Russian's Ruthless Demand

‘Shall we cast a wager?’

Eleanore turned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A wager. On who will kiss whom first.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘Is that a yes?’

Lukas could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite believe them. She’d aggravated him with the way she so easily froze him out. And the more she tried to mind her ps and qs with him, the more he wanted to run roughshod all over them.

‘How about if I kiss you first you can have Harrington’s name above the door of the hotel?’

Eleanore stilled. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Why not?’

She couldn’t believe he would wager that. ‘And what happens if I kiss you first?’

‘Worried about your self-control, moya krasavitsa?’

She hated not knowing what he was calling her, but she wouldn’t lower herself to ask. Let him have his fun. Men and their egos.

With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent (but exquisite) children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at www.michelleconder.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Paul and our kids. Life got in the way a bit with this one but we made it through!

And to my fabulous editor, Laura McCallen. This book would not be here if not for your infinite patience and wonderful guidance.

Thank you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Extras

Extract

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE BREAKING UP, PETRA. Who did you say quit?’ Lukas Kuznetskov pressed his mobile phone closer to his ear, straining to hear as his PA explained the latest issue to befall the supposedly creative genius who had been hired to build his ice hotel. Apparently the man had stormed out after Lukas had questioned his latest set of drawings, complaining that Lukas was too controlling and stifled his creativity.

Creativity?

Lukas swore under his breath.

So far he had come up with the overall concept of the hotel himself while the architectural wizard he’d hired had done little more than fill in the technical details and organise the preliminary build. With only a month left until the most anticipated project in Russia was due to open it was fair to say Lukas was a little agitated. ‘Please tell me he at least redesigned the interior of the guest bedrooms like I asked,’ he growled, grinding his teeth when Petra confirmed that no, he had not.

Useless, lazy, good for nothing … Lukas sucked in a sharp breath as he strove for calm and told Petra he’d handle it. As if he wasn’t busy enough.

‘Trouble?’

Having momentarily forgotten his Italian ship engineer was in the room Lukas turned away from the splendour of Italy’s Adriatic coastline and glanced at the plans laid out on a scored wooden table. They had just finished going over Tomaso’s design for a supertanker that could carry twice as much cargo as any other on the market and go at twice the speed. If they could pull it off it would be another feather in Lukas’s already well-plumed cap.

Tomaso Coraletti was as close to a friend as Lukas had ever allowed himself to have and the older man stroked his neat beard as Lukas updated him on his pet project.

‘Biscotti, Lukas?’

Turning, Lukas replaced his scowl with a smile when he saw Tomaso’s sweet wife, Maria, standing before him with a silver tray of freshly made biscotti in her hands. Tomaso reached across and took a piece before Lukas could respond and got his hand swatted for his efforts. ‘Bah!’ she scolded. ‘Lukas is a growing boy. He needs it more than you.’

Tomaso scoffed and Lukas chuckled. He’d stopped growing a long time ago and they both knew it. ‘Grazie mille, Maria.’ He took a slice of the treat even though he didn’t want it and pocketed his phone.

‘It is the best biscotti in the whole of Italy,’ Tomaso boasted. ‘Maybe one day you will be lucky enough to enjoy biscotti like this. If you’re good.’

Lukas chuckled at Tomaso’s pointed comment. He’d known Tomaso ever since he’d joined his first container ship as a deck boy. In fact, it had been Tomaso who had gotten him the job. He had been the ship’s engineer and had convinced his brother, the captain, to give Lukas a trial. Lukas had been sixteen years old and living off the putrid streets of St Petersburg at the time but unlike the other street kids—his fellow troublemakers—he’d had ambition. Something the older man had recognised when Lukas intervened while a group of young thugs tried to fleece Tomaso of his pocket change. And maybe even his life.

Of course, Lukas hadn’t trusted Tomaso’s goodwill straightaway. While most of his peers sought safety in numbers, joining or forming gangs to keep them safe, Lukas kept to himself, learning at a young age that needing others was a one-way street to misery.

