Russian's Ruthless Demand

Mr Smooth-Talking Kuznetskov leant his elbow against the bar and drew her attention to the thin cotton shirt that moulded itself to his impressive chest and tapered down to a lean waist before tucking into custom-tailored black pants. He wore highly polished dress shoes she knew hadn’t come from any High Street trader, elevating his aura of brute male elegance.

He shifted under the weight of her sizzling gaze and when Eleanore raised her eyes to his she was glad of the strobe lighting that hopefully hid the blush that crept into her cheeks. Pop music blared from the speaker system and she focused in on it as if she’d been absorbed by that and not his masculinity for the past couple of minutes.

A small smile played around the edges of his mouth as if she hadn’t fooled him one bit and it was all the impetus she needed to pull the cloak from her shoulders and push off the ice stool to stand beside him. With his slouched position and her high-heeled boots they were at eye level and Eleanore thrust the cloak out in front of her. ‘I don’t need this.’ No, she needed a hit around the head for being such a dunce!

His eyes narrowed, his gaze assessing. ‘That dress can’t be keeping you very warm.’

Eleanore arched a brow, determined not to fall prey to his deadly good looks. He was right, of course; her thin woollen dress was completely inappropriate for the low temperature inside the bar but she’d been running on adrenaline all night and hadn’t noticed. And she had a jacket. She just couldn’t remember where she had put it. ‘Whether it is or not is hardly any business of yours.’

His own brow arched. ‘Indeed.’

‘Yes.’ The smile she gave him was brittle at best because she wanted him to know that he was wasting his time trying to pick her up—if that was his intention—and why else would he bother with the compliments and inane chitchat if it wasn’t? ‘I hope you enjoy the ice bar.

We’d love to see you here again sometime but …’

She frowned when he threw his head back and laughed. ‘You find something amusing?’

‘Only that you’re frostier than the bar top I’m leaning on.’ He raised his arm and they both glanced at the wet circle around his elbow. Eleanore was about to say something pithy about not leaning on frozen water when she realised how tall and broad he was compared to her own five feet four—or seven in her ankle boots.

‘And somehow I seem to have offended you without even trying,’ he continued charmingly. ‘But perhaps that is because I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lukas Kuznetskov.’

‘I know who you are.’ The words were out before Eleanore could recall them and they sank between them like rocks thrown into a murky pond.

Lukas remained completely still as he registered the insult implicit in her tone. Perhaps that comment he’d overheard earlier between her and Miss Gothic had been about him after all.

Eleanore’s eyes flashed tiny green and amber sparks at him and he realised absently that they were hazel, not brown as he’d first thought. Alluring eyes that tilted a little at the edges in line with her cheekbones.

When he’d first arrived he’d thought she looked quite dowdy sitting on the stool in a basic black dress, the only colour coming from a pair of bright orange ankle boots that tended to make a woman’s ankles look twice the size they were and some weird matching chopstick things sticking out of her neat bun. Then her interesting eyes had caught his in the mirror and briefly stalled his train of thought. Once he’d shaken off the weird feeling that a goose had just walked over his grave he’d studied her. He’d waited for her covetous gaze to signal the type of interest he was used to getting from women. But she hadn’t done that. Instead she’d grimaced as if she’d just been shown a bag full of eels and looked away.

His healthy ego had felt the immediate prick of her dismissal but he’d thought she didn’t know who he was. He’d assumed that when she found out she’d be more than happy to talk to him. And probably warm his bed if he was so inclined. Which he wasn’t. Under different circumstances he might have been drawn to her elegant features and full lips. Those catlike eyes, but he had a different agenda tonight and it didn’t include taking her to his bed.

Still, he couldn’t fathom her negative response other than to think that she was one of those phony stuck-up rich girls who thought pedigree was everything. He’d learned the hard way that just because he now knew his fish fork from his fruit fork it didn’t mean instant acceptance from those with old money.

Fortunately he was sufficiently impressed with the overall effect and intricate detail put into Glaciers, not to mention being up against the clock, to set aside his own misgivings about her suitability for his project to offer her a job. First though he’d have to find a way to thaw her out. A not altogether displeasing concept.

