Russian's Ruthless Demand Page 2

  Probably Eleanore needed to be a little more understanding. Only it was hard to indulge her understanding side when she had been to almost every one of Olivia’s opening nights and every important event in Isabelle’s calendar.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ Lulu said briskly. ‘It gives you time to play. And sex will definitely make you feel better.’

  Eleanore raised a brow and caught sight of her disgruntled expression in the mirrored wall behind the bar. She thought about texting Isabelle and then changed her mind. What was she going to say? That she was disappointed with her no-show? Her sister would likely frown and ask why. It wouldn’t occur to her that Eleanore had always felt like she was on the outside looking in. It wouldn’t occur to Isabelle that Eleanore questioned her place in the family because Isabelle was always so smart and successful and Olivia so beautiful and talented. And as for sex making her feel better... She rolled her eyes at Lulu’s suggestion. ‘So will a hot bath,’ she said. ‘And a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cookies and Cream.’

  Lulu waggled a dark eyebrow. ‘But can a hot bath give you a screaming orgasm and then make you a cup of hot cocoa afterward?’

  Eleanore sipped her cocktail. ‘If you’ve found a man who will make you a cup of anything after sex I suggest you keep him. Most of the stories I’ve heard are from women who are screaming at their man who rolls over straight after sex and goes to sleep—orgasm not guaranteed.’ Not that she had any personal experience with that. The timing, the opportunity and the desire to have sex just hadn’t come together for her yet.

  ‘Speaking of orgasms...’ Lulu’s voice lowered by about ten octaves. ‘Have a look at what the cat just dragged in.’ She leant her elbows on the bar. ‘A sexy, lonely businessman looking for some company for the night.’

  ‘He’s probably married.’ Eleanore glanced up at the mirror and caught a glimpse of cropped dirty-blond hair, a Viking-hard face and powerful shoulders encased in a heavy black cloak. His tall frame oozed power and authority and he scanned the room as if he were the next line of terminators come back from the past to decimate someone. He was also without a doubt the most striking man Eleanore had ever seen and then his blue eyes connected with hers and her stinky mood hit a new low.

  She knew him.

  ‘I think the ice bar is starting to melt,’ Lulu murmured, fanning her face with one of her ski gloves.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath,’ Eleanore advised. ‘He’s a complete jackass.’

  ‘You know him?’ Lulu’s tone was awestruck.

  ‘I know of him.’ Lukas Kuznetskov—billionaire businessman who guarded his privacy like a lion guards its pride and who was revered for being both enigmatic and ruthless. She’d only ever seen him in person one time at a fashion event she’d been lucky enough to score an invite to a year ago. He’d been dating the lead model at the time and he had reminded Eleanore of a peacock strutting around with her afterward. It had been a competition as to who had been the most beautiful. ‘He’s one of those superficial guys who are too good-looking and too wealthy for their own good.’

  ‘I’m not against superficial as long as it’s good in bed and something tells me that he is.’

  Eleanore glanced up and found him watching her. A strange sensation zinged through her body and her breathing was a little quick as she forced her attention back to Lulu. ‘Believe me, he’s so self-important he’d be too concerned with his own pleasure to worry about yours and you could forget that hot chocolate afterward. You’d be lucky to see the door close as he ran through it.’

  Lulu eyed her suspiciously. ‘You have a very strong opinion of him...’ She let her voice taper off and Eleanore knew what she was thinking. That she liked him. Nothing could be further from the truth. Two years ago, just before her father had passed away, he’d made a horribly disparaging comment about one of their hotels that had affected their brand for months afterward.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said emphatically. ‘I can’t stand the man.’

  ‘Well, he’s definitely interested in you because he keeps looking this way.’ Lulu leaned across the bar. ‘I dare you to flirt with him.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Eleanore scoffed. ‘He’s so obnoxious and self-important I’d rather flirt with a snake.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mean me, Miss Harrington.’

  Eleanore’s stomach dropped into her numb toes as she realised that Lulu’s position in front of her had blocked his approach in the mirrored wall and that she’d been clearing her throat for a reason.

  She glanced sideways and up and her heart stuttered inside her chest at his amused half smile. He didn’t believe she’d been talking about him at all. He was just trying to be charming.

  Wishing he didn’t know who she was she put on her professional face and decided to skip over his question. ‘Good evening. Welcome to Glaciers.’

  It was an automatic greeting rather than a sincere one but he didn’t seem smart enough to pick that up.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured in a voice designed for radio—or the bedroom. ‘You created this ice bar, I understand.’

  It wasn’t so much a question as a statement and Eleanore forced herself to focus on who he was and not how he looked or sounded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s spectacular. Congratulations.’

  The way his gaze held hers made Eleanore’s breath quicken. He was the spectacular one. His eyes so blue it was like looking at a cloudless summer sky. Her eyes drifted over his face. Straight nose, high cheekbones and a carved jaw not even the hint of a beard growth could soften.

