Which was a pretty good case to plead, Millie thought, as with a grim half-smile Levander excused himself and led the dark beauty to a corner of the lobby—leaving Millie to stand making polite small talk with the doorman. Her cheeks burned with humiliation—not just because of the paper tissue way he clearly treated women, not just because she was obviously the next one in the box, but because of the very fact she wasn’t walking away.
It was hell to watch.
Like some gory bit in a film, where you wanted to peek from behind a cushion, it was just horrible, listening to her plead her case, begging him for another chance, promising to change and more. But far worse for Millie was Levander’s response—not cool and detached, as she’d expected, instead he bordered on sympathetic, seeming understanding of her plight even as he patiently explained why he hadn’t returned her calls and reiterated what he had already told her—that it was over.
Still, when her glittering eyes fell on Millie, when a few choice words were said, his Latina lover must have crossed Levander’s questionable line of moral conduct—because he stalked off, taking Millie firmly by the arm and leading her out onto the street.
‘Levander…’ the brunette sobbed. ‘We need to talk.’
‘What is the point?’ Levander snarled, and never had his Russian accent been more pronounced as he bundled Millie into a taxi. ‘When you’re too drunk to remember what was said in the morning?’
* * *
‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ They’d ended up at St Kilda Beach, and as they wandered along the foreshore it was the first time since the incident that either of them had spoken.
‘Perhaps it’s better that I did,’ Millie answered tightly—the sobbing spectacle had been a rather timely reminder of what she’d almost let herself in for.
‘We went out for a few weeks—but we were having problems…’
‘Clearly you weren’t having too many problems last night.’ She sniffed.
He had the nerve to laugh at her response. The bloody nerve to laugh!
‘Stop it,’ Millie demanded. ‘That’s completely irredeemable….’ Only it wasn’t; Levander was so unashamedly bad, his behaviour so utterly and completely reprehensible, that inexplicably after a moment or two Millie was laughing too. Oh, not out loud laughing—but a very reluctant smile was wobbling on her lips as he took her in his arms. The whole thing was so awful, so far from anything she’d ever experienced, it was either that…
…or cry.
‘Millie, I do not as a rule have…er…problems in that department. But Carla was wrong when she said we had made love last night.’
‘I don’t need the details…’
‘In fact, though last night wasn’t lacking in physicality, I could say that Carla and I, while we enjoyed each other, never “made love”.’
‘Please.’ Millie closed her eyes against his gaze—because that wasn’t the concern right now. Here she stood, with the most beautiful man she had ever met, listening as he told her, quite clearly, that he, unlike others, had no trouble separating sex from love—which should make perfect sense. After all, nestled in the club, feeling his legs pressing against her, all she had wanted was him, and love surely hadn’t entered the equation…
Love couldn’t have entered the equation because she barely knew him…
And yet…
Troubled eyes opened on his—and he was still there, still just as divine, still just as confusing.
‘I am sorry…’ His breath mingled with hers, his lips a mere fraction away, and she stiffened, terrified of the dizzying effect he had on her. But somehow she didn’t relax when he broke contact—when, extremely frustratingly, he became the perfect gentleman.
He talked politely as they walked towards the pier, occasionally taking her elbow when the moon dipped behind a cloud. Millie couldn’t decide if she was either totally misreading the signs and he didn’t fancy her a jot, if he was literally giving her a guided tour of Melbourne, or he was an absolute master in seduction. But by the time they neared the pier every cell in her body was quivering, every nerve taut with arousal. The skin on her bare arms flared as he took her forearm and turned her around. Surely now, Millie begged to herself, her lips aching with want, surely now he would kiss her. Only his simmering tease wasn’t quite over. Turning the burner down just a touch, even as Millie’s want bubbled near the edge, he guided her back into a public place.
It was the strangest place to bring someone.
