The Russian's Ultimatum(7)

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.'





 CHAPTER FOUR

THE LONG TABLE on the beach had been set up for them just metres from   the lapping waves of the ocean, tea-lights in lanterns glowing under the   dusky sky.

'We're sitting on mats?' she asked, nodding at the thick cushions on the sand.

'Do you have a problem with that?'

She shrugged. 'No. I'm just surprised-I imagined you'd be averse to getting sand on your expensive clothes.'

'I find the sound of the ocean soothing,' he answered shortly. Emily's   antagonism towards him was becoming trying. She had no one to blame for   her predicament but herself. 'After the day I've had, I could use some   respite.'

She settled onto a mat, tucking her bare feet beneath her. They really   were the most delicate feet, he noticed: petite, much like the rest of   her. Except her luscious mouth, of course.

He'd followed behind as they'd descended the stairs, holding onto the   rail while she bounded down the steps without support, her long black   hair, free from confinement, springing in all directions.

Emily had an energy about her that zinged. He found it intriguing. He   found her intriguing. Any other woman in her predicament likely would   have resorted to tears to get her own way. Emily had only become more   defiant.

For the first time in a long time the image of Yana came into his mind,   startling him. He never thought of his ex, had ruthlessly dispelled all   memories of her so she was just a hazy figure in his past.

Yana and Emily were polar opposites, in looks and temperament.

The more time he spent with Emily, the more he was reminded of an uncut   fire opal, passionate and vibrant. Yana was as polished as a Plushenko   diamond. But by the time he'd ended their relationship she'd been a   diamond without the lustre. And it had all been his fault.

He'd never had a problem attracting women but since he'd broken away   from Andrei and set up on his own, building a multi-billion-dollar   business in less than a decade, the feminine attention had become   altogether hungrier. They were all wasting their time, something he   spelt out at the outset of any fling. Sex was the most he could offer,   the most he could give.

He'd destroyed the cut and polish of one woman. He would never put another in that position.

His thoughts were interrupted by a member of staff bringing out their   starter of grilled squid and topping their wineglasses with chilled   white before disappearing.

Pascha watched Emily take a bite, her lips moving in a way he could only   describe as sensual. She really did have the sexiest of lips.