Читать книгу Innocent in the Ivory Tower - Lucy Ellis - Страница 9

THE boy, the plane … and the nanny.

No, cancel that last appellation. The red-haired sex kitten, curled up in her chair and pretending to sleep whilst he endeavoured to make sense of the figures being pumped into his email from New York. No sleep, the altitude, and now the unexpected introduction of his libido into the equation meant he was in danger of making a mistake that could cost a great many people their jobs.

He gestured to one of the attendants—a young guy named Leroy. Alexei didn’t hire attractive female staff any more for his private jet. They tended to lose focus on their job.

‘Leroy,’ he said. ‘Miss Edmonds. Move her. I don’t want her in my eyeline.’

Leroy looked from the sleeping bundle that was Maisy back to his boss. Alexei knew what the man was thinking but would never say, so he added tiredly, ‘She’s not asleep. She’s faking it.’

Maisy gritted her teeth. She had heard every word Alexei Ranaevsky had uttered since he’d sat down over an hour ago. Usually in Russian, usually brief and to the point. He hadn’t addressed a single syllable to her. It was as if she had simply ceased to be. But apparently she was distracting to his eyeline.

She lifted her head as Leroy approached her. He bent down and said in a soft voice, ‘Miss Edmonds—’

‘I know.’ Maisy gave him a resigned smile, then yawned, ruining it. She stretched and gathered up her angora travelling blanket, and climbed out of the luxurious seat. She looked pointedly at Alexei, who had removed his jacket and was propped with his feet up, scrolling through the information on the state-of-the-art laptop positioned in front of him. He didn’t even acknowledge her, his amazing bone structure taut under this artificial light. He looked more tired than she felt, which was saying something.

‘Put Miss Edmonds in a bed,’ he said as she passed by him.

Alexei heard a faint, ‘Thank you,’ in that sweet, tangy voice of hers, and felt his whole body shift instinctively in her direction.

Down boy. He growled. This wasn’t the time or the place to indulge his sudden craving for soft-eyed redheads. He’d had six long months of not particularly satisfying sex with Tara. Five months and twenty-nine days too long, in his opinion. Although not in Tara’s. She was telling the press they were still ‘good friends’ two days after he broke up with her. Ironic, as he’d never had a female friend—and if he did he wouldn’t choose Tara.

It was complicated. Maisy Edmonds was in his household, for now. Although she was no nanny. She’d lied to him straight up—another element to keep in mind. He had a fair idea who she was: one of Anais’s crew of hangers-on. Somehow she’d inveigled her way into the house and into Kostya’s life. If Leo was alive he might have vouched for her—a single word would have sufficed. But if Leo had been alive Alexei would never have met her in such fraught circumstances, leading to such a stupid indiscretion.

Which was bound to happen again.

The fierceness of her sexual response had taken even him off guard. It had turned blind need into something more exciting, edgier. It had been he who was out of control, he recognised. Whilst she had met him every inch of the way, she had also backed down fast. Meeting that resistance had saved him from a very big mistake, and possibly a costly one. Because there were always consequences.

He didn’t do casual sex. And he didn’t do sex full stop without a condom—which he wasn’t carrying. He could only have her word on where she’d been. He wondered if Leo … Then he closed down that thought, because it suddenly made him very angry. An image of Maisy Edmonds in a towel, rubbing herself against a series of men, flashed through his tired brain, firing his temper, and he swore.

It wasn’t going to happen—not in the coming days and weeks anyway. The dust still had to settle on Leo’s portfolio, and more importantly there was his child.

Kostya had been unexpectedly lively earlier on the trip, but now was sleeping as if the world had ended. Alexei envied him that ability to completely shut down. He imagined he had possessed it once, many aeons ago, when he was an infant. A childhood rubbed raw by neglect and strife had worn it off. He rarely slept a regular eight hours. The past few days had robbed him even of that.

