What did this man do to her?
Her hands were shaking like an addict, her body craving the next dangerous fix. She focused on the ring she’d sworn not to pay any attention to—but a generous carat of diamond was a poor diversion when it was attached to a hand that was touching him.
‘That’s better…’ She had to clear her throat to speak, and stepped back a bit, admiring a little more than her handiwork. ‘Should we go?’
‘We’re supposed to wait for Katina.’ Levander glanced at his watch. ‘She is our head of PR—she should be here by now to brief us.’
‘Brief us?’ Millie gave a nervous giggle. ‘We’re going for dinner with your family. How bad can it possibly be?’
‘No worse than today…’ He gave her the coldest of smiles. ‘Unless, of course, we find out tomorrow that you chatted to someone else—got bored on the plane, perhaps, and discussed—’
‘That’s uncalled for—Janey was my friend…I trusted her.’
‘So who’s the fool?’ Levander sneered. ‘Who has to clean up the mess now? You know…’ he actually deigned to look at her ‘…I cannot make out if you just pretend to be stupid or if you really are.’
‘You bastard.’
‘Correct.’ Livid, he faced her. ‘I am a bastard. I grew up a bastard. And if you think for a second I will allow my child the same fate—then you really are beyond stupid. I’m tired of waiting for Katina. Let’s get this over with.’
He had the nerve to offer her his hand as they went out through the door, but reeling, stunned and terribly close to tears, she shook her head, pulling her bag tight over her shoulder. And even though he was beside her as she stepped in the lift, as she remembered their first night in there, all the love and emotion that had somehow jetted them to this bitter point, she could hardly bear it—she couldn’t keep the truth from him for even a second longer.
‘What you said…’ Millie attempted. He was pushing the button, the lift doors were sliding downwards. Soon they’d be hurtled out into the public, to his family, and suddenly it was imperative that he knew the truth. ‘I didn’t forget.’
‘Leave it now.’ As the lift plummeted Levander frowned over, but she couldn’t.
‘I didn’t forget to take my pill.’ She watched his face tauten. ‘I didn’t forget because I wasn’t even on the pill.’
‘Are you telling me that Nina was right? That you knew exactly what you were doing?’
The lift stopping on the twelfth floor prevented further discussion. An elderly couple stepped in—dressed to the hilt and utterly gorgeous, they made polite greetings, then held hands as the lift plummeted again. Their obvious love and affection for each other was a bitter contrast to Levander and Millie. When they finally arrived at the ground floor they were greeted by a pretty little thing, no doubt hand-picked by Levander, stepping forward and smiling brightly, introducing herself as the Kolovsky head of PR.
‘You were supposed to wait for me, Levander.’
‘You were late,’ he answered tartly.
‘Nina took a little longer than expected. Now—no interviews, no comments, no matter how provoked, and above all else make sure they can see the ring.’
Pretty and smiling she might be, but she was as sharp as a tack, her shrewd eyes taking in the pair of them.
‘Get over it now, guys,’ she hissed through her glossy red lipstick. ‘The photographers are mainly at the restaurant, but there’s no doubt still a couple outside. So unless you want this mess still staring at you from the papers at breakfast tomorrow, I suggest you start smiling. I’ll take the car in front and field any questions. And, Millie…’ she was walking swiftly beside them to the waiting car ‘…at least try and look as if you’ve missed him. Levander, hold her hand…the right one…’ she directed. ‘When you get to the restaurant make sure it’s her right hand you’re holding.’
He held it, all right—held it so hard it hurt. And despite his insistence that they attend, it was Levander who was flouting the strange rules—marching her to the car just as her father had done at that long-ago party, bundling her into it in a similar fashion, too, not even attempting a smile for the cameras.
‘You knew…’ he gritted as the car sped off towards the restaurant. It was a trip of less than half a kilometre, but there had been no question of walking. ‘You deliberately forgot to take it. Well, enjoy the pantomime you’ve created tonight, Millie. You’ve clearly worked hard to be here.’
