The Russian's Ultimatum

‘That is Aliana Island.’ It was the first time he’d put a name to her final destination.

Aliana Island: even its name was beautiful.

Emily reminded herself that it should make no difference whether her prison for the next week was an under-stairs cupboard or a virtual paradise. Her reasons for being there were the same. She was there against her will.

All the same, the closer they got to their destination, the more her spirits lifted. The island didn’t appear to get any bigger, but she could see more detail. The deep blue sea beneath them lightened, turning a clearer turquoise than she could have dreamed of, the sandy beach before them sparkling under the beaming sun.

‘We have to be careful getting to the island,’ Pascha explained in that clipped manner she was becoming used to. ‘It’s surrounded by a coral reef.’

‘Aren’t they dangerous for boats?’ She didn’t know much about coral reefs but that was one thing she was fairly certain of.

‘Exceedingly dangerous,’ he agreed. ‘Only a fool would navigate coral waters without any prior knowledge of them. Luis has been navigating these waters for years.’

‘That’s good to know,’ she murmured without surprise. In the short time she’d known him, Pascha had proved himself a man who took security and safety extremely seriously.

‘Is that a temple?’ she asked, spotting what looked like some kind of Buddhist retreat set back a little from the beach.

‘No. It’s my lodge.’

‘Your lodge?’

‘Aliana Island belongs to me.’

Despite herself, Emily was impressed. Looking carefully, she could see other, smaller buildings with thatched roofs branching off the main one. ‘It’s beautiful. How did it get its name? Was Aliana the person who discovered it?’

‘No. Aliana is my mother.’

‘Really?’ Something flittered over her face, a look he couldn’t discern but made him think his answer had pleased her somehow. ‘You named an island after your mother? What a fabulous thing to do. I bet she was delighted when you told her, wasn’t she?’

‘She...’

He struggled to think of the correct wording to describe his mother’s reaction—the slap across his face and the words, ‘You think an island can repair the damage you caused?’

He decided on, ‘She wasn’t displeased.’

He’d bought the island three years before. The ink on the purchase contract had barely dried before he’d changed its name.

He’d had it all planned out. He would visit his mother and Andrei after five years of estrangement. As part of his atonement, he would invite them to spend a holiday with him on the island. He would give them their own keys and tell them to think of it as theirs too—a special place for them all to share and use however they saw fit.

Time and distance had given him a great deal of perspective. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was the worry etched on his mother’s face as she’d watched over the small son she hadn’t known whether would live or die. He’d seen the stress Andrei had carried with him but had never shown his adopted son. The thick, dark hair had thinned and whitened too quickly; the capable hands had calloused seemingly overnight.

Fate had worked against him. Shortly before the lodge had been completed, before Pascha had been able to make things right between them, Andrei had died. He’d gone to bed and never woken up. A heart attack.

The man who’d raised him as if he were his own, who’d worked his fingers to the bone to give Pascha the chance to live, the man Pascha had walked away from...had gone. He’d lost the opportunity to apologise and make amends. He’d lost the opportunity to tell him that he loved him.

His grief-stricken mother...

Pascha’s apology and remorse had washed right over her. His words had come too late. He should have said them when Andrei was alive. Aliana Island was just a possession; it meant nothing to his mother, not when she no longer had her beloved husband to enjoy it with.

But, while he might never be able to make amends with Andrei personally, he could secure his legacy. It was the only thing he could do. And if he was successful...maybe then his mother would forgive him. Their relationship could be repaired—he had to believe that.

‘Do you spend much time here?’ Emily asked, thankfully moving the conversation onto safer territory.

‘Not as much as I would like.’

The yacht had been brought into a lagoon and moored alongside a small jetty. A panelling in the side of the yacht unfurled to reveal metal steps for them to disembark from. Pascha strolled down the steps and made his way up the jetty.

He was sorely tempted to get Luis, the man he employed to skipper his yacht, to take him straight back to Puerto Rico so he could take his jet directly to Paris, his next destination. However, he’d been awake for over a day, having flown from Milan to London in the early hours. He needed sleep. If there was one thing Pascha did not mess around with, it was his health, and sleep was instrumental to it.

The odds of the illness which had threatened his life as a child returning was miniscule, but a miniscule chance was worse than no chance at all. Sleep, exercise and a healthy diet were all things he could control. Controlling them lowered that miniscule chance, putting the odds even more in his favour.

He’d planned to sleep on the flight from London but for once had been unable to, his awareness of the proximity of his guest having made it impossible for him to relax. He kept catching wafts of the perfume Emily had applied before he’d finally got her out of her bedroom. Her scent was delicious, an earthy smell with a touch of honeyed sweetness his senses responded to of their own accord, much to his annoyance.

He needed rest, and for that he’d need space. He would have a quick meal then get his head down—eight solid hours to recharge his batteries—then leave at first light.

He followed the pathway, traversing the beach up to the main entrance of the lodge, aware of Emily following behind him. Valeria, his head of housekeeping, was there to greet them.

After exchanging pleasantries, he said, ‘Please show Miss Richardson to her guest hut and show her where everything is. Are we okay to eat in an hour?’

Valeria nodded. His unplanned visit hadn’t fazed her in the slightest. Under normal circumstances Pascha would give proper notice of a planned visit so she could prepare for it. Today she’d had roughly twelve hours to get everything ready, but from what he could see everything was in hand.

When he stepped into his hut, everything was exactly as it should be, not a speck of dust to be seen. Before heading to the bathroom, he stepped out onto the veranda and breathed in the salty air, closing his eyes as he willed the usual peace he found on Aliana Island to envelope him.

With Emily Richardson there, he suspected peace would be a long way off.

