Kitabı oku: «The Rings that Bind», sayfa 3

Why had he never noticed how sexy such stubbornness could be?

He squashed the thought away.

‘Give me a month—until the date of our first anniversary—to change your mind,’ he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster. ‘Come to Butterfly Island with me as planned—you’re a first-class PA and linguist, and there is no one capable of doing the job as well as you. Do that and I will grant you a divorce. Refuse, and I will fight you every inch of the way.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘That remains to be seen. But unless you give me the next month to try you will find yourself with one almighty fight on your hands.’ Deliberately he stepped towards her, over the puddle of clothes, encroaching on her personal space—a move he had never made in all the time he had known her. ‘I will contest it every step of the way. If I wanted, I could play dirty and drag it on for years. And guess what? I never lose.’

A small tick pounded under her left eye, so tiny it was barely perceptible. He had only seen that particular affliction once before. Smelling victory, he pressed on a little further, leaning close enough to smell her clean, feminine scent. He swallowed the moisture that formed in his mouth.

‘One month, Rosa. I don’t think that’s a very long time to wait for a lifetime of freedom.’

She gazed back at him, the tiny tick still pounding, before she visibly hardened. ‘I want it in writing.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ His lips curled. He had never been so insulted. ‘I am giving you my word.’

‘You gave me your word eleven months ago.’

‘And you gave me yours. I am not the one planning to break my vows.’

For an age they simply stared at each other, neither bending. The tension between them had become so thick a steak knife would have had trouble cutting through it. Yet through the seeping tension he could not help but admire her. There were not many people brave enough to face him off.

Rosa caved in first. Extending her hand, she said, ‘We will shake on it. One month, Nicolai. And if at the end you refuse to give me my divorce then I will show you just how dirty I can play.’

Her fiery declaration sent a frisson of excitement racing through his veins. As he reached for her hand he realised it was the first time their flesh had touched since they had exchanged their rings.

And as he walked back down the stairs, victory still ringing within him, Nico realised it had also been the first time he had set foot in her suite since she had moved in.

A black Jeep awaited them at the landing strip that constituted Butterfly Island’s airport.

It was roasting hot, the heat shimmering like waves off the ground. Even though Rosa had had the foresight to change into a light, cotton summer dress, her skin was dampening by the second.

It had been eighteen hours since they’d left London and she was shattered. The thirteen hour flight on Nico’s plush private jet hadn’t been too bad, but she had been far too wired to sleep. Unlike Nico, who had the amazing knack of being able to sleep on command.

Fortunately she’d had a pile of documents to read through to keep her occupied. She’d devoted all her spare time over the past fortnight in getting up to speed on the contracts. There had been little else for her to do. Nico had been as elusive over the past two weeks as an escaped hamster.

The one-hour connecting flight to Butterfly Island on a four-seat Cessna had been a more cramped affair. Nico had sat in front of her. They had been close enough to touch—close enough for her to smell him.

She had spent the flight breathing through her mouth.

A squat, elderly gentleman who looked dressed for a safari, in a cream pocketed shirt, cream shorts, a panama hat and long white socks, got out of the Jeep and strode over to them. For his part, Nico had relaxed his strict business attire by removing his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves.

‘Nicolai—as always, it’s a pleasure to have your company.’

‘Likewise.’ Nico shook the offered hand vigorously. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Rosa. Rosa, this is Robert King—owner of Butterfly Island and King Island.’

His wife? Nico had introduced her as his wife? In the eight months she had continued working for him after their quickie wedding he had never introduced her as anything other than his assistant. They had agreed that when it came to business it was best to keep things on a professional footing.

Before she could think about this in any depth she was pulled into the American’s arms. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Rosa. Your husband has told me all about you.’ He released her, but kept hold of her forearms so he could look at her. ‘Nicolai, you never told me what a beauty she was.’

Nico placed an arm around her waist in what could only be described as a possessive manner, forcing a reluctant Robert to release her. Rosa, already reeling at being called a beauty, was so shocked at this unexpected and blatant show of possessiveness that she froze.