His loner days had started at the age of five when his mother had put him on a train from St Petersburg to Moscow and told him she’d meet him there. At the time he’d been terrified and young enough to believe she’d meant it. It had taken him another five years to make his way back to St Petersburg in his search for her. A wasted trip if ever there was one.

Realising he’d entered an almost trance-like state he gave himself a mental shake. Why dwell on all that now? So his architect had quit. It wasn’t the worst that could happen and he’d succeed in the end. He always did. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

‘No doubt you are indeed a lucky man, Tomaso,’ he concurred, patting the old man on the shoulder. But really, Lukas knew that he was the lucky one. He was footloose and fancy-free and if he wanted biscotti he could go down to Harrods when he was in London or Gostiny Dvor in St Petersburg any time he wanted and buy an enormous amount. Not that it would be warm. And maybe not as flavour-some, but he was sure, if he ever wanted it, it would be decent. Biscotti was biscotti no matter how many ways you sliced it.

Maria pushed another three slices into his hand, told him he worked too hard and needed to make babies instead of ships and left. He could have laughed. His last mistress had muttered the same complaint as she’d accepted the diamond necklace and Porsche Carrera on their final night together.

‘I might know someone.’

Tomaso’s statement brought Lukas’s mind back to the job at hand. ‘To make biscotti?’

‘No.’ He gave him a look. ‘I leave the baby-making comments to mia moglie. I mean to help with your ice hotel.’

Lukas set the biscotti aside. ‘At this point I’d hire a cartoon character if I thought he could do the job.’

Tomaso laughed. ‘She’s not a cartoon character, I can assure you, but she is good.’

‘Who is she?’

‘An ex-student of mine from Cornell and the daughter of the late boutique hotel owner, Jonathan Harrington.’

Lukas knew of the wealthy hotelier. He’d stayed in one of his hotels once and been less than impressed. He didn’t know anything of his family except that they had no doubt lived a pampered existence. ‘I know of the name.’

Hearing the shadow of scepticism in his voice, his friend said, ‘Eleanore is the youngest of three daughters and extremely talented.’ He stroked his beard again. ‘And from what I can tell, drastically underutilised in her current role at Harrington’s.’

‘She works for her family?’ Lukas had never respected nepotism.

‘Yes and I doubt it’s nepotism if that’s what you’re thinking. Since her father passed away her sister Isabelle has run the show and she’s one tough cookie.’

Lukas still wasn’t convinced.

‘If you don’t believe me Eleanore just completed an ice bar in Singapore. It opens tomorrow as it turns out. I have an invitation but since her operation Maria doesn’t like to travel.’

Lukas’s ears pricked up. If the woman had designed an ice bar, then she understood the concept behind such an endeavour, and as he had the build in hand and only needed someone to fine-tune the design and do the internal fit-out she might just be what he was looking for.

And he respected Tomaso more than he did a lot of people which was why, the next day and despite some reservations as to her suitability, he was making a detour to Singapore on his way back to St Petersburg.

He glanced at the employee profile he’d pulled up on Eleanore Harrington en route. She was marginally pretty with her creamy complexion and brownish coloured eyes, her wide smile that had probably financed some dentist’s second holiday house. And there was something infinitely refined about her features that spoke more to hosting dinner parties in large houses than designing them. Then getting naked in some man’s bed. His bed.

Lukas’s brows drew down at the rogue thought. Where had that come from?

There was nothing special about Eleanore Harrington and he never mixed business with pleasure. Why complicate his place of solace with a woman bemoaning his perceived weaknesses as a man. ‘You’re too cold …’ ‘You’re completely heartless …’ ‘You care about nobody but yourself …’ All true and nothing he hid from any woman who occupied his bed. The trouble was they hid who they were from him. Right up until the end when they accepted his gifts and looked for another rich man to milk. Frankly the whole experience had started to pall.

He read further down Eleanore Harrington’s profile. Graduating university with a major in architecture and a minor in interior design she had worked in her family’s company from the get-go. Personal interests were reading, art, history, collecting shoes and volunteering at her local animal shelter.

Fascinating, Lukas thought dryly, thankful that he wasn’t interested in her personally. She’d bore him to tears within minutes.

