‘Are you here on holiday?’
‘A working holiday…’ Millie gave a rueful smile. ‘I go home tomorrow.’
‘Shame.’
She’d been flirted with on many occasions, but never so blatantly and never by anyone so divine.
‘Millie?’ He pondered on her name for a moment. ‘I am not familiar with that. Is it short for something?’
‘Do we have to go there?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Millicent.’ She winced. ‘My parents must have been—’ She didn’t get to finish. Anton was frantically waving in recognition as he came to the window, gesturing for her to come inside. It would have been rude to say no, to shake her head and carry on this delicious conversation. So, extremely reluctantly, she turned to bid Levander goodnight.
Clearly he had other ideas. As the door opened, instead of walking away, instead of concluding their time together, he blatantly extended it, moving to the door, then stepping back to allow her to go first, his hand taking her elbow. It wasn’t just his boldness that startled Millie but the contact itself—the firm, warm, incredibly male contact that had her more flustered than she cared, or rather dared to admit.
‘Ready for the off?’ Anton’s effeminate voice rang out as he scooped her into a hug, but it lasted about point three of a second. He dropped her like a hot coal as he clapped eyes on her companion.
‘My, my, Millie. And I thought you were supposed to be working tonight.’
‘I—I am.’ Millie stammered. ‘I was. Anton, this is…’
‘I know who it is.’ Anton beamed. ‘Welcome, welcome, Levander—and may I say I just love your new range?’
‘It is not my range.’ Levander smiled tightly. ‘I deal with the business, not the fashion.’
‘Well, I adore it anyway,’ Anton gushed, but Levander wasn’t listening. Instead he wandered around the gallery, squinting as he peered closely at the paintings, some holding his attention, others barely meriting a cursory glance.
‘Do you know him?’ Millie whispered, which was more than a touch rude, but she just had to know more about him.
‘Everyone knows who the Kolovskys are.’
‘I mean do you know him?’
‘I wish,’ Anton sighed. ‘The boutique may be a couple of doors down from me—but the Kolovskys are a million miles away. I did used to talk to the twins, though…’ Anton smiled at her frown. ‘They’re just as gorgeous. Millie have you any idea who you’re dealing with? They’re practically royalty here,’ Anton breathed, ‘and your beau tonight is first in line.’
His voice trailed off as Levander made his way back to them, and Anton spectacularly saved the rather awkward moment, rolling his eyes dramatically at Levander. ‘I’m scolding Millie for even considering being seen with you in her waitress garb. Mind you, perhaps it’s just as well—I assume you’ve seen her when she’s not working?’
‘Not yet.’ Levander turned and gave Millie a slow, lingering look, unashamedly undressing her with his eyes for an indecent amount of time as she stood there squirming. Not even turning back to Anton, he carried on talking. ‘But I am very much looking forward to it.’
‘Well, don’t get too excited,’ Anton sighed. ‘Millie has no end of paint-splattered shorts and T-shirts, but not much else.’
‘I see you have only one of Millie’s paintings in the window—while other artists there have two.’
‘The other artists have sold.’ Anton held his palms up to the air in a helpless gesture. ‘Actually, Millie, darling…’He gave a little wince. ‘I’m not going to take you out of the gallery, but space is at a premium, and with this new exhibition I’m going to have to move—’
‘You have more of Millie’s work?’ Levander interrupted. ‘I would like to see it if I may.’
‘Of course.’ Anton gave Millie a wide-eyed look as he gestured him to the back of the gallery, to the tiny piece of wall that—for now at least—displayed her work.
‘Your price is too low…’ Levander ran a quick eye through Millie’s bio and gave a shake of his head. ‘And you come across too needy—too grateful that anyone should even stop to look at your work, let alone buy it. You need to raise your price.’
‘It was higher,’ Millie answered, ‘and I still didn’t sell.’
‘This is an exclusive gallery—yes?’ Levander waited for Anton’s hesitant nod. ‘People do not want rubbish on their walls—and at this price that is what they think they are buying.’