‘Rosa’s beauty speaks for itself,’ said Nico in his gravelly tones. ‘Now, have all the arrangements been made?’

She was not sure if she’d imagined it, but she could have sworn Robert dropped him a quick wink. ‘Everything’s in hand.’

The minor stupor caused by Nico’s introduction and his unprecedented hold on her receded, and she extracted herself from his arm. ‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Mr King, but—as I’m sure my husband has already informed you—I have accompanied him as his assistant and not his wife.’

‘His assistant, eh?’ Robert’s wink was a lot more obvious this time. ‘I get you, I get you. Say no more. Now, you folks must be exhausted after all that travelling. Let’s get you to your accommodation so you can freshen up. Oh—and, Rosa? It’s Robert.’

The air-conditioning in the Jeep had been turned to full blast. Rosa welcomed the freshness after the stifling heat of the airstrip. It was the only thing she did welcome as the men started to talk business. Robert didn’t exactly freeze her out of the conversation but all his attention was focused on Nico. She had a feeling if she offered an opinion he would ruffle her hair and tell her not to worry her pretty head about it. It was infuriating, but not half as infuriating as Nico’s obliviousness to it.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that once Robert had seen her work he would see for himself that she was there not out of the virtue of being Nico’s wife but out of the virtue of being good at her job.

Still, it made for an uncomfortable journey—at least for her.

Butterfly Island was small by anyone’s standards. According to her research, its circumference was only a touch over nine miles. They reached the complex where they were to stay for the next fortnight in less than ten minutes.

To Rosa’s eyes it certainly lived up to its high-class honeymoon resort billing. When over the past fortnight she’d allowed herself to think of being in a lovers’ paradise with the man who was her husband but not her lover, she had consoled herself that she would be too busy working to have time to witness any open signs of affection displayed by the other guests.

The driver pulled up outside a large, one-storey Tuscanstyle villa.

‘I’ll leave you two to settle in.’ Robert grinned, throwing her a wink. ‘Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll get a golf-buggy to collect you after breakfast and bring you to the hotel. The conference room’s all ready to go. And, Rosa—’ he winked at her again ‘—the spa here has been named one of the best in the world. My staff have all been instructed to give you preferential treatment on anything you desire.’

‘That is very kind. I’ll be sure to remember that.’ She smiled. The shimmering heat of the day and the ambient atmosphere of the island had already started working its magic on her. What was the point in getting antsy? He was an old man. She would change his mind soon enough. ‘See you in the morning.’

Entering the villa, she tightened her ponytail and sighed with pleasure.

‘Shall I take your luggage to your bedroom?’ the driver asked, depositing their cases on the terracotta floor.

‘I shall deal with it,’ Nico said, slipping him some local currency.

Once they were alone, he turned to Rosa. ‘I need to check in with the Moscow office, so take a look around.’

Leaving him to it, she headed off into the open-plan living quarters, which were as airy and sophisticated as one would expect for a villa of this calibre. On the gleaming dining table stood a bucket of champagne on ice, a large bowl of fresh fruit and a vase of the prettiest, most delicious-smelling flowers she had ever seen or sniffed. Tucked away discreetly in a corner to the rear was a large, fully equipped office, which she gave a cursory once-over before heading to the patio doors. Inspecting the office could wait. She would spend the next fortnight virtually chained to the desk.

She stepped out onto the decking. A sprawling lawn ran down to a sandy-white beach.

Bubbles of excitement started thrumming through her veins. Dozens of co-mingling scents converged under her nose, from fragrant flowers and freshly cut grass to the salty scent of the sea.

Rosa closed her eyes. She had travelled to many countries with Nico during her time as his PA. Relaxation had never been on the agenda. This trip would be no different. She was here to work.

All the same…

They’d always stayed in luxurious accommodation, but it had always been functional rather than beautiful.

Butterfly Island was stunning. This villa was stunning.

Wistfulness clutched at her belly. What would it be like if she were here with a lover? Someone she trusted enough to place her heart in his hands, who would not squeeze all the life out of it?