‘You’re so ready to think the worst of me,’ Millie snarled, not caring that they were already pulling into the restaurant, and barely even registering the crowd on the pavement outside. ‘Maybe I am thick and stupid, but the fact is I wasn’t on the pill—and, unlike your usual sophisticates, I don’t happen to carry condoms in my purse just in case some bloody six-foot-three Russian decides to come and take my virginity.’
‘What?’ His voice was hoarse, his eyes darting to Millie’s as she tried to look away—anywhere but at him. ‘You’re telling me—?’
The door was opening on their heated exchange, cameras flashing as their names were called—and she could actually see him hesitate, caught in the desire to shout something rather impolite in Russian, slam the door closed again and carry on what they’d started. But Millie had no intention of continuing this conversation now—or ever, if she could help it.
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you,’ Millie snapped, before propriety took over and they stepped out of the car. But she delivered one tiny little parting shot for him to chew on over dinner. ‘So tell me, Levander, what’s your excuse?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘MILLIE!’
‘Levander!’
‘Over here, Millie!’
As they stepped out of the car and towards the restaurant their names were being called from every angle, and despite the arguments, despite her fury, she clung tightly to his hand—because otherwise she’d surely have turned and run. Though with Katina answering on their behalf, the horror of the press with their blood up was perhaps the lesser of two evils when Levander’s family were on the other side of the door, surely furious with this naïve little thing who had got them all into this impossible mess.
The flash of the cameras barely made Levander blink; rather it was her revelation causing shards of glass to explode in front of his eyes. His first instinct was to pull her away from the maddening crowd, to refute her claim, to tell her that the hot, sensual woman he had held that night had known exactly what she was doing, had known exactly how to please a man…
…or how to please him.
As they walked the short distance, continuing to be bombarded with questions, he willed himself not to think about her warm body entwined around his, the places they had taken each other that night. Her sweet, tentative, but oh, so tender tongue exploring him, eyes like jewels staring up at him, laced with questions, searching for approval as he’d implored her to go on.
He barely registered the questions that were hurled at them, retracing instead that delicious night—but with guilty feet now, because he had thought about a condom.
For the first time Levander admitted that to himself. For that split second as he’d hovered at her entrance, as he’d felt her silky and warm beneath his skilful fingers, it had crossed his mind to reach over as he always did to his bedside table…only he’d chosen not to.
Chosen, if not rationally, to allow himself the feel of her. He had given in to want, hollow with a lust that only she could make him feel—the heady release he’d encountered so intense, so vivid, he’d chosen that pleasure.
‘Do you or Millie have anything to say about the allegations in the paper this morning regarding a termination?’
It was the one question that stopped him in his tracks—the one question he chose not to ignore.
‘Nothing.’ Levander disobeyed Katina’s orders, not just in his surly response, but by wrapping his left arm around Millie’s shoulder and gripping her hand with the other. There wasn’t a hope in hell o
f them getting a shot of the ring—not that Levander seemed to give a damn. His face a picture of contempt as he stared boldly into the crowd. ‘There is nothing I want to say to any of you—you all disgust me.’
It would have been a relief to step inside if his family hadn’t been waiting.
And, despite Levander’s ‘ugly sisters’ comment, each was more beautiful than the next. They swooped on her like humming birds—tiny, exquisite women, wrapped in vibrant colours, pecking at her cheek. Though there was nothing fragile in their voices. Despite her complete lack of Russian, Millie knew they were discussing her—thick, rich voices shouted for space as she attempted to centre herself, and she was grateful for the strong hand on her arm as Levander guided her through the maze of the restaurant, led her to the table, where she hoped to draw breath.
‘This is my father.’
Millie stared at the most powerful man at the table. Even the best tailor couldn’t disguise his emaciated body and gaunt face. Silver hair brushed backwards revealed a face that was almost skeletal; shaking hands reached for the glass in front of him.
