Читать книгу Expecting His Love-Child - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 6

IT WAS the strangest first date she’d ever been asked on—but one thing was sure: it was a date.

Millie knew that—knew from the way he was looking at her and the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him—knew from the butterflies dancing in her stomach and the shrill of pleasure that there was definitely romance in the air.

If it had been with anyone else a romantic horse and cart ride around the city would have been tacky, but with Levander it didn’t feel that way. With the feel of the cool night air on her cheeks, the noise of the horse as it clipped through the semi-deserted streets and the warmth of Levander by her side it felt amazing. It was a whirlwind Monopoly board tour of Melbourne. They clopped past Flinders Street Station, the famous old building stunning by night and lit up like a fairground, and Levander pointed out the sights as they went, from a vibrant Southbank that was still awake despite the hour, and the casino glittering and beckoning, to the smart theatre district and lavish hotels at the top end of town.

‘This is where I live.’

He had to lean into her to say it. Her skirt had already ridden up a touch, and, feeling his suited thigh against her bare one, it was almost all she could do to look up instead of down. Her whole focus was on his body against hers.

‘It’s a hotel.’

‘Up there,’ Levander elaborated. ‘On the top floor.’

‘You actually live there?’

‘Why not?’

He stared down at her and she forgot her question, sure he was about to kiss her. She almost wept in frustration when the cart halted somewhat abruptly, lurching them both backwards into their seats, but Levander gave a small lazy smile as he climbed out—a smile that told her there was plenty of time for that later. And as he stepped down and took her hand to help her down, just his touch confirmed what they both knew.

There would be a later.

‘You like to dance?’

‘No,’ Millie admitted, gulping as they descended steep stairs into a tiny smoky and very exclusive private club that she wouldn’t have known existed even if she’d been walking on the street outside.

Exclusive because only the most beautiful or famous seemed to be present—faces that had Millie frowning as she tried to place them, then jolting in recognition as the social pages she devoured in magazines came to life before her very eyes.

‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged, pushing her through the crowd with one arm around her.

The slow, heavy thud of the music was out of time with her rapidly beating heart as he led her to a small, plush impossibly sexy booth that was clearly designed for intimacy. Like some erotic confessional, the purple velvet-lined seats went up to the ceiling, dulling the chatter and noise enough to allow conversation so long as one leant forward. And as he sat opposite her the table was so narrow it was impossible not to touch knees—impossible to look anywhere but at him.

He ordered their drinks—didn’t even ask her what she wanted—and some strange red cocktail appeared that tasted icy and delicious, burning her throat and stomach as she sipped it. But it didn’t compare to the sensations Levander evoked.

‘Relax,’ he ordered, as if she should be able to on command. Only Millie couldn’t.

Even here, amongst Melbourne’s most beautiful, Levander caused a stir—she’d seen the ripple effect wash through the crowd as they’d walked to their table. Like a mini Mexican wave going through the bar, heads had turned and conversations had paused; Millie had half expected oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling as every female sucked in her stomach en masse—but all eyes were most definitely on Levander. His questionable choice of date tonight didn’t even merit a second uninterested glance.

Clearly there’d be a new one tomorrow.

Clearly every woman present hoped it might be them.

‘You are here to sell paintings, I take it, not for a holiday?’

‘That was the plan,’ Millie sighed.

‘So why are you going back now?’

‘I gave myself three months. It was Anton who suggested I come out here.’

‘You knew Anton before you came?’

‘I met him last year, when he was in London.’ Millie nodded. ‘I was just finishing my degree and he came as a guest speaker.’

‘He is not an artist?’ Levander checked.

‘No—but he’s extremely well known for showcasing new talent, and I was fortunate because he liked my work. We got on well, and he said if I was ever interested in coming over…So here I am—at least until tomorrow. I really can’t afford to stay on any longer.’

He pulled back just enough to squint down at his watch. ‘It is already tomorrow,’ Levander pointed out. ‘So what happens now—when you go back, I mean? If your work is not selling…’

‘I studied teaching as well.’ Millie sighed at the prospect. ‘As something to fall back on. I suppose it’s just as well I did.’

