Pursued by the Devil

by Carole Mortimer

  After the two of them made love in the shower they had cooked and eaten dinner together; despite what he’d said, Mikhail could cook too. Dessert, as he had already decided, was her. Then they had moved from room to room of the apartment until they had been in every one of them and made love on every flat and not-so-flat surface available.

  So much for not becoming another of Mikhail’s sex-a-thons; she was sore and aching everywhere!

  She was also very much aware that in just a matter of days she had fallen in love with Mikhail Lysenko.

  With Mischa too.

  To her they were one and the same person.

  On the outside, Mikhail was controlled and urbane, inside Mischa was raw, out-of-control power.

  Lindsay had fallen in love with both of them.

  Most of all she loved that she was able to bring Mischa out of hiding, to break through the barriers of that urbanity and free the wild and uncivilized man beneath.

  She sighed as she accepted that while he might enjoy making love to and with her, Mikhail wasn’t a man who allowed himself to love.

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT THE HELL—” Mikhail groaned as he was roused from a deep sleep by the ringing of the internal telephone on the wall next to his bed, a quick glance at his watch telling him it was only shortly after seven o’clock in the morning. Considering it had been almost three o’clock by the time he and Lindsay fell asleep in each other’s arms, it was far too early to be so rudely awakened by the security guard on duty downstairs.

  He glanced at Lindsay as she stirred beside him, blond hair a wild tangle on the pillows, dark circles of exhaustion beneath the sweep of her lashes.

  God, he hadn’t been able to get enough of her again last night. Had tried to crawl inside her. Literally. Any and every way he could.

  Fuck, this desire for her was getting out of hand. Was already out of his control. He was going to end up hurting her if he didn’t rein back a little—

  He impatiently grabbed the insistently ringing cell phone off the wall before it woke Lindsay completely. “What the fuck is your problem?” he hissed into the receiver even as he threw back the bedclothes and got out of bed, before walking naked out into the hallway so as not to disturb Lindsay with the conversation. “What did you say?” he rasped.

  “I have an employee of a Mr. Viktor Romanov down in reception who insists on talking to you,” the security guard repeated apologetically.

  One of Viktor’s henchmen?

  Here?

  Now?

  Mikhail hadn’t seen or spoken to his grandfather in ten years and he had to come back into his life now, when he had only just discovered Lindsay?

  Why?

  What possible reason could Viktor have for sending one of his men to speak to Mikhail this early in the morning? He knew damn well that whoever was waiting for him downstairs wouldn’t be there without his grandfather’s permission.

  Mikhail looked into the bedroom to make sure Lindsay was still asleep, his thoughts racing round and round inside his head as he moved further down the hallway. He didn’t want Lindsay to even know about Viktor. Any more than he wanted Viktor to know about Lindsay. His grandfather had been known to make grown men cry with just a look, and Lindsay had already been through enough in the past three days.

  Not the least your own sexual demands.

  Mikhail winced just thinking of what he had asked for or simply taken last night. He had no idea what it was about Lindsay that pushed him over the edge, but he lost all control and decency every time he made love to her. Wanted to possess, totally. To brand her as being his in a way that would warn all other men to back off.

  Not that she had complained, far from it; Lindsay was more than a match for him sexually. But with each successive night they spent together Mikhail kept pushing the boundaries further and further, pulling her deeper and deeper into his excesses.

  So much so that in the end he would frighten her away?

  A cold lump of ice settled in his chest at the thought of that happening.

  An iciness he was going to need to hold on to if he intended on talking to one of his grandfather’s men. And it appeared that he had little choice but to do exactly that, if he didn’t want that man to be downstairs waiting when he and Lindsay left the building in another hour or so.

  “Keep him there,” he told the security guard quietly. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  LINDSAY INSTINCTIVELY KNEW she was alone in the apartment when she woke up. She was so finely attuned to Mikhail now that she knew she would have been able to feel his presence in the apartment if he had been there. And she couldn’t, which meant he wasn’t.