With the kitten safely put to bed, he could focus on what the screen was telling him. None of it was good news. His shares in Kulcor were merely window dressing. If the company foundered it wouldn’t show up as a blip on his financial radar, but it was Kostya’s inheritance—he had to hold it. It was the least Leo would have expected of him. Family came first. However, growing up with nothing but the clothes on his back had taught Alexei to value material security. When people let you down, abandoned you, and all you had was yourself, several billion in the bank was a nice bulwark against destitution.

Leo’s son would never want for anything. He would make sure of it.

A bed. Not the bed—not the one and only bedroom on a private jet—but a bed. One of three. What kind of a man had three bedrooms on a plane? Maisy smiled helplessly at her thoughts. He had a private plane. The number of bedrooms was probably beside the point.

She sat down on the sumptuous bed, looking around at the luxurious fabrics on the walls and furniture. She ran her hand over the silky bed coverings in deep purple and black. A man had definitely chosen the colour scheme, although she couldn’t quite picture Alexei Ranaevsky spending much time with fabric swatches.

She could, however, imagine him on this bed, and her mind began to drift as she settled down under the luxurious covers, entertaining imagery mainly to do with him diving into bed with her. In the fantasy she didn’t stop him; she was confident and even sexually aggressive. Part of her wanted to call a halt to the daydreaming—it wasn’t healthy; she could never act on it. He probably wouldn’t fancy her in the cold light of day … But another, darker part seized on his mouth hot on hers and his hand like a brand on her inner thigh. She shifted in the bed, irritatedly aware she was arousing herself, which only made it all worse.

She was never like this. She didn’t fantasise about men to the point where she got hot and bothered. Her mind just didn’t go there. Mind you, she hadn’t had time to have a rich fantasy life, let alone an active sex life. Not with a baby. She wasn’t even accustomed to air travel. She was the original stay-at-home girl. With the Kulikovs there had been several shuttles to the Paris house, but life with a new baby had pretty much shut down her opportunities to explore further afield than the Île de la Cité.

Her thoughts drifted from blue-eyed, hard-bodied Russian oligarchs to the more prosaic realities of her life. It had been impossible to leave Kostya for more than a few hours, and Anais had insisted no one had Maisy’s ‘way’ with him. The deal had been she would have two days a week to herself, but the reality of a demanding infant had virtually turned Maisy into the mother of a newborn, with all the rigours that involved. The only normal life she had ever had was in those few months before Anais gave birth. Then they’d been girlfriends together, enjoying each other’s company and all the fun opportunities London had to offer.

Leo had been home a lot then too, as Anais grew huge, and settled, hovering over her protectively, acting on her merest whim. Maisy had envied her friend that security, that devotion. Anais in turn had encouraged her to date, pushed her out through the door with a gaggle of Anais’s other girlfriends into nightclubs.

For a few months she had lived like any other twenty-one-year-old girl in London. Those were the days when she’d had time to spend hours trawling clothes shops and dancing until dawn. She had met a couple of boys around her age and been in the awkward position of having to choose. Dan had worked at something in the music industry that apparently involved twiddling knobs, but he had been gentle and self-effacing and would sit up talking to her in little cafes until dawn drew her back to Lantern Square and Anais’s barrage of delighted interrogation.

She had finally gone back to his flat near Earls Court and slept with him. It had seemed the right thing to do, moving the relationship along, except it hadn’t quite turned out that way. She remembered lying there on his hard bed, staring at the pattern of cracks in the ceiling as Dan pushed into her virgin body, feeling self-conscious about their nakedness and wondering if she was doing something wrong. It had been quick and painful and messy, and not something she particularly wanted to repeat with him, and with that thought had came the utter certainty she had made a mistake.

She hadn’t shared this with Anais—she hadn’t told anybody. And a few days later, after an awkward coffee with Dan and an invitation to spend the weekend with him on a working trip, she’d ended it. The fact that he hadn’t seemed too bothered had made her wonder if she was the only girl in his life.

Within weeks Anais had gone into labour, and Maisy’s life as she’d begun to live it had been over. From then on, for two years, she had been the mother of a demanding baby boy.