‘She’s an unknown.’ Anton’s bubbly demeanour dimmed a touch as his judgement was challenged, but Levander held firm.
‘Today she is unknown.’ He turned to Millie. ‘Change it before you leave. Rewrite your bio…’ He turned the page. ‘Each painting is now the cost of your air ticket—the price you paid to share your talent.’
‘It won’t work…’
‘So you have lost nothing. And she should have at least two in the window…’
‘Levander…’ Anton was blushing, flirting, and trying to be assertive all at the same time. ‘Millie’s already had three months on display in the window. I simply cannot—’
‘When is this exhibition you mentioned?’ Levander interrupted. ‘I remember my stepmother saying she wanted another nice piece for the boutique. Perhaps I should suggest that she comes for a look?’
‘I already sent an invite,’ Anton said dubiously, ‘and as usual it was politely declined.’
‘Nina wouldn’t have even seen it,’ Levander said dismissively. ‘It would have been her assistant who declined on her behalf. If I tell her about it myself, I can assure you she will come—and possibly my father, too. Though I am not sure if I will be available.’
Anton was right—clearly Millie hadn’t a clue. Because at just the hint that they were coming to the preview Anton was a gibbering wreck, promptly dispatching her to choose another piece to go in the window before a “bored now” Levander took her by the hand and led her outside.
‘You—You didn’t have to do that…’ Millie stammered, once they were out on the street.
‘No one has to do anything.’ Levander shrugged. ‘Your work deserves its chance.’
‘Thank you.’ Millie shook her head to clear it. ‘Your stepmother will go to the exhibition?’ she checked. ‘I mean, if she’s already declined…I’d hate for Anton to be disappointed—especially if he’s giving me so much of a prime position. He’s already been more than generous…’
‘She will be there,’ Anton said assuredly. ‘She will not want to go, of course. But when I tell her she is expected—that I have accepted on her behalf—she will have no choice but to go.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It would appear rude to not turn up—and in my family appearance is everything.’
‘Well, thank you…’ Millie said. ‘You’ve no idea how much it means.’
‘I have a very good idea what it means,’ Levander corrected her. ‘I know how important that first sale is—and, yes, I could have bought your painting—given you the red dot on your work for the world to see—but that would be cheating, yes?’
On so many levels, Millie realised, staring up at him. His skin was white in the street light, contrasting with the hollow shadows of his cheeks, his eyes two dark, unreadable pools.
‘It will sell—some things that are truly beautiful don’t always catch the eye first time around.’ Levander’s voice was a caress. ‘Sometimes you need to actually stop and take another look.’
He was certainly taking a good look now. His gaze was so intense, his face so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. She thought for a blissful second that he was going to kiss her, but instead it was his rich deep voice that bathed her senses, his eyes quizzical as they assessed her. ‘So, you leave tomorrow?’
‘In the morning.’
‘And have you enjoyed your time in Melbourne?’
‘I haven’t really seen anything of it.’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I’ve been to a few galleries, a couple of
shows—but mainly I’ve been working…’ Her voice trailed off, her simple answer somehow giving him an opening she’d never intended. Millie’s breath caught in her throat as Levander took it.
‘Then we’d better get started. Come…’ He pointed to where a pony and trap was pulling in across the deserted street, tourists climbing down, the weary trap rider about to dismantle and head off home. He shook his head when Levander called for him to wait.
‘Sorry, mate. That was the last ride for the night—back again tomorrow.’
‘I will talk with him.’ Levander turned to go, but she shook her head.
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s late…’ Millie attempted, struggling in quicksand as she stared into his eyes. ‘And I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow…’
‘Plenty of time to sleep on the plane, then.’
But a blip of sensibility was invading now. She was playing with fire here, and her assessment was based on not just what she had read—Anton himself had warned her, and Levander’s own dining companion hadn’t exactly given him a glowing reference.
‘You’re a cold bastard.’
