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Authors: Michelle Smart

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BOOK: The Russian's Ultimatum
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She muttered a curse just as a soft buzzer went off in her room.

‘Come in,’ she called, assuming it was her dinner being brought to her. Rising to her feet, she gave a sharp intake of breath when she found Pascha in her hut.

‘How have you settled in?’ he asked, stepping out to join her on the veranda. He’d changed into dark linen trousers and an open-necked light blue shirt. Were it not for the fact his attire had been ironed to within an inch of its life, and his hair styled to such an extent that not a single strand dared depart from the slight quiff, she would have said he looked casual. But then, casual was a state of mind. Emily doubted he ever switched off.

‘I’ve settled in fine,’ she replied, resisting the urge to push him back into the hut and shove him out through the French doors. It wouldn’t make any difference if she did; they’d only be separated by the windows. She held her phone out to him. ‘I need to call home.’

He didn’t even look at it. ‘There’s a block on all electronic communications without an access code.’

‘I gathered that. I need to call home. Is there another phone I can use?’

‘You only left this morning.’

‘A lot can happen in a day.’ At his narrowing eyes, she quickly added, ‘You can hover by my side while I make the call and satisfy yourself that I’m not revealing any state secrets. I just want to make sure my dad’s okay and that my brother’s got there.’

Silence hung between them while Pascha contemplated her request. After what felt like an age, he inclined his head. ‘You can use my phone.’

‘Seeing as
my
phone is useless here, I’ll need a number my dad and brother can reach me on too.’ She’d assumed he would take her phone and keep it on him, had assumed her family would be able to reach her even if she couldn’t contact them.

When it looked as if he would refuse, she folded her arms. ‘Look, you either let me give them an emergency contact number or I will make it my business to be the most difficult guest you’ve ever had here.’

‘You’re already the most difficult guest I’ve ever had here.’ Was it her imagination or was that a glimmer of humour in his eyes?

‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’

‘I can well believe it. You can call home and give my number as an emergency contact, but it can wait until after we’ve eaten.’

This time it was
her
eyes that narrowed.

His cheeks formed a semblance of a smile. ‘Yes, Emily, you will be dining with me tonight.’

‘I was planning on eating on my veranda. Alone,’ she added pointedly.

‘You can dine alone on your veranda for the rest of the week but this evening I require the pleasure of your company. My staff have set up the beach table for us.’ From the way he enunciated the word ‘
pleasure’
, it was obvious he found the prospect of her company nothing of the sort.

‘Why not?’ She threw him a brittle smile. ‘You and I are clearly ideal candidates for a romantic meal for two.’

His lips tightened. ‘Circumstances are what they are. I’ll be leaving for Paris first thing in the morning and there are a number of things we need to discuss before I leave.’

‘Excellent.’ She grinned at him without an ounce of warmth. ‘Let’s get this over with, then—with any luck it’ll be the last time we have to suffer one another’s company.’

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
LONG
TABLE
on the beach had been set up for them just metres from the lapping waves of the ocean, tea-lights in lanterns glowing under the dusky sky.

‘We’re sitting on mats?’ she asked, nodding at the thick cushions on the sand.

‘Do you have a problem with that?’

She shrugged. ‘No. I’m just surprised—I imagined you’d be averse to getting sand on your expensive clothes.’

‘I find the sound of the ocean soothing,’ he answered shortly. Emily’s antagonism towards him was becoming trying. She had no one to blame for her predicament but herself. ‘After the day I’ve had, I could use some respite.’

She settled onto a mat, tucking her bare feet beneath her. They really were the most delicate feet, he noticed: petite, much like the rest of her. Except her luscious mouth, of course.

He’d followed behind as they’d descended the stairs, holding onto the rail while she bounded down the steps without support, her long black hair, free from confinement, springing in all directions.

Emily had an energy about her that zinged. He found it intriguing. He found
her
intriguing. Any other woman in her predicament likely would have resorted to tears to get her own way. Emily had only become more defiant.

For the first time in a long time the image of Yana came into his mind, startling him. He never thought of his ex, had ruthlessly dispelled all memories of her so she was just a hazy figure in his past.

Yana and Emily were polar opposites, in looks and temperament.

The more time he spent with Emily, the more he was reminded of an uncut fire opal, passionate and vibrant. Yana was as polished as a Plushenko diamond. But by the time he’d ended their relationship she’d been a diamond without the lustre. And it had all been his fault.

He’d never had a problem attracting women but since he’d broken away from Andrei and set up on his own, building a multi-billion-dollar business in less than a decade, the feminine attention had become altogether hungrier. They were all wasting their time, something he spelt out at the outset of any fling. Sex was the most he could offer, the most he could give.

He’d destroyed the cut and polish of one woman. He would never put another in that position.

His thoughts were interrupted by a member of staff bringing out their starter of grilled squid and topping their wineglasses with chilled white before disappearing.