  No, he wasn’t spectacular, she amended silently. Spectacular was somehow too girlie for a man who reeked of power and authority. Someone so confidently male. Or maybe he just seemed that way because of the scar that cut through the edge of his left eyebrow as if someone had taken to him with a knife.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  Maybe an ex-girlfriend, she thought churlishly as she realised she had been caught staring. She chugged down the last of Lulu’s lethal cocktail and composed herself. ‘Not at all,’ she said smoothly. ‘I was just thinking about leaving.’

  ‘But I have only just arrived.’

  Was she supposed to care about that?

  ‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’ Lulu asked in her most deferential bartender voice, and Eleanore wondered absently if he had ever come across a woman who didn’t want him. Probably not with his looks and money, and she decided that she quite enjoyed the thought of being the first.

  ‘A Stoli if you have it. Neat.’

  ‘Coming right up,’ Lulu chirped.

  Eleanore nearly rolled her eyes. She wanted to tell Lulu to dial it down a little but settled for thinking of a polite way to extricate herself from his presence instead.

  ‘Would you like a refill?’

  It took a moment for her to realise he was talking to her and Eleanore shook her head and felt slightly dizzy. Damned that ‘Don’t Poke the Bear’ drink. ‘No, thanks.’

  About to slide her now completely numb bottom off the sheepskin-covered ice stool she sensed him move beside her and glanced up.

  The look he settled on her made that strange sensation return and his thick brows drew together when she shivered.

  ‘You are cold. You should be wearing a jacket in here. It must be minus six at least.’ His voice was a low murmur and before Eleanore could protest he’d whisked his heavy black cloak from his wide shoulders and dwarfed her in its warmth.

  For a moment she couldn’t move. The heady scent of clean, spicy male saturated her senses and robbed her of breath. Which made her feel downright foolish because she wasn’t the kind of woman to be taken in by a smooth talker like this. It had to be Lulu’s comments about flirting and sex making her feel so unlike herself. And the silly cocktails she’d consumed, of course.

  Mr Smooth-Talking Kuz
netskov leant his elbow against the bar and drew her attention to the thin cotton shirt that moulded itself to his impressive chest and tapered down to a lean waist before tucking into custom-tailored black pants. He wore highly polished dress shoes she knew hadn’t come from any High Street trader, elevating his aura of brute male elegance.

  He shifted under the weight of her sizzling gaze and when Eleanore raised her eyes to his she was glad of the strobe lighting that hopefully hid the blush that crept into her cheeks. Pop music blared from the speaker system and she focused in on it as if she’d been absorbed by that and not his masculinity for the past couple of minutes.

  A small smile played around the edges of his mouth as if she hadn’t fooled him one bit and it was all the impetus she needed to pull the cloak from her shoulders and push off the ice stool to stand beside him. With his slouched position and her high-heeled boots they were at eye level and Eleanore thrust the cloak out in front of her. ‘I don’t need this.’ No, she needed a hit around the head for being such a dunce!

  His eyes narrowed, his gaze assessing. ‘That dress can’t be keeping you very warm.’

  Eleanore arched a brow, determined not to fall prey to his deadly good looks. He was right, of course; her thin woollen dress was completely inappropriate for the low temperature inside the bar but she’d been running on adrenaline all night and hadn’t noticed. And she had a jacket. She just couldn’t remember where she had put it. ‘Whether it is or not is hardly any business of yours.’

  His own brow arched. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Yes.’ The smile she gave him was brittle at best because she wanted him to know that he was wasting his time trying to pick her up—if that was his intention—and why else would he bother with the compliments and inane chitchat if it wasn’t? ‘I hope you enjoy the ice bar. We’d love to see you here again sometime but...’

  She frowned when he threw his head back and laughed. ‘You find something amusing?’

  ‘Only that you’re frostier than the bar top I’m leaning on.’ He raised his arm and they both glanced at the wet circle around his elbow. Eleanore was about to say something pithy about not leaning on frozen water when she realised how tall and broad he was compared to her own five feet four—or seven in her ankle boots.

  ‘And somehow I seem to have offended you without even trying,’ he continued charmingly. ‘But perhaps that is because I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lukas Kuznetskov.’

  ‘I know who you are.’ The words were out before Eleanore could recall them and they sank between them like rocks thrown into a murky pond.

  Lukas remained completely still as he registered the insult implicit in her tone. Perhaps that comment he’d overheard earlier between her and Miss Gothic had been about him after all.

  Eleanore’s eyes flashed tiny green and amber sparks at him and he realised absently that they were hazel, not brown as he’d first thought. Alluring eyes that tilted a little at the edges in line with her cheekbones.

  When he’d first arrived he’d thought she looked quite dowdy sitting on the stool in a basic black dress, the only colour coming from a pair of bright orange ankle boots that tended to make a woman’s ankles look twice the size they were and some weird matching chopstick things sticking out of her neat bun. Then her interesting eyes had caught his in the mirror and briefly stalled his train of thought. Once he’d shaken off the weird feeling that a goose had just walked over his grave he’d studied her. He’d waited for her covetous gaze to signal the type of interest he was used to getting from women. But she hadn’t done that. Instead she’d grimaced as if she’d just been shown a bag full of eels and looked away.

