Ruthless Magnate, Convenient Wife

‘You’re being so stupid! I can’t possibly repay all that I’ve spent. Don’t phone me again, just leave me alone—this is supposed to be my honeymoon and I’m not about to let you wreck my marriage or my bank balance with your accusations and threats!’ Alexa blazed back at her in a fury and the line went dead.

Shaken by that final exchange, Alissa breathed in deep and wondered if anything she had said had hit home hard enough to influence her headstrong sister. She had not said half of what she would have liked to have said. But then it would have been counterproductive to tear too many strips off Alexa at the same time as she was striving to persuade her twin to redress some of the damage she had done. Pushed too hard Alexa would only rebel and take easy refuge in geographical distance and silence.

Alissa went downstairs for breakfast and received a personal visit from the chef, who wanted her to choose meals for the rest of the week. He was quickly followed by the housekeeper, who had several concerns to discuss with her. With one of Sergei’s aides brought in to act as an interpreter, Alissa realised that she really did need to learn enough of the Russian language to make herself understood if she was going to be in St Petersburg for much longer. She picked meals without knowing what they were and agreed, after a tour of inspection, to the redecoration of a smoke-stained bedroom damaged by a guest who had fallen asleep with a cigarette in his hand. Afterwards, she fingered the heavily etched wedding ring she wore. With Sergei on her mind night and day without cessation and his household staff coming to her for instructions, she was beginning to feel as if she was really and truly married to him.

And since there was nothing further she could do at present to change her current situation, shouldn’t she be doing more in one of the most scenic cities of the world than sitting behind closed doors and worrying? That decision reached, Alissa informed Borya, who suddenly seemed to be constantly hovering around her, that she wanted to go out and where. She wondered why the older man hadn’t accompanied Sergei to London. Having donned a purple wool dress and a ravishing full-length coat and boots, Alissa left the house with Borya and his team in tow and commenced her sightseeing tour.

The rest of the day just vanished in the vastness of the baroque green and white Winter Palace and the State Hermitage Museum. Countless art collections were housed within the magnificent cluster of buildings that overlooked the Neva River. Alissa wandered from room to room, dazzled by the priceless works of art and fabulous antiquities on display, grateful for the distraction from her troubled thoughts. In the gardens that lay opposite, she decided that it was too cold for a walk when it began snowing. Big, fat, fluffy snowflakes were drifting down. Even though she had carefully layered her clothing and taken every precaution to keep warm, the icy air pierced her to the bone. She was hurrying back to the limousine when someone shouted her name and she stilled in surprise and spun round, only to notice the camera angled at her too late to avoid it. Borya let out a roar and two of his team set off in hot pursuit of the paparazzo. She was relieved to get back to the house, where she delighted the chef by eating a substantial meal and slept like a log through the night.

The following day, determined not to sit around awaiting either Sergei’s or Alexa’s next move or phone call, she set off doggedly for Peterhof, a palace complex outside the city. The park of golden statues and elaborate fountains was white with snow and the temperature chilled her to the bone. Her security team had taken the hint from the day before and wore hats and heavy overcoats. When she slept that night she dreamt of wolves chasing her through the park and the endless ornate rooms.

The afternoon of the next day, she was flown out to Sergei’s yacht, which was anchored at Antibes, where the weather was considerably milder. The long sleek craft was called Platinum and the crew was almost entirely English. She was given a tour of the incredibly opulent vessel and the name seemed peculiarly apt for the lavish décor. The facilities ranged from a home cinema to a gym and a disco bar and sunbathing area that boasted a swimming pool. The master suite in particular was an amazing space with private terraces and seating areas and a marble bathroom of such staggering opulence that she wanted to leap straight into the bath and pretend she was Cleopatra.

As soon as she boarded the yacht set sail. After dining at a table with panoramic views of the sea, she sat down on a sofa in the master suite and switched on the evening news on the wall-hung television screen. She tensed at the sound of Sergei’s name and turned up the volume. A photo of their wedding was briefly shown, followed by a view of Sergei standing at a podium in a crowded function room while half a dozen journalists shot questions at him. Evidently he had just taken over some international company. The screen then flipped to a solo shot of Alissa in the snow in St Peterburg. She frowned as she realised it had to be the picture stolen by the paparazzo who had taken her by surprise earlier. The voiceover sounded serious and indeed Sergei was—a wedding one day, big business on the other side of the world the next…and his bride abandoned to find her own amusement…

Sergei flew in to the yacht later than he had planned. His ears were still ringing from Yelena’s censorious phone call an hour earlier. His grandmother had seen Alissa on television alone in the park and had been aghast that Sergei could have left his bride to her own devices so soon after the wedding. Alissa had definitely been a big hit with Yelena, Sergei conceded wryly, for never before had Yelena attempted to interfere in his relationship with a woman.

A bottle of champagne and two glasses were brought out to the terrace where Alissa was watching the sun go down. The yacht was moored off a Greek island studded with little white buildings and arrow-shaped green cypresses. The sea glimmered in the fiery glow of sundown. By the time she heard a helicopter coming in to land, darkness had fallen and only the stars lightened the heavens.

