Russian Billionaire's Secret Baby

by Lia Lee

  Table of Contents

  Russian Billionaire’s Secret Baby

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Epilogue

  Russian Billionaire’s Secret Baby

  By Lia Lee

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright Lia Lee

  This story is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended.

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  Chapter One

  Vladmir

  “Sir, it’s important.” Paul’s voice wedged into my thoughts like an ice pick between eyeball and bone lodging into the brain.

  I ran a fingertip over the painting I’d been placing on a wall. It reminded me of her, but not for any reason I could define. I’d painted it soon after she’d left me. The stark white of the painting drew the eye, and it appeared sterile at first until you noticed the faded shadows of aspens with their dotted black and white trunks in the background behind the soft fog. It was serene, the way I’d felt after every encounter with her.

  She’d soothed the fire in me. Calmed the beast, as it were.

  When she’d left me, I’d turned to my art with a vengeance. And this piece had captured the eye of an agent. Not long after, I’d found myself in a bidding war. Talent agents had been crawling out of the woodwork, desperate to champion me.

  So I guessed I should thank her for breaking my heart.

  “Sir?” Paul sounded almost timid.

  “Does this go here?” I asked, not expecting a good answer and not even bothering to look at him.

  He was quiet for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  A very real buzz of irritation plagued me. “Of course.” The words were clipped and sharp.

  “I’d make this the center. The focal point.”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he pointed to the center display. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all. “What did you need?” I asked, carefully setting the painting down at the center display before walking up to him.

  “I need you to clear curators for interviews.” His Adam’s apple rose like a shrug, then slid back down. He was nervous. Everyone was always nervous of me. Good. Let them worry. Let them think I was cold. Let them think I hated them, when in reality I didn’t give a damn about any of them. It took energy to hate. I wasn’t wasting energy on any of them. Even this line of thoughts was a waste of perfectly good brainpower and time.

  “Show me the applications.”

  He handed them over, his dark eyes on me like he was trying to read my thoughts.

  The first two were well suited to the task. One Carla Donner, one Frank Zappao. Both experienced. Both fine. I thumbed to the next application, and my heart stopped dead. Suddenly, my pulse jumped, sounding more like the wop-wop of a helicopter blade whirling at the speed of sound. It was her.

  My brain slammed into rewind, backing up ten years in a sickening whir. Suddenly, I was in my old studio back in art school.

  Aurora’s head tilted back, her pretty lips parted slightly in shock. “This is where you’re staying?” she asked almost shyly, her green eyes taking in every detail.

  I glanced around the little place. Half the building was like a greenhouse, glass panels broken by wooden framing to hold it all together. Outside, a garden flourished and a little pond filled with colorful koi added to the charm and peace of the space.

  What I hadn’t known then was that the storms would shape me as an artist more than the peace ever did.

  “Yep, this is my place.” I eyed her long legs right up until they disappeared under her cute skirt. Her hands, clasped before her, held the strap of her leather bag that hid her art supplies and, I’d later learned, an incendiary secret.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, turning in a slow circle to take in the clouds overhead that peppered the brilliant blue skies.

  “You’re beautiful,” I told her, stepping in close to press my lips to hers.

  She melted when I tangled my fingers in her long blonde hair. The kiss roared through me like fire, lighting every inch of my darkness with the blaze. Her lips parted for my tongue, and she surrendered.

  “Sir?” Paul said. The tone of his voice told me it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

  “Her,” I said, my voice rasping from my throat as I pointed to her application. “Schedule her.”

  Paul studied me carefully.

  I ignored him, focusing on bringing my heart rate back to a normal pace and swallowing as if I could moisten my suddenly dry mouth and throat.

  “Just her?” he asked carefully.

  I nodded. She was the one I was hiring. Come hell or high water.

  Paul was on his way out the door before I called his name. He turned to face me, carefully refusing to meet my stare. “Don’t tell her who I am,” I said, the words tearing up my throat. She wouldn’t come if she knew it was me.

  Paul nodded and closed the door behind him.

  I walked back over to the painting and picked it up, ready to put it where it belonged in the center of my life. Staring at it once more, she took over my mind.

  A soft smile curved the corners of her lips as I kissed her again. The moonlight lit up her hair, and the few candles still flickering clung to life even as the danger of burning out lingered. Her smile filled with pain as my words sank in.

  Overhead, the rain drummed softly on the glass roof and streamed down the panes. She loved the sound of the rain and the smell of it, so we’d left the door open.

  “Do you want me to quit school for you?” she whispered, her sparkling green eyes darting back and forth between mine.

  That’s exactly what I wanted.

  “Is that what you’re asking me to do?” Somehow, she was dry eyed, still focused on me like we were the only two people in the world. And for months, we had been.

  Was that what I was asking her?