It would have been impossible to make Alexei Ranaevsky understand the complexities of her relationship with Anais and Kostya last night. He probably would have been even less inclined to take her along. ‘A friend of Anais’s’ sounded insubstantial—and, knowing many of Anais’s girlfriends, she wouldn’t have left a pot plant in their care, let alone a two-year-old.

No, nanny sounded sensible and professional and useful.

He needed a nanny, not a flighty girl with her head in a fashion magazine and her body on a beach in Ibiza. Yet deception did not sit easily with her. She wanted to be herself, not an imitation of whatever was expected of a nanny in this man’s home. She hadn’t even asked him if he had a partner or children. It would be shocking, given his actions last night, but not unheard of. Maisy had lived long enough in Anais’s world to know adultery was a common coin and nobody blinked an eye.

What had happened tonight made no sense to her—from his perspective at least. He must have read signals into her behaviour, and she thought guiltily about the way she had visually eaten him up. She was less irresistible to him. He had been far more in control than she had. It had been he who had stopped it, owned it for a mistake.

He was clearly exhausted. The shadows under those beautiful eyes … the lines carved around his sensual mouth. Running on empty, Leo would say. Maybe she’d been available fuel, a willing female body. And she had been willing—shamingly willing. She had never felt that instant drench of attraction in her life. She still couldn’t look at him without wanting to touch him, feel the solid heat of his body pressed up against hers. It was wicked.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at a ceiling starred with dozens of tiny pinpricks of light. Was this how Anais had felt about Leo? Was this like the wellspring of her friend’s uninhibited passion for her husband, which had manifested itself as a longing for him whenever he was absent and a great deal of time spent in the bedroom, or the library, or on the kitchen table—much to Maisy’s embarrassment as she’d come home unexpectedly one afternoon?

This was what she had been looking for, Maisy realised with a start. This passion. This excitement. This much man.

Except he was the wrong man.

Just as she was the wrong woman. The nanny.

Dawn was breaking over Naples when they hit the tarmac. Maisy had never travelled in a private jet, and the waiting limos were another shock to her system.

Alexei Ranaevsky was seriously loaded.

He was also not coming with them.

In the first limo with Kostya, Maisy gathered the courage to ask Carlo, who was travelling with them, why not.

‘A chopper to Rome,’ he replied briefly. ‘London has held up several important meetings.’

Meaning his visit to Lantern Square. Perversely, Maisy felt a rush of anger towards both Carlo and Alexei. Kostya was not a hold-up. He was a little boy who had lost his parents. Surely Alexei could carve out more than an overnight flit to welcome the child?

Carlo gave her a wry look. ‘Don’t worry, bella, he’ll be back. You’ll see enough of him.’

Maisy stiffened at the familiarity of bella, and its implications. Plain enough words, but all of a sudden Maisy wondered if Alexei had spoken to Carlo, revealed what had occurred. It was too crass to bear thinking about, but Maisy’s hands made fists in her lap and her whole body was on red alert.

She averted her face to the window and didn’t say another word.

So this was where he lived.

The sixteenth-century exterior of Villa Vista Mare had not hinted at its sleek interior: soaring ceilings, glass everywhere, and blinding white surfaces. It was like stepping into the future. Maisy was accustomed to the shabby Georgian chic at Lantern Square and the pretty comfort of the Kulikovs’ other residence on the Île de la Cité in Paris. This sort of cutting-edge modernity and the money it took to fuel it was startling, and also troubling. Kostya’s life was going to be here now. It screamed style and money and glamour. It didn’t hold you in its arms and murmur ‘home’.

Seven days later she was doing her best to install some of Lantern Square into Kostya’s surroundings. She couldn’t fault the nursery. Not unexpectedly, it was over the top. Alexei clearly believed the advent of a child into his life called for lots of stuff. The life-size pony on rockers was perhaps the worst of it. A sleigh for a bed was inspired. Over the week she had shifted the worst out and created a softer space.

Kostya was universally loved by the household; Maria the housekeeper, a handsome woman in her middle fifties, doted on him. But every morning Maisy woke with the expectation that today would be the day Alexei Ranaevsky would put in an appearance, and every morning she was disappointed. She couldn’t make sense of his behaviour. He had spoken of his responsibility for Kostya, yet his actions spoke volumes as to where he saw Kostya in his life.