Alissa sat as stiff as a stick of rock on her comfortable sofa. Sergei hadn’t even bothered to phone her to tell her he would be coming, but the incredible industry of the crew rushing about cleaning and polishing throughout the afternoon had forewarned her of his arrival. And while she wasn’t demeaning herself to the level of a nonentity by waiting in bed for him as instructed, she wasn’t wearing jeans and a sweater and a scrubbed bare skin either. He had not given her a choice and she was playing it safe, not least for her mother’s sake for, whatever else might have gone wrong, Alissa had not allowed herself to forget that her beloved parent’s future had been secured by Sergei’s money.

Powered by a strong sense of anticipation, Sergei strode away from the helipad and took the private steps up to the master suite two at a time. She was on the terrace, dressed in something glamorously long and blue and silky. Her golden hair was loose on her shoulders, framing an exquisite face dominated by her lucid aquamarine eyes and the rosebud perfection of her lush mouth. His desire ignited with satisfying urgency and

he smiled down at her.

After the manner in which they had parted, his unexpected smile knocked Alissa for six as it lit up his stunning dark eyes and added a bucket of compelling charisma to his arrestingly handsome features. Sergei was always such a very unpredictable force of nature, she reflected ruefully. But his sheer physical impact pinned her to her seat. Everything about Sergei was larger than life and powerful. Crackling with high-voltage energy, he towered over her, all broad shoulders and lean hips and long legs. In a sleek black pinstripe suit that had the tailored perfection of fit that flaunted expense and exclusivity, Sergei Antonovich was as stunningly goodlooking as he was white-hot sexy. Something tightened low in her pelvis and her nipples lengthened into straining points. Her mouth was dry as a bone and breathing was a challenge as she stared at him.

‘Champagne?’ Sergei uncorked the bottle and let the golden liquid cascade down into the elegant flutes before extending one to her.

‘Are we celebrating?’ Alissa enquired helplessly.

Sergei quirked an ebony brow. ‘You tell me. I assume your presence here means you’re staying for the foreseeable future.’

Alissa thought of a dozen replies, all of which would have pointed out that she really had very little choice unless she was prepared to sacrifice pretty much her entire family’s future as well as her own. But just as quickly she recalled his insistence that she stop hiding behind what he regarded as excuses rather than admit that she found him wildly attractive. When she looked back at him, an awkward little silence had fallen. Her complexion reddened and the flute between her fingers shook a little. ‘Yes,’ she said flatly, suppressing all her misgivings as well as the pretences she was used to hiding behind.

‘Common sense has triumphed, milaya moya,’ Sergei quipped. ‘We both have need of each other.’

Bubbles burst beneath her nose and dampened her skin as she sipped the champagne.

‘But now you’ve deprived me of having wonderfully erotic dreams about chaining you up as a prisoner at the foot of my bed,’ Sergei husked in completion, golden eyes glinting from below the luxuriant fan of his black lashes in raw sensual challenge.

Her heart hammered and her body quickened. It shook her that the very idea of being a prisoner in Sergei’s bedroom roused a response from her body that she could not stifle.

‘I’ve thought of nothing else,’ he confided, sinking down beside her and setting his champagne flute down.

‘Since you went away you’ve done nothing but eat, sleep and breathe business.’ Alissa could not resist making that contradiction.

‘The faster I closed the deal, the sooner I could return. You’re the only reward I wanted,’ Sergei told her thickly, pulling her to him to taste her ripe mouth with a warm sensual pressure enlivened by the deeply erotic dart and thrust of his tongue. Her fingers sank deep into his black hair while her senses leapt into awareness and she moaned beneath that onslaught.

While he kissed her, he let his hand roam over her silk-encased length, lingering on the firm swell of her breasts and the prominence of her taut nipples. Soon little responsive sounds trapped in her throat were escaping and she was trembling on the edge of an excitement so intense she feared it. With a hungry groan, he hoisted her up into his arms and strode indoors.

‘Would I need to chain you up?’ Sergei asked thickly, standing her between his spread thighs and lifting the robe she wore to explore the quiveringly ready body concealed beneath.

She could barely breathe for excitement but she had not forgotten his forecast that some day she would be as clingy and adoring as his other lovers. ‘Yes, you would,’ she told him even as she let her head fall back and her lips part on a helpless whimper of response as his thumb rubbed her clitoris and his skilled fingers probed the hot slippery heart of her femininity, sending delirious waves of delight pounding through her as wildly as breakers on a beach.

‘Patse luy min-ya…kiss me,’ he commanded roughly, lifting her and bringing her down on the edge of the table.

And, wanting his mouth again, she did as he asked and rejoiced in his passion. The wood of the table was cool beneath her overheated skin but she didn’t care. She was pulling at his belt, wanting, needing with a strength that came close to pain. Sergei brushed aside her fingers and dealt with the clasp that had defeated her. With a guttural groan of relief and pleasure, he finally drove his engorged length into her hot damp sheath. A drowning, dizzying rush of honeyed sweetness and excitement surged through her as every sensation forced her closer and closer to a rapturous climax.