  Hanging the painting like a centerpiece, I stepped back and studied it.

  Would I have given everything up for her? My art, my sculpting, my school? Hell no.

  Was I a selfish bastard that had demanded she give up her art for me?

  Chapter Two

  Aurora

  “Are you excited for the job interview, Mom?” My eight-year-old daughter, Ashley, asked from the table as she delicately nibbled another bite of her pumpkin oatmeal. With the fall bite in the air, we’d been cozier with warm foods to heat the soul.

  “I am.” That was an understatement.

  When I’d found out the gallery I currently curate for was closing, I’d been stuck in a mad scramble for a new job. After all, I had a daughter to provide for.

  I picked up her painting from where she’d put it on the island. The bold colors inspired a faster heartbeat, and I soaked it all in.

  “Relax your eyes!” she said.

  I did so, and a sudden new plane opened up the painting. The abstract colors
rearranged into shimmering water reflecting streetlights in blue and amber as well as billions of stars in a not quite night sky. It was beautiful enough to bring tears to my eyes.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, my voice breathy. I didn’t know how she did these almost, not quite 3D paintings with nothing but talent.

  “Thank you.” Ashley sounded proud. “I’m scared.”

  I turned to her, lowering the painting and leaning on the counter as she took another bite of food while seated at the breakfast bar. “Scared? Why, honey?”

  She peeked up at me, then shrugged, shoving her food around her bowl with her spoon.

  “Is this about the exhibition?” I asked. Her school was putting on a kind of talent show for the artistic kids to show off their various skills. It had been a no brainer to put some of her work up for display. I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to land an agent at it.

  She didn’t respond, and I walked over and wrapped my arms around her. Settling onto the stool next to her, I held onto her as she leaned into me.

  “Did my dad like to paint?” she asked, her blue eyes meeting mine.

  A fist wrapped around my heart and squeezed it into pulp. My throat closed around a cactus-like lump that ached as I struggled to find an answer. These questions had been coming more and more frequently…and I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have answers for her.

  “He did,” I whispered, holding her tighter. “Now let’s get you ready for school.”

  As if she sensed I was done talking about it, she popped the last bite of oatmeal into her mouth as I stood up and grabbed my purse and keys. “Don’t forget your jacket,” I told her as she put her bowl in the sink.

  While she was grabbing her jacket, I took a minute and blinked back tears, refusing to remember the man who’d left me with a wound so deep it had never really healed.

  I had Ashley. She was the only thing that mattered. Nothing else was important.

  Forcing the thoughts away, I felt a flutter in my belly as I thought about my job interview.

  “Ready,” Ashley said solemnly as she walked into the kitchen, jacket on, before turning toward the front door.

  I locked the door behind us as she loaded up in the car. My hands were shaking so hard I had trouble getting the key in the lock, but I chalked it up to nerves. I didn’t like change. And this was going to be a change. Sure, I was leaving one curator job for another, but a new job meant new coworkers, new staff, new contacts.

  In the car, I adjusted the rearview mirror and smiled at Ashley, but she glanced away from me to stare out her window. “Are you excited to see Kenzie?” I asked, knowing how much she loved her best friend.

  She nodded, but stayed quiet.

  It tore at me. “Her mom called me. I hear you guys want to do a sleep over at her place this weekend?”

  My daughter nodded.

  “I’m okay with it. If,” I added with a smile while glancing at her in the rearview again. “you promise not to have boys over, or drink wine.”

  Ashley laughed. “Boys are gross!”

  I silently wished she would feel that way until she was thirty.

  “Oh, but you like wine. Busted, missy!” I teased.

  She laughed. “I’ve never tried wine, but yours smells yucky!”

  She’d smelled my favorite merlot at Christmas last year and had never gotten over how sour and icky it smelled. And I would never forget the puckered look on her face, like she’d shoved a whole lemon into her mouth at once.

  Once she was safely dropped off at school, I waved at her as she and Kenzie locked elbows and both waved at me with opposite hands. They walked into the building, talking animatedly as I headed out of the parking lot and toward my job interview.

  Spark. It was a catchy gallery name. I said it over and over a couple of times, enjoying the sound.

  When I was finally walking into the building, I was struck. It was beautiful. A well-dressed man walked up to me.

  “I’m Paul,” he said in a politely professional voice, motioning me to follow him. His gaze traveled up and down me, and I saw the light of appreciation in his eyes.

  A beautiful woman in a professional skirt and floral blouse fell into step beside us. “I’m Francis,” she said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said softly, looking around as we walked. The place seemed to be under renovation, or perhaps it was still under construction, and white sheets blocked off whole areas.

  We walked out into a beautiful garden, and I was asked to sit down at a nice table with a flickering candle in the center. Confused, I studied Francis and Paul. This looked more like a date than a professional job interview.