A seamy café in the red light district of Melbourne—a rather odd choice for a date. But Levander, Millie realised, truly seemed to fit in anywhere. Whether at an exclusive bar or an all-night café, he had that supreme confidence combined with something else that Millie couldn’t quite define. The café’s owner greeted him by name as Levander guided her to a table and then went over to order. As she sat, anxious and awkward amidst the tired sex workers who were taking a well-earned break, the street kids trying to make one coffee last for ever, Millie wondered why the hell he’d brought her here. How anyone could relax in a place like this was beyond her.
‘The coffee is great here,’ Levander said, as if in answer, placing two steaming mugs and two large cakes on the table. ‘I come her sometimes when I cannot sleep—not for that reason.’ He smiled at her disapproving expression. ‘It actually reminds me of home. There was an all-night café opposite the…’ He hesitated just a fraction and Millie frowned. ‘There was a café like this opposite where I lived. Sometimes when I cannot sleep I come here and watch the sun rise; it is a good place for thinking.’
‘But surely…?’ Millie started, and then stopped herself. But Levander clearly guessed what was on her mind—surely this was the last place a person could relax.
‘They are good people too, Millie. They have to work, like all of us. You should not be so quick to judge.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Millie answered indignantly, and then felt guilty—because that was exactly what she had been doing. She had looked around her with less than an open mind.
‘It is rare that anyone disturbs me—they value their time alone, and they seem to respect that I value mine. And, as I said, the coffee is good.’
‘So are these,’ Millie said, finally relaxing a bit now, biting into the pastry and closing her eyes as the cool sweet custard melted on her tongue. ‘So, what do you sit here and think about?’
‘At the moment—work.’
‘Because you’re so busy?’
‘Because I am thinking of leaving.’
‘Oh.’ Pastry forgotten, it hovered in her hand as Millie’s eyes widened. ‘What do your family say?’
‘I haven’t told them yet.’ He gave a small smile as her pastry dropped to the table when Millie realised she was actually the only person privy to this particular plan. ‘And it is not a prospect I relish. They will tell me I have commitments—they won’t want to lose me. I have saved the company from ruin and made them plenty of money since I came.’
‘How?’ Millie asked. ‘How did you save it?’
He didn’t answer at first—made no secret of the fact he was weighing her up, deciding whether or not he should answer. But after what seemed like a lifetime he nodded, inviting her a shade deeper into his magical circle, and Millie leant in gratefully—not so much for what she might hear, but because perhaps he had decided to reveal more of himself to her.
‘That is for another time.’
‘There can’t be another time…’ She almost wept with frustration at his tease, at the hand of fate that had granted her this unexpected encounter but with such a cruel timeline. ‘You know I go home tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you want to stay?’
Oh, how she wanted to. So badly she wanted to say yes. The minutes they had were ticking away as loudly as a kitchen timer, and her heart was dreading the buzz that would signal the bitter end. But she had no choice.
He gave her a tiny glimpse of what she would be missing—his hand leaving the safety of the table, his fingers toy
ing with a loose strand of her hair. His flesh was not even touching hers, but she could feel the heat from his palm and she wanted to rest her face in it, wanted contact so much it actually hurt.
‘We all have commitments,’ Millie breathed, faint now with longing. ‘Even me.’
‘Pity.’
He watched as she nervously licked her lips, his eyes squinting slightly just as they had when he’d looked at the paintings, and Millie wondered if she had what it took to hold his attention, or if afterwards he’d simply move on.
‘You know,’ he mused out loud, ‘for an industry that is supposed to promote beauty, the fashion industry can be very ugly. To them, you would not be considered beautiful…’ Only someone like him could make it a compliment—especially now that he was touching her, caressing her cheek with his finger, tracing it down her face and along her neck, almost as if he were drawing her, the pad of his fingers cool on her throat, resting a moment on her rapid, leaping pulse. ‘The face, yes. But the body…’ She gave a small nervous swallow as his fingers swept along her shoulder, dusting her bare arms; all the tiny hairs standing up to attention as their mistress shivered. ‘You are too much woman.’
