The Power of Vasilii

‘A lifetime commitment? No one can or should promise that.’

There was so much anger in his voice—and something else as well that Laura couldn’t quite analyse.

As he spoke Vasilii had put down the papers he was holding and had taken a step towards her before he’d even realised what he was doing, never mind understood the reason he was doing it. The experience of letting a woman’s jibes cut under his skin—a woman he thoroughly despised and distrusted at that—was so unknown to him that it took him several seconds and several strides in Laura’s direction before he could bring his reactions, both physical and emotional, under control.

Even more damaging to his pride was the look of shocked, almost horrified revulsion on Laura’s face as she stepped back from him. She was actually raising her hands, palm open, as though to fend him off—as though she was revolted by the thought that he might be going to touch her.

How dared she try to claim the moral high ground? How dared she think she needed to defend herself from his touch after the way he had just warned her off?

Vasilii had a formidable sense of pride, and Laura Westcotte’s reaction had virtually flayed it to ribbons. No woman had ever, ever reacted to him like that. To Vasilii’s angry disbelief, the fact that it should be this woman of all women who was rejecting him so obviously, and with such open revulsion, set alight inside him a savage male desire to show her exactly how easily he could punish her for that outrage by making her want him.

The surge of furious and instinctive need for supremacy threatened to slice through all the bindings of modern-day life, convention and even the strict limits he imposed on his own behaviour with such speed that inside his head he was already reaching for her. Reaching for her and holding her, sliding his hands into the lustrous silky warmth of her smooth hair and feeling it glide sensually through his fingers, its tendrils wrapping around them as he bound her to him, a willing captive to the possession of his kiss. Beneath his her lips would part softly and eagerly, clinging to the domination of his. Her head would tilt back to reveal the vulnerable arch of her throat, her skin as soft as the wing of a white dove at his mother’s people’s oases. And, as with the powerful life-giving water of those oases, he would be able to slake his own thirst and quench his pride’s need for vengeance in the soft sounds of pleasure she would make beneath the sensual punishment of a kiss that would teach her beyond all doubt that she wanted him. He would hear her sigh and sob that wanting beneath his mouth as she pressed herself closer to him, willingly offering herself to him …

The swift aching hardening of his body brought Vasilii abruptly back to reality, away from the dangerous place that his angry thoughts were taking him—in more ways than one.

Thankfully the punishment he wanted to inflict on Laura Westcotte had only been within the privacy of his own thoughts. Naturally he had retained enough sanity not to move so much as a centimetre closer to her, never mind actually touch her—despite the anger she had aroused within him with her obviously deliberately faked attempt to get under his skin by pretending that she was horrified at the thought of his touch. A woman like her would be adept at manipulating situations to suit her own needs. No doubt she had hoped to provoke him into desire for her after the way he had warned her off. Unfortunately for her she had failed. But at least he had her full measure now that he had himself fully under control, and he would ensure that that control was never compromised again.

As he stepped back from her, though, Vasilii knew that he now had another reason for not wanting to have Laura as his PA. Another reason not to want her. But he had no choice but to take her on.

It was a very galling reality to have to acknowledge, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth as he told her coldly, ‘There is no time to lose. My negotiations are at a very critical stage. I have an employment contract here ready for you to sign. Once it is signed I have a résumé of the history of the negotiations so far for you to study, so that you will be up to speed with what has happened.’

‘I shall need to know something of the future of your plans, as well as the past,’ Laura felt bound to point out.

Now was not the time to allow herself to dwell on the way she had felt when Vasilii had come towards her as though he was going to touch her. It was because she hadn’t wanted him to touch her, that was all. Not because she had. The very idea was … The very idea was unthinkable.

Taking a deep breath, she continued firmly, ‘As you know yourself, Chinese negotiations are very delicate. The wrong pause between words, never mind the wrong look or the use of the wrong word, can set things back far more than we would expect in the West. I know that when someone new joins a negotiating team the instinct is to keep them a little out of the loop facts-wise, until they’ve proved themselves, but in this instance—’

‘I shall be briefing you myself on those aspects of the negotiations tomorrow afternoon, when we shall be flying out to meet the Chinese, once I have assured myself that you have the correct grasp on what has already happened.’