  His healthy ego had felt the immediate prick of her dismissal but he’d thought she didn’t know who he was. He’d assumed that when she found out she’d be more than happy to talk to him. And probably warm his bed if he was so inclined. Which he wasn’t. Under different circumstances he might have been drawn to her elegant features and full lips. Those cat-like eyes, but he had a different agenda tonight and it didn’t include taking her to his bed.

  Still, he couldn’t fathom her negative response other than to think that she was one of those phony stuck-up rich girls who thought pedigree was everything. He’d learned the hard way that just because he now knew his fish fork from his fruit fork it didn’t mean instant acceptance from those with old money.

  Fortunately he was sufficiently impressed with the overall effect and intricate detail put into Glaciers, not to mention being up against the clock, to set aside his own misgivings about her suitability for his project to offer her a job. First though he’d have to find a way to thaw her out. A not altogether displeasing concept.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you dislike me, Miss Harrington?’

  ‘I don’t dislike you at all, Mr Kuznetskov.’ She gave him another false smile and squared her slender shoulders. ‘How could I when I don’t even know you? And I’m certainly not the type of person to make a snap judgement on such a brief acquaintance,’ she finished primly.

  Da, she disliked him all right. ‘I think you’re lying, Miss Harrington,’ he said pleasantly.

  The bartender pushed an ice glass across to him, interrupting Eleanore Harrington’s shocked gasp, and he downed the finger of vodka in one hit and welcomed the burn of it down the back of his throat.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Yes, you are. For some reason you’ve not only judged me, you’ve sentenced me as well, and yet by your own admission we don’t even know each other.’

  ‘Would that be like you passing judgement on our hotels two years ago when you had only stayed one night?’ she challenged.

  Ah, Lukas was beginning to understand her animosity now. Somehow she’d heard about his comments after his brief stay at her Florida hotel. Not that he would apologise for them. He’d suffered a terrible night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress and then his morning coffee had been cold. On top of that the valet had misplaced his car and he’d been overcharged on his bill. All in all, not a great experience. ‘My comments were deserved, Miss Harrington. Your hotel offered substandard service and I said as much.’

  ‘To the press?’ She crinkled her pretty nose. ‘I could have respected your comments if you’d filled out a hospitality card but instead you had to announce your views to the world. You do know that our occupancy rate went down twenty percent for six months after that.’

  Lukas could feel himself getting annoyed with her attitude. ‘I don’t believe I have quite that much influence in the world—though, of course, I’m flattered that you do. Perhaps your lower occupancy rate was due to management issues.’

  ‘Oh, you would take that view.’

  ‘If it helps, I didn’t mean for my comments to make it to the press,’ he offered. ‘In fact, I didn’t even know that they had.’

  ‘How could you not?’ She reluctantly perched on the edge of her stool when she realised they were drawing curious glances from nearby patrons.

  ‘I don’t read my own press. I pay someone to do that and to bring anything that needs addressing to my attention. Clearly that was not big enough to warrant my attention.’

  ‘Clearly not.’ Her pointy little chin rose between them. ‘Goodnight, Mr Kuznetskov.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Lukas put his gloved hand out and snagged her delicate wrist just above where her own dark gloves ended. ‘So, based on my truthful comments you’ve made an assumption that I’m a bad person, is that it?’

  Well, it had been that and the way he had swanned through the world as if he owned it, Eleanore thought acidly. The way she had wished that she had been the one on his arm at the fashion show instead of that stunning model. ‘I’m entitled to my opinion,’ she said, and nearly winced at how much she sounded like a schoolmarm from a bad nineteen-fifties sitcom.

  ‘Yes, you are. And fortunately for you I’m sufficiently impressed
with your ice bar to continue this conversation.’

  What did that mean?

  ‘Can I get that on record?’ she asked archly.

  He smiled. ‘Like I said, it’s nice to know you think my opinion is so powerful.’

  Oh, he knew his opinion was powerful. He spoke and the press behaved like pathetic lapdogs. As did his women, no doubt. ‘Why should how you feel about Glaciers make any difference to me?’

  ‘Because I have an opportunity to offer you.’

  An opportunity? Eleanore nearly laughed. Only he could call picking up a woman in a bar an opportunity. ‘Not interested,’ she said flatly.

  He paused and shook his head. ‘My, how you do like to jump to conclusions, Miss Harrington. But I didn’t mean that kind of opportunity.’ His gaze raked her over and sent hot rivulets of sensation sparking through her. ‘Although I could be persuaded to consider the other if you were so inclined.’

  Irritation, she thought sourly, that was what had caused the strange sensation to suffuse her body, that and the fact that she had somehow amused him without intending to. ‘I’m not. And nor am I interested in any opportunity you might have for me, Mr Kuznetskov. Is that clear enough for you?’ She smiled with false sweetness, extricating her wrist from his firm grip.

  Lukas laughed again. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself quite so much when he’d arrived in Singapore. He hadn’t expected to find the Harrington heiress so alluring either. ‘You know it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific to let your emotions make your decisions for you,’ he drawled, admiring the way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew a little flushed as he challenged her.

  ‘And it’s very—how do you say?—gender specific for you to not take no for an answer,’ she retorted.