‘This time…’ His voice wasn’t quite so detached now, and his breath was hard and ragged between each reluctant word. ‘When I suggest you go to bed I trust you understand I am not angry…’
‘I do.’
She did.
Absolutely she understood what he was saying.
And absolutely she understood the balmy sedative she was offering.
‘If you want me to stay then I will.’ Her voice was different, unfamiliar even to Millie. Wanton words from very deliberate lips as she offered him this—and it wasn’t just for Levander, but for her.
She didn’t want to visit his nightmare, yet—didn’t want to lie alone in her bed and weep for his past. She wanted him now—wanted the escape she was offering, too. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers. Her hands were filled with a shameful longing to move down, to feel what she knew was surely there—surely, because he was struggling to look at her, struggling to push her away as their bodies screamed otherwise.
It would be impossible to walk with legs that felt like jelly, but somehow she’d manage it. The bedroom door was a blur in the distance, the room so thick with tension she’d need a scythe to get there—but if he told her to go again then she would.
He didn’t.
Didn’t say anything at all. Instead his mouth crushed hers in response, in a fierce, desperate kiss that slammed the breath out of her, that exactly matched her need. A kiss that hurt with its intensity—a delicious hurt, though. His skin rough on hers, his tongue probing, his arms dragging her tightly to him, but not close enough for Millie. Her silk wrap slipping off her shoulders, she grabbed at his shirt, ripping away the material so that naked she could press against him—feel his hard arousal beneath his trousers as his hands cupped her bottom, the metal of his zipper digging into her.
‘All-day-since-I-saw-you…’ Between kisses he spoke, with his mouth full sometimes…full of her mouth, her shoulder, her breast. His tongue explored the changes since last he’d visited, each stroke a fever on her ripe, needy flesh, each husky word from his lips refuting his earlier contempt, giddying her, yet propelling her towards a rapidly approaching destination. ‘All-day-I-am-hard-for-you.’
So hard.
Desperate fingers pulled at his zipper, needy hands freeing his heated length. She wanted to linger just a second, but Levander wasn’t having any of it. Strong hands around her waist lifted her those necessary decadent inches and her legs coiled around his back. She bit into his shoulder as he plunged inside her, gasped as he filled her, not knowing what to do. But again he showed her, his hands guiding her bottom into a delicious rhythm, thrusting till she found her own. And it was so much more than sex for the sake of it—because if ever comfort was needed it was tonight—and if all they had was this, then surely they must build on it.
‘I cannot last…’
His apology was a second overdue. Millie was the first to arrive—and in fabulous style, with a flash of heat searing up her spine so intense and so unexpected it startled her. Her new-found boldness utterly gone, she locked shocked eyes with his, feeling a flash of fear as she faced the unknown. But it was Levander holding her, telling her with his eyes that it was all okay, just different. With a squeal of delighted terror she let herself go with it…gave the little piece of her heart that was left to him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IF MILLIE HAD thought that his revelations, the fabulous sex, or even the fact that Levander was now firmly instated in the bedroom would mean they were closer, she was wrong on each count.
It was as if he’d never touched her—and certainly as if he’d never told her anything. The topic of his past was once again completely out of bounds. Brooding, impossible and utterly unreachable, he rumbled like a prolonged peal of thunder through his inhuman schedule. Up at the crack of dawn to go running, then out to face his brutal day. And rather than talking, or spending their time getting closer, instead she was paraded to endless business dinners followed by even more endless parties. Yes, he slept beside her—and sometimes in sleep he even reached out and held her—but he never actually laid a finger on her, and night after night she lay miserable in her own desire, staring at the man who said he wanted to marry her, yet didn’t seem to like her very much at all.
‘I rather like this one.’
At the end of the week, as Katina handed them both individual copies of the same newspaper, Millie winced again as she re-read the headline that had hit the stands on her second day in town: From London with Love.