  So where on earth was he…at seventy-thirty in the morning she wondered, after glancing at the digital clock on the bedside table?

  Was Mikhail one of those people who rose early and went for a run before work? He had to keep that magnificent body in such perfect shape somehow.

  He has a private gym for that, silly.

  Yes, he did, and he hadn’t gone for a run yesterday morning, so why would he have bothered to go for one this morning? The two of them had certainly had more than enough of a physical workout the night before!

  Lindsay had a vague recollection of hearing a telephone ring earlier. But who would be calling Mikhail before seven-thirty in the morning?

  Another woman, maybe, wondering if Mikhail wanted to go to her apartment for a quickie before work? If that was the case then his absence now said he’d accepted the invitation.

  Mikhail had assured her he had no reason to cheat on her, but after the way Roger had behaved, trust wasn’t exactly Lindsay’s strong point.

  She was in the kitchen, showered and dressed for work, and drinking a cup of coffee when she heard the elevator doors open out in the hallway, and guessed that Mikhail had returned from wherever it was he’d been.

  She frowned as she turned and saw the grimness of his expression as he stood in the kitchen doorway wearing black sweats and a black, fitted T-shirt that revealed the tattoo inked onto his right bicep. His eyes were an icy blue, with grooves etched beside his nose and mouth that hadn’t been there last night, his mouth a thin, straight, uncompromising line.

  He wasn’t exactly dressed for going out, and he didn’t look relaxed enough to have just spent an enjoyable time with anyone, least of all in the bed of another woman.

  She stood up. “Mikhail—”

  “Don’t. I—just don’t.” He held his hand up to stop her as she would have gone to him. “There’ll be a car waiting downstairs to take you to work in fifteen minutes.” He turned on his heel and left the kitchen before Lindsay had a chance to make any reply.

  Not that she would have known what to say even if Mikhail had given her the opportunity to speak. Something was seriously wrong, and whatever it was she knew he wasn’t about to share it with her.

  Because the only thing they shared was sex.

  Lindsay felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she accepted the truth of that.

  As she also accepted, from the coldness of Mikhail’s behavior towards her just now, and the fact that he had arranged for someone else to drive her into work this morning, perhaps their relationship was already over.

  A tick in his little black book next to the name of Lindsay Carlisle?

  * * *

  “MEET ME FOR lunch today—why the fuck are you taking that with you?” Mikhail scowled his displeasure as he came back into his bedroom after showering, only a towel wrapped about his waist and his hair still damp, and saw Lindsay was just about to leave with her packed bag in her hand.

  She gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I was hoping to leave before you came out of the shower.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That didn’t exactly answer my question, now did it?”

  “You weren’t in bed when I woke up earlier, and you seemed preoccupied when you came back from—wherever. I thought it best if I just…left.” She gave a wince.

&n
bsp; When he came back from wherever…?

  Mikhail crossed the bedroom with soft, predatory strides. “Where the hell do you think I’ve been?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed before speaking. “I don’t have the right to ask you that—”

  “The fuck you don’t!” he rasped harshly.

  She grimaced. “No—”

  “The last two nights don’t give you that right?”

  “It was sex, Mikhail—”

  “It was more than that and you damn well know it!” He scowled down at her as he took the overnight bag from her hand and threw it back on the bed before turning to take her in his arms. “And it’s something we’re going to talk about when we meet for lunch later today. Amongst other things,” he added grimly.

  Lindsay looked up at him searchingly. “Other things…?”

  “Other things.” He nodded abruptly before kissing her.

  Lindsay was uncertain as to what was going on, but also cheered a little by the fact that Mikhail didn’t want her to leave his apartment, and he intended on taking her out to lunch today.

  So the two of them could talk.

  About what she had no idea, but it was enough for now that Mikhail was kissing her and the two of them were having lunch together.

