Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

‘I’m relieved to know that my kissing you did not make you sick.’ There was amusement in Vadim’s voice now and Ella glared at him, or tried to, but the pain across her temples was excruciating and she closed her eyes, wishing she were back home at Kingfisher House rather than standing by the side of the road with a man who infuriated her and fascinated her in equal measures.

‘Do you have medication for your headache?’

She forced her eyes open to find him standing close beside her, and for some inexplicable reason she wanted to rest her pounding head against the broad strength of his chest. ‘My prescription painkillers are at home. I usually carry some with me, but I forgot them tonight,’ she muttered ruefully.

‘Then I’d better get you home quickly.’ Vadim helped her into the car and strode round to the driver’s side, coiling his long frame behind the wheel. ‘Here, let me do that.’ He leaned across her and adjusted her seat belt, and despite the throbbing pain in her head Ella was acutely conscious of his closeness, her senses flaring as she breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne.

In the glow from the street-lamp his swarthy olive skin gleamed like silk, but the brilliance of his blue eyes was shielded by thick black lashes. His mouth was inches from hers, and she recalled the firm pressure of his lips easing hers apart, demanding a response she had been helpless to deny. She suddenly felt hot, when seconds ago she had been freezing cold, but she could not blame her erratic temperature swing on her migraine, she admitted dismally. For some reason this man affected her in a way no man had ever done—made her feel things she had confidently assumed would never trouble her.

When Vadim had told her that some of her male friends thought she was frigid, she hadn’t been surprised. It had occurred to her that the reason for her complete lack of interest in the opposite sex might not only be due to the hatred she had felt for her father, and that she must simply have a low sex-drive. But the erotic dreams that had plagued her since this Russian had first kissed her hand in Paris had turned that notion on its head. He had awoken her sensuality—but far from wanting to explore the feelings he aroused in her—her instinct was to run and keep on running.

Vadim stared at her, and said in a half-amused, half-impa-tient voice, ‘For pity’s sake, don’t look at me like that now, when you know damn well there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Like what?’ she mumbled, dazed with pain and overwhelmed by his potent masculinity.

‘Like you want me to kiss you again and keep on kissing you, until the slide of mouth on mouth is no longer enough for either of us and only the feel of hands caressing naked skin will satisfy the ache that consumes us both,’ he said, in a low tone that simmered with sexual promise.

Face burning at the images he evoked, Ella jerked upright—and drew a sharp breath when a burning poker pierced her skull. ‘I didn’t…I don’t…’

‘Liar.’

She was so pale she looked as though she might pass out. Vadim controlled his frustration and fired the ignition, wondering how he could ever have bought into the image Ella projected of cool, reserved, independent woman. Instead she was a seething mass of emotions, intense, hot-blooded and surprisingly vulnerable, and she intrigued him more than any other woman had ever done. Walking away from her was not an option right now, he conceded grimly. He wanted her, and he knew damn well that she wanted him; he simply had to convince her of that fact.

But now was not the time, he acknowledged when he shot another glance at her wan face. She looked achingly fragile, and he was surprised by the level of his concern. He drove along the main road until the satellite navigation system instructed him to take a right turn into a side street which he suddenly realised was familiar, and his frown deepened when he swung onto the driveway of a large, beautiful mansion house.

‘This is your house?’ he queried harshly.

‘I wish,’ Ella muttered, too overwhelmed by the pain in her head to wonder why Vadim sounded puzzled. ‘It belongs to my uncle. He owns an estate agency business, and when Kingfisher House came onto the market a few years ago he snapped it up as an investment. He rents the main part of the house out to tenants, and I live in the adjoining staff quarters and act as caretaker when the house is empty—as it has been for the past couple of months.’ She climbed out of the car and glanced wistfully at the gracious old house that she had fallen in love with the minute she’d first seen it. ‘Hopefully when Uncle Rex finds new tenants they’ll allow me to continue living here.’ The American businessman who had rented Kingfisher House the previous year had travelled extensively with his job, and had been happy for Ella to stay and keep an eye on the place, but new people might want to use the staff quarters, which would mean she would have to move out. The possibility of having to find somewhere else to live had been worrying her for weeks, but right now all she could think of was swallowing a couple of painkillers and crawling into bed, and so she started to walk carefully towards the front door on legs that felt decidedly wobbly.