‘In fact, all the newspaper reports have been favourable. I’ve also managed a sneak peek at some of the magazines out next week and, though I’m loath to say it, Levander, your rather surly interaction with the press seems to have them eating out of your hands… Paragraph two,’ she clipped, like a schoolteacher, as she handed them yet another article. ‘“Kolovsky appeared defensive of his young fiancée, shielding her from the press and clearly eager to get inside to share the moment with his family.” The two of you have done very well, and as a surprising bonus it’s taken the attention away from your father’s illness. I’d say they’re all pretty much scrambling to break the happy news of your wedding date—so when can I tell them it is?’
‘When I find out—’ Levander gave a tight smile ‘—you’ll be the first to hear.’
* * *
‘Well?’ Katina’s very trim rear had hardly wiggled out of the room when Levander tossed the question at her.
‘Gosh, you can be so romantic at times, Levander. I told you I wasn’t going to be pushed into anything.’ She ran a worried hand over her forehead. ‘Look, I’ve got this “meet the artist” thing with Anton, and after that…’ Biting her bottom lip, she forced herself to look at him. ‘After that, I think I ought to go home for a bit—you know, talk to my family…’ He didn’t say anything. She’d braced herself for the rip of his words, or the crack of his temper, but he just sat there, staring at her coolly, making her squirm with discomfort. If anything, it was far worse. ‘I need to go home and decide what I should do.’
‘You know what you should do.’
She gave a tiny helpless laugh. ‘Sign my life away to a loveless marriage…’
‘It does not mean it would not be a good marriage.’
‘We don’t talk.’
‘We’re talking now,’ came his flip response.
‘You don’t tell me how you feel…’
‘Why would I?’ He looked at her as if it were so bloody obvious he couldn’t believe she had a problem with it. ‘Why-would-I-tell-you?’
‘So we can get closer…’ Millie shivered. ‘So we can…’ She had to be brave, had to ask him, had to know. ‘Do you think…I don’t know…in time…?’ She was trying not to cry, trying not to sound needy, but the memory of his cast-off lover came to mind as she heard shades of the Latina’s pleading creeping into her voice. But, hell, there was a baby to think of—so she squared herself to ask the most difficult question of all. Difficult, Millie realised, because if you actually had to ask, you probably weren’t going to like the answer. ‘Do you think you could ever love me?’
‘My God…’ he muttered under his breath, as if she were some stupid little girl who bored him with senseless questions, each incredulous shake of his head humiliating her right to her core. ‘Always this question comes— “Levander, do you love me?” “Levander, if I change this maybe then you will love me?” “Levander… why can’t you just say you love me…?” I am not going to lie to you and tell you I think I will be in love with you. I cannot say that.’
‘I get the message.’ She halted him with a shaking hand, her tense face splitting into a rueful smile, tears stinging at the back of her nose, wishing he would stop. But Levander hadn’t even started.
‘You know, I don’t think you do—so I make this clear. You are not a prisoner—your passport is in the safe and you know the combination. Walk out through that door—go back to England—the choice is yours.’
‘I jus
t need to think,’ Millie said helplessly. ‘I’m not saying no to marriage…’
She was going. It was all he could hear—all that consumed him. All week he’d been waiting, knowing that now she knew the truth of what he was she would leave him. She was going and taking his baby, and as sure as night followed day Levander knew she wouldn’t be coming back. The second she got home, back to her family, they’d claim her, talk to her, tell her just how much she didn’t need him.
She was going—and he’d move heaven and earth to stop her walking through that door. He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t let her go.
‘You try to keep me from this baby—I warn you how it will be.’ Once again his deepening accent signalled his inner emotional turmoil. His eyes were as black as the darkest night as he fought with the gloves off. ‘It is your shame that was smeared over the newspapers—your talk of ending the pregnancy that is documented. You are the one walking out on a chance of giving our child a stable home—you deny my child a chance to properly get to know its father. See how far you get.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘Then I will explain better,’ Levander sneered. ‘You are some two-bit artist who when we met hadn’t sold so much as a painting. There is one advantage to being a Kolovsky—money—and if I have to work in the family business for ever I will do it—if I have to spend every last cent ensuring my child is brought up beside his father, I will.’