She scrubbed the image away—especially the image of Nico that kept trying to intrude. Finding another lover was the last thing on her mind. Sleeping with Stephen had been an act of folly—an act of desperation to purge the hurt that had almost consumed her whole.

CHAPTER FOUR

AFTER ONE LAST longing gaze at The beach, Rosa went back inside to search for the bedrooms. The first was easy to find, and immediately she chose it for herself. The bedroom, large and opulent, would be any honeymooner’s dream. Its raised emperor four-poster bed even had the clichéd rose petals scattered all over the silk sheets. The en suite bathroom was amazing. The bath! She had never seen anything like it: sunken, with gold taps around the edges, it was large enough to swim in.

To stake her claim, she chucked her handbag on the bed and then left it to find Nico’s bedroom.

A few minutes later, her brief good mood having plummeted, she found Nico in the partitioned office, his laptop open, still talking on his smartphone.

He took one look at her face and disconnected the call.

‘What is wrong?’ he asked. ‘You look as if someone has stolen your luggage.’

She stood before him. ‘There’s only one bedroom.’

She waited for his disapproval.

He leaned back in the Captain’s chair and stretched out his long legs. ‘Naturally there is only one room.’

‘What do you mean, “naturally”? I was assured by Camilla, or Emily, or whoever it is that currently runs your London office, that a two-bedroomed villa had been reserved for us.’

‘I changed it.’

Her chin nearly hit the floor. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because we are married, and married couples rarely sleep in separate beds. Unless, of course, they are not sharing conjugal relations.’

She shook her head slowly, wishing she could slap the smug arrogance off his face. ‘You clever bastard.’

‘I shall take that as a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ She knew exactly what he was playing at. ‘I’m not sharing a bed with you. I assume it is enough that people think we are sleeping together?’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I do not control how other people think.’

‘You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’

‘I think not. I will be sleeping on that big, comfortable bed. If you wish to join me…?’ He raised an eyebrow in invitation.

She blinked in shock.

Had that really been a suggestive tone in his voice? Surely not…

Unnerved, she took a step back.

Nico sat up and rested his forearms on his thighs, openly studying her. ‘Does the thought of sharing a bed with me scare you?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied, inching back a little further—as far as the edge of the desk. He was still too close, but there was no way she was going to scurry off like a frightened rabbit just because he was close enough for her to smell his fruity scent.

They had worked side-by-side for the best part of a year and his scent had hardly ever been a problem for her—at least not until the last few months of her tenure. That had been one of the reasons she had turned down his offer of a permanent position. Nico smelled far too good for her sensibility.

‘Then what is your problem?’ His eyes gave a sudden gleam. ‘Worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ As if Nico had ever looked at her with anything other than platonic eyes.

‘Why would you think that ridiculous? You’re an attractive woman—sharing a bed with you would be a temptation for any man.’

To her horror, she felt her neck burn. She turned her head, unable to look at him, suddenly scared of what he would see. ‘Now you are being ridiculous.’

His voice dropped to a murmur. ‘I’ve thought about you a lot these past few weeks.’

She fixed her gaze on a pretty landscape painting on the wall. ‘Sure you have.’

He had the audacity to laugh, with a low, gravelly timbre that sent tiny tingles dancing on her skin.

‘You are angry with me for not spending any time with you. That would have been easily rectified if you were still working for me. You would have travelled with me.’

‘Your ego astounds me.’ She paused to swallow a lump that had formed in her throat. ‘However, if your idea of getting me to change my mind about our marriage was to leave me alone for a fortnight, it was one heck of a rubbish plan.’

‘I had matters to arrange and business to tie up before this trip.’ He leaned closer and cupped the curve of her neck. ‘Did you miss me?’

His unexpected action caught her off-guard. She would not have been more surprised if he had told her he was gay. She could understand the arm around her waist when they had been with Robert—Nico was doing all in his power to set her up to look a liar and a fool if she went down the annulment route—but this?

She had to fight with everything she had not to respond to the feel of his warm palm against her sensitised skin. She would not fall into his blatant trap.