  “Please relax and enjoy a drink while waiting for the boss,” Paul said as Francis walked off.

  A drink?

  As if reading my mind, a man dressed like a waiter appeared at my elbow. “Merlot?” he asked, producing a wine bottle and stemless glass.

  “Thank you,” I said in a daze, wondering what the odds were that he knew my favorite kind of wine. He poured the glass, and I took a nervous sip as he disappeared. Something strange was going on here. This didn’t happen in real life.

  Then he stepped into the garden and walked right toward me as I drank in every detail of him…powerful shoulders under a nice, hunter green sweater, dark trousers hugging fantastically narrow hips, incredible, deep blue eyes behind thin-rimmed spectacles. His dark hair was shorter than I remembered—it no longer hung in his eyes like it had back then.

  “Aurora, what a pleasure.” A grin tugged the corners of his lips, but I saw that same cold, cruel light in his eyes, and my only thought was escape.

  But I needed this job.

  So I sat frozen in silence, staring at the man that had broken my heart so many years ago.

  “Vlad.” His name raked my throat like hot coals.

  Chapter Three

  Vladmir

  My name left her lips like a curse. And it should have. I had hurt her, deeply. I regretted how we’d parted ways. I regretted how I’d acted. I regretted losing her.

  Her green eyes flashed with fire and brimstone, but the soft line of her lips was so kissable I almost wanted to get burned. She leaped to her feet, planting both hands on the table like she was going to keep it between us.

  Those long legs I still dreamed about were covered to the knee by a no-nonsense skirt in a deep navy blue. Her cream-colored blouse clung softly to her full breasts and floated away from her tucked in waist. Navy pumps that matched her skirt completed the look, and I wondered if I’d ever put so much thought into what a woman was wearing before now. I preferred to enjoy what they weren’t wearing.

  On the opposite side of the little round table for two from her, I placed my hands on hers. She didn’t move, and I took one of her hands in mine and walked around the table, bringing her palm to my lips.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  Her whole body reacted. Goose bumps peppered her arms, and I saw the slight outline of her nipples under her shirt. A shiver rolled through her, and her lips parted slightly like she was begging me silently for a kiss. A slightly dreamy look filled her vivid eyes, and I knew memories were overwhelming her.

  “For what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, like she wasn’t allowing herself to be pulled in by the past. I smelled the sharp scent of red wine on her breath and wanted to kiss her deeply. But we needed to talk first.

  What was I sorry for? Everything. Well, everything I’d done, at least. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me in every possible way. But I’d learned a valuable lesson after being away from her for so many years; I needed her in my life. I was ready to get her back. I was going to make her mine. For good this time.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you,” I said softly as her gaze burned into my soul. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” With every word I said, a little more tension drained out of her shoulders. “I’m sorry for being such a bastard.”

&
nbsp; Her eyes darted back and forth between mine, and I sensed there was something she wanted to say. Twin tears gathered in the corners of her eyes before rolling slowly down her cheeks. I gently grabbed her face in both hands and swiped at her tears with the pads of my thumbs.

  “Don’t cry,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her forehead. Inhaling her sweet scent, I felt my whole body respond to her. Her body heat seeped past my sweater and warmed me to the bone. I wanted nothing more than to strip her down and feel her skin on mine.

  “Why? Because I’m ugly when I cry?” The humor in her words helped smooth the sharp edges of the comment. A small smile tugged the corners of her lips.

  I studied her red nose and watery, red-rimmed eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, I couldn’t help but chuckle as she quickly said, “Don’t answer that.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I murmured, kissing the tip of her nose.

  Her stomach made an odd gurgling noise, and I pulled back a bit. “Let’s have lunch, shall we?” I asked as her arms protectively crossed her stomach and her cheeks burned red hot.

  She nodded.

  We were served lunch—her favorite braised beef stew, wine, and freshly baked, aromatic rosemary bread.

  “Mmm,” she moaned in pleasure as she inhaled the scent of the bread and stew. The sound made me stir below the belt.

  “So what have you been up to?” I asked, wanting to know everything I’d missed over the last several years. It had been far too long. A quick glance at her hand told me she hadn’t gotten married—that was a relief. It was exciting, the thought of getting to know her again. Like we were starting over.

  She studied me a moment, then took a sip of her wine.

  “Why don’t we start over?” I asked.

  She peered at me over the rim of the glass. I watched her lower it, then stare at the wine as her fingers gripped the cup. “I’m…not sure that’s possible,” she whispered. “I love the idea but…” Her beautiful green eyes met mine before skipping away to take in our surroundings.

  The garden was reminiscent of our college days. I’d designed it that way, not because I had expected her to come here, but because I found comfort in the familiarity.

  “That’s fair,” I said softly, reaching out to cover her hand with mine. I knew some of the things I’d done were unforgivable. I was still going to try to fix things between us.