‘Levander…’ Fear was licking at the edges—real fear. His demands were so unreasonable it was almost impossible to fathom that he was serious. But he was. If she went back to England then she’d be plunged into hell: her private life spewed across the papers, endless lawyers and bills and fighting… But how, after issuing such threats, could he possibly expect her to stay?
‘We’ll go away.’
His voice was hoarse. As quickly as that he had changed. He had been a ball of lightning, rolling towards her, hissing anger and singeing all in its wake, but suddenly his anger had dispersed, replaced with an urgency that scared her on a different level—it scared her for him. For just a split second she glimpsed the little boy he must have been—the scared child whose life had been ripped away from him by the untimely death of his mother. Then the shutters came down, but he continued softly, urgently.
‘Right now. We’ll go somewhere we can talk. I will arrange it now—we will go this afternoon. I will try…’ His eyes were imploring her to listen, to just please hear him out, two black holes of dark emotion as he offered her the impossible. ‘I will try to let you know me.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘NEARLY THERE NOW.’
They’d barely spoken the whole journey, but Millie didn’t mind. As they’d headed for the fabulous tropical north, leaving the cool southern winter behind, the silence had at first been strained, then mutual. Both were lost in their thoughts, both trying to comprehend the magnitude of whatever lay ahead. Slowly, as the plane had gobbled up the miles, the tension had seeped out of them, and by the time they arrived at Great Barrier Reef Airport, where they boarded a seaplane to take them for the final leg of their journey, they were actually managing to string together a few words.
Millie’s face was pressed to the window. She was taking in the azure of the water, so clear she could see the fish, and occasionally lush green islands rushing beneath them like some fabulous holiday brochure.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ Millie breathed. ‘But cross with myself.’
‘Cross?’
‘I should have made the effort to get up here the first time. I can’t believe I might have missed out on seeing this.’
‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’
He wasn’t exaggerating.
A small speedboat greeted them, taking them on their last journey, sweeping them up to the beach—and it was like stepping into paradise as Levander helped her out. Cool water lapped around her ankles, and a gentle breeze skimmed over the Pacific Ocean, heralding the arrival of dusk. The endless white sand was so soft and powdery it was as inviting as a bed, and beyond low wooden huts blended so carefully with the forest of trees that at first glance they were missed entirely.
‘This whole island belongs to your family?’
‘It does. This was one of my father’s wiser decisions—he bought it for a song when mortgage rates soared and everyone was going under. At the time he couldn’t afford it, of course, but now…’
‘It’s amazing,’ Millie breathed.
‘I come here a lot.’ She heard the full stop, and watched as he faltered, as he visibly attempted to do what he had promised to do—let her in to his thoughts. ‘Mainly I come alone—here I seem to relax.’
‘I can see why.’ Millie smiled. ‘It’s just stunning.’
‘It is,’ Levander said simply, taking her elbow and leading her along the beach to a vast hut, along its decking and through a vast marabou door.
Though it was simply furnished it too was stunning—massive white sofas, beneath a whirring ceiling fan, the focal point of the lounge. All the shutters on the windows were open and the setting sun streamed hues of orange against the white walls. Endless white sofas were littered with cushions, family photos adorned surfaces and walls—it was way more intimate than the lavish hotel Levander called home.
Millie took her time looking at the photos, smiling at a younger Levander, serious and scowling at a family wedding—but even as she smiled it tore at her heart. His undocumented childhood had never been more evident as she stared at dark-haired, dark-eyed twins racing around on tricycles, and Annika too, blonde and gorgeous, beaming out of her pram.
‘Is that you?’ Millie jumped at the prospect, picking up a black-and-white baby photo and staring at the solemn eyes and the thatch of dark hair.
