The Millionaire Affair

by Sophie Weston

  Lisa took hold of herself. She didn’t fluster easily, she reminded herself. No one sent her into blushing retreat. No one.

  So she leaned back on her gilt chair and looked him up and down with slow insolence.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t get into any of the clubs my friends and I go to,’ she drawled.

  He raised his eyebrows. His eyes were brown and soft as velvet and faintly preoccupied. As if he was imagining them alone, kissing, more than kissing… The way he looked at her, he could have been running his hand over her naked skin. He could have been…

  ‘Stop it,’ said Lisa under her breath.

  Nikolai laughed. ‘Will you tell the club to throw me out?’ he teased softly. The tone was seduction all on its own.

  Lisa swallowed and pulled herself together.

  ‘No need,’ she said hardily. ‘You’re too old.’

  His eyes narrowed sharply, the seductive preoccupation banished. For a moment she thought she had scored a hit. But then he shook his head in reproach.

  ‘That isn’t kind.’

  ‘The truth often isn’t.’

  ‘I don’t believe they’d bar me on the grounds of senility.’

  Neither did Lisa, to tell the truth. She said hurriedly, ‘Anyway, you’re dressed all wrong.’

  He was laughing openly now. ‘How much do I need to take off to dress acceptably, then?’

  Lisa blinked. He tipped his chair forward until his mouth was almost brushing her ear.

  ‘I can take my clothes off, too, you know,’ he murmured huskily.

  Lisa jumped out of her chair as if he had branded her, and hauled her jacket round her shoulders. Nikolai laughed.

  Lisa was horrified. She felt as if she was in freefall: nothing stable, everything that she’d thought certain whirling round her head, lost and humiliated and out of control. She had not felt like that since she was eighteen.

  Not since the night that Terry, too, had laughed at her.

  She couldn’t help herself. She sent Nikolai one dismayed look. And bolted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LEFT behind, Nikolai stood up. The laughter died out of his face, leaving it set and determined. He watched her go, his eyes hard. But Lisa did not see that.

  Rob did, however. He already had a conscience about abandoning Lisa. So he moved to intercept the unpredictable guest of honour.

  ‘I wouldn’t.’ His tone was quite friendly but the determination was unmistakable.

  Slowly Nikolai withdrew his gaze from Lisa’s retreating figure. He looked, thought Rob, as if he had forgotten that there was anyone but Lisa and himself in the room. Rob positioned himself squarely in front of him.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Nikolai blankly.

  ‘Leave the girl alone.’

  Nikolai stiffened.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Rob repeated it.

  Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you are?’

  For some obscure reason, under those hard eyes Rob felt he had to justify himself. ‘Just a friend,’ he said hastily. ‘But Lisa’s in a funny mood tonight. She was already upset because—well, someone she wanted to be here cried off at the last moment. I really wouldn’t push it if I were you.’

  There was a glacial pause.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ Nikolai said sardonically.

  Rob had a sudden, hair-raising picture of what Lisa in her present mood would do if Nikolai Ivanov kept after her tonight.

  ‘There’s a support group for men who have tried to hit on Lisa Romaine,’ Rob told him, stampeded into honesty by simple panic. ‘And that’s on her good days. Leave it.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice,’ said Nikolai without expression.

  He shouldered his way past Rob without another word.

  Nikolai was in a cold rage. What game was she playing? She knew as well as he did that the attraction between them made the air crackle. And she was a modern girl, tough and uncompromising. So why the hell did she keep walking away from it?

  Well, he wasn’t going to walk away from it. And neither was Lisa Romaine. He would not let her.

  Lisa circulated frantically. She received dozens of congratulatory kisses on the cheek. In her wake, the photographer clicked busily. She talked all the time in a high, rapid voice, as if by talking she could ward off the inevitable. Her eyes were restless, but she never once looked behind her. And she never once mentioned Nikolai Ivanov either.

  Eventually she caught up with Rob again.

  ‘Ready to party?’

  He looked at her feverish expression. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go home?’

  ‘Home? Me? Nonsense. I’m on a roll. No one,’ she said with emphasis, ‘is going to stop me having fun tonight.’