‘No.’ She pulled away from his clasp—his second touch in less than an hour. ‘I didn’t miss you. Now, will you stop playing games? It’s making me uncomfortable.’

His lips curved slightly. ‘I am not playing games.’

‘That’s what it feels like.’

‘You agreed to give me the chance to prove our marriage deserves another shot.’

‘So far you have failed spectacularly. And pretending you find me attractive is not the way to go about it either.’ Not after eleven months of complete uninterest.

‘Have you considered that maybe I am not acting?’

The breath caught in her throat. If she hadn’t already known how indifferent he was to her physically, she might almost have believed him.

She dragged air into her lungs and took a step to the side. ‘Actually, no. I don’t believe that for a second. You don’t find me attractive. You’re just using your masculinity to try and drive me into some kind of feminine stupor. You think I will fall for your charms and thus save you the unpleasantness of a public divorce—and save you from the hundreds of women who will come beating on your door, begging to be the new Mrs Baranski.’

He stilled, his eyes narrowing. ‘You have me all figured out.’

‘You’re an easy read.’

What else could it be? Their marriage hadn’t just been platonic, it had been positively frigid. Intellectually, they got along beautifully. They could talk business until the sun came up. But there had been no physical contact of any kind, not even when they had drunk more vodka together than was good for them. They would attend functions where couples were together in every sense of the word—holding hands, sneaking kisses. For all their cordiality, she and Nico wouldn’t even wipe a fragment of lint from each other’s clothing.

It was what she had signed up to. But she’d had no idea when she drew up that stupid contract that it would come to hurt so much and gnaw at her insides.

‘If I were to tell you I find you incredibly sexy, would you think I was lying?’

‘We both know I am not your type.’ Even when passing her a mug of coffee he made a concerted effort not to touch her.

‘Maybe my tastes are becoming more discerning.’

‘Unluckily for you, my tastes aren’t. If you think I want to share a bed with a man who has a deli counter of blondes queuing for a space in his bed, you have another think coming. Believe me, that was a strong positive for me when we made our no-sex pact.’

Nico studied her, his brow furrowed. ‘Yet you were willing to share a bed with the ex-boyfriend you married me to escape?’

‘There were numerous reasons I married you. Escaping Stephen was only one of them. Not having sex with you was another.’

He rose to his feet and flashed a smile. A dangerous smile. A predatory smile. ‘Maybe if we had made sex part of our deal you would not be wanting to leave me. You certainly would not have needed to seek physical attention or flowers from your ex.’

Her incredulity at his arrogance was matched only by the heavy swirl of heat settling in her core.

Fighting it, she straightened to her full five foot three inches and speared him with a quelling look. ‘Don’t even go there. Don’t even think about it. It’s not going to happen. Not now. Not ever.’

‘Ah, daragaya, but things have changed. You agreed to give me a month to change your mind. And as we have never had sex before…’ His words trailed off as he leaned over, and then he whispered into her ear. ‘I guarantee one night with me and you will find your ex wanting. You will certainly never want to leave.’

It was the warmth of his breath in her ear, skewering her senses, that prevented her from slapping him. Tingles bounced on every millimetre of skin, her core thickening and nestling in the apex of her thighs, burning her.

‘You’re sick,’ she dragged from her arid throat. ‘You’re like a child with an unwanted toy. You don’t want to play with it, but the second another child picks it up you decide you want it after all. Well, I am not a toy. And I will not be treated as one.’

Nico had to admire her poise. Rosa walked away with her back straight and her hips gently swaying. She had not once raised her voice.

Yet that same fury she had displayed when she had told him of her wish to divorce was there, bubbling under the surface.

That passion, ripe for unleashing—how clearly he could see it now.

The logical part of his brain kept telling him to let her go, to give her the divorce she so obviously wanted and get on with his life.

He happened to believe that this time the logical part of his brain was wrong.

Maybe she was right in her ‘child with a toy’ analogy.

Her declaration a fortnight ago had released something within him—a fighting spirit more ruthless than in any business dealing he had ever conducted.

Nico hated to lose. He had spent the past fortnight ensuring he would win.