* * *

If Emily’s eyes were capable of widening any further, they would have. Connected to the main house by a set of dark hardwood stairs, her hut looked more like an enormous high-end luxury cabin than anything else, with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened up to give a panoramic view, not just of the island but the surrounding ocean. The entire front section of the hut was one huge sliding door. Steps led out to a private veranda with a dining table, then down to a balcony with an abundance of soft white sun-loungers. More steps led down onto the beach.

After a quick discussion about Emily’s dietary requirements—apparently there were three chefs on site to prepare whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted—Valeria left her to settle in.

Alone, Emily tried to take it all in, but she was so overwhelmed by her hut, her surroundings, the fact that Aliana Island was a private paradise...

And this was her prison. A jail with a four-poster bed.

It felt as if she’d been plunged into the middle of a fantastical dream.

In the far corner of her hut was a roll-topped bath. She longed to get into it but felt too exposed with all the surrounding glass. Instead, she opted for a shower in her bathroom, which was mercifully private, then changed into a pair of three-quarter-length skinny black trousers with silver sequins running down the lines and a silky grey vest top. She applied her make-up with care. She’d always adored wearing make-up, loved the way it could enhance a mood. Today it felt as if she were applying battle armour.

Her appearance taken care of, she set about unpacking then padded out barefoot onto the veranda. Her spirits soared further when she found her own small private swimming pool. She’d caught a glimpse of the long pool that snaked around the main house, but to find she had her own one too...and one that was entirely private.

Now that she really took stock of everything, she could see she really did have complete privacy. No one could see into her space. She decided that she would definitely use the bath in the morning.

She checked herself, forcing a curb on her excitement. This was not a holiday. Not by a long mark. She must not forget that.

It wasn’t until she leaned over the pebbled wall separating her balcony from the steps down to the beach that she caught a glimpse of another hut overhanging to the left of hers. Craning her neck for a better look, she jerked when she saw Pascha leaning over his own wall talking into his mobile phone, the top part of his naked torso visible...

He must have sensed her gaze for he suddenly looked down. For the briefest of moments their eyes locked before she tore her eyes away and stepped back, out of sight.

She inhaled deeply and placed a hand to her chest. Her heart raced, her skin tingled and, much as she tried to blink the image away, all she could see was the hard chest with a smattering of dark hair over taut muscles.

Utterly unnerved by her reaction to semi-naked Pascha, Emily resolved to stay in her hut for the rest of the evening, using its phone to call down to the kitchen and request her dinner be brought up to her.

It felt safer to keep out of his way. Much safer.

In the meantime, she needed to call home. But picking up the receiver proved a fruitless task. The phone in her hut connected to the main house but nowhere else. As soon as she dialled any other number, a beep rang in her ear. She was disappointed, but she wasn’t surprised. The whole point in Pascha keeping her there was to stop her communicating with anyone. All the same, she decided to try her mobile phone. She curled up on an outdoor sofa that was completely hidden from view and switched it on. Nothing. No signal bars, no Internet access. Nothing. No wonder Pascha hadn’t bothered trying to take it from her.

She muttered a curse just as a soft buzzer went off in her room.

‘Come in,’ she called, assuming it was her dinner being brought to her. Rising to her feet, she gave a sharp intake of breath when she found Pascha in her hut.

‘How have you settled in?’ he asked, stepping out to join her on the veranda. He’d changed into dark linen trousers and an open-necked light blue shirt. Were it not for the fact his attire had been ironed to within an inch of its life, and his hair styled to such an extent that not a single strand dared depart from the slight quiff, she would have said he looked casual. But then, casual was a state of mind. Emily doubted he ever switched off.

‘I’ve settled in fine,’ she replied, resisting the urge to push him back into the hut and shove him out through the French doors. It wouldn’t make any difference if she did; they’d only be separated by the windows. She held her phone out to him. ‘I need to call home.’

He didn’t even look at it. ‘There’s a block on all electronic communications without an access code.’

‘I gathered that. I need to call home. Is there another phone I can use?’

‘You only left this morning.’

‘A lot can happen in a day.’ At his narrowing eyes, she quickly added, ‘You can hover by my side while I make the call and satisfy yourself that I’m not revealing any state secrets. I just want to make sure my dad’s okay and that my brother’s got there.’

Silence hung between them while Pascha contemplated her request. After what felt like an age, he inclined his head. ‘You can use my phone.’

‘Seeing as my phone is useless here, I’ll need a number my dad and brother can reach me on too.’ She’d assumed he would take her phone and keep it on him, had assumed her family would be able to reach her even if she couldn’t contact them.

When it looked as if he would refuse, she folded her arms. ‘Look, you either let me give them an emergency contact number or I will make it my business to be the most difficult guest you’ve ever had here.’

‘You’re already the most difficult guest I’ve ever had here.’ Was it her imagination or was that a glimmer of humour in his eyes?

‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’

‘I can well believe it. You can call home and give my number as an emergency contact, but it can wait until after we’ve eaten.’

This time it was her eyes that narrowed.

His cheeks formed a semblance of a smile. ‘Yes, Emily, you will be dining with me tonight.’

‘I was planning on eating on my veranda. Alone,’ she added pointedly.

‘You can dine alone on your veranda for the rest of the week but this evening I require the pleasure of your company. My staff have set up the beach table for us.’ From the way he enunciated the word ‘pleasure’, it was obvious he found the prospect of her company nothing of the sort.

‘Why not?’ She threw him a brittle smile. ‘You and I are clearly ideal candidates for a romantic meal for two.’

His lips tightened. ‘Circumstances are what they are. I’ll be leaving for Paris first thing in the morning and there are a number of things we need to discuss before I leave.’

‘Excellent.’ She grinned at him without an ounce of warmth. ‘Let’s get this over with, then—with any luck it’ll be the last time we have to suffer one another’s company.’

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