Laura nodded her head. She was very professional when it came to her work, and she had no qualms about her ability to absorb the facts she would need to know.

‘Which part of China are we flying to? I only ask because I’ll need to pack appropriately.’

‘We aren’t flying to China. We’re flying to Montenegro. Wei Wong Zhang, the head of the company with whom I am in negotiation to work alongside in the development of new modern shipping container ports, has expressed a wish to visit Montenegro. He has other business interests in the potential development of tourist and leisure complexes on China’s coast. In the party of officials who are attending will be Wei Wong Zhang’s wife, Wu Ying, as well, of course, as the usual government officials and translators. In addition a nephew of Wei Wong Zhang, Gang Li, will also be a member of the party. Gang Li’s mother was Chinese-American and he was educated in America. He is very close to his uncle. All the indications are that Gang Li is being groomed to take over the business at some stage. There is, in fact, a suggestion that he might be Wei Wong Zhang’s son—although officially that cannot be mentioned and will certainly never be recognised.

‘The success of these negotiations has far-reaching consequences for my business that go well beyond the immediacy of this contract. My way of doing business and my status within the business community within China will be judged on my success with this contract. Winning it will by its very nature open doors to further investment in and business with Chinese partners. My PA has prepared a list of the officials who will be accompanying the family to Montenegro. The plan put forward by Wei Wong Zhang, through Gang Li, is that a smaller group than the large entourage he intends to bring with him can be formed to allow for more informal and thus more productive meetings to bring our negotiations to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.’

‘The Chinese are past masters of polite and creative delaying tactics, should they want to employ them,’ Laura felt bound to point out.

‘Yes. That had occurred to me. It will be part of your role to ensure that the use of such tactics is kept under control. As for clothes—just bring a few basics. I’ve already ordered a suitable wardrobe for you, which will be waiting at our destination. I shall require you to be here tomorrow for eleven-thirty in the morning.’

Vasilii had turned his back on her to walk over to his desk before Laura could so much as acknowledge her understanding of the information he had just given her, never mind make her natural objections to his highhanded behaviour with regard to her working wardrobe, or tell him that she didn’t like the way he had been so sure of her acceptance that he had already given instructions with regard to her clothes.

Only self-respect was one thing. Wilfully prejudicing the job she so badly needed if she was to be able to continue to help her aunt was another. Her aunt had sacrificed a great deal to bring her up. Sacrificing her pride now in order to help her was the least she could do.

It wasn’t that the concept of an employer requiring a certain standard of dress was something new to her, or something to which she objected. She’d had a clothes allowance with her previous job. The thought of someone else actually choosing those clothes, though—especially when that someone else was Vasilii—sent prickles of a sensation she did not like trembling down her spine. Even worse than that—humiliatingly so, in fact—were the sudden unexpected and unwanted images which had produced themselves inside her head of delicate and very sensual silk and satin wisps of underwear.

Such images were highly inappropriate. The clothes that Vasilii had selected for her would be work clothes. It could only be because she had walked past a couple of exclusive lingerie shops on her way here this morning that those images had somehow lodged inside her head. No other reason. Vasilii Demidov might be the kind of man who had the style and the good taste to buy his lovers the kind of underwear that women loved, but she was most certainly not the kind of woman he would ever want as one of those lovers. Nor did she want to be.

‘Here is the information you will need, and here is your contract.’

Vasilii had turned round, and now her face started to burn. Get a grip, Laura warned herself as she took the papers he had put down on the coffee table within her reach but without touching her. Another unwanted stab of emotion pricked at her heart.

She knew his opinion of her. She knew he didn’t like her or trust her. Everything about his manner towards her now that she had actually met him revealed him as a man who was corrosively antagonistic and nothing like the white knight she had fantasised about as a girl. So, given that, why should she feel hurt and rejected because he was making it plain that he didn’t want any kind of physical contact with her?