Strong arms suddenly closed around her, and she gave a startled cry when Vadim swung her into his arms. ‘Stop fighting and let me help you,’ he said roughly. ‘You’re about to collapse.’ Her eyes were shadowed with pain, and the shimmer of tears evoked another tug of compassion that surprised him when usually he had little patience for weakness. His childhood had been tough, and devoid of kindness, and two years doing his national service in the Russian army had been brutally harsh. He had learned early in life that survival was dependent on physical and mental strength, and he acknowledged the truth in the accusation by some of his ex-lovers that he was hard and unemotional.

He’d spent so long suppressing his feelings that it came as a shock to realise he had the capacity to feel pity; Vadim brooded as he strode up to the house. But for some reason the woman in his arms elicited an emotion in him that might almost be described as tenderness. His mouth tightened. The idea that he was drawn to Ella by anything more than sexual attraction was disturbing, and he swiftly rejected it. All he asked from the women who briefly shared his life was physical satisfaction—the slaking of mutual lust until desire faded and he grew bored and moved on to someone new. Ella was no different, he told himself grimly. He wanted her, and soon he would have her. But the beginning would spell the end, as it always did.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU can put me down now,’ Ella insisted, the moment Vadim had pushed open the front door and carried her across the entrance hall towards the sweeping staircase which led to the upper floors. ‘My part of the house is on the ground floor, through that door. I’ll manage fine, thank you,’ she added tersely, when he did not set her down as she had hoped, but turned towards the door she had indicated.

He shouldered the door and strode into her sitting room, glancing around the spacious room which was dominated by an enormous grand piano. The room was at the back of the house, and through the French windows he could make out a sweeping lawn and beyond it the wide expanse of the River Thames, gleaming dully in the moonlight.

‘You must have a wonderful view of the river.’

‘Oh, yes, and of Hampton Court on the opposite bank. I love it here,’ Ella confessed. ‘I can’t bear the thought that I may have to move out. It was very good of Uncle Rex to persuade his previous tenant to allow me stay here, but I might not be so lucky next time. The trouble is, there aren’t many flats that I can afford with rooms big enough for the piano, or where I can practise my music for hours on end without disturbing the neighbours.’

‘Why don’t you sell the piano? My knowledge of musical instruments is limited, but I know Steinways are worth a fortune.’

‘I’ll never sell it,’ Ella said fiercely. ‘It was my mother’s. She loved it, and it was one of the few possessions of hers I fought to keep when I had to sell Stafford Hall. That was the family pile,’ she explained, when Vadim gave her a querying look. ‘Stafford Hall was a gift to one of my ancestors from Henry VIII, and the house, along with a sizeable fortune, was passed down through the family for generations—until it reached my father.’

The undisguised bitterness in her voice stirred Vadim’s curiosity. ‘What happened? And where are your parents now?’

‘They’re both dead. My mother died when I was thirteen,’ she revealed in a low tone, which hardened as she added, ‘My father died five years ago—after he’d drunk and gambled away all the money. When it ran out he went though the house and sold off anything of value, but fortunately my mother had bequeathed her violin and piano to me in her will, and he wasn’t able to touch them. After he died I had to sell the Hall to clear the mountain of debts he’d left, and that’s when Uncle Rex allowed me to move in here.’

The Stafford fortune had not only been wasted on the late Earl’s love of whisky and the roulette wheel but also on his love of women, Ella thought bitterly. Her father had been a notorious playboy, and from early childhood she had vowed never to be attracted to the type of man who treated women as a form of entertainment.

So why, she asked herself angrily, had she allowed Vadim Aleksandrov—a man who changed his mistresses more often than most men changed their socks—to kiss her tonight? And, even worse, why had she responded to him—perhaps given him the idea that she was willing to hop into bed with him?

