Chantelle Shaw - Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

The undisguised bitterness in her voice stirred Vadim’s curiosity. ‘What happened? And where are your parents now?’

‘They’re both dead. My mother died when I was thirteen,’ she revealed in a low tone, which hardened as she added, ‘My father died five years ago-after he’d drunk and gambled away all the money. When it ran out he went though the house and sold off anything of value, but fortunately my mother had bequeathed her violin and piano to me in her will, and he wasn’t able to touch them. After he died I had to sell the Hall to clear the mountain of debts he’d left, and that’s when Uncle Rex allowed me to move in here.’

The Stafford fortune had not only been wasted on the late Earl’s love of whisky and the roulette wheel but also on his love of women, Ella thought bitterly. Her father had been a notorious playboy, and from early childhood she had vowed never to be attracted to the type of man who treated women as a form of entertainment.

So why, she asked herself angrily, had she allowed Vadim Aleksandrov-a man who changed his mistresses more often than most men changed their socks-to kiss her tonight? And, even worse, why had she responded to him-perhaps given him the idea that she was willing to hop into bed with him?

The searing pain of her migraine was no excuse for her to have weakly let him carry her into the house. She was acutely conscious of the feel of his arms around her waist and beneath her knees. Held close against his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. It made her feel safe somehow, secure, but that was an illusion, of course, because the last thing she would be with Vadim was safe. He was a man like her father, a handsome heartbreaker, and from the moment she had met him her instincts had warned her to steer clear of him.

‘Put me down, please.’ She moved restlessly in his arms, but he ignored her struggles and strode across the sitting room to the door which stood ajar to reveal her bedroom.

‘Where are your painkillers?’

‘In the bedside drawer.’ He lowered her slowly onto the bed, but the movement caused her to draw a sharp breath as the pain in her head became unendurable. She moaned when he flicked on the lamp, and as soon as he’d found her medication he doused the light so that the only illumination in the room was from the moonlight glimmering through the open curtains.

‘I’ll get you some water.’

She heard him walk into the en suite bathroom, and he returned seconds later to hand her a glass of water. The safety lid on the painkillers was beyond her, and she was grateful when he opened it and tipped two tablets into her palm. They were strong, and she knew that in ten minutes, fifteen at most, she would sink into oblivion and escape from the pain that was making her feel so sick.

‘Can you see yourself out?’ she whispered as she sank back against the pillows.

‘I will, once you’re in bed.’ Vadim’s velvet-soft voice was strangely soothing, and she closed her eyes, only to open them again with a jolt when she felt his hand on her ankle.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your shoes off.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘You can’t get into bed wearing stiletto heels.’

How could the feel of his hands lightly brushing the soles of her feet as he removed her shoes be so intensely erotic? Ella wondered fretfully. Even in the throes of an agonising migraine she was desperately aware of him, and she could only pray he had not noticed the tremor that ran through her.

‘Now your dress.’

‘No way are you going to take my dress off.’ She glared at him through pain-glazed eyes, daring him to touch her, but he ignored her and rolled her gently onto her side, so that he could slide her zip down her spine.

‘You’re telling me you can undress yourself?’ He took her fulminating silence as a no, and, with a deftness she assumed he’d gained from regularly removing women’s clothes, drew her dress over her shoulders and down to her waist. Arguing with him was impossible when her head was about to explode. More than anything she wanted to go to sleep and blot out the pain, and when he told her to lift her hips she obeyed, and allowed him to slide her dress down her legs. She didn’t even care that he could see her functional black bra and knickers. Shivering with pain, she was past caring about anything, but when he drew the covers over her and stood up, good manners prompted her to speak.

‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

Ella looked achingly fragile, and the fact that she hadn’t fought him like a wildcat when he had removed her dress was an indication of the severity of her headache, Vadim mused wryly. ‘Do your migraines usually last long?’

‘I should be fine in the morning, hopefully,’ Ella mumbled sleepily, her eyelids already feeling heavy as the painkillers began to work.

‘Good. As for thanking me, you can do that when you have dinner with me next week.’

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in, and when she forced her eyes open he was already on his way out of the door. ‘I told you, I’m going to Germany next week,’ she called after him.

He glanced over his shoulder, and his sensual smile made her heart lurch. ‘But you’re back at the weekend. I checked with one of the other members of the orchestra. I’ll be in touch.’

Ella didn’t know whether to take that as a threat or a promise, but he had strolled out of her room and closed the door quietly behind him while she was still trying to think of another excuse. Irritating man, she thought angrily as she settled back on her pillow. But as she teetered on the edge of sleep she reminded herself that his ability to disturb her equilibrium also made him a dangerous man, and she was utterly determined not to have dinner with him.

Ella had completely recovered from her debilitating migraine by the time she flew to Cologne with the RLO. She had visited the city many times before, and instead of joining Jenny on a sightseeing trip she made up for her lost practice time by rehearsing for several hours before the concert. The programme of concertos by Bach and Beethoven was received with much acclaim; the orchestra received excellent reviews and arrived back at Gatwick on Saturday morning.

‘I wouldn’t mind being greeted with a bouquet of flowers,’ Jenny commented enviously as they walked through the arrivals gate and spotted a courier clutching a huge arrangement of red roses.

Ella watched the courier talking to one of the orchestra members up ahead, and she gave Jenny a puzzled glance when he walked purposefully in their direction.

‘Eleanor Stafford? These are for you.’

Struggling to hold her violin and suitcase, as well as the bouquet that had been thrust into her arms, Ella was nonplussed. ‘There must be a mistake…’

‘Open the card. Here…’ Jenny rescued the violin, and with fumbling fingers Ella ripped open the envelope and read the note inside.

Welcome home, Ella. Dinner tonight, 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up from Kingfisher House.

It was signed ‘Vadim’, and the sight of the bold black scrawl filled Ella with a mixture of annoyance and jittery excitement that she swiftly quashed. ‘He hasn’t even left a phone number so that I can cancel,’ she noted irritably.

Jenny gave her a look that told Ella she was seriously questioning her sanity. ‘Why would you want to? He’s incredibly good-looking, mega-rich and as sexy as sin,’ she listed. ‘And he’s sent you two dozen red roses. What more do you want? This guy is clearly keen.’

‘I don’t want anything from him,’ Ella snapped. ‘And all he wants is to take me to bed.’

‘So, what’s wrong with that?’ Jenny stopped dead on the way out of the airport terminal and stared at Ella. ‘You’ve always said-right back from when we were pig-tailed first-years at boarding school-that you never wanted to get married.’