‘You can do both,’ Levander pointed out. ‘Just because you cannot make a living from your art, it does not mean that you have to give it up completely.’

‘I know that.’ Millie sighed again. ‘It’s just…’ her voice faded. Melancholy musings were not really the correct form for a first date, but Levander pushed her to continue and, given that nothing about tonight had even bordered on normal, Millie decided to tell him—to reveal just a little more of herself than she otherwise might. ‘When I work…well, it’s sort of hot and cold. Yes, in theory it would be fabulous to work Monday to Friday, and save my art for the weekends and evenings—I know it’s what a lot of people do—but…’

‘But?’

‘The picture you saw tonight?’ Millie said, and Levander nodded. ‘It was sort of brewing in my head for a couple of weeks, and finally—when I could see it, when I was actually ready to put my vision onto the canvas—I locked myself away for a more than a week. I just can’t imagine that I’d ever have done that piece if I’d had to slot in the real world. My focus is totally on my art; it’s like I just turn on and everything else is off. Except for occasionally surfacing for food and showers I just live and breathe to paint. Actually…’ she gave a tiny embarrassed giggle ‘…come to think about it, nutrition and hygiene weren’t exactly at the top of my agenda.’

And if that revelation wasn’t correct form either, Levander didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact he leant closer, if that were possible, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, could feel his knee and the lower part of his thigh against hers as he dizzied her with his thoughts.

‘Now you are really turning me on!’

Shocked, wondering if she’d misheard, misunderstood, perhaps, Millie tipped back a fraction, wide eyes meeting his, flushing under his lazy scrutiny as he told her without a word that she hadn’t misheard.

‘Do you come here a lot?’ Millie croaked, taking a desperate slug of her drink and wondering if she’d been spirited into a very early menopause as for the millionth time that evening a hot flush sent another searing blush up to her face. The heat between them was so stifling surely someone must have turned off the air-conditioner—and had there been a menu handy Millie would have grabbed it as a fan.

‘Occasionally,’ Levander answered easily—so pale and elegant and utterly calm it made her want to weep at the injustice. His eyes shifted momentarily as he glanced at the beautiful crowd. ‘But really I don’t like it much: too many people with empty minds who think they are interesting.’

‘Oh.’

He mesmerised her—every word reeling her in, every feature captivating her. How long she stared, how long they held eye contact, Millie had no idea—but it seemed to go on for ever. Another entirely separate conversation was taking place, without a single word, and though his eyes never left hers, though his hands were safely on the table, he might just as well have been touching her—because her body seared at his beckoning, the dull red of her cheeks stealing down over her bosom as still they didn’t speak, blood fizzing through her veins. It seemed to engorge her body, swelling her most feminine places. Her nipples were thrumming against her flimsy blouse as somewhere deep inside—low, so low in her stomach—a delicious knot tightened. Her panties were damp now as still he stared on. She couldn’t move, didn’t dare even to run a dry tongue over her lips so intense was the arousal, and all Millie knew was that if she didn’t break the spell, didn’t literally force herself to speak, then she’d surely lean over and kiss him, or take him by the hand and run…

‘How long have you been in Melbourne?’ Her voice was a croak.

‘Does it matter?’ Still he stared.

‘Do you like your work?’ Millie attempted vainly.

‘Is this a job interview?’ He was watching her mouth intently now, making it almost impossible to form a sentence. God what did this man do to her? With one look she was a shivering mass of lust—and with one crook of his finger, Millie knew, she’d follow him gladly to wherever he wanted to take her. It both excited and terrified her. Supremely cautious with men, supremely cautious with her emotions, it was as if she had suddenly dropped the rule book she’d lived her life by in the bath, leaving its pages damp and illegible, all its moral guidelines so deeply entrenched utterly indecipherable in Levander’s heady presence.

She wanted him to make love to her—wanted him now, this very minute. Wanted him to take her out of this bar, take her anywhere, just so long as he ravished her…

…wanted him to be her first.