There was a room for the nanny off the nursery. It was utilitarian, with a view of the courtyard wall. Maisy tried not to spend any time in there other than to sleep, and she slept a lot. Alexei had organised a night nurse to be on duty, which meant she could sleep through the night for the first time since Kostya had been born. Six nights of uninterrupted sleep. She felt a hundred years younger.

Every day she took Kostya down to the beach in the morning, and read books on the terrace during the afternoon whilst he took his nap. In the evenings she would have liked to eat with Maria, but the housekeeper usually left at seven, after providing a solo meal. The rest of the skeleton staff seemed paid to be invisible. It was as if she was living in a palatial hotel all by herself.

On the seventh day she asked Maria if she might have a car to take down into the town. She had noticed a converted stable in the grounds securing seven sleek luxury vehicles.

‘I don’t want anything fancy,’ she hastened to add. ‘Just some beat-up thing I can motor about in.’

Maria laughed at her. ‘You can borrow mine, Maisy. It’s insured, and there’s a child’s seat in the back. I use it for my granddaughter.’

Maisy recognised that she was feeling a wild pleasure at the thought of getting out of the villa out of proportion to the lure of shops and other people. She ran upstairs and shimmied out of her T-shirt and shorts, replacing them with a green-and-pink floral sundress she had bought for her aborted trip to Paris. It was modest in the neckline, protecting her décolletage from the harsh sunshine, and fell just above her knees, but was virtually backless. She whipped her hair out of its ponytail and shook out her curls, solving that problem.

She got Kostya ready and strapped him into the car, giving Maria an enthusiastic wave as she rolled out of the courtyard and took off up the dusty road towards the highway that would take her down the hairpin bends and dips of the road into Ravello.

She had specific chores to undertake: organise funds from her English bank account, purchase a sturdier hat to protect Kostya from the fiery Italian sun, and stock up on trashy paperbacks. But it was impossible not to get sidetracked by the beauty of the old town.

Crossing the road after purchasing gelato for herself and Kostya, she spotted a beauty therapist’s. The warm breeze caressed her bare legs and reminded her she was in desperate need of a wax. With Kostya sucking on his ice and occupied with a box of toys, she was able to deal with her legs and have her hair trimmed and blow-dried. Feeling infinitely more attractive than she had going in, Maisy strapped Kostya back into his pushchair and headed for the gardens she had spotted at the other end of the road.

Several cars slowed down, passing her, and a group of youths called out in Italian to her. She didn’t understand a word but it was fairly clear it was appreciative. Maisy shook her head in disbelief. A pretty dress and ‘new’ hair and suddenly she was on display.

‘Don’t you grow up to be so silly, Kostya,’ she said, ruffling the top of his fair head.

A screeching of tyres made her look up. A low-slung sports car was humming alongside the kerb. Maisy froze.

‘Get in the car.’

Maisy released a deep breath, unaware she had been holding it. Alexei.

He was leaning over the steering wheel, his cobalt eyes hidden behind razor-sharp sunglasses. He looked what he was: cool, ruthless, very male.

She needed to handle this with the same cool. It was important not to appear eager or pleased or even furious that it had taken him seven days—seven days—to put in an appearance. It wasn’t easy when any woman in her right mind would have leapt in that car with him without a second thought.

She glanced ahead at the gardens and then, deciding, put the brake on the pushchair and crossed the few steps to the kerb, leaning in.

‘We’re going to the gardens. I promised Kostya.’

She turned her back on his incredulous face, kicked off the brake and kept moving, making a beeline for the gates.

Alexei slotted the car into a space overlooking the sea and took off after Maisy on foot. When Maria had casually told him Maisy had just walked out of the villa and taken the boy with her he’d been annoyed his security team hadn’t been alerted. The further information that she had taken Maria’s old Audi had infuriated him. Those hairpin bends were suicidal if you didn’t know them. But it was the sight of her in a flowery dress, with her arms and legs bare and all those pre–Raphaelite curls flowing down her back, being cat-called and ogled by Italian males that had sent him over the top.