The pain in her voice had been real, the emotion that had choked out those words hadn’t been manufactured—and Levander’s response had done little to dispute the accusation.
What the hell was she doing?
It would be madness to go with this man.
‘Really…’ Millie swallowed hard. ‘It’s probably not such a good idea. I’ve got so much to do, and you—well you…’
‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘You just broke up with your girlfriend, Levander…’ She wasn’t going to play games. ‘You’re probably feeling a bit…’
‘You have no idea how I am feeling…’ Instead of walking away, he stepped closer, took her face in his hands, his warm skin actually cool on her stinging cheeks. ‘And I did not break up with my girlfriend—Annika is my half-sister…’
‘It was your half-sister you were rowing with?’
Levander nodded, his eyes narrowing. ‘What did you hear?’
‘Nothing.’ Millie blushed. The only thing she had heard was that he was a cold bastard, but she could hardly tell him that. ‘I just saw her flounce off.’
‘And that is all?’
After a beat of hesitation she nodded.
‘Siblings fight.’ His breath mingled with hers, and that cynical mouth was so close Millie could almost taste it—like a chocolate cake cooking in the oven, teasing her senses…
‘She’s really your half-sister?’ Millie checked, wanting to believe him but scared to at the same time. Wanting him to kiss her but worried that he would.
‘Who else would I allow to talk to me like that?’ Levander answered. ‘Now, you wait here.’
What had she heard?
Levander’s hackles were raised, his mind, eternally vigilant, racing as he recalled not just his conversation with Annika, but the times Millie had been present.
At first he’d barely noticed her—a waitress not meriting even a glance from him, especially with the tense subject matter that had been forcing his attention—and then she’d moved to clear his plate.
Her heavenly scent had reached him, her tiny embarrassed smile as she’d caught his eyes, and from that second on he’d thanked her for the distraction—thanked this unknown woman who had allowed his mind to detour as Annika delivered the fatal news and shrilled the family’s demands.
So much more pleasant to stare over Annika’s shoulder and watch the woman, the pink flush on her cheeks, her blonde curls tumbling further out of their hair tie with each swoosh through the kitchen door, her slight exasperation as she dealt with a rowdy table. He had felt surprising pleasure as he’d watched that full, pretty mouth nibble on the end of her pen between writing down orders. And later, when still Annika had persisted, when it had all been just too much to deal with—his battle to remain outwardly calm despite the emotions churning within—it had been a welcome relief when she’d returned to his table. Her soft fragrance had been such a contrast to the bitter musk of the Kolovsky perfume Annika had doused herself in—a delicate hint of vanilla and something he couldn’t define, like a breath of fresh air—and as she’d leant forward to clear his table he’d tried and failed not to notice the slight tug of her blouse as it strained over her breasts. He had actually had to look away when she’d stooped to retrieve a dropped napkin and he’d caught a glimpse of the creamy flesh of her cleavage.
He wanted her.
Handing the rider a sizeable wad of notes, he bought them a little more time—but somehow he knew it wasn’t enough. That if he made a move too soon—she’d run like a squirrel up a tree.
And yet if it was sex he wanted there were easier ways. He could head back to the hotel, return any one of the endless messages that would undoubtedly be on his answering machine and lose himself tonight.
How he wanted to lose himself.
Like a judge summing up, he bitterly assessed the conversation that had taken place with Annika—the family demands that had been delivered by the sweetest, the most vulnerable of them all.
His father was dying.
Which, according to the family, meant there was now no question of Levander leaving—no question of him turning his back on the people who had apparently given him everything he possessed.
Five more years of hell was what they were demanding.
Levander had gritted his teeth at the prospect, but the sentencing hadn’t ended there—a wife and child had been added to the non-parole period.
Well, they could all go to hell!
He’d more than served his time—he had saved the House of Kolovsky from financial suicide almost the second he’d joined the firm. That they now had the audacity to think he actually owed them anything made Levander’s stomach churn with loathing.