The searing pain of her migraine was no excuse for her to have weakly let him carry her into the house. She was acutely conscious of the feel of his arms around her waist and beneath her knees. Held close against his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. It made her feel safe somehow, secure, but that was an illusion, of course, because the last thing she would be with Vadim was safe. He was a man like her father, a handsome heartbreaker, and from the moment she had met him her instincts had warned her to steer clear of him.

‘Put me down, please.’ She moved restlessly in his arms, but he ignored her struggles and strode across the sitting room to the door which stood ajar to reveal her bedroom.

‘Where are your painkillers?’

‘In the bedside drawer.’ He lowered her slowly onto the bed, but the movement caused her to draw a sharp breath as the pain in her head became unendurable. She moaned when he flicked on the lamp, and as soon as he’d found her medication he doused the light so that the only illumination in the room was from the moonlight glimmering through the open curtains.

‘I’ll get you some water.’

She heard him walk into the en suite bathroom, and he returned seconds later to hand her a glass of water. The safety lid on the painkillers was beyond her, and she was grateful when he opened it and tipped two tablets into her palm. They were strong, and she knew that in ten minutes, fifteen at most, she would sink into oblivion and escape from the pain that was making her feel so sick.

‘Can you see yourself out?’ she whispered as she sank back against the pillows.

‘I will, once you’re in bed.’ Vadim’s velvet-soft voice was strangely soothing, and she closed her eyes, only to open them again with a jolt when she felt his hand on her ankle.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking your shoes off.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘You can’t get into bed wearing stiletto heels.’

How could the feel of his hands lightly brushing the soles of her feet as he removed her shoes be so intensely erotic? Ella wondered fretfully. Even in the throes of an agonising migraine she was desperately aware of him, and she could only pray he had not noticed the tremor that ran through her.

‘Now your dress.’

‘No way are you going to take my dress off.’ She glared at him through pain-glazed eyes, daring him to touch her, but he ignored her and rolled her gently onto her side, so that he could slide her zip down her spine.

‘You’re telling me you can undress yourself?’ He took her fulminating silence as a no, and, with a deftness she assumed he’d gained from regularly removing women’s clothes, drew her dress over her shoulders and down to her waist. Arguing with him was impossible when her head was about to explode. More than anything she wanted to go to sleep and blot out the pain, and when he told her to lift her hips she obeyed, and allowed him to slide her dress down her legs. She didn’t even care that he could see her functional black bra and knickers. Shivering with pain, she was past caring about anything, but when he drew the covers over her and stood up, good manners prompted her to speak.

‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

Ella looked achingly fragile, and the fact that she hadn’t fought him like a wildcat when he had removed her dress was an indication of the severity of her headache, Vadim mused wryly. ‘Do your migraines usually last long?’

‘I should be fine in the morning, hopefully,’ Ella mumbled sleepily, her eyelids already feeling heavy as the painkillers began to work.

‘Good. As for thanking me, you can do that when you have dinner with me next week.’

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in, and when she forced her eyes open he was already on his way out of the door. ‘I told you, I’m going to Germany next week,’ she called after him.

He glanced over his shoulder, and his sensual smile made her heart lurch. ‘But you’re back at the weekend. I checked with one of the other members of the orchestra. I’ll be in touch.’

Ella didn’t know whether to take that as a threat or a promise, but he had strolled out of her room and closed the door quietly behind him while she was still trying to think of another excuse. Irritating man, she thought angrily as she settled back on her pillow. But as she teetered on the edge of sleep she reminded herself that his ability to disturb her equilibrium also made him a dangerous man, and she was utterly determined not to have dinner with him.

Ella had completely recovered from her debilitating migraine by the time she flew to Cologne with the RLO. She had visited the city many times before, and instead of joining Jenny on a sightseeing trip she made up for her lost practice time by rehearsing for several hours before the concert. The programme of concertos by Bach and Beethoven was received with much acclaim; the orchestra received excellent reviews and arrived back at Gatwick on Saturday morning.