Maisy wasn’t sure if he would drive away and leave them alone, or come after them. What she didn’t expect was for him to lay a hand on her elbow and wrench her almost off her feet. He whisked her around as if she were a doll. She had forgotten how big he was. The breadth of his shoulders and his musculature were outlined by the expensive weave of an olive T-shirt. Held up against him, Maisy felt warmth sweeping up into her cheeks, his proximity having the same upending effect on her senses it had had in London.

‘What in the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he blistered at her.

The sunglasses meant she couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them nevertheless—boring into her.

‘Going into the gardens,’ she answered, trying to pull her arm free. But he had a firm grip. ‘For goodness’ sake, let me go. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.’

Alexei took in her wide hazel eyes and soft mouth, the colour in her cheeks. She was a time bomb waiting to go off. He couldn’t have this much woman living under his roof. He’d end up giving her anything she asked for.

She made a soft distressed sound as his hand instinctively tightened and he released her immediately, shocked by his own conduct. He had imagined—imagined—he could deal with her in a short interview at the house. Confront her with his investigator’s report, set out the terms for her remaining with Kostya until he settled, and then ignore her. He was doing a good job of ignoring her. For six days and seven nights. Long nights—except for the sixteen hours he had slept under the effect of a sedative.

He wasn’t unaccustomed to periods of time without a woman in his bed. There was something rejuvenating about the spread of a cool, empty king-size bed. But Maisy Edmonds had been there every night in his waking dreams, with her wild red curls and her lush, eminently squeezable bottom, and the spicy taste of her still tingling in his mouth. He hadn’t misremembered her mouth—it was sweet and pink. The places he had imagined that mouth had been … To see it now, unmarked by lipstick, soft and innocent-looking, he felt like a sex-crazed brute.

‘Leave my Maisy alone!’ stated Kostya, standing up in his pushchair. He had managed to unclip his belt, and this held Maisy’s amazed attention, whilst Alexei, deeply shaken by his reaction, faced her little protector with a tad more subtlety.

He instantly dropped down to Kostya’s height. ‘I didn’t mean to upset Maisy. I’m Maisy’s friend too. I came to bring you both home.’

‘Don’t want to go home. Want to be on holiday.’

‘The villa is holiday,’ explained Maisy, still looking at Alexei uneasily, as if he was liable to spring at her.

Alexei released his breath with a hiss and straightened up, extending his arms to Kostya. ‘Come on, little man. How about I carry you for a bit?’

Kostya looked up at Maisy, and after a hesitation she nodded encouragingly, holding her breath as Alexei lifted the little boy into his arms. For a minute it seemed he might protest, but Alexei held him confidently, and Maisy saw the moment the little body relaxed into the man’s shoulder.

It gave her a chance to observe him more closely. He was wearing jeans and they clung to him like a second skin. They also made him look younger, and it occurred to Maisy for the first time he was really only a few years older than she was. He couldn’t be more than thirty and look at the life he led, the power he wielded, the level of sophistication he wore so casually. Maisy suddenly felt hopelessly out of her depth—and she was—but she had Kostya’s wellbeing to fight for, and that gave her the added push she needed.

And the fact remained he had been gone for an entire week.

‘Where have you been for the last seven days?’ The words were out of her mouth before discretion could check her tongue.

He shrugged. ‘What does it matter? I’m here now.’

He was here now. Maisy simmered on that for a few minutes as they resumed their stroll. She leaned into the pushchair that felt light as a feather now Kostya wasn’t in it.

‘How long will you stay?’ she asked evenly, as if it were not the most important question.

‘I’ve factored in three days.’ He announced it with an air of magnanimity that stole Maisy’s breath away.

Three days! She studied the man beside her. She was aware people were watching them, women were watching him. A couple of beautiful Italian girls perhaps her own age swung past them, sweeping Alexei’s length with unabashed sexual speculation. Maisy blushed for him. Alexei, however, seemed completely unaware of anyone but herself and Kostya. In fact his focus was a little intimidating.