  Rob did not misinterpret. ‘Don’t worry. He left ages ago.’

  ‘He? Who?’

  ‘The Count you hate.’

  Lisa tossed her head. ‘I don’t hate Nikolai Ivanov. I don’t care a snap of my fingers for him.’

  She suited the action to her words, clicking her fingers under his nose. Rob jumped back nervously.

  ‘Well, he left.’

  ‘I don’t care what he does,’ Lisa said untruthfully. Her glitter seemed to dim a little. ‘I’m going to have a ball. Just let me loosen up a little and we can get going.’

  She emerged from the cloakroom five minutes later with her hair greased into rainbow spikes. She had shed her skirt for designer jeans but she had put her jacket back on over the silver cut-away top. Rob took note of the necklace like a silver halter and new earrings made from multi-coloured paper clips. She looked sharp and ready for anything. He went towards her.

  ‘They’ve just called your name. They seem to have got you a cab.’

  Lisa pulled a surprised face. ‘Prizewinner’s perks, I suppose. Great. Let’s hit the night.’ She saw an Australian colleague from another bank. ‘Want to come on to a club, Andy?’ she called.

  In the end six of them piled into the limousine. They went to Deep South, a club in central London. It was new and trendy and they had all been there on its opening night. The bouncer on the door nodded them in without hassle.

  Lisa slid through a narrow doorway into the ladies’ cloakroom. With the speed of familiarity she transferred money, scent and mascara from her handbag into a tiny pouch that she secured round her waist. Then she stuffed everything, including bag, jacket and the award statuette, into her briefcase and checked it in return for a kiss-shaped tag. She thrust the garish token into her pouch and zipped it tight. Then, hips and shoulders already moving to the beat, she made for the music.

  Eighty strenuous minutes later she felt wonderful. She had danced with Rob, with the others, on her own and with complete strangers. Hurt, annoyance and even her worry about Kit evaporated. Only Nikolai Ivanov hovered at the edge of her consciousness, and she refused to think about him until tomorrow.

  She danced like a flickering flame. People noticed, admiring or hungry. She deflected an inexpert pass from a youth in baggy shorts, then saw off another, more determined foray. Both of them made her laugh. She could never stay mad when she was dancing.

  ‘Drink?’ yelled Andy, dancing over to her.

  Lisa nodded, eyes bright. But she didn’t follow him from the dance floor. Andy grinned and step-danced round a noisy group in the direction of the bar.

  Alone on the floor, Lisa flung back her head and punched her arms exuberantly in the air. Her face was absorbed. Her limbs pumped to the beat as if they were oiled. In the cavernous lighting, her skin glowed.

  To the tall man on the gallery, she looked possessed by the music. As he watched she laughed aloud with sheer physical pleasure. Its effect on him was stark and immediate.

  I want her to look like that when I make love to her, Nikolai thought.

  The music throbbed. The glittering light balls in the roof wheeled, stippling the dancers with a shower of diamond rain. Lisa felt a touch in the small of her back. Another pass, she thought tolerantly. One prudent hand went to prote
ct the pouch at her waist as she turned, still dancing. The new arrival, his face masked by the pulsing shadows, saw it and shook his head at her suspicions. He gave her an opened bottle of water.

  ‘Thanks,’ mouthed Lisa.

  The plastic bottle was ice cold. She drank, then held it gratefully against her neck. The man danced closer.

  She tipped her head back to look at him in the half-dark. He was expertly dressed for the club’s tropical atmosphere, Lisa saw, in loose cotton trousers and some sort of sleeveless khaki waistcoat. It was open and she saw a powerfully ribbed chest underneath, roughened by a dusting of dark hair. And he moved as if he’d been born dancing.

  Lisa didn’t often dance with men who were as good as she was. After a moment’s shock, she laughed aloud with delight. She began to move with him, deliberately rotating her shoulders to mimic his movements. When he touched and turned her, she felt a heady sense of energy, as if together they made a super-charged machine.