It was safer to lose herself in speed-reading the contract than to allow herself to dwell on finding a truthful answer to that question, Laura acknowledged with relief as she read and then reread the contract.

As she had already known, the remuneration package was very generous, and with the added benefit of the bonus Vasilii had mentioned thrown in this six-month contract would give her the kind of financial security she needed. There would be a high price to pay for that financial security, though, Laura suspected. Not so much in the two hundred per cent dedication to her work which she knew Vasilii would demand, but in the cost to her pride and her self-respect in knowing that she was working for someone who disliked and despised her. Beggars could not be choosers, Laura reminded herself firmly. For her, right now, pride and self-respect were luxuries she could not afford. She needed this job.

Reaching into her bag, she removed the expensive pen that John had given her on the anniversary of her first year of working for him. He had had her name inscribed on it, and she treasured it as the gift of faith in her professional skills that she knew it to be. Dear John. Despite everything, he was a good man. He had been dreadfully upset about what had happened, though Laura suspected that a part of him had also been secretly rather flattered that his fiancée felt so possessive about him.

The contract signed, Laura replaced it on the coffee table and then gathered up all the other papers.

‘You said you wanted me here for eleven-thirty tomorrow morning?’ she double-checked.

‘Yes. We’ll be flying out by private jet. I’ll discuss your grasp on the negotiations so far with you during the flight.’

There was nothing else to be said. Putting the papers into her bag, Laura headed for the door.

She had a lot of very intense work ahead of her now, if she was to be able to answer any question Vasilii chose to throw at her tomorrow, but irrationally, as she walked back down Sloane Street towards the tube station, it wasn’t concern about the work that filled her mind. Instead what was preoccupying her thoughts and her emotions was her own ridiculous and dangerous reaction to that heart-stopping moment back in the apartment when, unbelievably, it had seemed as though Vasilii was going to touch her.

The thrill of horrified revulsion she had felt then echoed through her again now. She went hot and then cold at the knowledge of just how foolishly and instinctively she had been on the point of going to him, reaching out to him herself, as though … as though she’d wanted him to hold her. Which of course she most certainly had not. She wasn’t fourteen any more, and he certainly wasn’t the white knight in shining armour she had imagined him to be in her girlish fantasies. He was autocratic, disdainful, sardonic and utterly without a single aspect of shining knighthood to his personality. But somehow her body had thrilled recklessly at the prospect of his touch. No wonder she had felt so horrified and revolted by her self-betrayal.

As she started down the steps to the tube station Laura couldn’t help wishing that she hadn’t had to accept his job offer. The reality was, though, that she hadn’t had any other choice.

Once Laura had gone Vasilii gathered up the signed contract—her signature, he noted, was well formed and elegant, rather like Laura herself. That acknowledgement brought a swift cold frown to his eyes as he filed the contract. He had no wish to have any kind of personal thoughts about Laura Westcotte intruding into his private mental and emotional space.

As he straightened up from locking away the contract in his desk the group of silver-framed family photographs on the sideboard opposite caught his eye. The photographs had originally been placed there by his half-sister, when she had shared the apartment with him prior to her marriage.

He walked over to the sideboard and looked at them, reaching for the photograph that was almost tucked away behind the others—a photograph of his parents on their wedding day. His stepmother had given it to him on his eighteenth birthday, having gone to what he knew must have been an enormous amount of trouble to find it. After his mother’s death Vasilii himself had burned all the photographs he could find of his mother, because he hadn’t been able to endure seeing her image when he couldn’t see her any more in the flesh. He had only been a child then, and of course—although he could never have admitted it to anyone—later he had regretted his emotional reaction.

His stepmother had guessed how he felt, though, although she had never said so. Her choice of that special gift to him had told him that. She had somehow known of the pain of his loss, and she had tried to offer him some comfort. Vasilii could still remember how torn his feelings had been when he had opened his gift—the sharpness of his sense of humiliation that his guard had been pierced by a woman’s knowledge of what he believed to be a weakness he had successfully concealed from everyone but himself battling against the deep well of emotion looking at his mother’s youthful features had brought him. Allowing oneself to need another person in one’s life was dangerous. He had needed his mother but she had been taken from him. He’d had to learn to go on alone without her. That experience had taught him never to take the risk of loving anyone in a dependent way ever again.

