Читать книгу Russian's Ruthless Demand - Michelle Conder, Michelle Conder - Страница 12

TEN MINUTES LATER Eleanore found herself in a cab outside the main entrance of The Chatsfield, Singapore.

She glanced out the window, scouting for any paparazzi lurking in the shadows. Fortunately no one was around other than a liveried doorman and she steeled her spine as he reached out to open her door.

Deciding that the best way to go unnoticed was to act like she was just another guest coming in late for the night, she smiled confidently at the doorman as she strode past.

Once through the gleaming glass doors she crossed the acre of white-and-blue-veined marble floors toward the wall of gleaming elevators, hoping that none of the Chatsfields were in residence. Running into one of them would be truly humiliating!

If it was possible, she hated Lukas Kuznetskov even more for putting her in this nerve-wracking situation and only exhaled when the lift doors closed behind her, sealing her into its mirrored vault.

One mission accomplished without incident, she thought with a relieved breath. Maybe the rest of the night would go the same way.

She took a moment to study her reflection, smoothing out the lipstick she’d taken the time to reapply before leaving her hotel, and checked that her hair was still in place. No way was she meeting Mr Smooth-Talking Kuznetskov on his turf looking like one of Lulu’s wrung-out dish rags.

Satisfied, she raised her eyes to track the ascending numbers on the lift panel and wondered again if she shouldn’t have left this meeting until morning. Then she decided that no, she was unlikely to fall asleep with Lukas’s ‘opportunity’ hanging over her head and—some wicked side she never would have guessed she possessed—hoped she might interrupt his sleep as payment for his arrogance.

Unfortunately he wasn’t sleeping, he was on the phone when he answered the door, and he didn’t even pause in his conversation as he ushered her inside. She noticed that he’d rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and ignored the temptation to admire his impressive forearms. So the man had a good body. That didn’t make him an attractive person. A man needed a lot more than money and looks to get her attention.

‘Arrogant jackass,’ she murmured under her breath as she stalked past him, stopping in the centre of the spacious sitting room, her designer’s eye admiring the rich furnishings and sophisticated fittings.

Still talking on the phone he bent over the low coffee table between two large sofas and pressed a few keys on his laptop. Then he swivelled the computer toward her and indicated for her to take a seat. ‘Have a look at these,’ he murmured before returning his attention to his caller.

Rude was the only word that came to Eleanore’s mind and she resented the superior way he thought he’d won. She had half a mind to ignore his computer but that left only him to look at so she relented. And anyway, she reminded herself, she was here to stop him from offering someone at the Chatsfield Hotels a job until she had a chance to consider his proposal properly. Not that she imagined for one minute that Isabelle would be happy with her being here. Which made her incredibly uncomfortable because she adored her sister and would never do anything to upset her.

A minute later a fresh bottle of water was plonked down in front of her. She glanced up and a smile tilted the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly how disgruntled she was. Which was impossible. She wasn’t that easy to read. Was she?

‘Sorry about the phone call. Unfortunately business doesn’t sleep.’

The mention of sleep made her think of beds and tiredness and him and she shook off a wooziness probably brought about by the tequila slammer she’d inadvertently ingested.

‘Are you sure you don’t want coffee? You look like you could use it.’

‘Thanks,’ she said tartly, knowing that even if she was dying for a cup she wouldn’t take one from him after that. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’ Now if he’d offered her a chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream on the side she might have set her pride aside. Okay, she would have, but coffee would only keep her up anyway.

He shrugged at her response and sat down on the sofa beside her. The cushion bowed under his extra weight and she felt herself list toward him and had to put her hand down between their bodies to stop herself from touching him. Even so, her hand brushed the hard muscle of his thigh and she shifted away as if she was politely giving him more space when in reality his closeness seemed to addle her thinking. Or was that the cocktail and tequila? Either way Eleanore wanted to get this out of the way and get back to her bed. Alone.

Well, of course alone, she admonished the voice in her head. She had little time or inclination for a man as it was and this man would never make her top one hundred, let alone her top ten. ‘So tell me what I’m looking at,’ she said briskly.

He clicked the mouse a couple of times and a three-dimensional snowflake came onto the screen. ‘The hotel is designed to look like a snowflake. Five wings hold the guest bedrooms and one is the reception area and main restaurant.’ He scrolled through a few more images and despite her determination to be bored by the whole thing she wasn’t.

‘It’s very clever,’ she conceded reluctantly.

‘A compliment, Eleanore?’

‘Don’t take it to heart, Mr Kuznetskov.’ She didn’t like the way he said her name. It sounded too familiar on his lips. Too sexy coming from that deeply accented voice.

He smiled as if he could read her like an open book. ‘It is clever, but I need someone to turn it from a concept into a reality. Can you do it?’

Could she do it? Yes, she had no doubt she could—or at least she hoped she could. Would she give him the upper hand by revealing that? Never.

‘You might want to think about moving the restaurant so that it’s more central to the design,’ she said before she could stop herself.

His brows drew together. ‘I already thought of that but I was told it wasn’t possible due to the positioning of the kitchen.’