  And he was tireless. Normally Lisa could dance anyone off the floor. But this time it was she who flagged. He saw it. At once he put a masterful arm round her waist and walked her off the floor in front of him. His strength made Lisa’s pulses beat harder than the music.

  Halfway up the spiral staircase she looked over her shoulder.

  ‘All right, you’ve proved your point,’ she said, trying to sound normal.

  Nikolai took her empty water bottle away from her.

  ‘They let me in after all, you see,’ he agreed, smiling down into her hot eyes.

  Lisa looked at the tanned, muscular arms, the deep chest. Her heart did an uncomfortable back-flip. Damn!

  ‘Probably scared not to,’ she whipped back. She might be shaken but she recovered fast. ‘You look a complete thug.’

  Nikolai gave a bark of laughter. ‘But not an old thug?’ he challenged.

  Lisa was prevented from answering by a group of new arrivals descending the staircase. Nikolai’s arm crushed her to him as they pressed past. The unimpassioned embrace left her shockingly short of breath.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, when she could speak again. Her voice rasped in her throat. To her annoyance she had to cough to clear it. ‘Slumming, Count Ivanov?’

  ‘Following you,’ he said, with complete sang-froid.

  ‘Wh—what?’

  He let her go and looked down into her shocked green eyes with a quizzical expression.

  ‘I’ve got designs on your tattoo,’ he murmured in a thrilling under-voice.

  Lisa gulped.

  ‘Why else would I be in a place like this?’

  Another couple squeezed past them, pressing them together with shocking intimacy. Lisa jerked in shock.

  ‘You know, I hate to say this, but don’t you think we should move?’ Nikolai murmured. ‘It’s a bit antisocial to block the stairway like this.’

  ‘What?’ Lisa was fighting to return her breathing to normal.

  ‘Move,’ he said softly, his lips a feather’s distance from her ear.

  She gave a long, slow shudder. ‘Oh. Yes.’

  In disarray she ran up the rest of the ironwork stairs. Her head whirled.

  How could he have followed her? How? He had left the reception long before she did. And none of the others could have told him they were coming to Deep South. They hadn’t decided until they were already in the limousine.

  Nikolai said, ‘Are you ready to go?’

  Lisa stiffened. ‘And what does that mean?’

  He smiled down at her, his eyes swooningly near. ‘I’m taking you home. As you very well know.’

  Her expression was stubborn. ‘I go home with the man who brought me. You didn’t.’

  ‘True,’ he agreed, not noticeably cast down. ‘Three of the guys you came with have gone already. The others know I’m taking you home.’

  Lisa stiffened. ‘I’m not a parcel you can pass round between you. I go home alone.’

  He shook his head. ‘No way.’

  ‘I—beg—your—pardon?’ said Lisa dangerously.

  Nikolai was unmoved. ‘Get your coat.’

  He touched her arm. Lisa shook him off. But the beat was getting heavier and her watch told her it was nearly three. She had to admit it was time to go. She slid away from him and went to the cloakroom.

  He was waiting for her when she emerged. Without waiting for her permission, he took possession of her briefcase and shouldered his way out.

  It had stopped raining but there were wide puddles on the pavement. Streetlights, traffic lights, and neon shop signs glittered up at them in shards of reflection. The street was nearly deserted. A group of revellers ran along the opposite pavement, oblivious to anything but their own noise. Two policemen passed, their measured tread loud in the pre-dawn lull.

  Standing outside the club with Nikolai Ivanov, Lisa felt strangely insulated from the rest of the world. It was as if being together in the chill end of the night somehow made them intimate. Like survivors, she thought.

  In a darkened doorway a pair of lovers clung. Their limbs were indistinguishable one from the other in the shadowy embrace. Lisa was suddenly hot and cold at the same time. She shivered and looked away.

  Nikolai didn’t notice. He raised a hand.

  ‘Taxis don’t just cruise at this time of night,’ Lisa informed him, with satisfaction. ‘Not here. You have to—’

  A grey limousine came a silent halt at the kerb.

  ‘—phone for a minicab,’ she finished lamely.

  Nikolai smiled down at her and opened the car door. Lisa didn’t like it. But, as she’d said, taxis were hard to come by in the small hours. She got in.