Oh, she hadn’t held on to her virginity for some prudish reason—work, study, the strains of family life had meant she’d never let anyone particularly close, had never actually invested the energy to take a relationship to that next level, had never trusted another enough to give that part of herself.

But she’d give it to Levander.

In a heartbeat.

And that thought alone shocked her to the very core.

‘I came to Australia as a teenager.’ Levander’s voice broke her introspection, broke the sensual spell. Maybe he had sensed the shift in her, the shock that had ricocheted through her, but suddenly things were, if not normal, then safer, and her mind scrambled to remember the question she had first voiced. ‘I studied finance and business—as well as learning English, of course.’

‘You didn’t speak English when you came?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Your brothers and sisters here spoke Russian, though?’ Millie checked, appalled at how it must have been for him to land in a family and not even be able to communicate.

‘Half-brothers and sisters,’ Levander corrected. ‘And, no, they did not speak much Russian. But language was the least of our barriers.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We had different childhoods.’ Levander flicked away the question with his hand, then reached for a drink. But even if he wanted that part of the conversation over, even if clearly she’d wandered into forbidden territory, Millie wanted to know more.

‘What about your mother?’ Millie asked, remembering that here he had a stepmother. ‘Do you get back to see her? Is she still in Russia?’

‘She is dead.’ Just like that he said it—his expression not changing, his voice completely even—as if the detail was so trivial it was hardly worth a mention. ‘So there is no reason at all to go back. As I was saying, when I finished my degree I assumed the role of Financial Director at the House of Kolovsky.’

‘It must be quite a job.’ Millie blinked. ‘I mean, the name’s everywhere.’

‘We have outlets all over the world. Melbourne is really just kept on for sentimental reasons—this is where my father came when he emigrated from Russia. Our main outlets are in Europe, and of course the US, so I travel a lot—which is good.’

‘Must be interesting?’

‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged. ‘But the people in the industry leave a lot to be desired.’ He curled his lip and made a small hissing sound. ‘It is full of bitches—and I am not only talking about the women. It is the most narcissistic environment to be in. Like here—’ His hand gestured to the heaving room. ‘Everyone here would happily claim to be my best friend—would that be the case if I worked in a lower profile job?’

‘I don’t know…’ Millie mused. Because even if the answer was seemingly obvious—even if his position must ensure a never-ending stream of hangers-on—long before she’d known his name, in fact from the second Millie had laid eyes on him, she’d been captivated. And from Millie’s perspective it wasn’t hard to afford others the benefit of the doubt. ‘You can’t know that either…’ She gave a helpless shrug, not sure how she could tell him that even if he took away the suit, the money, the name—he was still far and away the most exciting, breathtaking company she’d ever kept.

‘I do know, though,’ Levander said firmly. ‘From the day I set foot in Australia I have had endless friends—yet no one wanted to know me when I was a Detsky Dom kid.’

‘Detsky Dom?’ Millie frowned. ‘Is that where you’re from?’

It was an innocent question, clarifying things in her own mind as she pieced together his history. She expected him to nod, to just say yes and move on. But instead those brooding features shifted into a wry smile, and she didn’t know if it was her attempt at pronunciation or if he was laughing at some sort of private joke.

‘That is right, Millie—I am from Detsky Dom. Come…’ Standing abruptly, he offered her hand. ‘You do not belong here—let’s go somewhere where we can properly talk.’

Which was easier said than done. As he guided her through the throng, his hand on her waist, his broad shoulders acting as a buffer, his name was called from every direction. Not that he deigned to respond—even when a rather ravishing Latina woman grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket, Levander merely shrugged her off.

‘Levander, please…’ She caught up with them just as they stepped out of the lobby. Millie’s foot was almost on the pavement outside when her tearful voice pleaded her case. ‘You cannot walk out like this…We made love last night—please talk to me.’

Which was a pretty good case to plead, Millie thought, as with a grim half-smile Levander excused himself and led the dark beauty to a corner of the lobby—leaving Millie to stand making polite small talk with the doorman. Her cheeks burned with humiliation—not just because of the paper tissue way he clearly treated women, not just because she was obviously the next one in the box, but because of the very fact she wasn’t walking away.