‘Why do I get the feeling you dislike me, Miss Harrington?’

‘I don’t dislike you at all, Mr Kuznetskov.’ She gave him another false smile and squared her slender shoulders. ‘How could I when I don’t even know you? And I’m certainly not the type of person to make a snap judgement on such a brief acquaintance,’ she finished primly.

Da, she disliked him all right. ‘I think you’re lying, Miss Harrington,’ he said pleasantly.

The bartender pushed an ice glass across to him, interrupting Eleanore Harrington’s shocked gasp, and he downed the finger of vodka in one hit and welcomed the burn of it down the back of his throat.

‘I am not.’

‘Yes, you are. For some reason you’ve not only judged me, you’ve sentenced me as well, and yet by your own admission we don’t even know each other.’

‘Would that be like you passing judgement on our hotels two years ago when you had only stayed one night?’ she challenged.

Ah, Lukas was beginning to understand her animosity now. Somehow she’d heard about his comments after his brief stay at her Florida hotel. Not that he would apologise for them. He’d suffered a terrible night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress and then his morning coffee had been cold. On top of that the valet had misplaced his car and he’d been overcharged on his bill. All in all, not a great experience. ‘My comments were deserved, Miss Harrington. Your hotel offered substandard service and I said as much.’

‘To the press?’ She crinkled her pretty nose. ‘I could have respected your comments if you’d filled out a hospitality card but instead you had to announce your views to the world. You do know that our occupancy rate went down twenty percent for six months after that.’

Lukas could feel himself getting annoyed with her attitude. ‘I don’t believe I have quite that much influence in the world—though, of course, I’m flattered that you do. Perhaps your lower occupancy rate was due to management issues.’

‘Oh, you would take that view.’

‘If it helps, I didn’t mean for my comments to make it to the press,’ he offered. ‘In fact, I didn’t even know that they had.’

‘How could you not?’ She reluctantly perched on the edge of her stool when she realised they were drawing curious glances from nearby patrons.

‘I don’t read my own press. I pay someone to do that and to bring anything that needs addressing to my attention. Clearly that was not big enough to warrant my attention.’

‘Clearly not.’ Her pointy little chin rose between them. ‘Goodnight, Mr Kuznetskov.’

‘Hold on.’ Lukas put his gloved hand out and snagged her delicate wrist just above where her own dark gloves ended. ‘So, based on my truthful comments you’ve made an assumption that I’m a bad person, is that it?’

Well, it had been that and the way he had swanned through the world as if he owned it, Eleanore thought acidly. The way she had wished that she had been the one on his arm at the fashion show instead of that stunning model. ‘I’m entitled to my opinion,’ she said, and nearly winced at how much she sounded like a schoolmarm from a bad nineteen-fifties sitcom.

‘Yes, you are. And fortunately for you I’m sufficiently impressed with your ice bar to continue this conversation.’

What did that mean?

‘Can I get that on record?’ she asked archly.

He smiled. ‘Like I said, it’s nice to know you think my opinion is so powerful.’

Oh, he knew his opinion was powerful. He spoke and the press behaved like pathetic lapdogs. As did his women, no doubt. ‘Why should how you feel about Glaciers make any difference to me?’

‘Because I have an opportunity to offer you.’

An opportunity? Eleanore nearly laughed. Only he could call picking up a woman in a bar an opportunity. ‘Not interested,’ she said flatly.

He paused and shook his head. ‘My, how you do like to jump to conclusions, Miss Harrington. But I didn’t mean that kind of opportunity.’ His gaze raked her over and sent hot rivulets of sensation sparking through her. ‘Although I could be persuaded to consider the other if you were so inclined.’

Irritation, she thought sourly, that was what had caused the strange sensation to suffuse her body, that and the fact that she had somehow amused him without intending to. ‘I’m not. And nor am I interested in any opportunity you might have for me, Mr Kuznetskov. Is that clear enough for you?’ She smiled with false sweetness, extricating her wrist from his firm grip.

