Lynne Graham - Brides For Billionaires

‘I’m always sensible,’ Kat told him ruefully.

‘If you were that sensible you would have avoided me like the plague,’ Mikhail asserted with conviction.

And that he could coolly issue that warning sent a cold shiver down Kat’s vulnerable spine. It was sex, only sex, that had brought them together, she reminded herself urgently, nothing more involved or dangerous. He was fantastic in bed and that was that: she didn’t have any other feelings for him. No, not one single tender feeling or stab of womanly curiosity, she reflected, and on that soothing thought she dragged her fingers out of his hair and shifted off his lap as though someone had harpooned her with a flaming arrow. After all, she didn’t want to give him the impression that he was sleeping with a clinging vine.

‘My mother died when I was six years old,’ Mikhail admitted grudgingly.

‘What did she die of?’ Kat prompted, ignoring the I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-this signals he was emanating in a defensive force field. He never ever mentioned his family or his childhood and, considering that he knew everything there was to know about her, his determined reticence was starting to annoy her.

‘Being pregnant. She went into labour at home. Something went wrong and she bled to death. The baby died as well,’ Mikhail spelt out grimly.

‘That must have been very traumatic for you and your father,’ Kat said quietly, disconcerted by the tragedy he had revealed.

‘If she’d had proper medical attention, she probably would have survived but my father didn’t want her going into hospital.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘Why not?’

Lean, darkly handsome features taut, his black diamond eyes glittered and his handsome mouth compressed into a hard line of dissatisfaction. ‘I don’t want to talk about this. It’s not my favourite topic of conversation … vy menya panimayete … do you understand me?’ he bit out with harsh emphasis, swinging round and striding away.

Kat suppressed a sigh. Three weeks of unparalleled exposure to Mikhail had taught her that she apparently had the tact of an elephant in hobnail boots. She was no good at pussyfooting round the things he didn’t want to discuss. Indeed the minute she realised he was holding back on her that topic became what she most wanted him to talk about. Secrets nagged at her. What was wrong with curiosity? Surely it was natural for her to be curious?

The problem was that in recent weeks she had begun to feel misleadingly close to Mikhail. They had spent so much time together. Another party of guests had come and gone midway through the cruise. Barbecues had been staged on deserted beaches, trips organised to exclusive clubs and designer shops. He had complimented her on her skills as a hostess but she hadn’t had to make much of an effort. She liked meeting different people and loved to ensure that they enjoyed themselves and relaxed. After all, those same traits had once persuaded her to open a guest house. But on a more personal level she could not afford to forget that the man who slept beside her all night long was only a lover and not a partner. There were limits to their relationship and evidently she had just breached them and caused offence. Unfortunately for her, she was continually battling the desire to break down Mikhail’s reserve.

In the office on the upper deck, Mikhail opened his laptop. Kat would sleep in her own bed tonight. He could get along without her for one night. He had never been dependent on a woman in his life and she was no different. Well, she was different in one aspect: he wasn’t tired of her yet, hadn’t yet had enough of that slender, soft-skinned body of hers that melted into his as if she had been created to be his perfect fit. Sex was amazing with her, everything he had ever wanted, everything he had never dreamt he might find with one woman. The pulse at his groin stirred, the stubborn flesh swelling and hardening behind his zip even at the thought of her. Three weeks and she was still turning him on hard and fast. He didn’t like it—he resented her power over him, loathed it when she tried to plunge him into the kind of meaningful dialogue he never had with women. In a sudden movement he snapped the laptop shut again and rose lithely upright, six feet five inches of powerfully frustrated and aggressive male.

‘Where is she?’ he asked Stas, who was hovering by the door.

‘Still out on deck,’ the older man confirmed.

He found Kat leaning against the rail looking out to sea, her dress fluttering against her slim curves in the breeze. His hands came down on her shoulders and she jerked in surprise.

‘Stop snooping,’ Mikhail told her, tugging her back into the hard heat of his big body.

‘I wasn’t snooping!’ Kat argued vehemently without turning her head. ‘I’m not a snoop!’

‘My childhood wasn’t exactly a bowl of cherries,’ Mikhail breathed curtly.

‘Neither was mine but you accept that and move on …’

‘I don’t think about it, so there’s nothing to move on from, milaya moya .’ Mikhail pressed her up against the rail and buried his mouth hungrily in the soft sensitive curve of flesh where her neck joined her shoulder. She shivered, imprisoned by his body, achingly aware of her own and the hunger he could ignite so easily.

‘The fact you don’t think about it and won’t talk about it says it all,’ Kat quipped. ‘Why all the secrecy?’

‘I have no secrets,’ Mikhail fielded.

And not for one moment did Kat believe that claim, for he was a fascinatingly complex man, who revealed very little about himself on a personal level.

‘My mother was from a tribe of nomadic herders in Siberia,’ he volunteered with startling abruptness. ‘My father was trying to buy up oil and gas rights in the region when he saw her. He said it was love at first sight. She was very beautiful but she didn’t speak a word of Russian and she was illiterate—’

‘It sounds very romantic to me,’ Kat said defiantly. ‘He had to marry her before her family would let her go. He took her from life in a herders’ tent and put her in a mansion. He was obsessed with her. He enjoyed the fact that she had to depend on him for everything, that she understood nothing about the life he led or the world he lived in as a wealthy businessman. He liked her ignorance, her subservience,’ Mikhail breathed scathingly. ‘He never took her out. Behind closed doors, he treated her like a domestic slave and when she got things wrong he beat the hell out of her!’

Kat twisted round and focused stricken green eyes on his lean, strong face. ‘Did he beat you as well?’

‘Only when I tried to protect her,’ Mikhail replied, his handsome mouth twisting at the recollection. ‘I was only six when she died, so I might have got in his way a few times but I wasn’t physically capable of preventing him from hurting her. He suffered from violent rages yet she worshipped the ground he walked on because she didn’t know any better. She thought it was her duty to make her husband happy and if he wasn’t happy she believed it was her fault.’

‘It was probably the way she was raised. It’s hard to shake that kind of conditioning,’ Kat muttered soothingly, sensing the pain that he refused to express. There had been violence in his childhood. He had loved and pitied his mother and had been powerless to help her. She could imagine the wound of regret and frustration that that must have engraved on his soul.

‘You fight me every step of the way,’ Mikhail pointed out.

‘Maybe you would have preferred a subservient woman—’

‘ No !’ The interruption was harsh, unequivocal. ‘I wouldn’t want you if you were scared of me or always trying to impress or please me.’