Michelle Conder - His Last Chance at Redemption

‘Do you even have a proper car seat fitted?’

‘I have a limousine.’

Lexi could see from the arrogant tilt of his head that his momentary panic from before was over and that he was firmly back in control. Which annoyed her. He’d almost seemed human before. Approachable.

‘It doesn’t seem that you’ve been worried about much at all where he’s concerned,’ she said frostily.

His gaze sharpened. ‘Who do you think pays for this fancy establishment.’

‘I meant emotionally. He needs something familiar. Do you have his favourite toy? Blanket?’

She raised her own chin challengingly. Mrs Weston might have told her that he was some super-rich businessman, but he was clearly out of his depth in this situation.

‘I have something better.’

‘What?’

‘You.’

From as far back as she can remember MICHELLE CONDERdreamed of being a writer. She penned the first chapter of a romance novel just out of high school, but it took much study, many (varied) jobs, one ultra-understanding husband and three very patient children before she finally sat down to turn that dream into a reality.

Michelle lives in Australia, and when she isn’t busy plotting she loves to read, ride horses, travel and practise yoga.

Recent title by the same author:

GIRL BEHIND THE SCANDALOUS REPUTATION

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For Finn, Pia and Reif.

COULD a man really die of boredom?

Leonid Aleksandrov stared down at his plate of—what had he ordered? Beef? Lamb?—and tried to blank out the blonde actress prattling away at him across the table as if he was one of her girlfriends.

To be fair it was most likely nervous chatter because, he had the good grace to acknowledge, he was a man on the edge. At the end of his tether, his executive assistant, Danny Butler, would say, and even a blind Russian boar could sense that.

But how could he be anything else? The tragedy that had occurred this week was newsworthy all over the world and the press were once again snapping at his heels to get a piece of him. Questioning who he was and sniffing into his past. Looking for Mafia connections one minute and then calling him a hero the next. But a true hero didn’t have things in his life he regretted, did he?

Not that anyone would find anything on him. Seventeen years ago Leo had created a new identity for himself and thanks to Mother Russia being a country of smoke and mirrors he’d been able to bury the misery of his real childhood and reinvent a whole new one.

A much more palatable one.

So far no one knew any better. The press surmised that he was a dangerous man and, somewhat ironically, they didn’t know the half of it.

But what on earth had possessed him—on his first day back in London—to take the latest ‘it girl’ to lunch at this high-end, nosey London eatery? On her birthday of all days.

Ah, yes, sex. Respite. A moment’s relaxation. The gym had failed this week and he’d been looking for another outlet.

But no doubt Danny had thought no-frills sex in a hotel room was a bit cold-blooded on the actress’s special day; hence the lunch date.

Leo shook his head. Danny had been with him for eight years now and even though he was as close to a friend as Leo had ever had, he was still a bit too modern and sentimental for Leo’s liking. And he’d blast him for suggesting the actress meet him in the hotel restaurant instead of the hotel penthouse .

What he had wanted was to get laid and get back to work, not sit down to a three course luncheon. Now, however, after forty minutes of polite chitchat about nothing more interesting than hairstyles and movie shoots, his libido had hit rock bottom.

Thank you, Danny boy .

‘Leo, I swear, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you hadn’t listened to a word I’ve said.’

So not entirely without a brain then. That was something at least. A month ago they’d met at a party and she’d been texting on and off with innocent little invitations for Leo to attend this and that ever since. Well, ‘this and that’ was nigh and he couldn’t have been less interested in taking things further if he was standing next to her wax look-alike at Madame Tussauds. In fact, right now, that would be preferable. Quieter, at least.

Leo pushed his half-eaten lunch aside and dropped his napkin onto his plate.

‘Tiffany, it’s been enthralling , but I have to go. Finish up. Have dessert—’ he hesitated as he glanced at her emaciated figure ‘—or not.’ He pushed back his chair and paused when he saw her overly plump bottom lip quiver; which may have been a trick of the light because a moment later her composure was flawless.

‘Just like that?’ She waved her hand insouciantly, her actor’s face firmly in place. ‘And to think people said you were dynamic. Fascinating. Exciting ’

Leo’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’re in the wrong place for me to show you exciting, dorogusha , and now I’m all out of time.’

And interest.

‘They also said you were heartless.’ That last was delivered without even a hint of bitterness and his eyes narrowed on the challenging tilt of her head, his senses homing in on the purr in her voice.

So that was it. He was a challenge to her. A mountain she wanted to conquer. He could understand that even though he wasn’t a man driven by challenges. He’d learned early on that rising to a challenge usually led to mistakes, pain. Leo didn’t do that. He wanted something; he got it. No challenge required.

And Tiffany Tait had definitely overplayed her hand with that comment. Smarter women than her had tried to get their hooks into him without success. He was considered the consummate commitment-phobe and it was a reputation he had carefully cultivated for years.

He stood and buttoned his single-breasted suit jacket. ‘ They are right. I am without a heart and no woman will ever change that. Something to remember next time you want to play games.’

With that he walked out. Leaving her and the Cartier bracelet Danny had kindly procured for her as a birthday gift at the last minute. No doubt Leo would hear about his unchivalrous behaviour in some gossip rag at some stage. Not that he cared. Today he’d been looking for a few moments of oblivion to push aside the memory of five of his men being buried alive in an accident on one of his construction sites, and the agony of lifting mountains of cement and steel alongside rescue crews all week to get to them.

They’d reached two in time; the other three were gone. Just like his uncle seventeen years earlier.