He and Rosa were bound by a piece of paper and two bands of gold. Nothing more. He had failed to appreciate that she was not an automaton. She was a sexual being, with needs and desires like everyone else. It was only natural she would seek gratification. On reflection, the only thing that should surprise him was how long it had taken her.

What he had not expected was the ugly, putrid feeling residing deep in his guts at the knowledge of what she had done.

He could not stop thinking about it.

She had gained satisfaction with another.

The thought of another man pawing his wife made his skin crawl.

The thought of his wife pawing another man made him want to punch a wall.

And now all bets were off.

Rosa’s desire for a divorce meant whatever agreement they had made was null and void.

Soon she would share that delectable body with him. Her husband.

He hadn’t intended to come on to her so soon, but the little stunt he had just pulled had proved one thing: he recognised the signs of feminine desire and in his strait-laced wife he had seen them. She wanted him. he would use that latent desire and play with her until she was begging for his possession, whimpering with the pleasure only he could give her, until all thoughts of another were eradicated from her mind.

He would make things so good she would never want to leave.

Rosa was buried nose-deep in paperwork when she heard the front door of the villa open. Every limb and digit froze.

She was determined every document would be faultless. There was nothing worse than thinking you had it word-perfect only for Nico to read through the documents and find a misspelled Russian word or an incorrect tense. Admittedly that had only happened twice, but that had been enough for her to determine it would not happen on this, their last trip together.

Not that she should be busting a gut for the man. Throughout their marriage he had treated her with nothing but professional courtesy. All right, maybe that was exaggerating things a little—whenever she had accompanied him to functions they had always had fun together, but it had been strictly platonic fun. Now it was all long, lingering glances and murmured comments that could be twisted into something intimate if she so chose.

She did not choose.

It would be obvious to a blind man what Nico was up to.

Soon he would make his move. And she would be ready for it.

A waft of citrusy musk wafted under her nose and she reached for her cup of cold coffee, washing away the saliva that had formed, Pavlov’s Dog–style, in her mouth.

‘How are you getting on?’ To her intense irritation he placed one hand on her desk, the other on the back of her chair, and peered over her shoulder to see what she was working on.

‘Fine, thank you.’ She didn’t dare move. He was so close his breath was tickling her hair, making her aware of the heat emanating from his powerful body. She could feel it now, that heat, and her whole body was alive and tingling at his proximity.

‘Good. It is time to stop. We’re going out for dinner.’

‘Go without me. I’ve far too much work to do.’ Actually, she didn’t. She had been pleasantly surprised to find there was only a fraction of the expected workload, the reduction assisted by the half-dozen translators Nico had flown over to help her. At the rate she was ploughing through it she could be back in London within a week.

‘Impossible. We are dining with Robert and his wife.’

‘In that case I definitely have far too much work to do. And can you please move back and stop invading my personal space?’

His response to her request was to lean over her shoulder and flip the lid of her laptop shut.

Rosa’s spine stiffened, then froze. She stared at the now closed laptop with widening eyes, her hands curling into fists as fury simmered through her veins. ‘I’ve just spent three hours working on that document,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘And now you have finished. Your working day is over.’

‘I hadn’t saved it.’

‘Your laptop is configured to auto-save every five minutes. Any loss will be minimal.’

How dared he sound so reasonable? How dared he? ‘I decide when my working day is over. Not you.’

‘Rosa, I do not recall giving you a choice in the matter. You are calling it a day and that is that. Now, go and get ready for dinner.’

Her frustrations spilling over, she deliberately shoved her chair back and ‘accidentally’ rammed it into Nico’s legs. He jumped back.

‘Sorry,’ she lied, hastily getting to her feet.

He did not look in the least perturbed, simply threw her a lazy, knowing smile which she longed to slap off his face.

Keeping a good distance between them, she folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. ‘You do realise Robert King thinks I’m here on a free jaunt? He probably thinks you’ve appointed me as your PA as some kind of tax dodge.’