Eleanore stifled a yawn as her creative side warred with her need to get up and leave. ‘It is. You just have to know how to do it.’

‘And you know how.’

‘Yes, actually, I do. I was fascinated by the concept of living in an igloo as a child and incorporated ice buildings as one of my electives during my final year of study.’ She frowned at the screen. ‘The guest bedrooms are also a little …’

‘Dull?’

His straightforwardness was refreshing, she thought. Too often people tried to cover up inadequacies or mistakes with excuses. ‘Yes, that word works. These rooms are basically designed all the same. If you want to be truly innovative you need to have them themed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, give your guests a reason to visit other than for a night sleeping in a fridge. Which is essentially what they’re getting.’

‘This hotel will be pure luxury. Whatever guests want they’ll have.’

‘To make it pure luxury on ice you’ll need designer rooms and a warm bathroom to be attached to each one.’

‘I was told that couldn’t be done either.’

She shook her head when she realised how far she had been drawn in by him. ‘Why do I feel like I’m being manipulated?’

He smiled and it belonged to a movie star. ‘What about the atrium in the reception area? I know there’s something wrong with it but I can’t pick it.’

Eleanore knew she shouldn’t look. ‘It needs to be larger. The way it is now the spacing is all wrong and the reception desk is too close to the entrance.’

‘That’s it.’ He shot her an admiring glance. ‘I do believe you might be the genius.’

About to tell him that compliments didn’t work on her, his phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this.’

Releasing a pent-up breath, Eleanore’s eyes followed the long line of his body as he strode to the windows and looked out as he talked; legs planted wide apart, his gaze high as if he was a general surveying a battlefield he was about to conquer.

A wave of tiredness hit her like a brick wall and she yawned and rested her head back against the soft cushion behind her. She would tell him she was leaving as soon as he finished up on his call and talk to him after she’d spoken to Isabelle.

And she’d also find out the name of the company that supplied the hotel’s soft furnishings because this was possibly the most comfortable sofa she had ever sat on.

When Lukas ended his phone call he turned back to find Eleanore Harrington had fallen asleep. He stood over her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply. His eyes travelled lower to where her dress had risen to just above mid-thigh. She had fabulous legs. Shorter than he was used to because he didn’t date petite women, but no less shapely. And she still had on her brightly coloured ankle boots that somehow didn’t make her ankles look fat at all.

He almost felt like a voyeur watching her in her unconscious state. Or maybe it was that in sleep her face looked strangely innocent. Strangely…pure.

An odd sensation constricted his chest. Pure? He was surprised he even remembered the term, let alone recognised the quality. Pure and innocent hadn’t been part of his life since conception probably and he wondered how he could attribute the term to a woman who had gone toe to toe with him earlier over the slight he had caused to her family’s company.

He briefly considered waking her but she looked so peaceful he didn’t have the heart.

Instead he let his eyes drift back over her slender torso to her breasts that were well hidden by her plain dress and up to the quirky chopsticks she had in her caramel-brown hair. They couldn’t be comfortable and he had an impulsive urge to pull them out to see how long her hair was. To see it tumble down her back and spread out over the cream-coloured sofa.

Then he shook off the thought and frowned when he realised that his hands had moved closer to her to do exactly that. Diverting them to her feet he unzipped her boots and gently placed her feet up on the sofa. Immediately her body pitched more horizontal and her lovely legs curled up toward her chest in a child’s pose.

Lukas felt his body stir again and clamped down on it. He couldn’t deny that on some level she intrigued him and he’d certainly enjoyed himself tonight more than he’d enjoyed himself in a long time, but success was everything, and no slip of a woman would ever interfere with that.

He thought again about how she had taken him on over his criticism of her hotel. Probably she had been right to call him on it but the shock of having someone question his actions after being revered for so long had kept him from agreeing with her. Really though, she was right and he should have tabled his complaints appropriately instead of mouthing off on his phone to his PA.

Frowning, he wondered when he’d become such a self-important popka.

Not enjoying the unexpected attack of his conscience he fetched a blanket from the bedroom and draped it over her sleeping form. The chopsticks he left well enough alone.

When she woke up Eleanore blinked and wondered if someone had stuck her eyes together last night with glue. She lifted her hands to rub at them and felt the stiffness of her eyelashes and realised she’d gone to bed without taking her make-up off. Something she never did.

Still tired, she yawned and rolled over and felt the pull of her dress. Blinking herself awake she frowned as she realised she hadn’t taken her dress off either. Or her stockings.

And she was on a sofa with a light blanket thrown over her. ‘What the …?’

‘Morning, spyashchaya krasavitsa.’

Startled, Eleanore’s hand flew to her chest as her eyes flew to the man leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb. He was dressed in suit pants again and another pristine white shirt, open at the neck. She’d seen many men wear similar outfits at work over and over without noticing the width of their shoulders or the narrowness of their hips but there was something in the way Lukas carried himself that drew the eye like a moth to a flame.

Suddenly the events of last night came back in a rush and she realised she’d dreamt about his ice hotel. And him …

He strolled further into the room and she noticed he had a tall glass of water in his hand and that her mouth was as dry as dust. She also had the makings of a dull headache but it wasn’t enough to waylay her.