Lukas laughed again. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself quite so much when he’d arrived in Singapore. He hadn’t expected to find the Harrington heiress so alluring either. ‘You know it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific to let your emotions make your decisions for you,’ he drawled, admiring the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew a little flushed as he challenged her.

‘And it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific for you to not take no for an answer,’ she retorted.

His grin widened at her heated comeback. ‘Touché, Miss Harrington.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we start over?’

‘I don’t see why we should.’

‘Because as I said I have an opportunity—a possible job opportunity—to discuss with you.’

‘A job? Are you joking?’

‘I never joke about business.’

‘Well, I already have a job.’

‘One where you are currently underutilised.’

‘How would you know that?’

Lukas nearly shook his head at her shocked outburst. Did the woman not know how to hide any of her emotions? ‘Tomaso Coraletti.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘How do you know Tomaso?’

‘He builds ships for me.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she scorned. ‘For a moment I thought his taste in friends had plummeted.’

Lukas smiled. If she was trying to put him off by being contrary it wasn’t working. In fact, the more riled she became, the more her interesting eyes sparkled and the more his body stirred. A realisation that surprised him. Perhaps Maria was right and he needed to go find himself some biscotti. Some very temporary biscotti. ‘He said you were one of the most talented students he’s ever taught and that you would be perfect for the project I am working on.’

‘Well, that’s very nice of him but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve wasted your time coming here because …’

‘Look, Miss Harrington,’ Lukas interrupted, short of patience and time and not a little put out by his unexpected physical reaction to her. ‘You’ve voiced your unhappiness at my comments about your hotels and it’s been duly noted but business is business. It would be a mistake to confuse it with anything personal.’

‘Excuse me?’ Her chin came up. ‘Are you implying that I am?’

Clearly he’d hit a nerve.

She stood up quickly, nearly overbalancing her stool, and would have stumbled if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her elbow.

‘What are you doing?’ she grated at him. ‘Let me go.’

He could feel the delicate bones of her arm through his gloves and slowly pulled his hand away. ‘My apologies,’ he drawled, somewhat disconcerted by the thought that he’d like to remove his glove and touch her bare skin with his own. ‘Should I have let you fall?’ he mocked. ‘I’m never sure with you card-carrying feminists.’

‘Very funny.’

Giving himself a mental shakedown Lukas got his mind back on track. ‘Or perhaps you just don’t think you can do it.’

Eleanore couldn’t believe the gall of the man. First he insulted her business and then he insulted her. About to lambast the man, the enormous overhead fan kicked in and a blast of cold air shot out of the vents and cooled her heated cheeks. It also blew the loose strands of her hair across her face.

Pulling off a glove she reached up to carefully dislodge the hair that had snagged on her lipstick when her fingers collided with his. Apparently Lukas had also removed his glove and she knew a moment of absolute shock as the feel of his warm skin against hers zinged through her system in a flash of sexual heat. Like a cyborg waking from a deep sleep, parts of her body came online for the first time and her dazed eyes landed on his sculpted lips so close to her own.

‘An ice hotel,’ he murmured, his gaze lingering on her mouth as if he knew she had been wondering what it would be like to breach the insignificant gap between them and kiss him.

Flustered, annoyed and tired, Eleanore glared at the man. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m building an ice hotel and my architect just quit. I want you to complete the design and project-manage the build.’

An ice hotel? A whole ice hotel? For a moment all Eleanore’s other senses came to full attention. She’d tried to convince Isabelle to do an ice hotel in Canada the year before but she had thought it a waste of time and money. ‘Why did your architect quit?’

‘Because his ego was larger than his talent.’

Eleanore’s lips quirked at his incongruous statement. ‘I’m sure he didn’t phrase it like that.’

‘Perhaps not.’ He gave her a slow smile. ‘But I can see I have your attention now.’

Annoyed at the victorious gleam in his eyes she shook her head. ‘Which part of no didn’t you get, Mr Kuznetskov? The n or the o?’

‘I don’t tend to respond that well to the word no,’ he drawled.