She had absented herself from the meeting between Nico and Robert that morning in the hotel conference room with the excuse that she needed to ensure all the other translators had settled in. In reality she had left the conference room because if she had stayed another minute she would have been liable to throw her laptop at Robert King. It would not have been half as bad if Nico had not allowed Robert’s misconceptions to continue.

‘Why do you care what he thinks?’ he asked. ‘You’re excellent at your job and he will realise it soon enough.’

‘I don’t like people making assumptions about me.’

Nico stored this little nugget of information away. It was extremely rare for Rosa to let slip anything personal about herself, however innocuous. He knew she was devoted to her job, knew her favourite food, knew she loved all things Russian, knew she could not sleep when travelling, knew she disliked raised voices and knew she was an orphan. Until now, that had been it.

Now he could add a dislike of people judging her to the list. Briefly he wondered where this dislike had come from, but pushed the thought away. It shouldn’t—didn’t—matter to him. It was the information itself he required.

Know your enemies. Know their weaknesses. The who, what, where, when and why were superfluous.

However, she did have a valid point about Robert’s attitude towards her. Rosa was damn good at her job, and as smart as a whip, which was the main reason their marriage had been such a success—at least from his perspective. She was a good sounding board and able to see the bigger picture with the barest of facts. He had become accustomed to confiding in her about business, had almost come to rely on it.

His mouth filled with a bitter taste as he was reminded that, unless he changed her mind, one day some other man was going to get the benefit of that excellent brain.

He had done nothing to prevent Robert forming the wrong opinion of her but he should feel no guilt. All was fair in love and war, and this was definitely war. He had taken a perverse pleasure in seeing her reduced to the status of wife and pretty trinket hanging on his arm.

His independent wife clung to her professional status like a second skin. She clung to her professional status around him like a second skin. She never let her guard down for a single second. Not even when she confessed infidelity. Always that wall was between them. He had facilitated its construction with her.

Well, he was going to tear it down—every last brick. By hook or by crook he would bring out that hidden womanly side, a side she had been happy to share with someone else.

Now he had got over his shock about her wanting to leave him he was able to think rationally. he could not in all conscience force her to stay if she was determined to go. It would be intolerable for them both. But neither was he prepared to let her go without sampling that fabulous body for himself and making her see how good things could be between them. Goddammit, she was his wife.

One thing he had learned about women was that one night in his bed was enough for them to start talking about feelings. Had he not married Rosa because she was nothing like those women?

Rosa was emotionally closed off. It was preposterous to imagine she would lie in bed and discuss feelings, or that she would expect him to share his.

His solution was perfect. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. They would continue with their perfect marriage and in the evenings he would share her bed and her delectable body. That would stave off her loneliness and put paid to her ridiculous idea of divorce.

He smothered a sudden burst of mirth at the recognition that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about her hearing wedding bells.

‘Rosa, I will make it clear to Robert tonight that you are more than just my wife, that you are an excellent translator and PA.’

‘You most certainly will not,’ she said, in what sounded uncannily like exasperation. ‘That would be even worse.’ She adopted a childish voice. ‘Oh, Mr King, have I told you how well my little wife sings? She’s so good she could be on a talent show.’

Despite himself, Nico laughed. ‘I get your point. I will try for subtlety. How does that sound?’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Better. Obviously it would have been better not to get us into this position in the first place. If you had just introduced me as your PA, like you always used to do, we would not have this problem.’

‘I don’t have any problem with it—I’m proud to call you my wife.’

Satisfaction drove through him as he witnessed the colour spread up her neck. He was only speaking the truth.

‘But naturally I do understand why the situation would irk you.’

‘Irk?’ The caramel in her eyes darkened. ‘Yes, I would say the situation irks me. I’ve worked too hard for my professionalism to be reduced to nothing but a bit part in your life.’

He could understand that too. And the guilt that had been hanging around him like a bad smell reeked a little bit stronger. Nico understood hard work. How else did a boy from a backward Siberian mining town break free and conquer the world?

‘Is there something wrong with your neck?’ he enquired.

‘Sorry?’

‘You keep kneading it. You were doing it this morning.’