  “Mm, I needed that.” Mikhail rested his damp forehead against hers, arms about her waist as he molded her body against the increasing hardness of his arousal. “Lunch at one o’clock?”

  “Yes.” Lindsay didn’t have the strength to deny this man anything.

  As the previous night had proven all too forcibly!

  “Good.” Mikhail straightened away from her; what he really wanted to do was take Lindsay back to bed and keep her there for the day, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen so there was no point in starting something he wouldn’t want to end.

  Instead his morning was going to be spent paying a visit to his grandfather…

  Chapter Thirteen

  “MR. LYSENKO?” THE receptionist at Haskell, Haskell, and Palmer looked up at him enquiringly from behind her desk.

  “Mrs. Forbes,” he acknowledged lightly before glancing at the closed door to Lindsay’s office. “Does she have a client in with her at the moment?”

  The receptionist gave a grimace. “Mr. Barbour for his twelve-thirty appointment.”

  Mikhail’s eyes narrowed on that closed door as he felt a surge of displeasure at the thought of Lindsay being alone in a room with the other man. A man he now knew much more about than he had yesterday, thanks to Gerald.

  He gave a glance at his watch. “He’s been in there for half an hour already?”

  “And he didn’t look at all happy when he arrived,” Heather Forbes revealed in a whisper. “Even worse than he did when he slammed out of here a couple of days ago.”

  Mikhail nodded abruptly. “I’m going in, and if I’m not out again in five minutes call the police.”

  The information Gerald had found on the other men now led Mikhail to believe David Barbour was a man desperately in need of money, and seeing Mikhail again may be enough to tip him over the edge.

  But if, as Mikhail also suspected, the older man was also responsible for sending Lindsay the black roses, maybe he had already tipped over it? Those destroyed roses outside Lindsay’s apartment yesterday morning certainly seemed to indicate that might be the case.

  And Lindsay had been alone with him for half an hour!

  “The police…?” Heather Forbes looked alarmed now.

  “Five minutes.” Mikhail’s gaze narrowed grimly on the door to Lindsay’s office as he strode purposefully towards it.

  His morning had been pretty shitty so far and he knew it was about to get worse.

  He’d had no idea his grandfather was even in London, let alone—

  Mikhail gave a shake of his head; he could think about his grandfather’s reason for being in London later. Right now his only concern was Lindsay.

  * * *

  LINDSAY GAVE A startled glance towards the door of her office as it swung open without so much as even the briefest of knocks. She only had to take one look at the person responsible to know the reason for that—Mikhail didn’t accept the concept of closed doors any more than he did the word no.

  Thank God!

  She had never been so pleased to see anyone as she was Mikhail. And not just because she had fallen in love with him, but because she needed him too right now.

  “Lysenko—I wondered when you were going to turn up!” the man standing behind her sneered scornfully. “Come to collude with your girlfriend again, have you?”

  Lindsay tried to convey her panic to Mikhail with just her eyes, too frightened of the man standing behind her to do any more than that.

  She tried to convey that with her eyes, but after giving her one brief glance, possibly to ensure she was okay, Mikhail concentrated his dangerously narrowed and glittering gaze on the older man.

  And Lindsay wasn’t okay. Far from it. In fact, she couldn’t believe the nightmare of the past half an hour.

  David Barbour had seemed calm and collected enough when he arrived, but she had quickly realized that was only a veneer for Heather’s sake, because within minutes of her office door closing behind them, he had produced handcuffs and a knife. Lindsay had initially been too surprised to scream, and then too frightened as David Barbour whispered threats in her ear while securing her to the chair.

  Mikhail stepped into the office before closing the door softly behind him. “Come to consult with my lawyer, actually, Barbour,” he drawled challengingly.

  “Your lawyer?” the older man growled. “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday.” Mikhail sauntered further into the room to stand beside Lindsay’s desk.

  Protectively so?