  ‘I suppose you called for one while I was in the cloakroom,’ she muttered, annoyed.

  ‘Stanley Crescent,’ Nikolai told the driver. He got in beside her and slid a lazy arm along the back of the seat behind her. ‘On the contrary. The car has been on stand-by ever since you got to the club tonight.’

  Lisa sniffed. ‘More of your famous planning, I suppose.’ She was scornful.

  ‘Quite.’

  And then she did a double take. ‘Ever since I got to the club?’

  ‘Alfredo brought you,’ Nikolai said blandly. ‘How do you think I knew which club to come to?’

  She swung round, outraged. ‘You spied on me?’

  ‘Just good planning.’

  ‘From where I’m sitting,’ said Lisa, with heat, ‘it feels like spying.’

  He leaned back, very much at his ease. ‘And why should that worry you?’ He paused. ‘If you’ve got nothing to hide.’

  Lisa narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Be very careful,’ she told him softly. ‘I don’t bully easily.’

  ‘And you fight dirty,’ he agreed, amused. ‘I remember you warned me.’ His eyes flicked up and down her body, registering the glimpse of pale flesh under her jacket. ‘And I believe it. Just the way you dress gives you an unfair advantage.’

  Lisa wanted to hit him so much she had to shut her eyes to stop him seeing it. She pulled the jacket tight round her.

  ‘I dress to stay cool,’ she informed him sharply. ‘It’s a sweaty business, dancing.’

  ‘When you dance like you do, certainly.’ He smiled. ‘You put your whole heart and soul into it, don’t you? I like a woman who throws herself into things.’

  Oh, he was so sure of himself. Count Nikolai Ivanov, with his City contacts and his limousines on call! He thought he could loll there and insult her with clever innuendo and she couldn’t do a thing to stop him.

  She had no powerful friends, no limitless funds, no social position. She had nothing to fight him with. Nothing but her wits and her determination. Lisa saw the lounging figure through a red mist of rage.

  ‘I will make you sorry,’ she said between clenched teeth.

  ‘For giving you a ride home when you would never have found a cab? Except maybe dressed like that, you would.’ And he laughed. He laughed.

  Lisa launched herself at him then. She was way beyond
clear thought. She just knew she couldn’t bear his mockery one moment longer.

  Nikolai blinked. She didn’t see him move. But he caught her flying hands easily. And held her still.

  ‘Careful. You’ll distract Alfredo.’

  He held her in a strong grip. Lisa hauled against the restraint. Her eyes blazed.

  ‘Let me go!’ Lisa was beside herself. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? Let me go at once.’

  ‘Quiet!’

  It was rapped out. The unconscious authority of it brought Lisa up short. She stopped fighting. Her eyes widened. She looked dazed.

  Nikolai was surprised by the blank shock in her eyes. He didn’t like it. Unexpectedly, he felt an unwelcome twinge of compunction. He dropped her hands.

  Lisa rubbed her wrists automatically

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He was curt.

  Lisa didn’t answer. She retreated to the far end of the seat and turned her shoulder, staring out into the sodium-lit rainy night. She felt shaken to the core. She hadn’t felt so frail, so vulnerable, since the night Terry had told her he was leaving.

  I’ll never forgive him, she thought. She leaned her hot forehead against the window and prayed to be home.

  Nikolai looked at her with concern. Lisa punching her weight he could handle. Lisa reduced to devastated silence unnerved him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Lisa carried on staring out into the rain. The car glided silently along a tree-lined boulevard. In the dark, a distant park looked like a magic forest.

  She remembered the suffocatingly narrow streets of her childhood, where there had been no trees at all. The man with her would have no idea at all of what that had been like. He would never have imagined sitting at a table, counting up the bills and the money, trying to balance the unbalanceable, knowing that if you bought Kit a pair of shoes the whole family would have to live on bread and milk for the rest of the week.

  She said, almost inaudibly, ‘I’ve come too far to let you turn me upside down.’

  ‘What?’

  Lisa shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me,’ said Nikolai, to his own surprise.

  But still she didn’t look at him. Or answer.