If I Had You Read online

  “Such luxury,” she said happily. “I know the service at the hotel is superior, but this is fun. I used to dream about this sort of thing.”

  He smiled. “I lived a very country life in Russia for the most part. Nothing like this industrialization.”

  “What was your terrible day that you remembered?” she asked. “Was it in Russia?”

  He could feel a frown line appear between his brows. “Yes. There, of course, the rivers freeze every year and we used to skate every day. Skate, sled, all sorts of winter fun. I was the oldest boy in the family, but I had a younger brother.”

  She set her fork down. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

  “His name was Sergei, just like my sister’s fiancé.” He smiled wistfully. “We were skating one day in early spring. We thought we understood the ice, but I guess we weren’t paying attention.”

  She winced. “It broke?”

  His hand trembled as he reached for his cup. “I saw the cracks. I called out. But he was an athlete, a daredevil. Far away from me. He was gone before I could fall on my belly and reach out my hand.”

  “Were you all alone?”

  All his breath expelled. His answer came out in mere a whisper of sound. “Yes.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen. He was thirteen.” He put his mouth to his cup, then set it down without drinking.

  “And after that you started kissing all those girls.”

  She sounded so wise. “I needed a distraction.”

  “What are you trying to distract yourself from now?”

  Her gaze was keen, now. How had she picked up on a subtext he hadn’t realized? “I’m worried about Ovolensky coming.”

  She leaned forward. “Do you think he can hurt you or your sister?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My employers are going to be entertaining that dreadful man.” She sighed and picked up her fork again.

  The top of his hot chocolate had gone scummy. He forked up the rest of his eggs quickly before they went cold and greasy. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “I pawned that brooch to get money for costumes,” she said. “I’m sorry to be any part of it.”

  He hadn’t had the time to ask Vera about it yet. “They are just the entertainers, right? It’s not like they support Stalin.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so. They are very proud of having played for Romanovs before the war.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” He didn’t think she had any knowledge of what was going on with his sister and her group. Surely she wasn’t the inside person. Nor did it sound like the Marvins, in her opinion, would be likely conspirators. He needed to learn more about their colleagues involved in the project, and also about hotel staff who were involved in the performance.

  But if she wasn’t knowledgeable, he had no reason to court her, and he wanted to see her again. She was sweet and sexy.

  “What?” she asked.

  He realized he’d been staring. “My next day off is Friday.”

  “A long time from now.”

  “You don’t have any days off at all,” he pointed out.

  “Sybil won’t be difficult.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about her husband.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Sybil promised me he wouldn’t cause me any trouble, but I’m not sure I believe it.”

  He considered her words, a sense of unease building as he thought it through. “He has a strong personality and a lot of charisma. She may not know what he’s up to, if he intimidates people into following his orders.”

  She blinked. “Truly, it’s all been fine so far.”

  He nodded, hoping it stayed that way. “I do have a genuine interest in your well-being now.”

  “That’s nice to hear. London is a lonely place for someone with no friends.”

  “You have one now.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “Let’s plan to meet every night around midnight in the service corridor,” he suggested. “As long as my assignment doesn’t change, I can easily see you then.”

  She licked her upper lip. “What will we do?”

  He wanted to reach for her hand across the table, but they were in the middle of a crowded café, full of respectable ladies, and he didn’t want dirty looks. “Well, there was that night, with that married couple on the sofa near the door.”

  Her face went crimson. “You want to do that?”

  Yes. Luckily the word did not pass his lips. “I simply meant we can sit there.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I believe you.” The tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips again.

  He wondered if she was as aroused as he was, or did she simply have chocolate on her mouth? How far would she be willing to enter into the flapper lifestyle? Sadly, with their work responsibilities, it would be hard to find out. In one way, they had the benefit of being able to see each other often, but there was no real privacy in the situation.

  “You want to hear the music.” He shrugged. “I want to see you. We’ll pass a few minutes together each night. Meanwhile, you can work on Sybil to give you some free time on Friday.”

  “After just having given me Monday afternoon.”

  “Try to have the evening off,” he suggested, holding back a yawn. “That’s fair. You can’t be expected to work sixteen hours a day.”

  “Do you have time to go home and take a nap before you have to work?”

  He looked at the clock on the wall. It was past five already. Somehow he’d lost more than an hour, sitting here with her. “There are rarely any valets or maids on the fourth floor. I’ll nap in one of the hotel dens.”

  “Then I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

  “Midnight. It’s a date,” he said, wishing she was the sort of girl who would invite him back to her room.

  * * *

  As Alecia waited for Ivan deep in the night, she realized she had hoped for more than yet another midnight hallway assignation from a man who’d taken her on a proper date and kissed her so thoroughly. But Ivan had been in a rush when he’d seen her the night before. He’d said a pack of Gypsies were roaming the main floor and who knew what they were planning to steal. She told him to go, not wanting him to risk his position by staying with her when there was mischief afoot.