‘We’ve started our descent into Singapore, Mr Kuznetskov. Can I get you anything else before we land, sir?’

‘Nyet.’ He stared out the window as the bright lights of Singapore came into view and hoped he wasn’t wasting his time. He had a personal interest in making this venture a success so if Eleanore Harrington was half as good as Tomaso claimed she was he’d pretty much give her anything she wanted to get her on board.

Eleanore glanced at her watch for the hundredth time that night before swivelling around on her bar stool to stare at the main door. It opened and for a minute her heart lifted but it was only a merry group of Singapore’s young urbanites who looked like they’d sipped one too many of Lulu’s Yummy Yetis.

‘You waiting for a lover?’

Eleanore pulled a face at Lulu’s hopeful question and turned back to the bar, her eyes automatically drawn to Lulu’s newly streaked purple hair that stood out even more beneath the colourful strobe lighting in the ice bar.

Lulu was the best bartender in New York City. She had also become a friend over the years she’d worked at Harrington’s and Eleanore had brought her over especially for the opening night of their newest bar where everything—the bar top, the chairs, the stools, the walls and even the glasses—was made completely of compacted ice and snow. Quite the marvel in sultry Singapore and a roaring success according to the media heads who had come along for the free drinks and cocktails earlier on.

‘My sisters,’ she informed Lulu glumly.

Both Olivia and Isabelle had promised to attend the opening night of Glaciers to share in Eleanore’s success but it was fairly safe to say that at close on midnight neither one was intending to show up. Not that Eleanore minded so much about Olivia not showing. She knew Olivia was busy with a new play about to open but Isabelle…Isabelle had the power to promote her to Harrington’s executive team or not and being an integral part of her family’s company was the most important thing in the world to Eleanore. It was what she strove for. It was what she got out of bed for in the mornings. And she’d been hoping that once Isabelle saw the incredible job she had done in designing the ice bar she would see that she was wasting her time redesigning cushion covers in hotel foyers or organising the latest colour schemes in the guest bedrooms, and offer her more.

Lulu put a frothy red concoction with a tiny umbrella sticking out the top in front of her and gave her a look that said she was a bitter disappointment to her friend. ‘I knew a lover was too good to be true. Maybe you need to write it on your list of goals to make it happen.’

Eleanore pulled a face at Lulu’s dig at her need to map her life out. It was her way of keeping her world in order and meeting a man was way down on the list at this stage of her life. ‘I told you once before, career and men don’t mix. Either they become snooty at how many hours I put in at work or they’re so boring they make me want to stay at work for longer.’ She glanced at the drink. ‘What’s this you’ve whipped up for me? After the last one I hope it has a low alcoholic content.’ Especially since she couldn’t remember if her last meal had been lunch or breakfast or dinner the night before.

She’d been running on adrenaline all day and guzzled coffee to keep herself going. Which was probably why she felt both buzzed and completely exhausted at the same time.

Lulu leaned one svelte hip against the bar, enjoying the lull in what had been a madcap night. ‘I’m calling it “Don’t Poke the Bear.” Let me know what you think.’ She gave the icy bar another vigorous wipe. ‘But don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you should settle down.’ She gave a shiver as if the mere thought were horrifying and pulled her ski gloves back on. ‘But fun? Sex? When was the last time you went out on a date?’

‘Nineteen sixty-five,’ Eleanore deadpanned.

Lulu laughed and pointed her cleaning rag at her. ‘I’d believe that. And it’s exactly my point. You need to get out more. Live a little.’ Having delivered her standard lecture she started lining up more shot glasses on the bar. ‘So where are your esteemed sisters anyway?’

It wasn’t in Eleanore’s nature to be pessimistic but to assume they were stuck in traffic or sitting on the tarmac at the airport was even a stretch for her. ‘Busy.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Olivia is no doubt auditioning for some play somewhere and this whole drama of the Chatsfields trying to take us over seems to have consumed every one of Isabelle’s waking hours.’ And even now Eleanore could picture Isabelle holed up with the horrible Spencer Chatsfield in some argument.

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.’