Pascha watched Emily take a bite, her lips moving in a way he could only describe as sensual. She really did have the sexiest of lips.

‘What?’ she asked a few moments later, looking at him quizzically.

To his chagrin, he realised he’d been too busy staring to take a bite of his own food.

He speared his fork into the delicate flesh of the squid. ‘While you’re staying here, I don’t want you feeling you have to hide yourself away.’

‘That won’t be a problem when you’ve left. I’m looking forward to exploring your island.’

‘Good.’ It shouldn’t bother him that she didn’t want to be in his company. It
didn’t
bother him. ‘You’ll find the island a place of hidden treasures. My staff are highly trained and able to cater for any wish you might have, which leads me to the next item on the agenda.’

‘Do you want me to take minutes?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You mentioned items on an agenda.’ She put her knife and fork together and pushed her plate forward. ‘Would you like me to act as secretary and write a set of minutes so neither of us forget what’s discussed?’

Were it not for the unexpected spark of light that flashed in her eyes, he could have believed she was serious. ‘I’m sure you’ll remember it all without any problem.’

‘A near compliment? I’m touched.’

His smile loosened a fraction. ‘Onto my next item—my staff. I hand-picked them all and I do not want them upset in any shape or form.’

The spark of light in Emily’s eyes vanished. ‘My problem is with you, not your staff.’

‘So long as you remember that. They follow my directives and know not to help you communicate with the outside world. Don’t embarrass yourself or them by asking for their help.’

‘I can go along with that so long as you promise to pass on any message from my family straight away.’

‘If they get in touch once I’ve left the island, I will let Valeria know and she will pass on any message.’

‘You’d better,’ she muttered, becoming mute as staff inconspicuously cleared their starters away before returning with their main course. Soon, an array of fresh lobster, salads and spicy rice dishes was placed before them.

Emily heaped her plate with a little of everything then, using a bare hand, gripped the body of the lobster. Her eyes met his, insolence ringing from them as she reached for a claw with her other hand and twisted it off with a snap.

Pascha winced. While Emily attacked her lobster with relish, only using her crackers when absolutely necessary, Pascha used a more methodical approach, taking great care with the hard shell. By the time they’d finished eating, he was as clean as when he’d started, while her lips and fingers were slippery with butter.

His blood thickened as an image came into his mind of those slick fingers touching him...

What was it with this woman? Since he’d given Yana her freedom, he’d had more than his share of brief encounters, all with highly groomed, beautiful women who looked good on his arm. Not one of those women had roused him in anything other than the most basic of fashions. They certainly hadn’t roused his senses. Not in the way Emily was doing at that moment and she wasn’t even trying.

‘Anything else you want to discuss?’ she asked, pulling him out of his wayward thoughts. Bowls of hot flannels were placed before them and she took one, dabbing at her mouth, that beautiful, sensual mouth, and wiping her hands.

‘No. That’s everything.’ There had been other issues but at that moment his brain felt as if a hazy fog had been tipped into it.

It was time to step away from this situation.

He should have got his staff to set up the dining hall, which had a table large enough to seat thirty. He should have stuck her right at the other end from him, all communication via megaphone.

If he hadn’t wanted to eat by the ocean, he would have done just that, but in the morning he would leave for Paris, unlikely to return for a few months. There was something soothing about the sound of the gentle, rippling waves. It brought a contentment he’d never found anywhere else, a knowledge that whatever he did and wherever his future lay the tides would still turn.

‘In that case, let’s move on to “any other business”: my phone call home.’ She held a hand out, palm up. ‘You gave me your word.’

He had to admire her devotion to her father. Such intense loyalty, she’d been prepared to spend a night in a police cell for it. It almost made him forgive that it had been
his
office she’d broken into and
his
data she’d attempted to steal. Almost.

Where had his own loyalty been eight years ago? He’d put his pride first and now it was too late. Andrei had died estranged from the adopted son he’d once adored. Was it any wonder his mother couldn’t forgive him?

Snapping himself out of the settling melancholy, he pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and keyed in the password. ‘What’s the number?’

She recited it from memory. As soon as he heard the tone connecting the two lines, he passed it to her. She practically snatched it from him and pressed it to her ear.

‘James?’ Emily couldn’t hide her relief. Her brother was there.

After hearing that her father had refused to get out of bed for his dinner, never mind eat it, Emily’s eyes darted back to Pascha, who was watching her.

There were so many more questions she wanted to ask, but she resisted.

Now was not the time, not with Pascha listening in so closely. It was one thing for people to know how ill her father was, but his suicide attempt... No; that was between James, her and the medical profession. When her father recovered—and he would; whatever it took to get him better she would do it—she didn’t want him living with the stigma of being the man who’d tried to kill himself. He wouldn’t want it for himself. When he was well, his pride was everything. It had always been that way.

‘My phone hasn’t got a signal here,’ she lied to her brother. ‘So use this number if there’s an emergency. It’s right there in front of you on caller display—write it down, James. By the way, has Hugo called?’ She didn’t know if it was relief or dread she felt when James replied in the negative.

