Redemption Of A Ruthless Billionaire. Lucy Ellis
for this.
Meg would say whatever sense of herself as a desirable woman had been shoved into the back of her wardrobe in a box along with her preserved wedding bouquet and all the plans she and Simon had made for the future. But it had happened before that. It had happened when Simon had briefly dated another girl and slept with her.
It was a little disconcerting to say the least to discover, gazing up at this intense, beautiful man, she had no idea where to go from here with him. But she did know one thing. She had to let him know what was going on in his house.
‘I have to tell you something,’ she blurted out. ‘Edbury Hall is open to the public on weekends.’
* * *
Nik didn’t immediately let her go. His hand was still curled around her sweet waist gloved in soft cashmere wool that made the most of her glorious curves above and below.
He could pinpoint the moment he’d stopped thinking clearly. It was when he’d seen her bending down by the fire, the most female-looking woman. She was the proverbial hourglass, and if there was a little more sand than was standard in that glass his libido didn’t make that distinction. She had ample breasts and long, shapely legs, deliciously plump around her thighs and bottom, and in his arms she’d felt like both comfort and sin.
Which explained why his brain took a little longer to catch up, because his body was happy where it was, Sybella’s curves giving him a full body press.
‘Why is the house open to the public?’ He forced himself to set her back. ‘On whose authorisation?’
‘Mr Voronov senior’s, and—and yours.’ Sybella’s voice gave out, so the ‘yours’ wasn’t much more than a whisper.
‘Mine?’ he growled, any trace of the man who had begun to kiss her and rouse such passionate feelings in her evaporating like the last patch of sunshine on a cold winter’s day.
‘You were sent the paperwork. I didn’t just go ahead only on your grandfather’s say-so,’ she protested.
‘I received no paperwork.’
No. She gnawed on the inside of her lip. Now she would have to explain about the letters. But she didn’t want to be responsible for a further breach between grandfather and grandson. Family was important.
No one understood that better than someone who for a long time didn’t have any.
No, it would be better if his grandfather confessed.
And what if Nik Voronov decided to blame her anyway?
Blood was blood, and old Mr Voronov might easily side with his grandson.
Sybella knew she had nobody to blame but herself and for a spinning moment she just started babbling. ‘I don’t see who has been hurt by any of this. Mr Voronov is a lonely man and he enjoys having people into the house...’
‘And you have taken advantage of that.’
‘No!’ Sybella closed her eyes and took a breath. Arguing with him wasn’t going to accomplish anything. ‘I understand you don’t know me,’ she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could, given the escalating tension, ‘and you say you’re worried about your grandfather—’
‘I am worried about him.’
‘Well, I don’t see any evidence of that given you’re never here!’
Oh, she should have kept that to herself. And now he was looking down at her without a shred of give in him.
‘I suspect you’ve taken my grandfather for a ride, and, if I find out that’s the case, you really don’t want me for an enemy Mrs Parminter.’
It was difficult not to take a step back.
She swallowed hard. ‘Do you go through life mistrusting people?’
‘When it comes to my family I don’t allow anything past the keeper.’
Those words took the indignant air out of her because she guarded her little family too. His grandfather had become of late an honorary member of that family and for a moment she wondered if she’d got it wrong. Nik Voronov might genuinely care about his grandfather. If the shoe were on the other foot she would be suspicious too.
She tried again. ‘Honestly, Nik, it’s not what you think.’
‘I think we can probably go back to Mr Voronov.’
He was making her feel as if she’d done something wrong.
Which was when she noticed he was getting out his phone.
‘Are you calling the police again?’ She tried not to sound despairing because, really, what were they going to arrest her on? Impersonating a married lady? Kissing a man she’d just met?
‘I’m arranging a car for you. I take it you live in the village?’
It was no more than a ten-minute walk if she took the lane, but Sybella didn’t intend to argue with him about the lift.
‘If this is your organisation’s way of drumming up support you can let them know that honey traps went out in the nineteen seventies.’
Honey trap?
He turned away and spoke rapidly into his phone in Russian.
Sybella wondered if being shaken about like a child’s toy earlier had affected her hearing. It had certainly loosened some of her native intelligence.
What did he think, she was Mata Hari kissing men for state secrets?
Oh, boy, she definitely needed to get out of here.
Cursing her own stupidity, she pulled on her damp jeans and then bent down to reattach her boots. Everything was cold and unpleasant and would chafe but there was no helping that.
‘I want you back here nice and early, let’s say eight o’clock for breakfast,’ he said from behind her. ‘You have some explaining to do, and it will be in the presence of my grandfather.’
Sybella became aware he was probably getting a really good look at her wide womanly behind at this moment. But everything was such a shambles—what was one more humiliation?
‘Eight o’clock is too early.’
‘Tough. Get an alarm clock.’
She straightened up. ‘For your information I’ll be awake at six, but I have a great deal to organise myself. You’re not the only busy person in the world, Mr Voronov.’
He looked unimpressed.
‘I am running a billion-dollar business, Mrs Parminter. What’s your excuse?’
A five-year-old girl, Sybella thought, eyeing him narrowly, but he looked like one of those unreconstructed dinosaurs who thought raising children happened by magic. Besides, she was not bringing her daughter into this hostile conversation.
‘The fact is I’m out of here tomorrow,’ he informed her. ‘Let’s call this your window of opportunity.’
‘To do what?’
‘To convince me not to involve my lawyers.’
All the fight went out of Sybella. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But she told herself surely old Mr Voronov would clear the air tomorrow.
‘Fine. I’ll be here.’
To her surprise he took his wool coat and handed it to her with a less antagonistic, ‘You’ll need this.’
Sybella looked at her Climb and Ski jacket she’d been unable to bring herself to put back on and self-consciously drew his coat around her shoulders.
The gesture reminded her of how kind he’d been drying her hair, how he’d made her feel cared for if only for a brief time. It was enough to make her want to cry, and she hated crying. It didn’t change anything.