To think that that bastard, after all he had done—
‘Hey.’ Her sweet voice broke into his black thoughts, her smiling, trusting face such an engaging contrast with the hard-nosed women he was too used to dealing with. ‘Did you manage to persuade him?’
‘Of course,’ Levander answered calmly, though his mind was anything but. ‘I am a very good persuader.’ He watched her eyes widen a touch, registered the tiny nervous swallow in her throat at the slightly provocative statement, and so badly he wanted to kiss her—to push that soft body against a wall, to press his lips to hers, to feel her soft, fragrant skin beneath his hands, to take her up to his hotel and make love to her…
To somehow take refuge from the savage sleet of his thoughts…But strangely, for Levander, it wasn’t all he wanted from her.
For the first time Levander wanted more than the passion of a woman to fill his night.
He wanted her company.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS the strangest first date she’d ever been asked on—but one thing was sure: it was a date.
Millie knew that—knew from the way he was looking at her and the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him—knew from the butterflies dancing in her stomach and the shrill of pleasure that there was definitely romance in the air.
If it had been with anyone else a romantic horse and cart ride around the city would have been tacky, but with Levander it didn’t feel that way. With the feel of the cool night air on her cheeks, the noise of the horse as it clipped through the semi-deserted streets and the warmth of Levander by her side it felt amazing. It was a whirlwind Monopoly board tour of Melbourne. They clopped past Flinders Street Station, the famous old building stunning by night and lit up like a fairground, and Levander pointed out the sights as they went, from a vibrant Southbank that was still awake despite the hour, and the casino glittering and beckoning, to the smart theatre district and lavish hotels at the top end of town.
‘This is where I live.’
He had to lean into her to say it. Her skirt had already ridden up a touch, and, feeling his suited thigh against her bare one, it was almost all she could do to look up instead o
f down. Her whole focus was on his body against hers.
‘It’s a hotel.’
‘Up there,’ Levander elaborated. ‘On the top floor.’
‘You actually live there?’
‘Why not?’
He stared down at her and she forgot her question, sure he was about to kiss her. She almost wept in frustration when the cart halted somewhat abruptly, lurching them both backwards into their seats, but Levander gave a small lazy smile as he climbed out—a smile that told her there was plenty of time for that later. And as he stepped down and took her hand to help her down, just his touch confirmed what they both knew.
There would be a later.
‘You like to dance?’
‘No,’ Millie admitted, gulping as they descended steep stairs into a tiny smoky and very exclusive private club that she wouldn’t have known existed even if she’d been walking on the street outside.
Exclusive because only the most beautiful or famous seemed to be present—faces that had Millie frowning as she tried to place them, then jolting in recognition as the social pages she devoured in magazines came to life before her very eyes.
‘Do you?’
‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged, pushing her through the crowd with one arm around her.
The slow, heavy thud of the music was out of time with her rapidly beating heart as he led her to a small, plush impossibly sexy booth that was clearly designed for intimacy. Like some erotic confessional, the purple velvet-lined seats went up to the ceiling, dulling the chatter and noise enough to allow conversation so long as one leant forward. And as he sat opposite her the table was so narrow it was impossible not to touch knees—impossible to look anywhere but at him.
He ordered their drinks—didn’t even ask her what she wanted—and some strange red cocktail appeared that tasted icy and delicious, burning her throat and stomach as she sipped it. But it didn’t compare to the sensations Levander evoked.
‘Relax,’ he ordered, as if she should be able to on command. Only Millie couldn’t.
Even here, amongst Melbourne’s most beautiful, Levander caused a stir—she’d seen the ripple effect wash through the crowd as they’d walked to their table. Like a mini Mexican wave going through the bar, heads had turned and conversations had paused; Millie had half expected oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling as every female sucked in her stomach en masse—but all eyes were most definitely on Levander. His questionable choice of date tonight didn’t even merit a second uninterested glance.
Expecting His Love-Child Page 2