‘That is my father.’ Levander glanced over. ‘I am not so old that I wore a dress as a baby.’
‘He looks like you.’ Millie laughed. ‘Or rather, you look like him. I wonder…’ A shiver of the most unexpected excitement rippled through her. The fleeting maternal impulses that had seen her through to date were beating more strongly now, coursing through her and settling to a rhythm, thrumming into a beat, as she surveyed this magnificent gene pool—as the baby deep inside her was fashioned into more than a possibility. An almost tangible image was teasing her mind’s eye as she merged their features.
‘I wonder too.’ Levander finished her sentence for her. ‘Since I found out I have wondered if he will be blond…’ She opened her mouth to correct him, but Levander spoke over her. ‘Or if she will be dark.’
‘What would you like?’ Millie asked. ‘I mean, I know it doesn’t matter, but if you could choose, what would you like our baby to be…?’
He really seemed to think about it—frowning at her question, then shaking his head.
‘I’ll think about it and let you know.’
Which was rather a strange answer, but she didn’t dwell on it. Her mouth had dropped open as for the first time she saw her picture—the one she herself had painted.
‘You shouldn’t have done that…’ Even if he’d meant well, even if he’d done it for all the right reasons, still it was wrong. Her hard-fought-for success seemed not so worthy now. ‘We both agreed that that would be cheating.’
‘There was no cheating. I followed up with the lady who bought it. She was happy with my price.’
‘Oh.’
He heard her little thud of disappointment and smiled. ‘She is an art dealer, Millie—she bought it to sell it on. You are going to have to get used to that. People will not always buy your work for sentimental reasons.’
‘So why did you?’ Her cheeks flushed as she asked, a tiny glow flickering inside as she awaited his answer. But it was soon doused when Levander shrugged and then stared at the picture.
‘It interests me, I suppose…’ He peered a bit more closely. ‘Really I have never invested in art. But perhaps I will think about it now…’
‘So it’s just us
here?’ Millie checked, changing the subject, trying to hide her disappointment, kicking herself for expecting anything more and staring beyond to the vast view outside. ‘Well, apart from the staff.’
She could see them on the beach—setting up a table, lighting a fire—but Levander had promised seclusion and he really meant it.
‘They will leave soon—they come twice a day while there are guests.’
‘Do they live here on the island?’
‘No—there…’ He headed to a window and pointed at some glittering lights, seemingly miles away. ‘That is a luxury hotel, some ten kilometres away. The staff are from there.’
‘So, no room service at night?’ Millie said, blowing her fringe skywards as she let out a breath and reeled at the opulence of the Kolovskys’ existence, trying and failing to see how she could ever even begin to belong.
‘If you want something, then I’m sure it can be arranged.’ There was a distinctive edge to his voice. ‘I’ll go and tell them we’re ready to eat. Would you like to shower before dinner?’
Even in the middle of nowhere—even in the most romantic setting on God’s earth—it would seem there were still formalities to be observed. Still there was protocol to follow if you were dining with a Kolovsky.
‘Of course.’ Mille gave a tight smile. ‘I shan’t be long.’
* * *
She’d spent that morning in a spending frenzy. Utterly unable to stomach another Kolovsky freebie, she’d taken a thoroughly excited Anton on a shopping spree—though he’d been initially less than delighted to learn she would have to postpone her ‘meet the artist’ night—and had spent half her earnings to date on what she hoped was a suitably fantastic holiday wardrobe. It seemed to have helped him get over his disappointment. Now making her way into the bedroom, ready to pull out the few inches of gold fabric Anton had selected from her suitcase, Millie blinked at the impeccable room. After a moment she realised there would be no unpacking. It had all been taken care of—her new clothes were hanging neatly in the wardrobe, her new shoes were neatly arranged on the floor, her perfume, make-up, even her hair straighteners were all neatly arranged in the fabulous bathroom.
Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child Page 24