  Lindsay felt some of the tension and fear of the past half an hour drain out of her, as Mikhail gave the briefest flicker of his narrowed eyes towards the handcuffs about her wrists and the knife pressed against her spine.

  She had complete confidence he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

  Although quite what he meant about her being his lawyer she had no idea…

  Mikhail couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Were those really handcuffs about Lindsay’s wrists, shackling her to the bloody chair? And was Barbour holding a knife pressed against her back?

  They were and he was!

  Jesus…

  Gerald’s enquiries into the other man had revealed the extent of Barbour debts, and the reason for his desperation when the deal with Lysenko Industries fell through, but Mikhail hadn’t realized how unbalanced the other man was.

  He leaned nonchalantly back against Lindsay’s desk as he looked over the top of her head to eye the older man speculatively. “Tell me, Barbour, do you grow black roses in those greenhouses on that country estate of yours?” Mikhail felt rather than saw Lindsay tense beside him.

  “There’s no such thing as a black rose—”

  “Lindsay and I have already had that conversation, Barbour,” Mikhail cut in sharply. “Just answer the damned question.”

  The other man gave him a taunting smile. “I grow roses there, yes.”

  “I thought you might,” the even tenor of Mikhail’s voice in no way conveyed the rage coursing through him at this moment. “Pity you can no longer afford to keep it, isn’t it,” he added tauntingly, goadingly.

  Because he wanted the other man to move away from where he was standing so close behind Lindsay. If he could have, without risking Lindsay, Mikhail would have given in to his instinct to pick the other man up and throw him through the damned window. He still might do that if he could get Barbour to move, and to hell with whether that made him no better than his grandfather. He had almost lost it with Roger Maitland yesterday, and this situation was proving to be much worse.

  “Think you’re such a clever bastard, don’t you!” Barbour scorned furiously, face twisting into an ugly mask. “But we’ll see who has the last laugh—”
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  “Take a look at my face, Barbour, a really good look, and you’ll see I’m not laughing,” Mikhail cut in with chilling intensity as he straightened away from the desk, body taut as he readied for launching himself at the other man. “Nothing about this situation amuses me. You don’t amuse me. Seeing your hands on Lindsay infuriates me. And you really, really don’t want to see me when I’m completely pissed!” Too late—Mikhail was beyond pissed and now seriously enraged.

  “Your threats don’t frighten me, Lysenko.” The older man had obviously gone beyond even a sense of self-survival if he couldn’t see the imminent danger in the coldness of Mikhail’s eyes. “She was mine,” the hand not holding the knife took a painful grip of Lindsay’s ponytail. “The money you were paying me for Barbour Industries was mine. Both mine! Till you came along with your fucking money and macho swagger and decided otherwise!”

  Lindsay had been his?

  Mikhail gave her a brief frowning glance, knowing by the completely panic on her face and the fear in her eyes that she had absolutely no idea what the other man was talking about.

  As Mikhail had thought, it was a one-sided obsession that had now become dangerous.

  He was so going to enjoy punishing this man for daring to frighten and hurt Lindsay.

  “So the reason you broke into Lindsay’s apartment building and left the roses outside her door was as a love offering?” he taunted so that the other man’s attention remained firmly fixed on him; he could see by the uncomfortable tilt of Lindsay’s head that Barbour was hurting her. “Maybe it might have been a good idea to ask Lindsay first if she actually likes black roses?”

  There was a flicker of uncertainty in the older man’s eyes. “They’re exotic and beautiful—”

  “And Lindsay hates them,” Mikhail derided.

  Barbour twisted Lindsay’s ponytail even tighter around his hand as he turned her head to face him. “Is that true?”

  “I—”

  “Almost as much as I hated what you did to my car,” Mikhail spoke hardly over Lindsay’s distressed squeak, the pupils in her eyes now so huge there was only a thin line of green at the edges—maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned her aversion to the black roses. “I hope you realize I’m going to make you pay for the re-spray?”