  Tonight, though, she’d borrowed one of Sybil’s dresses, with her approval. Black, like the night, but with silver embroidery and crystals that made the dress seem like a starry sky. It was loose and flowy and it made her want to dance. Sybil and Richard were out to dinner with a director they knew. They hoped to drum up some more work for one or both of them, and she knew they planned to give the director an invitation to the command performance. She’d picked up their share of the engraved invitation cards today and they had argued all afternoon about who would be best to invite. The decision was between people who might give them work and people who might increase their general prestige.

  She had listened carefully and hadn’t heard any Russian names bandied about. It didn’t seem like they had any ties to people who might want to do the diplomat any harm. After Richard had gone to take a bath, she’d asked Sybil about every name she didn’t recognize on their guest list, assuming the woman would think she was trying to learn more for her work. Sybil answered all of her questions, and now she was gaining insight into the theatrical personalities of London.

  She heard the tinkle of the piano start up behind the nightclub door and rose from the sofa to hear the music better. Listening to the entire band was more fun, but this piano player was extremely talented. Maybe she should learn how to play jazz piano. She pressed her ear to the door as she tried to identify the tune.

  “May I have this dance, miss?”

  She smiled and turned around. Here was her brave Cossack. “How much does that coat weigh?” she asked.

  He pulled her into a fox-trot hold. “Why?”

  “I’ve been working on costumes all afternoon with Sybil. Weight is important.
It can help you embody, or ruin, a character because it changes how you move as an actor.”

  “Ah. I need to look imposing as a night guard.” He puffed up his chest.

  She giggled. “I happen to know these shoulders are broad, even without this beautiful coat on them.”

  “All the better to lead you.” He danced her down the corridor, then moved the few paces to the opposite wall to dance her back toward the music.

  “Such masculine shoulders,” she murmured, wishing she could run her hands over them. She missed a step and tripped before righting herself.

  He firmed his grip on her. “Why, Miss Loudon, I don’t believe you’ve caught me out of my clothing.” He paused. “Yet.”

  “You’re going to make me blush.” She remembered that night at the end of the year, the bride’s dress riding up, the groom fumbling with his pants. And there was that very sofa where she had witnessed the scene, right in front of them.

  Ivan didn’t stop at the sofa. He spun her, and began to dance in place. She matched his footwork, too caught up to think. When he spun her again, she laughed, running with him down the corridor until they were out of the music’s range again.

  By the time they returned, the piano solo had ended and the full band had begun to play. “Ooh, a tango. Can you tango?” she asked.

  He changed their hold and bent so that his cheek touched hers. “I’m a regular Valentino.”

  She didn’t really know how to tango herself, but she had seen The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse seven times. It seemed her Russian had seen it as well, for Ivan took her through many of the same steps she remembered from that four-year-old movie. She kicked with him, knelt, touched toes. They moved completely out of time with the music, laughing all the way.

  But then, he pulled her to him in the move Valentino had done so deliciously. Her body weight leaned against him from the knees up. Instead of a proper hold, in naughty abandonment, she wrapped her left arm around his neck, feeling his pulse beat an exquisite rhythm against her skin. Her head fell back into what seemed like a perfect kissing position.

  His mouth came down on hers, hard and soft at the same time. He plundered the inner recesses of her mouth with his tongue. One hand still held hers, but the other, high up on her torso, slid until it touched the lower slope of her breast.

  She gasped and pulled back, the skin of her breast tingling. The rest of her body had gone liquid with desire. She couldn’t close her mouth; it felt too swollen with his kiss.

  “More,” she groaned softly, and wrapped both of her arms around his neck. His hat fell to the carpet. He pushed her up against the wall and took her mouth again. This time, she tried to match him, caress for caress. He stroked her tongue and she touched his delicately, making him moan in return. She was damp, needy, desperate, a woman desired by this man.

  She felt heat against her belly, and knew nothing more than the need to get him out of his coat. His coat. He was on duty. She could cost him his position.

  The thought acted on her like cold water splashed over her head. Her hands went to his shoulders and pushed. She realized the music was out of hearing. Blinking, she saw they were out of the service corridor, nearly into the main lobby of the hotel. And people were there, passing by. She stumbled back, wondering what might have been seen.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “We never should have tangoed.”

  He wiped his mouth, touched his tousled, overlong hair. “It does stir the passions.”

  She backed up and he followed her, a dangerous glint in his eye. Was this what her grandmother had warned her about so many times? The male beast, once aroused, becomes unpredictable, and this was why such things were best saved for after marriage.

  Her grandmother hadn’t been talking about the tango. She should have been.

  “Did you like tangoing with me, Miss Loudon?” he asked, staring hard at her mouth.

  “Are you asking me about the dance or the kisses?” she asked, still backing up.

  He bent down and picked up his hat in one graceful motion. “Both, but then, we’ve kissed before.”

  “You’re a dangerous man, Ivan Salter.”

  “Why?” He was breathing hard.

  “You make me feel things I never have before,” she whispered.

  “Surely you’ve felt like this, even if only when watching a Valentino movie.”