‘My son inherits my love for beautiful women…’He raised a glass in her direction and Millie, unsure of what to do, turned to Levander. But there was no guidance on offer there. Her heart stilled as the anger she had been on the receiving end of paled into insignificance. Like opals on fire, she witnessed the darkness of his eyes turn black as he stared across the table.
‘If that is what I am to inherit from you I ask you to strike me off your will,’ Levander said coolly, as Millie tried to contain a shocked gasp. ‘Your treatment of women is something I hope to avoid.’
‘Levander…’ Millie couldn’t help the scold. The hatred, the vileness in his voice, was toxic, and to aim it at someone so frail, so publicly, was more than she could comprehend.
‘Why do you complain, Levander—I have given you everything—cars, money, yachts…’
‘I have worked for them all,’ Levander pounced. ‘With or without you I would have made it—vrubatsa?’
‘This much I understand,’ Ivan answered. ‘Whether or not I live to hear it—one day you will thank me for the opportunities I give you. Without me you are nothing.’
‘Without you…’ Levander stared across the table, and Millie realised no one was talking; every eye was turned to Levander. ‘Is how I have lived my life. Don’t ask me to cry for you now. I mourn my mother instead.’
‘Levander.’ The same throaty voice that had begged him for reason the night they had met was pleading again. ‘Papa is sick, but he is here tonight for you. What is wrong with you, Levander? First you shout at Mama this morning…now this.’
What the hell was wrong with him? He never referred to the past with his family—with anyone—never let them close enough for that. Yet Annika was right. This was the second time today he had flown at the slightest provocation. Usually he prided himself on the charming yet distant mask he presented to the world, but today he was wearing every emotion on the outside of his skin. Every comment from his family ripped into the wounds he kept carefully hidden; every exchange with Millie delivered an anger he hadn’t known since he was a boy.
Downing his drink in one gulp, he had barely hit the glass on the table before the waiter refilled it.
What the hell was he doing?
Tonight was about backing Millie one step further into his corner—to find a way to hold on to her, to ensure she became his bride before she found out about his murky past—and yet here he was, goading his family to reveal the truth they never acknowledged.
His truth.
‘Leave it, Annika.’ It was Nina who interrupted her daughter. ‘This is not the place.’
As a waiter approached and placed a sumptuous seafood platter in front of them, the spitting insults melted into polite chatter, as if nothing had taken place.
‘So, when is the wedding?’ Nina asked, as Millie took a huge gulp of water.
‘We are here, Nina,’ Levander answered. ‘That is enough.’
‘For now.’ Nina shrugged. ‘You were the one who said to the press she was to be your wife—so now you must decide on a date. We fly to Milan in two weeks—and then on to Paris. Your father needs warm weather now. I think we will see out the European summer there…’
‘I really don’t need to hear your flight schedule, Nina,’ Levander drawled, deliberately missing the point. But Nina was determined to ram it home.
‘Sooner is better, Levander—if she is to have a hope of getting into the dress, then you need to get things going.’
The dress.
Nerves catching up, Millie almost giggled, but quickly she swallowed it, knowing not a single one of the Kolovskys would get her humour. Oh, she knew it was Nina’s rather limited English that had caused the slip, but Millie had a sudden vision of a wedding dress hanging in a wardrobe somewhere, waiting for any woman with a semblance of a waist to step into it.
‘Our wedding is our concern,’ Levander said darkly, stopping Nina in her tracks—temporarily at least. But the night just continued in the same bitter vein, and for an already wilting Millie it was beyond confusing.
It was as if she wasn’t even there—the charade for the cameras had nothing on this. It was hideous, sitting there while the whole family discussed their relationship as if it were for them to decide the outcome. Her cheeks burnt with embarrassment and anger as Nina started talking in Russian—clearly about Millie—rudely gesturing towards her.