Vasilii had never resented his father remarrying. He had grown up knowing that his parents’ marriage had been in part a business marriage. That was the way things had been for the women of his mother’s people. She had often told him that she had been proud to be chosen by his father. His father in turn had respected her and valued her. They had been happy together, and they had both loved him and shown him that love. That his mother’s kidnapping and death had left his father devastated had been more than plain. If there had been other women in those years between her death and him falling in love with Alena’s mother he had made sure that Vasilii had never known about them. He had been a man of strong principles and honour.

Vasilii had been pleased for him when he had met and married Alena’s mother. Again, though, he had been caught off guard by the depth of brotherly love he had felt at the birth of their child, his half-sister. Of course he had tried to keep that emotion hidden—especially from Alena as she grew up. She had been so adept at winding their father round her little finger that Vasilii had been determined not to let her see that he was also putty in her small hands.

He had grieved for her and worried over her when his father and stepmother had lost their lives in an accident, and yet at the same time he had, he knew, built up a wall between them. For Alena’s sake. It would have done her no good at all if she had seen him devastated, lost and made helpless, unable to protect her from her own loss. He had had to be strong for her. He had after all known the savage pain of that kind of loss. If he had been stern with her at times then it had been for her own sake, and now that she was happily married to the man she loved that wall had been justified.

Because she had her own life now, with her husband and the children they would have together, and he was once again alone.

He had known from his own experience just how intense was the longing to cling to anything or anyone connected with the memory and the lost love of the one who had gone, so it had been for her own sake that he had encouraged Alena not to become emotionally dependent on him, whilst at the same time doing everything he could to protect her from further hurt.

It was because of the pain the loss of his mother had caused him that he had vowed never to allow himself to be so vulnerable again—not to a woman, not to any children that woman might give him, not to anyone. Some people might be driven to pursue love after such an experience, desperate to replace what they had lost, but he was not like that. The pain had been too intense, too much of an affront to his youthful male dignity. He had decided that he would rather not have love at all.

Unwillingly Vasilii was obliged to acknowledge that he and Laura Westcotte had something in common, in that she had lost her parents, too—and at a similar age to the age he had been when he had lost his mother. He at least had had his father. She, on the other hand, had had only an elderly aunt. If there was one saving grace within her make-up it was her financial support of her aunt. What? Did he actually want to find some good in her?

Vasilii put down his mother’s photograph and turned back towards his desk. No, he did not. He thoroughly disapproved of and wanted to reject the way in which Laura Westcotte was managing to invade his private thoughts. Because whilst he knew that he had every logical reason to disapprove of and to reject Laura herself as well, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to do so.

If that was true—and he was by no means prepared to admit that it was—then he must make sure that he found a way, Vasilii warned himself.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS time for her to leave for Vasilii’s apartment. Quickly Laura checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror. After doing a brief check on Montenegro and its climate via the internet, she had decided to dress for the flight and their arrival there in a softly structured cap-sleeved tan silk jersey wrap dress that wouldn’t crease, looked smart, but was not too businesslike, given that their destination was, from what Vasilii had told her, an upmarket exclusive resort. Pulling on a three-quarter-sleeved cream cotton jacket, Laura checked that she had put all the documentation Vasilii had given her to study in her laptop bag.

Just as she was about to reach for her trolley case, she stopped and turned round, going back to her wardrobe. The jewellery box was tucked away, right at the back of the wardrobe on the floor. It had been a gift to her mother from her father. He’d brought it back from Hong Kong for her. Traditionally decorated and lacquered, the box was in its own right a valuable antique, but its real value to Laura was and always had been the fact that not only had it belonged to her mother, but it had been given to her by her father. Their hands had touched it; they had exchanged loving smiles over the giving and the receiving of it.

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