‘Is that another word for fat?’ Millie gave a slightly shrill giggle. ‘I know I should go to the gym more—I mean, I pay my membership…’ She was blabbering now, seriously so. Oh, she wasn’t fat—not even particularly overweight—but maybe compared to the reed-thin beauties Levander was used to…
Her thought process halted there. Transfixed, nervous, she watched as he leant over and undid the top button of her blouse. No one turned, not a single person in the café gave a damn. She could feel the top of her cleavage exposed, feel his eyes burning into her pale flesh. If it had been anyone or anywhere else she’d have slapped him—would have got up and walked out. Only it wasn’t anyone else…
…it was Levander.
Jerking her eyes to his, Millie couldn’t read them—was unsure of what to make of him. Unsure whether his words demoted or promoted her. Unsure of what Levander could possibly need from someone like her. She knew for sure now that she was wanted—knew for sure now where the night was leading…only an argument was brewing at the counter. Loud voices crudely interrupted this sensual moment as a young man, clearly the worse for wear, pulled out his pockets, trying to find money he’d never had to pay for a two a.m. breakfast that he’d already eaten. It was clearly the norm for this place—no one bar Millie and Levander was even looking up at the distraction.
‘I musssht have dropped it…’ the guy was slurring.
‘Hey,’ Levander called, standing up, and not for the first time during this crazy night Millie felt anxious—here she was in the seamiest of cafés, with a virtual stranger for company and a fight about to break out. She held her breath as Levander stood up and headed straight into the thick of things, blinking rapidly as he pulled out his wallet.
‘You did drop it…’
He pulled out his wallet and handed the owner a note that would more than cover his breakfast. ‘I found this on the pavement outside—perhaps I should give it to Jack to look after.’
‘I want the change…’ the guy slurred, but Levander shook his head.
‘Tomorrow you will be hungry again. It is better Jack has it.’ And without another word he headed back to Millie—who didn’t know whether to be touched by his kindness or furious at his stupidity for getting involved.
‘Nice place,’ Millie said darkly, and almost instantly regretted it—especially when she saw Levander’s face.
‘You prefer five-star?’ Levander shrugged. ‘Prefer pompous men drunk on malt whisky who have lost their gold credit card, perhaps, than some poor kid who probably hasn’t eaten in two days?’
Though she bristled at his implication, she refused to back down. ‘He could have had a knife—he could have…’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘And what happens when the money you gave the owner runs out, Levander? What happens next week, when you’re not here to fix it for him?’
‘For the next few nights he eats.’ Levander shrugged.
‘But when the money runs out the same thing will happen, and you won’t be here…’ Millie insisted.
But Levander neither needed nor wanted her take on things. In fact it would seem Levander no longer wanted her. Because suddenly, not for the first time that night, he stood up to go, taking her hand and without a word hailing a taxi from the rank outside, giving his direction in a low, deep drawl. Levander stared fixedly ahead as the taxi slid through the night. So distracted, so far away.
Millie half expected him to drop her off where she lived and carry on, but as the taxi slid to a halt outside the fabulous five-star hotel that Levander called home Millie almost wept with relief. He offered her his hand to step out, and they stood outside the grand reception area. A doorman opened the door for them and they stood in the blazing lights, watching the busy theatre of the hotel even at this impossible hour—a gaggle of women spilling out of another taxi, clipping their way across the marble, an airline captain dressed smartly in his uniform on his way to the airport—the same airport Millie would be at in a few hours…
‘I’m sorry.’ This time his apology was as unexpected as it was unnecessary. ‘What happened back there…well, it is something I am used to. For you, though, I can see it would have been upsetting. Clearly it was a bad idea—’
‘It was a lovely idea,’ Millie broke in. ‘And I actually had a lovely time—in fact, I think it’s me that owes you an apology. I completely overreacted.’
‘No,’ Levander disputed, ‘you did not. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has…’ He hesitated for just a fraction too long, those beautiful eyes clouding over, and Millie frowned in concern.
‘Not everyone has what?’ she pushed, but he shook his head and forced a smile.
‘It does not matter.’