It was hell to watch.

Like some gory bit in a film, where you wanted to peek from behind a cushion, it was just horrible, listening to her plead her case, begging him for another chance, promising to change and more. But far worse for Millie was Levander’s response—not cool and detached, as she’d expected, instead he bordered on sympathetic, seeming understanding of her plight even as he patiently explained why he hadn’t returned her calls and reiterated what he had already told her—that it was over.

Still, when her glittering eyes fell on Millie, when a few choice words were said, his Latina lover must have crossed Levander’s questionable line of moral conduct—because he stalked off, taking Millie firmly by the arm and leading her out onto the street.

‘Levander…’ the brunette sobbed. ‘We need to talk.’

‘What is the point?’ Levander snarled, and never had his Russian accent been more pronounced as he bundled Millie into a taxi. ‘When you’re too drunk to remember what was said in the morning?’

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ They’d ended up at St Kilda Beach, and as they wandered along the foreshore it was the first time since the incident that either of them had spoken.

‘Perhaps it’s better that I did,’ Millie answered tightly—the sobbing spectacle had been a rather timely reminder of what she’d almost let herself in for.

‘We went out for a few weeks—but we were having problems…’

‘Clearly you weren’t having too many problems last night,’ she sniffed.

He had the nerve to laugh at her response. The bloody nerve to laugh!

‘Stop it,’ Millie demanded. ‘That’s completely irredeemable….’ Only it wasn’t; Levander was so unashamedly bad, his behaviour so utterly and completely reprehensible, that inexplicably after a moment or two Millie was laughing too. Oh, not out loud laughing—but a very reluctant smile was wobbling on her lips as he took her in his arms. The whole thing was so awful, so far from anything she’d ever experienced, it was either that…

…or cry.

‘Millie, I do not as a rule have…er…problems in that department. But Carla was wrong when she said we had made love last night.’

‘I don’t need the details…’

‘In fact, though last night wasn’t lacking in physicality, I could say that Carla and I, while we enjoyed each other, never “made love”.’

‘Please.’ Millie closed her eyes against his gaze—because that wasn’t the concern right now. Here she stood, with the most beautiful man she had ever met, listening as he told her, quite clearly, that he, unlike others, had no trouble separating sex from love—which should make perfect sense. After all, nestled in the club, feeling his legs pressing against her, all she had wanted was him, and love surely hadn’t entered the equation…

Love couldn’t have entered the equation because she barely knew him…

And yet…

Troubled eyes opened on his—and he was still there, still just as divine, still just as confusing.

‘I am sorry…’ His breath mingled with hers, his lips a mere fraction away, and she stiffened, terrified of the dizzying effect he had on her. But somehow she didn’t relax when he broke contact—when, extremely frustratingly, he became the perfect gentleman.

He talked politely as they walked towards the pier, occasionally taking her elbow when the moon dipped behind a cloud. Millie couldn’t decide if she was either totally misreading the signs and he didn’t fancy her a jot, if he was literally giving her a guided tour of Melbourne, or he was an absolute master in seduction. But by the time they neared the pier every cell in her body was quivering, every nerve taut with arousal. The skin on her bare arms flared as he took her forearm and turned her around. Surely now, Millie begged to herself, her lips aching with want, surely now he would kiss her. Only his simmering tease wasn’t quite over. Turning the burner down just a touch, even as Millie’s want bubbled near the edge, he guided her back into a public place.

It was the strangest place to bring someone.

A seamy café in the red light district of Melbourne—a rather odd choice for a date. But Levander, Millie realised, truly seemed to fit in anywhere. Whether at an exclusive bar or an all-night café, he had that supreme confidence combined with something else that Millie couldn’t quite define. The café’s owner greeted him by name as Levander guided her to a table and then went over to order. As she sat, anxious and awkward amidst the tired sex workers who were taking a well-earned break, the street kids trying to make one coffee last for ever, Millie wondered why the hell he’d brought her here. How anyone could relax in a place like this was beyond her.