‘Then you haven’t wasted your time coming here after all because you’re about to be taught an important life lesson. And anyway, my sister would never agree to it.’

Isabelle had been even angrier about Lukas’s disparaging comments two years ago than Eleanore had been.

‘Well, that’s too bad.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’ll approach Spencer Chatsfield and see what he can do for me.’

Spencer Chatsfield? He was probably the only other man Isabelle disliked more. And what did Lukas know about their current feud? ‘Is that some sort of threat?’ she asked incredulously.

‘I never make threats.’ His smoking-hot grin told her he knew he had her. ‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

‘We don’t have a room 1006.’

His grin faded into a cocky smile as if he knew his next words would choke her. ‘Room 1006 at The Chatsfield.’

And he was right.

Eleanore blinked as he strode unhurriedly from the bar, his loose-limbed grace drawing both male and female glances his way.

Arrogant, horrible …

‘That got a little heated,’ Lulu said, materialising at her side.

She wasn’t kidding.

Eleanore frowned. ‘Have you seen my phone?’

‘Yeah.’ She reached behind an ice shelf on the bar. ‘I put it here when we got busy before and forgot to tell you.’

Picking it up Eleanore tried to get her cold fingers to work long enough to call Isabelle. It was still early in New York—if in fact her sister was even in New York—but she still couldn’t get through to her.

About to leave a message, she hung up. Would Lukas Kuznetskov really approach the Chatsfields for help with his ice hotel? And if he did what would Isabelle say if she knew Eleanore had passed up the opportunity to get in first?

‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

Arrogant, horrible …

Annoyed Eleanore downed a glass of water on the bar and only realised halfway through that it wasn’t water.

Lulu smacked her on the back repeatedly as she went into a coughing fit. ‘Honey, that was straight tequila,’ she advised.

Eleanore dabbed at her watering eyes. ‘It’s in a water glass,’ she wheezed.

‘We ran out of shot glasses.’

Great. A burnt oesophagus on top of everything else. What more could go wrong tonight?

CHAPTER TWO

TEN MINUTES LATER Eleanore found herself in a cab outside the main entrance of The Chatsfield, Singapore.

She glanced out the window, scouting for any paparazzi lurking in the shadows. Fortunately no one was around other than a liveried doorman and she steeled her spine as he reached out to open her door.

Deciding that the best way to go unnoticed was to act like she was just another guest coming in late for the night, she smiled confidently at the doorman as she strode past.

Once through the gleaming glass doors she crossed the acre of white-and-blue-veined marble floors toward the wall of gleaming elevators, hoping that none of the Chatsfields were in residence. Running into one of them would be truly humiliating!

If it was possible, she hated Lukas Kuznetskov even more for putting her in this nerve-wracking situation and only exhaled when the lift doors closed behind her, sealing her into its mirrored vault.

One mission accomplished without incident, she thought with a relieved breath. Maybe the rest of the night would go the same way.

She took a moment to study her reflection, smoothing out the lipstick she’d taken the time to reapply before leaving her hotel, and checked that her hair was still in place. No way was she meeting Mr Smooth-Talking Kuznetskov on his turf looking like one of Lulu’s wrung-out dish rags.

Satisfied, she raised her eyes to track the ascending numbers on the lift panel and wondered again if she shouldn’t have left this meeting until morning. Then she decided that no, she was unlikely to fall asleep with Lukas’s ‘opportunity’ hanging over her head and—some wicked side she never would have guessed she possessed—hoped she might interrupt his sleep as payment for his arrogance.

Unfortunately he wasn’t sleeping, he was on the phone when he answered the door, and he didn’t even pause in his conversation as he ushered her inside. She noticed that he’d rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and ignored the temptation to admire his impressive forearms. So the man had a good body. That didn’t make him an attractive person. A man needed a lot more than money and looks to get her attention.

‘Arrogant jackass,’ she murmured under her breath as she stalked past him, stopping in the centre of the spacious sitting room, her designer’s eye admiring the rich furnishings and sophisticated fittings.