The whole table joined in the loud conversation until Levander halted them. ‘Millie speaks no Russian—you will speak only in English when she is present.’
‘She might not want to hear what we have to say—’ one of Nina’s sisters attempted.
‘All the more reason you should keep quiet,’ Levander retorted, and even though his voice was even there was a warning glint in his eye that told all present he wasn’t joking—a warning glint in his eye that stayed trained on his stepmother. Millie watched as she flushed, watched as a cruel smile twisted his mouth as Nina finally turned and, with a nervous croak in her voice, addressed her sister.
‘We speak English.’
It was awful—the worst meal of her life—and even though she’d only seen them a couple of days ago, Millie was gripped with longing for her own family. The gentle bickering that flared at their dinner table was a million miles from the poisonous atmosphere that shrouded this table. Even more bewildering was the fact that, though Millie spent the meal reeling, Levander seemed completely unfazed, sitting as brooding and as unmoved as he had with his sister on the night they had met, unperturbed by the toxic company…
When the waiter came to take their orders for coffee, she made a last-ditch effort to talk to the reticent Annika.
‘You’re a designer…?’ Millie struggled to make conversation with Levander’s stunning half-sister. ‘Levander said you mainly do jewellery.’
‘I do both jewellery and clothing,’ Annika said warily, her eyes darting to her mother.
Levander watched Millie try so hard to fit in with them, and watched as they stonewalled her—just as they had him. He watched them retreat into their diamond-crusted shells when a question might actually demand an answer, watched until it actually hurt to look—till he simply couldn’t watch any more.
‘Which do you prefer?’ Millie went on, and it seemed a perfectly reasonable question—especially from one artist to another—like Nina asking if she preferred to paint with water or oil. But, as Millie was quickly realising, nothing was normal in this family.
‘I’m equally good at both.’
‘Oh.’ Millie floundered, utterly bemused by her response, but accepting it, and steered the conversation to something hopefully more sustainable. ‘You were born here? In Australia, I mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you ever get back…?’ Taking a slug of water, and praying they’d hurry with the coffee, Millie glanced over to Levander, who wasn’t even attempting to be nice. He appeared t
horoughly bored with the night’s proceedings. He was glancing at his watch, drumming his fingers on the table as if at any second he might just get up and walk out. Hopefully he’d remember to take her with him, Millie thought darkly, as she attempted to get this wary woman to at least make small talk.
‘To Russia?’ Millie’s wide smile was so strained, so forced, she could almost feel her lips splitting under the strain. ‘To…’ She gave a tiny frown as she tried to recall the name Levander had cited. ‘To Detsky Dom?’
If she’d stood up and danced naked on the table, if she’d passed wind and laughed, the response couldn’t have been worse. Annika knocked over her wine glass as she let out a shocked gasp, Nina just gaped at her for her boldness, and Ivan spluttered into a noisy fit of coughing. But most curious of all, as she turned anguished eyes to Levander for support, as she tried and failed to understand what on earth she had said that was so awful, she was stunned to see him put back his head and laugh.
‘I’m sorry,’ Millie floundered helplessly. ‘What did I say?’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Still Levander laughed, but his eyes when he stood were as black as coal. ‘You see—Annika is too good for Detsky Dom—is that not right, Nina? Come…’As the waiter placed a shot of espresso in front of him, Levander didn’t even give it a glance. ‘We go now.’
‘It is too soon—’ Nina started, but Levander was adamant.
‘Why?’ Levander challenged. ‘You have your pictures for the paper.’
And so it started again—scarlet lips air-kissing her cheeks, perfume wafting in her nostrils as the table noisily farewelled them. And if she’d been confused before, Mille was perturbed now, her head whirring with questions as they stepped out of the restaurant and into a waiting car—sped the few hundred metres to the hotel and in a matter of moments were back in Levander’s sumptuous suite.
Expecting His Love-Child Page 9
