder. His hips were narrow, the skin warm. He dug his fingers
into her back when she touched him.
"Milenkaya," he said and managed a rough laugh. "Let me get my
shoes off."
"I can't." The need was overpowering. She'd already waited so
long. "Lie with me." She pulled him toward the bed. "Take me
now, Nick. I'll go mad if you don't."
Then they were naked, and he was on top of her. Ruth could hear
his heart's desperate race, his ragged breath against her ear. He was
trembling, she realized, as he entered her. Her body took over,
knowing its own needs, while her mind shuddered with the
onslaught of sensations. One moment she was strong, the next
weak and spent. Nick lay atop her, his face buried in her hair.
"Sweet God, Ruth." He heaved out the words on labored breaths.
"Untouched. Untouched and I take you like a beast!" Nick rolled
from her, running a hand through his hair. When he sat up, Ruth
could see just the outline of his chest and shoulders, the glimmer of
his eyes. "I should have known better. There's no excuse for it. I
must have hurt you."
"No." She felt drugged and dizzy, but there was no pain. "No."
"It should never have been like this."
"Are you saying you're sorry this happened?"
"Yes, by God!"
The answer hurt, but she sat up and spoke calmly. "Why?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" He rose. "I come to your door in the middle
of the night and push you into bed without the smallest show of& "
He groped for a word, struggling for the English equivalent of his
meaning.
"Pushed me into bed?" Ruth repeated. "And of course, I had
nothing to do with it." She kneeled on the bed and tossed back her
hair. Nick saw the glimmer of her angry eyes. "You conceited ass!
Who pushed whom into bed? Let's just get the facts straight,
Davidov. I opened the door, I told you what I wanted, I took your
clothes off. So don't act like this was all your idea. If you want to
be sorry you made love with me, go right ahead." She continued to
storm before he could open his mouth to speak. "But don't hide
behind guilt just because I was a virgin. I was a virgin because I
wanted to be. I chose the time to change it. I seduced you!" she
finished furiously.
"Well." Nick spoke again after a long moment of silence. "It seems
I've been put in my place."
Ruth gave a short laugh. She was angry and hurt and still
throbbing. "That'll be the day."
Nick walked back to the bed and touched her hair with his hand.
There were times he thought it would be easier to speak in
Russian. His feelings were more clearly articulated in his native
tongue.
"Ruth, it is sometimes, when I am upset, difficult to make myself
understood." He paused a moment, working out the way to make
himself clear. "I'm not sorry to have made love with you. This is
something I've wanted for a very long time. I am sorry that your
first experience in love had to be so lacking in romance. Do you
see?'' He cupped her face in his hands and lifted it. "This was not
the way to show an innocent the delights of what a man and
woman can have."
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