‘Three days isn’t very long,’ she ventured quietly, carefully.

‘It’s all I have.’ His tone was a warning to cease questioning him, to keep her mouth shut. She remembered his statement—’I don’t explain my actions.’ Certainly not to the nanny, she thought wryly.

‘Explain to me why you borrowed Maria’s car and made this very dangerous little trip into town,’ he said in a quiet undertone clearly used to avoid disturbing Kostya.

He had pushed the sunglasses back through his hair revealing those incredible eyes that were every bit as intense as she remembered.

‘It wasn’t dangerous,’ she replied, copying his neutral tone. ‘I’m a good driver and I’m careful.’ Then the truth surfaced and she made a frustrated sound. ‘You try being cooped up in one place for a full seven days.’

He smiled slowly, knowingly. ‘You were bored, dushka?’

Maisy was startled by the smile, the sudden intimacy of his tone. She shook it off with the suspicion he was probably like this with all women under thirty, unthinkingly working them up with throwaway charisma.

‘Not bored, exactly,’ she said uncertainly, wondering how honest she should be.

Your house is full of people who don’t talk to me; Maria and the night nurse have taken over many of the usual calls on my time; I’m only twenty-three and I feel like I’ve been walled up alive some days.

‘I just wanted to look around, get my bearings.’

‘Yes, I saw you getting your bearings on the street. Half the male population of Ravello is going to be on the villa’s doorstep.’

He spoke casually, but there was an edge in his voice.

‘It’s not my fault if Italian men are appreciative of women,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I didn’t invite it.’

‘That dress invites it.’ His tone remained casual, but Maisy heard the censure and stiffened.

‘Are you suggesting I’m trying to pick up?’ she challenged.

Alexei’s expression was taut, hinting at inner tensions she couldn’t guess at. ‘I’m Kostya’s guardian,’ he enunciated plainly. ‘I expect you to behave like a lady and not flaunt yourself.’

Maisy didn’t know what to say. In what way had she flaunted herself? What was wrong with coming into town for the day? What was wrong with her dress? All of a sudden the warmth and freedom of the day dwindled down to a cluster of doubts, and Maisy tugged self-consciously on her skirt. She couldn’t help flashing back to herself in a towel, stunned by his presence in her room. Was that the impression he had of her? A woman who displayed herself to strange men for sex? She cringed at the thought.

The truth wasn’t much better, and it wasn’t fair. It was him. It was because of him she had responded so uninhibitedly. But how could she explain that to him without making even more of a fool of herself?

Kostya had slumped over Alexei’s shoulder, taking in the view from this new height. He looked so comfortable up there Maisy only felt worse.

She had to rid herself of this stupid infatuation. It wasn’t fair to Kostya, and it wasn’t fair to her.

‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ Alexei said in a neutral voice.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to entertain you. I wouldn’t want to be accused of flaunting myself.’ Where had that bitter tone come from? She bit her tongue.

Alexei’s eyes swept her body in a way that was disturbingly intimate, met her stormy eyes. ‘You can have a social life here, Maisy. I just don’t want you bringing men back to the villa.’

Maisy almost choked, forced to defend herself. ‘What men? The only men I’ve seen for the past week have been in uniforms, and they barely give me the time of day!’

‘Hence your little day out.’ He spoke so quietly, so reasonably, Maisy could have hit him.

She stopped on the path, aware there were other people around and that Kostya, however young, shouldn’t be overhearing this conversation. ‘I think you’ve made it clear how low your opinion of me can go. I don’t think I should have to defend myself when I’ve done nothing wrong.’

Alexei instantly felt like a jerk. He knew he was being tough on her, but she provoked him. She was so lovely even a sackcloth wouldn’t stop men looking at her, and why it bothered him so much he was struggling to understand.

Because you want her, and if it backfires you’re stuck with her, a cool, cynical voice intervened.

The child heavy in his arms was a reminder of how careful he had to be.

‘I think we should go back,’ he said gruffly. ‘The boy has fallen asleep.’

