‘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.

Russian’s
Ruthless
Demand
Michelle Conder

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.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His own brow arched. ‘Indeed.’

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

We’d love to see you here again sometime but …’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I am not.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, you would take that view.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What did that mean?

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

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

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

‘Because I have an opportunity to offer you.’

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

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

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

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

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

His grin widened at her heated comeback. ‘Touché, Miss Harrington.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we start over?’

‘I don’t see why we should.’

‘Because as I said I have an opportunity—a possible job opportunity—to discuss with you.’

‘A job? Are you joking?’

‘I never joke about business.’

‘Well, I already have a job.’

‘One where you are currently underutilised.’

‘How would you know that?’

Lukas nearly shook his head at her shocked outburst. Did the woman not know how to hide any of her emotions? ‘Tomaso Coraletti.’

She tilted her head to the side. ‘How do you know Tomaso?’

‘He builds ships for me.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she scorned. ‘For a moment I thought his taste in friends had plummeted.’

Lukas smiled. If she was trying to put him off by being contrary it wasn’t working. In fact, the more riled she became, the more her interesting eyes sparkled and the more his body stirred. A realisation that surprised him. Perhaps Maria was right and he needed to go find himself some biscotti. Some very temporary biscotti. ‘He said you were one of the most talented students he’s ever taught and that you would be perfect for the project I am working on.’

‘Well, that’s very nice of him but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve wasted your time coming here because …’

‘Look, Miss Harrington,’ Lukas interrupted, short of patience and time and not a little put out by his unexpected physical reaction to her. ‘You’ve voiced your unhappiness at my comments about your hotels and it’s been duly noted but business is business. It would be a mistake to confuse it with anything personal.’

‘Excuse me?’ Her chin came up. ‘Are you implying that I am?’

Clearly he’d hit a nerve.

She stood up quickly, nearly overbalancing her stool, and would have stumbled if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her elbow.

‘What are you doing?’ she grated at him. ‘Let me go.’

He could feel the delicate bones of her arm through his gloves and slowly pulled his hand away. ‘My apologies,’ he drawled, somewhat disconcerted by the thought that he’d like to remove his glove and touch her bare skin with his own. ‘Should I have let you fall?’ he mocked. ‘I’m never sure with you card-carrying feminists.’

‘Very funny.’

Giving himself a mental shakedown Lukas got his mind back on track. ‘Or perhaps you just don’t think you can do it.’

Eleanore couldn’t believe the gall of the man. First he insulted her business and then he insulted her. About to lambast the man, the enormous overhead fan kicked in and a blast of cold air shot out of the vents and cooled her heated cheeks. It also blew the loose strands of her hair across her face.

Pulling off a glove she reached up to carefully dislodge the hair that had snagged on her lipstick when her fingers collided with his. Apparently Lukas had also removed his glove and she knew a moment of absolute shock as the feel of his warm skin against hers zinged through her system in a flash of sexual heat. Like a cyborg waking from a deep sleep, parts of her body came online for the first time and her dazed eyes landed on his sculpted lips so close to her own.

‘An ice hotel,’ he murmured, his gaze lingering on her mouth as if he knew she had been wondering what it would be like to breach the insignificant gap between them and kiss him.

Flustered, annoyed and tired, Eleanore glared at the man. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m building an ice hotel and my architect just quit. I want you to complete the design and project-manage the build.’

An ice hotel? A whole ice hotel? For a moment all Eleanore’s other senses came to full attention. She’d tried to convince Isabelle to do an ice hotel in Canada the year before but she had thought it a waste of time and money. ‘Why did your architect quit?’

‘Because his ego was larger than his talent.’

Eleanore’s lips quirked at his incongruous statement. ‘I’m sure he didn’t phrase it like that.’

‘Perhaps not.’ He gave her a slow smile. ‘But I can see I have your attention now.’

Annoyed at the victorious gleam in his eyes she shook her head. ‘Which part of no didn’t you get, Mr Kuznetskov? The n or the o?’

‘I don’t tend to respond that well to the word no,’ he drawled.

‘Then you haven’t wasted your time coming here after all because you’re about to be taught an important life lesson. And anyway, my sister would never agree to it.’

Isabelle had been even angrier about Lukas’s disparaging comments two years ago than Eleanore had been.

‘Well, that’s too bad.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’ll approach Spencer Chatsfield and see what he can do for me.’

Spencer Chatsfield? He was probably the only other man Isabelle disliked more. And what did Lukas know about their current feud? ‘Is that some sort of threat?’ she asked incredulously.

‘I never make threats.’ His smoking-hot grin told her he knew he had her. ‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

‘We don’t have a room 1006.’

His grin faded into a cocky smile as if he knew his next words would choke her. ‘Room 1006 at The Chatsfield.’

And he was right.

Eleanore blinked as he strode unhurriedly from the bar, his loose-limbed grace drawing both male and female glances his way.

Arrogant, horrible …

‘That got a little heated,’ Lulu said, materialising at her side.

She wasn’t kidding.

Eleanore frowned. ‘Have you seen my phone?’

‘Yeah.’ She reached behind an ice shelf on the bar. ‘I put it here when we got busy before and forgot to tell you.’

Picking it up Eleanore tried to get her cold fingers to work long enough to call Isabelle. It was still early in New York—if in fact her sister was even in New York—but she still couldn’t get through to her.

About to leave a message, she hung up. Would Lukas Kuznetskov really approach the Chatsfields for help with his ice hotel? And if he did what would Isabelle say if she knew Eleanore had passed up the opportunity to get in first?

‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

Arrogant, horrible …

Annoyed Eleanore downed a glass of water on the bar and only realised halfway through that it wasn’t water.

Lulu smacked her on the back repeatedly as she went into a coughing fit. ‘Honey, that was straight tequila,’ she advised.

Eleanore dabbed at her watering eyes. ‘It’s in a water glass,’ she wheezed.

‘We ran out of shot glasses.’

Great. A burnt oesophagus on top of everything else. What more could go wrong tonight?

CHAPTER TWO

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.

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