Michelle Conder - Russian's Ruthless Demand

When he’d first arrived he’d thought she looked quite dowdy sitting on the stool in a basic black dress, the only colour coming from a pair of bright orange ankle boots that tended to make a woman’s ankles look twice the size they were and some weird matching chopstick things sticking out of her neat bun. Then her interesting eyes had caught his in the mirror and briefly stalled his train of thought. Once he’d shaken off the weird feeling that a goose had just walked over his grave he’d studied her. He’d waited for her covetous gaze to signal the type of interest he was used to getting from women. But she hadn’t done that. Instead she’d grimaced as if she’d just been shown a bag full of eels and looked away.

His healthy ego had felt the immediate prick of her dismissal but he’d thought she didn’t know who he was. He’d assumed that when she found out she’d be more than happy to talk to him. And probably warm his bed if he was so inclined. Which he wasn’t. Under different circumstances he might have been drawn to her elegant features and full lips. Those catlike eyes, but he had a different agenda tonight and it didn’t include taking her to his bed.

Still, he couldn’t fathom her negative response other than to think that she was one of those phony stuck-up rich girls who thought pedigree was everything. He’d learned the hard way that just because he now knew his fish fork from his fruit fork it didn’t mean instant acceptance from those with old money.

Fortunately he was sufficiently impressed with the overall effect and intricate detail put into Glaciers, not to mention being up against the clock, to set aside his own misgivings about her suitability for his project to offer her a job. First though he’d have to find a way to thaw her out. A not altogether displeasing concept.

‘Why do I get the feeling you dislike me, Miss Harrington?’

‘I don’t dislike you at all, Mr Kuznetskov.’ She gave him another false smile and squared her slender shoulders. ‘How could I when I don’t even know you? And I’m certainly not the type of person to make a snap judgement on such a brief acquaintance,’ she finished primly.

Da, she disliked him all right. ‘I think you’re lying, Miss Harrington,’ he said pleasantly.

The bartender pushed an ice glass across to him, interrupting Eleanore Harrington’s shocked gasp, and he downed the finger of vodka in one hit and welcomed the burn of it down the back of his throat.

‘I am not.’

‘Yes, you are. For some reason you’ve not only judged me, you’ve sentenced me as well, and yet by your own admission we don’t even know each other.’

‘Would that be like you passing judgement on our hotels two years ago when you had only stayed one night?’ she challenged.

Ah , Lukas was beginning to understand her animosity now. Somehow she’d heard about his comments after his brief stay at her Florida hotel. Not that he would apologise for them. He’d suffered a terrible night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress and then his morning coffee had been cold. On top of that the valet had misplaced his car and he’d been overcharged on his bill. All in all, not a great experience. ‘My comments were deserved, Miss Harrington. Your hotel offered substandard service and I said as much.’

‘To the press?’ She crinkled her pretty nose. ‘I could have respected your comments if you’d filled out a hospitality card but instead you had to announce your views to the world. You do know that our occupancy rate went down twenty percent for six months after that.’

Lukas could feel himself getting annoyed with her attitude. ‘I don’t believe I have quite that much influence in the world—though, of course, I’m flattered that you do. Perhaps your lower occupancy rate was due to management issues.’

‘Oh, you would take that view.’

‘If it helps, I didn’t mean for my comments to make it to the press,’ he offered. ‘In fact, I didn’t even know that they had.’

‘How could you not?’ She reluctantly perched on the edge of her stool when she realised they were drawing curious glances from nearby patrons.

‘I don’t read my own press. I pay someone to do that and to bring anything that needs addressing to my attention. Clearly that was not big enough to warrant my attention.’

‘Clearly not.’ Her pointy little chin rose between them. ‘Goodnight, Mr Kuznetskov.’

‘Hold on.’ Lukas put his gloved hand out and snagged her delicate wrist just above where her own dark gloves ended. ‘So, based on my truthful comments you’ve made an assumption that I’m a bad person, is that it?’

Well, it had been that and the way he had swanned through the world as if he owned it, Eleanore thought acidly. The way she had wished that she had been the one on his arm at the fashion show instead of that stunning model. ‘I’m entitled to my opinion,’ she said, and nearly winced at how much she sounded like a schoolmarm from a bad nineteen-fifties sitcom.

‘Yes, you are. And fortunately for you I’m sufficiently impressed with your ice bar to continue this conversation.’

What did that mean?

‘Can I get that on record?’ she asked archly.

He smiled. ‘Like I said, it’s nice to know you think my opinion is so powerful.’

Oh, he knew his opinion was powerful. He spoke and the press behaved like pathetic lapdogs. As did his women, no doubt. ‘Why should how you feel about Glaciers make any difference to me?’

‘Because I have an opportunity to offer you.’

An opportunity? Eleanore nearly laughed. Only he could call picking up a woman in a bar an opportunity. ‘Not interested,’ she said flatly.

He paused and shook his head. ‘My, how you do like to jump to conclusions, Miss Harrington. But I didn’t mean that kind of opportunity.’ His gaze raked her over and sent hot rivulets of sensation sparking through her. ‘Although I could be persuaded to consider the other if you were so inclined.’

Irritation , she thought sourly, that was what had caused the strange sensation to suffuse her body, that and the fact that she had somehow amused him without intending to. ‘I’m not. And nor am I interested in any opportunity you might have for me, Mr Kuznetskov. Is that clear enough for you?’ She smiled with false sweetness, extricating her wrist from his firm grip.

Lukas laughed again. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself quite so much when he’d arrived in Singapore. He hadn’t expected to find the Harrington heiress so alluring either. ‘You know it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific to let your emotions make your decisions for you,’ he drawled, admiring the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew a little flushed as he challenged her.

‘And it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific for you to not take no for an answer,’ she retorted.

His grin widened at her heated comeback. ‘Touché, Miss Harrington.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we start over?’

‘I don’t see why we should.’

‘Because as I said I have an opportunity—a possible job opportunity—to discuss with you.’

‘A job? Are you joking?’

‘I never joke about business.’

‘Well, I already have a job.’

‘One where you are currently underutilised.’

‘How would you know that?’

Lukas nearly shook his head at her shocked outburst. Did the woman not know how to hide any of her emotions? ‘Tomaso Coraletti.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘How do you know Tomaso?’

‘He builds ships for me.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she scorned. ‘For a moment I thought his taste in friends had plummeted.’

Lukas smiled. If she was trying to put him off by being contrary it wasn’t working. In fact, the more riled she became, the more her interesting eyes sparkled and the more his body stirred. A realisation that surprised him. Perhaps Maria was right and he needed to go find himself some biscotti. Some very temporary biscotti. ‘He said you were one of the most talented students he’s ever taught and that you would be perfect for the project I am working on.’