  “I feel twitchy and excited and desperately uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

  He curled a finger under her chin and lifted it up. “That’s desire, my dear jazz baby. You want to go to bed with me.”

  “I do?”

  “I want that too.”

  “You do?” What a stupid thing to say. As soon as he’d said it, she knew he was right. He wanted to put his man part into her woman part, and that was right where she ached and tingled the most. She was wet through her clothes. Oh, she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. She needed to know more and he was the wrong person to ask.

  He smiled, a curve of those full, perfect berry lips, so knowing, so exciting, so lethal to her senses. She wanted to wrap her arms around him again, but instead she drew her battered sense of self around her like a shawl and pointed to his coat.

  “You are still on duty,” she reminded him.

  “I’m off at eight A.M. I could come to your room.”

  Dark spots flashed before her eyes. The mere thought utterly overwhelmed her. “My room is right next to Richard’s. If he heard anything, I could lose my job. I’d have to return to Bagshot immediately. I’ve less than a month’s pay.”

  “Don’t panic.” He took one of her hands and squeezed it between his. “You aren’t ready. I understand. But there are plenty of nooks and crannies in this hotel. When you want to make love with me, I’ll find somewhere completely safe.”

  She found her mouth had fallen open and she snapped it shut.

  He frowned. “It does trouble me though, that you don’t feel your bedroom is private. Which one is it?”

  “The valet’s room for Richard. Sybil’s maid has the other room.”

  “You keep the interlocking door bolted, right?”

  “At night.”

  He nodded.

  “But they knock if they need something. I can be up quite late mixing drinks if they have friends over.”

  “I can always find you here.”

  “You must not always be looking, because I’m upstairs at this hour a couple of times a week.”

  “And at eight? Where are you then?”

  “Dragging myself out of bed.”

  “And Richard Marvin? Where is he at eight?”

  “Asleep. He rises about nine. Sybil an hour or so after that.”

  “Then we’d be safe at eight.” His lips curved.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I won’t risk either of our jobs. I’m not prepared, besides. I could have a baby. What about that?”

  “There are ways. Haven’t you heard of the book Married Love?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ask Sybil. She’s never had a baby. I’m sure she knows all the ways.”

  Outrageous. “I’m not going to ask my employer how to, um, you know, not have a baby.”

  “Don’t you have that kind of relationship? I thought you had that sort of intimacy.”

  “On her side perhaps, but not mine.”

  “I wish you had a friend you could talk to about these things.”

  “It won’t be Sybil Marvin,” she said piously. “They hired me to be a secretary, not, well, a private citizen.”

  He looked amused at that. “I know, you can ask Miss Plash. She’ll definitely know how to get you what we need. I can take care of it too, to be honest, but you ought to know the options.”

  Unease crept over her. “Why, so I can take a plethora of lovers?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that, Miss Loudon. But think about it.” His voice lowered to a purr. “You and me, doing a sort of delicious tango together
, between the sheets. My hands on you, your mouth on mine, my body on yours. Our flesh together, all that lovely friction. You probably have no idea of what I speak.”

  “Have you had many lovers?” Her voice squeaked.

  “I’m no virgin,” he said. “Back in Russia, I admit there were more than kisses going on in the barns of the neighboring estates.”

  She was jealous. “It sounds like a fun, careless time.”

  “We were so young,” he agreed. “So incredibly young.”

  She couldn’t resist asking, “Do you remember how? I mean, to tango between the sheets?”

  “I’ve never done it between sheets, exactly, but I want to try.”

  She giggled. “Why me?”

  He cupped her cheeks. His gloves were hot against her skin and she wished she could pull them off, but then she’d want to kiss his hands, suck his fingers.

  “You have to stop looking at me like that. I’m going to explode,” he said in a curiously strangled tone.

  “How?”

  “Oh, you know how, don’t you?”

  They stared at each other. She wanted his kiss like she wanted air, but she really didn’t know what he meant. She’d grown up in a vicarage.

  A whistle sounded.

  He didn’t move for a moment, then cocked his head. “Those Gypsies,” he said slowly. “Oh, forgive me, those Gypsies. I have to go help.”

  He let her cheeks go. She kissed the tips of his fingers as they brushed her lips.

  He spoke quickly. “Can I come at eight?”

  “Not until I know about, I mean, more of, Married Love.” Her thoughts were jumbled.

  “Talk to Miss Plash,” he said. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  She stepped back until she was against a wall. Her head knocked against the edge of one of the Russian paintings. Ivan moved fast. Then he was gone. She was left alone with thoughts that made no sense to her. So many hungry thoughts. Sheets and bodies and some kind of mysterious apparatus that stopped babies from coming.

  How had the vicarage wrapped her so completely in cotton wool all these years? She was twenty-two and he was right. She was just a baby. But a jazz baby, that was something else. It implied makeup and short skirts and high heels. Kicking them up and dancing all night long. Some of that dancing might very well take place between the sheets. And Ivan, who had been a libertine, and wanted to be one again.