Disconnecting the call, she handed the phone back.

Her chest felt full and heavy and she suddenly realised she was on the verge of tears.

‘Who is Hugo?’ Pascha asked. ‘You mentioned him earlier.’

Emily sighed.

‘Hugo is my boss. Or perhaps I should say
was
my boss.’

Pascha arched a brow.
‘Was?’

‘Unless Hugo’s had a new heart transplanted into him, I won’t have a job to go back to. Most employers wouldn’t be happy about a key member of staff taking off for a week’s leave on a whim, especially when that member of staff has already been given an official warning for taking too many unauthorised absences.’ Stopping herself, Emily clamped her lips together. Pascha didn’t care about her or her job. All she was to him was a potential threat that had to be hidden away.

Fashion design was all she’d ever wanted to do. But she shouldn’t complain about Hugo. He’d been incredibly supportive through what had been a horrific time, at least initially, but he had a business to run—something he’d made abundantly clear when he’d given her that official warning less than a month ago.

After a long, thoughtful pause, Pascha said in a softer tone, ‘I’m certain that if you explain the situation when you return Hugo will understand. He must know how ill your father is.’

Emily felt her heart lurch at the unexpected kindness from Pascha. Heartlessness she could cope with, but not that. Not now when her stomach felt so knotted she was having trouble holding down the beautiful food she’d just eaten.

Her mother had adored lobster, had been the person to teach her how to demolish one so effectively.

A wave of despair almost had her doubled over, lancing her stomach with a thousand thorns.

Her darling, darling mother; oh, how she
missed
her.

Emily fought to control her emotions. She couldn’t let him see it. She just couldn’t. He had enough power over her already.

‘I...I need to get some sleep,’ she said, backing away from him. ‘Was there anything else you wanted?’

He shook his head, a strange, penetrative expression in his eyes.

She gave a brief nod and turned on her heel, forcing her rubbery legs to walk.

By the time Emily slid the door of her cabin shut, the grief had abated and her sudden tears had retreated back into their ducts.

Sinking onto the bed, she gazed up at the ceiling.

She could still feel Pascha’s gaze on her skin.

* * *

The next morning, fortified by a huge breakfast that had been brought to her room, and armed with mosquito repellent, high-factor sun-cream and bottles of water, Emily set off to explore the island. It had been a long evening and an even longer night. She’d gone to bed far earlier than she usually did. As hard as she’d tried she’d been unable to sleep, her mind a cacophony of faces clamouring for attention: her mother; her father; her brother. Pascha...

She’d felt trapped in her guest lodge. She might be free to go anywhere on the island but knowing she could bump into Pascha had kept her firmly inside. She couldn’t even get her sewing machine out. Such was the absolute silence of the island, the noise would have woken everyone up.

Making her way out of the main living area, she passed dozens of workers bustling around cleaning the house and grounds, the place a hive of activity. First she traversed the beach, smiling to see a couple of small children chasing each other over the sand. She waved politely at Luis, who was at the bow of the yacht at the jetty. He must have returned from taking Pascha to Puerto Rico.

Now she knew Pascha was off the island she could breathe a little easier, and was already plotting ways to convince Valeria to let her phone England and check on her father. So what if she embarrassed herself? Some things were more important than saving face.

She’d even tried to crack the code used to block her mobile again. It had been a complete waste of time. She doubted even her old housemate, the whizz who had taught her how to hack into Pascha’s laptop, could have cracked it.

Finished with the beach, she set off up through the dense foliage. The further inland she went, the greater the humidity, and the trail she followed seemed to go nowhere in particular.

On the verge of turning back, she heard the sound of rushing water.

A couple of minutes later, she was awestruck with wonder.

‘Oh wow,’ she whispered under her breath.

She had reached a vast, open area with the middle missing, as if a huge circular section had been dug out of it. On the other side of the bottomless circle ran gushing water, pouring over the edge like a sheet. A ledge jutted out on her side. She stepped onto it and peered over. She’d found the bottom. The drop was at least forty feet, the waterfall pouring into a large, round pool.

Almost hugging herself with joy, she sat with her legs dangling over the ledge and took a long drink of water. She wished she’d taken Valeria up on her offer of a packed lunch. She could happily spend the next week in this little spot of paradise.

She’d found a spot very similar to this a few years before, on a holiday in Thailand. She and the friends she’d travelled with had taken it in turns to jump into the pool, exulting at the weightlessness of the fall. Emily hadn’t had a care in the world. Not then.

Whipping her flip-flops and T-shirt off, leaving just her bikini top and shorts, she slathered herself in sun-cream and rested back, happy simply to soak it all in. Her solitude didn’t last nearly long enough.

The shuffling of movement made her start. Turning her head, all her contentment died to see Pascha standing behind her.

BOOK: The Russian's Ultimatum
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