A Rich Man's Whim (A Bride for a Billionaire 1)

‘That you would fulfil the role of hostess and companion as directed by me,’ Mikhail extended coolly, the beginnings of a smile of satisfaction starting to curl the corners of his expressive mouth. ‘I didn’t think you would agree to this so easily—’

‘Only a fool would look a gift horse in the mouth!’ Kat quipped in protest, colour firing her cheeks at the calculating mercenary role she was forcing herself to play, not only to protect herself, but also to grab at the chance to get her much-loved home back. ‘You’re offering me a month of work to regain ownership of my home. From any angle, that’s a golden opportunity for me.’

It was the truth and yet making such a declaration, so clearly motivated by greed, made Kat want to cringe with shame. What on earth was she doing? Hadn’t she raised her sisters to put principles and conscience ahead of financial success? Yet had Mikhail not deliberately yoked her to that financial obligation, she would never have thought or acted in such a way. Playing him at his own game was self-defence, nothing more, she told herself uncomfortably. He was only going to get the disappointment he deserved for putting her in such an impossible position in the first place.

Mikhail crushed the disturbing pang of dissatisfaction that her candour awakened in him. After all, he motivated employees with bonuses and thought nothing of the practice. Why should Kat Marshall be any different from all the other women attracted by his great wealth? He was not buying her; he was not paying for her time … hell, he hadn’t even slept with her yet! Suppressing the uneasiness stirring inside him, Mikhail chose to think instead of having her all to himself on The Hawk, his ocean-going yacht, and the hunger took over again, wiping away every other thought and impression with startling efficiency.

That evening, Emmie was thunderstruck when her older sister told her why she had gone to London. While intellectually Emmie knew her sister was a beautiful woman, neither Emmie nor her siblings had ever considered Kat in that light, having always been content to accept their sister’s claim that she had moved past the age where she still wanted a man in her life. For that reason she simply could not begin to imagine how Kat’s supposed charms could have ignited as much interest in a Russian billionaire as some celebrity sex kitten might have done.

Wide-eyed with shock, she stared at her older sister. ‘Are you sure this guy hasn’t somehow got you mixed up with Saffy?’

‘No, he never mentioned Saffy except to ask why she hadn’t helped me with my financial problems.’

Emmie grimaced. ‘Because Saffy, our drop-dead perfect supermodel sister, may earn a fortune but she is too selfish to think that her own family might need help more than that African orphan school she supports.’

Kat gave the younger woman a pained appraisal. ‘Saffy would have helped if I’d asked but I didn’t feel it was her responsibility,’ she said awkwardly.

Kat didn’t want to admit that since most of the debt had been caused by the cost of Emmie’s surgery she had been reluctant to approach Saffy for assistance. Emmie would have felt horribly guilty and Saffy could have reacted with angry resentment and the bad feeling between the twins might well have increased.

Emmie continued to stare at Kat. ‘So, this guy will do just about anything to get you onto his yacht?’ she prompted, still unflatteringly incredulous at the idea that any man could be attracted to her older sister to that extent. ‘Doesn’t that scare you?’

Kat resisted a sudden urge to confide that Mikhail’s fierce desire for her company had to be the biggest ego boost she had ever experienced, but that was a truth that had only recently occurred to her. Even so it was a fact: no man had ever wanted her that much, certainly not Steve, who had taken fright and bolted the minute she agreed to give a home to her younger sisters.

‘It surprises me,’ Kat admitted. ‘I suspect it has a lot to do with the fact that Mikhail’s not used to meeting women who say no.’

‘But will he continue to take no for an answer?’ Emmie prompted anxiously. ‘If you’re marooned on some yacht with him, can you trust him to keep his hands to himself?’

Kat’s tummy somersaulted as she recalled the flash-fire heat of Mikhail’s mouth on hers and the silken tangle of his thick hair between her fingers. Yes, Mikhail would keep his hands to himself as long as she kept her hands off him, which she would, of course she would. His kiss on the doorstep had taken her by surprise. If he touched her again she would be better prepared and ready to deal with that weakening surge of temptation that emptied her mind of all sensible thought. After all, it would be very unfair if she encouraged him without having any intention of ultimately going to bed with him.

‘Yes, in that line I do think I can trust him. He’s too proud to put pressure on a woman who doesn’t want him.’

‘But he’s still willing to pay richly just for the pleasure of your company?’ the younger woman queried distrustfully.

‘It’s only a job … a stupid macho whim on his part,’ Kat argued.

‘But you know if you were sleeping with him this particular job would bear a close resemblance to prostitution.’