‘I wouldn’t mind being greeted with a bouquet of flowers,’ Jenny commented enviously as they walked through the arrivals gate and spotted a courier clutching a huge arrangement of red roses.

Ella watched the courier talking to one of the orchestra members up ahead, and she gave Jenny a puzzled glance when he walked purposefully in their direction.

‘Eleanor Stafford? These are for you.’

Struggling to hold her violin and suitcase, as well as the bouquet that had been thrust into her arms, Ella was nonplussed. ‘There must be a mistake…’

‘Open the card. Here…’ Jenny rescued the violin, and with fumbling fingers Ella ripped open the envelope and read the note inside.

Welcome home, Ella. Dinner tonight, 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up from Kingfisher House.

It was signed ‘Vadim’, and the sight of the bold black scrawl filled Ella with a mixture of annoyance and jittery excitement that she swiftly quashed. ‘He hasn’t even left a phone number so that I can cancel,’ she noted irritably.

Jenny gave her a look that told Ella she was seriously questioning her sanity. ‘Why would you want to? He’s incredibly good-looking, mega-rich and as sexy as sin,’ she listed. ‘And he’s sent you two dozen red roses. What more do you want? This guy is clearly keen.’

‘I don’t want anything from him,’ Ella snapped. ‘And all he wants is to take me to bed.’

‘So, what’s wrong with that?’ Jenny stopped dead on the way out of the airport terminal and stared at Ella. ‘You’ve always said—right back from when we were pig-tailed first-years at boarding school—that you never wanted to get married.’

‘I don’t.’ Ella frowned, wondering where the conversation was leading.

‘But you’re saying you don’t want an affair either? What are you going to do—live like a nun for the rest of your life?’

‘Yes—no—I don’t know,’ Ella muttered. They had been friends for over a decade, and Jenny knew her better than anyone, but she couldn’t explain her violent reaction to Vadim when she didn’t understand it herself. ‘Are you advocating that I should become Vadim Aleksandrov’s plaything?’she demanded tersely.

‘I can think of worse fates,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘Seriously, Ella…’ Her smile faded. ‘I know you didn’t get on with your dad, and that he treated your mum badly, but you can’t cut yourself off from the world, from men and relationships, because your parents’ marriage didn’t work out.’

‘I haven’t.’ Ella defended herself tersely, but she knew deep down that she was lying. Jenny didn’t understand. How could she, when her parents had been married for thirty years and her father was a gentle, kindly man who patently adored his wife and four children. Ella had spent many happy school holidays with Jenny and her family, and would have gladly swapped the lonely grandeur of Stafford Hall for the Marches’ cramped bungalow in Milton Keynes, which was full of love and laughter. Jenny had no idea what it had been like to witness her father destroy her mother with his mental and sometimes physical cruelty, but the emotional scars ran deep in Ella’s mind, and she had promised herself she would never put herself in a position where a man had any kind of hold over her.

‘When was the last time you went on a date?’ Jenny demanded.

Ella shrugged. ‘A couple of months ago, actually. I had dinner with the flautist Michail Danowski when the Polish orchestra visited.’

Jenny gave her a look of mingled pity and exasperation. ‘He’s gay, so he doesn’t count.’

Ella was saved from answering when a taxi drew up, and they spent the next few minutes stowing violins and luggage in the boot. ‘You can’t put those in here; they’ll get crushed,’ Jenny said when Ella crammed Vadim’s flowers on top of her case. The roses were beautiful, she conceded when the taxi finally pulled away, and she stared at the bouquet on her lap. The velvety petals were a rich ruby-red, filling the car with their sensual perfume.

Red roses were for lovers; the thought stole into her mind together with Jenny’s taunt about spending the rest of her life as a nun. Of course she wasn’t going to do that, she assured herself. It was just that music and her career, both with the RLO and as a soloist, took up all her time, and she couldn’t fit in a relationship right now. Not that Vadim was offering a relationship—he had admitted as much when he had kissed her at Amesbury House. All he wanted was an affair, and she refused to be another notch on his overcrowded bedpost.