When he handed her the glass she drank from it greedily.

‘Thanks.’ She glanced around the room. Anywhere but at him. Then she frowned. ‘You should have woken me last night.’

‘I didn’t need the sofa.’

Eleanore placed the empty glass on the table. ‘That’s no excuse.’

‘I did take off your boots but you were so out of it I don’t think you would have woken up if an earthquake had hit.’

She grimaced. ‘It must have been the alcohol. I’m not used to it.’

‘There is lots of alcohol in St Petersburg. You will have plenty of opportunities to build your stamina if you work for me.’

Eleanore narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re glad that I stayed, aren’t you?’

‘I wouldn’t say glad but if you mean it gives me an advantage in getting what I want, then yes, I suppose you could say I’m glad.’

‘And you want me?’

As the silence between them lengthened Eleanore realised what she’d said. ‘I meant to work for you. Obviously.’

He smiled. ‘Da. Yes. To work for me.’

Eleanore shook her head. ‘I would never leave my job. My heart is with Harrington’s.’

‘And do you always follow your heart?’

Did she? ‘Yes, I suppose I do. My family means a lot to me. And they need me.’ At least she hoped that was true.

‘Staying in a company for family reasons can limit your true potential.’

Eleanore felt the pointy edge of that comment and it raised her hackles. ‘That’s cynical.’

Unperturbed by her put-down he shrugged.

‘Tomaso seems to think you have enormous potential that is not being tapped where you currently are. I’m willing to back it. How do you take your coffee?’

‘At my hotel,’ Eleanore said churlishly, annoyed at his barbs and the way he chuckled at her response. He had a habit of laughing at her and it was getting under her skin. Still, she needed to keep him onside if she was to talk to Isabelle about his ice hotel. And preferably before he contacted the Chatsfields. She wouldn’t work for him directly, but that didn’t mean Harrington’s couldn’t do something for him. If Isabelle agreed…‘Which I need to get back to,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ll contact you later with regard to your proposition.’

He shook his head. ‘While I admire your loyalty to your family and I’m sure they appreciate it I need to move on this now if the hotel is going to be ready for opening night in a month.’

‘A month!’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘How much of it is already completed?’

He counted a list off with his fingers. ‘The ice blocks have been harvested and stacked in the warehouse, the arched corridors are done and waiting to be tractored onto the site. The vaulted steel support walls are up, and the construction crew and some of the ice carvers are in place.’

‘That’s not a lot.’ She did some calculations in her head. ‘I’d say a month is leaning heavily on the optimistic side of things.’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she said, feeling railroaded.

‘Why don’t you go and freshen up and think about it? I need your answer now. This morning.’

‘That’s impossible.’

He shrugged. ‘I have found nothing is impossible, Miss Harrington, for good or bad.’

Something in his tone, a bleakness, hit her in the stomach and made her pause. Unable to understand it she frowned. ‘I can’t decide about this on the spot.’

He folded his arms across his impressive chest and she wondered how he managed to look so fresh on probably less sleep than she had had. ‘Why? Do you not have the authority to make the decisions?’

No, she didn’t. But that was another thing she wouldn’t tell him. ‘Businesses don’t function like that.’

‘I’m only asking for a month of your time. If you can’t do it say so now.’

Fuming at him and desperate to use the bathroom she shoved the blanket aside—refusing to see it as a thoughtful gesture on his behalf—and swung her legs over the edge of the sofa. Her dress was bunched up around her hips and she flushed as she noticed Lukas’s eyes drop to her legs.

Expecting him to make some sexist comment she was surprised when he turned away toward the window instead. Another nice gesture? Probably not.

Escaping to the bathroom she was appalled to see she looked like a bad rendition of a panda. A panda with really bad hair.

Well, was it any wonder he’d turned away? She was about as attractive as … She stopped. Stared at herself.

‘You do not want that man to find you attractive no matter what you think,’ she told her wide-eyed reflection.

So he was good-looking. Since when had she been shallow enough to want a man for his looks? His body?

Disgusted with her train of thought she splashed warm water onto her face and used a cloth to scrub the excess of make-up away and wished she hadn’t left her clutch purse beside the sofa. Not that it had anything useful in it other than money and her keycard.

Something Lukas had said before reformed in her mind—about her family appreciating her loyalty—made her pause. She wasn’t sure that Isabelle appreciated it as much as she took it for granted but an idea was taking shape.

If Lukas agreed to hire her as a consultant for his project and would form a partnership with Harrington’s, then Isabelle would be forced to sit up and take notice of her achievements. And she had no doubt, given Lukas’s passion for the project, his budget would be huge.

Would Isabelle go for the idea?

Eleanore chewed on her lower lip. She might dislike Lukas Kuznetskov, but as he had said to her, business was business, and she was pretty sure Isabelle would see it the same way. And the opportunities were obvious.

This would be Harrington’s first hotel in Eastern Europe. A foot in the door to another market with zero capital outlay up front. It was like a gift, but a conditional one, because it came with Lukas Kuznetskov attached.

Could she work with a man she found so incredibly attractive and resist him? Eleanore scoffed at her reflection. Well, of course she could.