Millie was sure that it did matter, but clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. To help, she changed the subject. ‘I still can’t believe you actually live in a hotel.’
‘Why not?’ Levander asked. ‘A few of their suites are for permanent residents.’
‘But surely if your family are nearby…?’ She gave a slightly helpless shrug. She didn’t really know what she was asking—he was thirty, hardly likely to be living at home with his father, but it just seemed so temporary, so impersonal, so soulless. ‘Does it really feel like home?’
‘Sorry?’ He stared back at her, a slight frown forming between his eyes as if he completely and utterly didn’t understand her question, and Millie wondered if she’d spoken too fast—if perhaps he’d misunderstood something she’d said.
She rephrased her question, and spoke just a touch more slowly this time. ‘Can a hotel really feel like a home?’
‘Of course it feels like home.’ He was still frowning down at her, as if surprised she’d asked such a strange thing. ‘It is, after all, where I live.’
‘I meant…’ She gave in then—gave in not only because he didn’t seem to grasp what she was saying, because whatever magic they had captured between them seemed to have evaporated. At least for Levander. The silence in the taxi, the terse responses to her questions, his apparent distraction, all pointed to one reluctant conclusion.
He’d had enough of her.
‘I should go.’
‘I know.’
‘I really do have things I should do…’ She was gabbling now, the words that had come so easily before now strained and forced as this most wonderful night came to a bitter conclusion. Levander, clearly bored with her company, was staring somewhere over her shoulder as she attempted to say goodbye.
* * *
Dared he?
It was a strange question for him to consider—for a man so used to women. It wasn’t his seduction technique that was instilling such doubt—Levander knew she was ready. Despite the scene at the club, he’d felt her unfurl as he’d walked alongside her on the beach. What had happened between them in the café was wh
at unsettled him. Hell, for a second there he’d lost all discretion—not just when he’d reached over and touched her, not just when he’d exposed her fragrant cleavage… She’d clouded his mind like a drug. He’d told her about the business, told her his thoughts. And for Levander that was unprecedented—so far removed from his usual reserve, at least where the family business was concerned, that it unsettled him. Disquiet seeped through his marrow at how this woman moved him so—how hard it was to field her questions. Because he actually wanted to tell her things, wanted to answer those perceptive questions…wanted her dizzy, happy perspective, wanted to lower his guard and laugh with her over and over again.
And if he kissed her he’d be lost.
‘I have to go to the airport in…’ She didn’t have a watch, and as she looked at his and tried to read it upside down Levander relaxed.
She’d be gone soon.
Strange that it comforted him.
For a few hours he could hold her—concentrate solely on the one thing he did better than business, spend tonight with her, hush her questions with his mouth.
Indulge without consequence—safe in the knowledge that tomorrow she would be gone.
‘…six hours.’
He was so tall she had to lift her head to look up at him, but it was worth the effort, because finally he was looking at her—finally the Levander who had disappeared for a while had returned. And he was so exquisitely beautiful it was surprisingly easy to be bold, to lift her hand and touch his cheek rather than keep it by her side. She knew he was going to kiss her goodbye—could almost taste the lips that were moving in on hers—and she wanted it over and done with almost. Wanted to move away from this breathtaking man so she could remember how to breathe again, could get on with her life after this strange but dizzying pause.
Only she’d never been kissed like this before.
His mouth was incredibly soft on hers; for someone so masculine, he was surprisingly tender. His lips brushed hers, faint-makingly erotic, and her hands that had been on his cheek moved around to the back of his head. If a minute ago she had been conscious of the bellboy, the cars, the lights, now it all faded into insignificance. It was like being kissed for the first time—actually, way better than being kissed for the first time. His tongue stroking hers, his chin scratching her smooth skin, the intoxicating scent of him as he pulled her in closer, the feel of his hard taut body against hers. Nothing—not a case to be packed, nor a plane to be caught—got a look-in. Her whole being honed in on this delicious moment, and there was no question of wanting it to be over—just the knowledge that tonight it couldn’t be.
Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child Page 17