‘The coffee is great here,’ Levander said, as if in answer, placing two steaming mugs and two large cakes on the table. ‘I come her sometimes when I cannot sleep—not for that reason.’ He smiled at her disapproving expression. ‘It actually reminds me of home. There was an all-night café opposite the…’He hesitated just a fraction and Millie frowned. ‘There was a café like this opposite where I lived. Sometimes when I cannot sleep I come here and watch the sun rise; it is a good place for thinking.’

‘But surely…?’ Millie started, and then stopped herself. But Levander clearly guessed what was on her mind—surely this was the last place a person could relax.

‘They are good people too, Millie. They have to work, like all of us. You should not be so quick to judge.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Millie answered indignantly, and then felt guilty—because that was exactly what she had been doing. She had looked around her with less than an open mind.

‘It is rare that anyone disturbs me—they value their time alone, and they seem to respect that I value mine. And, as I said, the coffee is good.’

‘So are these,’ Millie said, finally relaxing a bit now, biting into the pastry and closing her eyes as the cool sweet custard melted on her tongue. ‘So, what do you sit here and think about?’

‘At the moment—work.’

‘Because you’re so busy?’

‘Because I am thinking of leaving.’

‘Oh.’ Pastry forgotten, it hovered in her hand as Millie’s eyes widened. ‘What do your family say?’

‘I haven’t told them yet.’ He gave a small smile as her pastry dropped to the table when Millie realised she was actually the only person privy to this particular plan. ‘And it is not a prospect I relish. They will tell me I have commitments—they won’t want to lose me. I have saved the company from ruin and made them plenty of money since I came.’

‘How?’ Millie asked. ‘How did you save it?’

He didn’t answer at first—made no secret of the fact he was weighing her up, deciding whether or not he should answer. But after what seemed like a lifetime he nodded, inviting her a shade deeper into his magical circle, and Millie leant in gratefully—not so much for what she might hear, but because perhaps he had decided to reveal more of himself to her.

‘That is for another time.’

‘There can’t be another time…’ She almost wept with frustration at his tease, at the hand of fate that had granted her this unexpected encounter but with such a cruel timeline. ‘You know I go home tomorrow.’

‘Don’t you want to stay?’

Oh, how she wanted to. So badly she wanted to say yes. The minutes they had were ticking away as loudly as a kitchen timer, and her heart was dreading the buzz that would signal the bitter end. But she had no choice.

He gave her a tiny glimpse of what she would be missing—his hand leaving the safety of the table, his fingers toying with a loose strand of her hair. His flesh was not even touching hers, but she could feel the heat from his palm and she wanted to rest her face in it, wanted contact so much it actually hurt.

‘We all have commitments,’ Millie breathed, faint now with longing. ‘Even me.’

‘Pity.’

He watched as she nervously licked her lips, his eyes squinting slightly just as they had when he’d looked at the paintings, and Millie wondered if she had what it took to hold his attention, or if afterwards he’d simply move on.

‘You know,’ he mused out loud, ‘for an industry that is supposed to promote beauty, the fashion industry can be very ugly. To them, you would not be considered beautiful…’ Only someone like him could make it a compliment—especially now that he was touching her, caressing her cheek with his finger, tracing it down her face and along her neck, almost as if he were drawing her, the pad of his fingers cool on her throat, resting a moment on her rapid, leaping pulse. ‘The face, yes. But the body…’ She gave a small nervous swallow as his fingers swept along her shoulder, dusting her bare arms; all the tiny hairs standing up to attention as their mistress shivered. ‘You are too much woman.’

‘Is that another word for fat?’ Millie gave a slightly shrill giggle. ‘I know I should go to the gym more—I mean, I pay my membership…’ She was blabbering now, seriously so. Oh, she wasn’t fat—not even particularly overweight—but maybe compared to the reed-thin beauties Levander was used to…

Her thought process halted there. Transfixed, nervous, she watched as he leant over and undid the top button of her blouse. No one turned, not a single person in the café gave a damn. She could feel the top of her cleavage exposed, feel his eyes burning into her pale flesh. If it had been anyone or anywhere else she’d have slapped him—would have got up and walked out. Only it wasn’t anyone else…

…it was Levander.