The sight of Kingfisher House and the weeping cherry trees that lined the drive, bathed in spring sunshine, lifted Ella’s spirits, and she couldn’t wait to throw open the French doors at the back of the house and walk down the lawn to the private jetty beside the majestic River Thames. But first there was the usual pile of mail to deal with, and a message on the answermachine drained all the pleasure from her homecoming.

‘Ella, Uncle Rex here. I’ve found a new tenant for Kingfisher House. He’s interested in buying the place, but he wants to rent it for six months to see whether it’s suitable for him. There’s no rush for you to move out. He’s happy for you to stay on in the caretaker flat until he decides what he’s going to do. I’ll give you another call to arrange a time when you can meet him—hopefully some time this weekend.’

Ella’s heart sank. She’d known that her uncle had been thinking of selling Kingfisher House, now that the high-end property market was improving after the downturn of the previous couple of years, but she’d put it out of her mind. Now it seemed likely that she would have to move within the next few months, and the problem of finding somewhere to live with rooms big enough to fit a concert grand piano would not make flat-hunting easy.

Life suddenly seemed full of uncertainty, and the prospect of seeing Vadim again added to her tension. She spent the rest of the day in a state of nervous apprehension, which grew worse as seven o’clock drew nearer. She was sure he had deliberately not included his phone number on his dinner invitation to prevent her from cancelling, but if he thought she was the type of woman who would meekly allow herself to be dominated by him, he’d better think again. No man was ever going to boss her around, she resolved fiercely, ignoring the twinge of her conscience that pointed out that it had been good of him to drive her home when she’d been in agony with a migraine. Colour flared on her cheeks when she recalled how he had removed her dress. But, far from taking advantage of her in her vulnerable state, Vadim had behaved like a gentleman and tucked her into bed.

Damn it, why couldn’t he get the message that she wanted nothing to do with him? she brooded irritably as she arranged the mass of red roses in a vase. She didn’t want him to send her flowers, but they were so beautiful that she couldn’t bring herself to throw them in the bin. Most women would be delighted to receive roses from a gorgeous billionaire, she acknowledged ruefully, thinking of her conversation with Jenny. But she was not most women, and although she had denied it to Jenny, she knew that the fear and hatred she’d felt for her father continued to influence the way she felt about all men.

As usual when she felt tense, music was her salvation. She was building a successful career as a violinist, but she still played the piano purely for pleasure, and she was soon lost in another world as she moved her fingers over the smooth ivory keys, finding a release for her pent-up emotions in her favourite pieces by Chopin and Tchaikovsky.

Vadim was met by the haunting melody of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata as he climbed out of his car and strode up the drive of Kingfisher House. He paused to listen, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Ella possessed a truly remarkable gift, and her brilliance as a musician fascinated him as much as her delicate beauty stirred his desire. Loath to disturb her by knocking on the front door, he walked around to the back of the house, where the French windows were thrown wide open and the lilting notes drifted on the air.

She was totally absorbed, and did not look up as he lowered himself onto one of the patio chairs, leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the music. He had never played an instrument in his life; luxuries such as music lessons had not been affordable during his childhood, growing up in what had at that time been the USSR. His father’s job as a factory worker had barely brought in enough money to pay the rent on the tiny apartment they had shared with Vadim’s grandmother, and life had been dominated by the struggle to buy enough to eat during the frequent food shortages. He knew little about the great composers, or of musical techniques, but for some reason music had the power to soothe his restless soul, to reach deep inside him and force a chink in the granite wall around his heart.

As the last lingering notes of the melody faded Ella flexed her fingers, suddenly aware that the room was no longer flooded with afternoon sunlight, but shadowed with the onset of dusk.

‘You play like an angel.’

The familiar, toe-curlingly sexy accent caused her to jerk her head towards the French windows, and her heart thudded beneath her ribs as she jumped to her feet and stared at Vadim.

‘How long have you been there?’ Shock at his appearance sharpened her voice. Playing the piano was an intensely personal experience, a special link with her mother, and she had poured her soul into the music. She had been unaware that she had an audience, and she felt as though she had unwittingly exposed her private emotions to Vadim.