Maisy didn’t reply. She just jerked the lightweight pushchair around and headed back up the path ahead of him.

It occurred to him she was acting like a girlfriend, not the nanny. And he didn’t have any experience of girlfriends.

Alexei took them back to the villa in his high-speed toy at a reasonable pace, handling the bends with such care and confidence Maisy realised he might have a point about the danger. Maria’s Audi would be returned to her by a despatched member of staff.

There was a taut, tense silence in the car that was tying Maisy’s stomach in knots.

She took a deep breath and examined his hard, uncompromising profile as he negotiated the road. An innocent trip into town had been turned into a man-trawling exercise on her part. He was clearly ready to believe the worst of her because it would make it easier for him to get rid of her when the time came.

Whatever I do, she thought a little desperately, it won’t be enough because he’s decided I’m a party girl. Which was so ludicrous she snorted.

His attention snapped to her. ‘What is it?’

Maisy checked over her shoulder. Kostya’s head was hanging; he was still deeply asleep.

She gave Alexei her best impression of Anais-like insouciance. ‘I was just thinking, if all the men in Ravello are hot for me I’m going to need some evenings off to accommodate them. How about Fridays and Saturdays?’

It was a stupid thing to do, but he was so self-righteous. She wanted to show him how silly all his preconceptions of her actually were. Instead, the moment the words were out of her mouth she knew she had made a mistake.

The car shifted down a gear, slowed, came to a soft standstill on the side of the road. Alexei unsnapped his safety belt, glancing into the backseat at the slumbering infant. Maisy shrank back against the door, suddenly wary of what she’d stirred up.

‘Wh—what are you doing?’ she stammered.

‘I need to make a call,’ he informed her, head averted, scissoring the door open and closed.

Lacing his hands behind his neck, Alexei walked out his frustration along the verge, taking a few deep breaths. She was a very young, very provocative woman. She was taunting him because he’d offended her. She didn’t mean to push his buttons. But she had.

He couldn’t drive safely until he’d worked this through.

All the men in Ravello. He’d brought it up. He’d put the words into her mouth. He’d put the thoughts into her head. Maisy was clearly no more promiscuous than he was. Yet … images he’d never be free of flashed like a viewfinder through his mind. His mother’s clients—sordid, terrifying for the child he had been. He let them flicker, then shut them off with abrupt practised closure, glancing back at the car. He could see her head bent, the gleam of all those fiery ringlets. He took a breath. This was Maisy—this was different. There was nothing more natural than his desire to take her to bed.

Maisy sat drowning in the sudden silence. She watched him in the rear-vision mirror as he walked slowly away from the car. Even through her shot nerves she registered his back view was every bit as scrumptious as the front, and he had an amazing taut behind.

She buried her hot face in her hands. Me and my mouth, she cursed. What was I thinking? What am I doing? It was a joke—a silly joke. But of course he doesn’t do jokes. This is all getting completely out of hand.

She heard a click and felt the shift of weight in the car, dragging her hands away too late to find him beside her, watching her with the oddest expression. It was too late to hide her embarrassment.

Unsophisticated, foot-in-mouth Maisy.

‘That didn’t take long,’ she blurted out, sounding uncomfortably breathless.

He was watching her and there was real, undisguised heat in his eyes. Maisy’s breathing hitched and sped up. The buzzing atmosphere she recognised from her room was in the car. She had never felt anything like it, and with it came the memory of the feel of his mouth sliding over hers, the sheer force of his lust. You couldn’t dress it up as anything else—they barely knew one another, and she had been with him all the way. Why wouldn’t he think she would do it again?

‘I decided I didn’t need to make the call.’ A smile sat tight on his lips as he turned over the quiet engine. ‘Maybe you should reconsider all the men in Ravello, Maisy. I have a feeling you’re going to be pretty busy.’

‘With Kostya?’ said Maisy by rote, her mouth dry, her throat closed.

‘No.’ He swung the sports car fluidly back onto the highway and accelerated ever so slightly, so that the breath leapt from her body. ‘That would be with me.’