Kat paled. ‘I’m not going to sleep with him and I’ve already warned him about that upfront …’

Emmie grinned at that blunt admission. ‘Some men would see that as a challenge.’

‘If he does, that’s his problem, not mine,’ Kat pointed out. ‘But what’s a month out of my life if it secures this house for us again?’

‘I take your point,’ Emmie conceded thoughtfully.

‘You’ll stay on here to look after Topsy when she comes home from school for the Easter holidays?’ Kat checked.

‘Of course. I’ve nowhere else to go.’ Emmie hesitated. ‘Just promise me that you won’t go falling for this bloke, Kat.’

‘I’m not that much of a fool—’

‘You’re as soft as butter, you know you are,’ Emmie responded ruefully.

But during the following week when Kat learned exactly what was entailed in the role of acting as an escort for a Russian oligarch, she felt anything but as soft as butter. First of all, she sustained a nerve-racking visit from a smooth London lawyer bearing a ten-page document, which he described as ‘an employment contract’ and which delineated in mind-numbing detail what Mikhail would expect from her: perfect grooming, courtesy and an unstinting readiness to please Mikhail and his guests in her role either as companion or hostess, good timekeeping, minimal use of alcohol and no use whatsoever of drugs. In return for successfully fulfilling those expectations for one calendar month, Birkside would be signed over to her.

The reference to grooming mortified Kat, but on reflection she could not even remember when she had last done her nails, and when Mikhail’s PA phoned her to tell her that she had an appointment to keep at a London beauty salon on the same day that she was to present herself for her new role, she saw no good reason to argue. It was all part and parcel of the position she had accepted, she told herself comfortingly, and it was not unreasonable that he should want her to look her best. As her slender wardrobe was in no way up to the challenge of a stay on a luxury yacht, she could only assume that he was planning to take care of that problem as well. Sixth sense warned her that Mikhail Kusnirovich left very little to chance and she wondered what would happen when he finally appreciated that she was not supermodel material and was actually very ordinary. After all, he somehow seemed to have formed an image of her very far removed from reality and clearly imagined that she was more fascinating and desirable than she truly was. When that false impression melted away and he was disappointed would he send her home early? She could not believe that he would seek to retain her presence on his wretched yacht for an entire month. In her own opinion he would quickly get bored with her.

On the same day that Kat was collected off the London train by a car that ferried her to an exclusive beauty salon, Mikhail registered that he was in an unusually good mood. He could not concentrate on business: his mind kept on wandering down undisciplined paths as he wondered which of the many

outfits he had personally selected for Kat she would wear that evening to dine with him. Only the nagging reminder that he had virtually paid for her presence by dangling that shabby little house on the hillside like a carrot to tempt her took the edge off his anticipation and satisfaction. He looked forward to the day when she would try to cling to him as all women did and he would send her on her way, bored with what she had to offer. His face hardened at that desirable prospect: the day of his indifference would come, it always did. In the end he would discover that she was no different from and no more special than any other woman he had taken to his bed and the kick of lust that even the thought of her roused would die a natural death.

Kat was surprised to discover that she enjoyed the grooming session at the beauty salon, although she was just a little shocked by some of the waxing options she was casually offered. That obstacle overcome, she took pleasure in the new arch in her brows and the pretty pale pink of her perfectly manicured nails, not to mention the silky, glossy shine of her curls once the stylist had finished fussing with her hair. She wasn’t terribly keen on the professional make-up session that transformed her face but she tolerated it, noting that it gave her cheekbones she had not known she possessed, rather Gothic dramatic eyes and ruby red lips. She thought she looked a bit like a vampire but assumed it was fashionable and resisted the urge to rub a good half of the cosmetics off again. Presumably this was the look he wanted and expected.

The limo delivered her to an opulent city hotel where she was wafted straight up to a spacious suite and shown into a bedroom with closets and drawers already packed with what appeared to be her new wardrobe. She blinked in shock, catching her unfamiliar reflection in a mirror and batting her false eyelashes for effect. A vampire or maybe even that wicked Cruella de Ville character from the Dalmatians book? Keen to embrace a new persona that seemed infinitely more exciting than her more average self, she chose a black lace dress from the packed closet. She was sliding her feet into perilously high red-soled designer shoes, the hem of the dress frothing silkily above her knees, when the phone by the bed buzzed.

‘I’m waiting in the lobby for you,’ Mikhail told her with audible male impatience roughening his deep dark drawl. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’

‘No, I didn’t … I’m sorry!’ Kat muttered in a bit of a panic, tossing some essentials into a tiny bag and already hurrying towards the door as she recalled that clause about good timekeeping. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. The show, she recognised giddily, was finally going live….