Still talking on the phone he bent over the low coffee table between two large sofas and pressed a few keys on his laptop. Then he swivelled the computer toward her and indicated for her to take a seat. ‘Have a look at these,’ he murmured before returning his attention to his caller.

Rude was the only word that came to Eleanore’s mind and she resented the superior way he thought he’d won. She had half a mind to ignore his computer but that left only him to look at so she relented. And anyway, she reminded herself, she was here to stop him from offering someone at the Chatsfield Hotels a job until she had a chance to consider his proposal properly. Not that she imagined for one minute that Isabelle would be happy with her being here. Which made her incredibly uncomfortable because she adored her sister and would never do anything to upset her.

A minute later a fresh bottle of water was plonked down in front of her. She glanced up and a smile tilted the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly how disgruntled she was. Which was impossible. She wasn’t that easy to read. Was she?

‘Sorry about the phone call. Unfortunately business doesn’t sleep.’

The mention of sleep made her think of beds and tiredness and him and she shook off a wooziness probably brought about by the tequila slammer she’d inadvertently ingested.

‘Are you sure you don’t want coffee? You look like you could use it.’

‘Thanks,’ she said tartly, knowing that even if she was dying for a cup she wouldn’t take one from him after that. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’ Now if he’d offered her a chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream on the side she might have set her pride aside. Okay, she would have, but coffee would only keep her up anyway.

He shrugged at her response and sat down on the sofa beside her. The cushion bowed under his extra weight and she felt herself list toward him and had to put her hand down between their bodies to stop herself from touching him. Even so, her hand brushed the hard muscle of his thigh and she shifted away as if she was politely giving him more space when in reality his closeness seemed to addle her thinking. Or was that the cocktail and tequila? Either way Eleanore wanted to get this out of the way and get back to her bed. Alone.

Well, of course alone, she admonished the voice in her head. She had little time or inclination for a man as it was and this man would never make her top one hundred, let alone her top ten. ‘So tell me what I’m looking at,’ she said briskly.

He clicked the mouse a couple of times and a three-dimensional snowflake came onto the screen. ‘The hotel is designed to look like a snowflake. Five wings hold the guest bedrooms and one is the reception area and main restaurant.’ He scrolled through a few more images and despite her determination to be bored by the whole thing she wasn’t.

‘It’s very clever,’ she conceded reluctantly.

‘A compliment, Eleanore?’

‘Don’t take it to heart, Mr Kuznetskov.’ She didn’t like the way he said her name. It sounded too familiar on his lips. Too sexy coming from that deeply accented voice.

He smiled as if he could read her like an open book. ‘It is clever, but I need someone to turn it from a concept into a reality. Can you do it?’

Could she do it? Yes, she had no doubt she could—or at least she hoped she could. Would she give him the upper hand by revealing that? Never.

‘You might want to think about moving the restaurant so that it’s more central to the design,’ she said before she could stop herself.

His brows drew together. ‘I already thought of that but I was told it wasn’t possible due to the positioning of the kitchen.’

Eleanore stifled a yawn as her creative side warred with her need to get up and leave. ‘It is. You just have to know how to do it.’

‘And you know how.’

‘Yes, actually, I do. I was fascinated by the concept of living in an igloo as a child and incorporated ice buildings as one of my electives during my final year of study.’ She frowned at the screen. ‘The guest bedrooms are also a little …’

‘Dull?’

His straightforwardness was refreshing, she thought. Too often people tried to cover up inadequacies or mistakes with excuses. ‘Yes, that word works. These rooms are basically designed all the same. If you want to be truly innovative you need to have them themed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, give your guests a reason to visit other than for a night sleeping in a fridge. Which is essentially what they’re getting.’

‘This hotel will be pure luxury. Whatever guests want they’ll have.’

‘To make it pure luxury on ice you’ll need designer rooms and a warm bathroom to be attached to each one.’

‘I was told that couldn’t be done either.’

She shook her head when she realised how far she had been drawn in by him. ‘Why do I feel like I’m being manipulated?’

He smiled and it belonged to a movie star. ‘What about the atrium in the reception area? I know there’s something wrong with it but I can’t pick it.’