Jerking her eyes to his, Millie couldn’t read them—was unsure of what to make of him. Unsure whether his words demoted or promoted her. Unsure of what Levander could possibly need from someone like her. She knew for sure now that she was wanted—knew for sure now where the night was leading…only an argument was brewing at the counter. Loud voices crudely interrupted this sensual moment as a young man, clearly the worse for wear, pulled out his pockets, trying to find money he’d never had to pay for a two a.m. breakfast that he’d already eaten. It was clearly the norm for this place—no one bar Millie and Levander was even looking up at the distraction.

‘I musssht have dropped it…’ the guy was slurring.

‘Hey,’ Levander called, standing up, and not for the first time during this crazy night Millie felt anxious—here she was in the seamiest of cafés, with a virtual stranger for company and a fight about to break out. She held her breath as Levander stood up and headed straight into the thick of things, blinking rapidly as he pulled out his wallet.

‘You did drop it…’

He pulled out his wallet and handed the owner a note that would more than cover his breakfast. ‘I found this on the pavement outside—perhaps I should give it to Jack to look after.’

‘I want the change…’ the guy slurred, but Levander shook his head.

‘Tomorrow you will be hungry again. It is better Jack has it.’ And without another word he headed back to Millie—who didn’t know whether to be touched by his kindness or furious at his stupidity for getting involved.

‘Nice place,’ Millie said darkly, and almost instantly regretted it—especially when she saw Levander’s face.

‘You prefer five-star?’ Levander shrugged. ‘Prefer pompous men drunk on malt whisky who have lost their gold credit card, perhaps, than some poor kid who probably hasn’t eaten in two days?’

Though she bristled at his implication, she refused to back down. ‘He could have had a knife—he could have…’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘And what happens when the money you gave the owner runs out, Levander? What happens next week, when you’re not here to fix it for him?’

‘For the next few nights he eats.’ Levander shrugged.

‘But when the money runs out the same thing will happen, and you won’t be here…’ Millie insisted.

But Levander neither needed nor wanted her take on things. In fact it would seem Levander no longer wanted her. Because suddenly, not for the first time that night, he stood up to go, taking her hand and without a word hailing a taxi from the rank outside, giving his direction in a low, deep drawl. Levander stared fixedly ahead as the taxi slid through the night. So distracted, so far away.

Millie half expected him to drop her off where she lived and carry on, but as the taxi slid to a halt outside the fabulous five-star hotel that Levander called home Millie almost wept with relief. He offered her his hand to step out, and they stood outside the grand reception area. A doorman opened the door for them and they stood in the blazing lights, watching the busy theatre of the hotel even at this impossible hour—a gaggle of women spilling out of another taxi, clipping their way across the marble, an airline captain dressed smartly in his uniform on his way to the airport—the same airport Millie would be at in a few hours…

‘I’m sorry.’ This time his apology was as unexpected as it was unnecessary. ‘What happened back there…well, it is something I am used to. For you, though, I can see it would have been upsetting. Clearly it was a bad idea—’

‘It was a lovely idea,’ Millie broke in. ‘And I actually had a lovely time—in fact, I think it’s me that owes you an apology. I completely overreacted.’

‘No,’ Levander disputed, ‘you did not. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has…’ He hesitated for just a fraction too long, those beautiful eyes clouding over, and Millie frowned in concern.

‘Not everyone has what?’ she pushed, but he shook his head and forced a smile.

‘It does not matter.’

Millie was sure that it did matter, but clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. To help, she changed the subject. ‘I still can’t believe you actually live in a hotel.’

‘Why not?’ Levander asked. ‘A few of their suites are for permanent residents.’

‘But surely if your family are nearby…?’ She gave a slightly helpless shrug. She didn’t really know what she was asking—he was thirty, hardly likely to be living at home with his father, but it just seemed so temporary, so impersonal, so soulless. ‘Does it really feel like home?’

‘Sorry?’ He stared back at her, a slight frown forming between his eyes as if he completely and utterly didn’t understand her question, and Millie wondered if she’d spoken too fast—if perhaps he’d misunderstood something she’d said.