Expecting His Love-Child

‘She will be there,’ Anton said assuredly. ‘She will not want to go, of course. But when I tell her she is expected—that I have accepted on her behalf—she will have no choice but to go.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It would appear rude to not turn up—and in my family appearance is everything.’

‘Well, thank you…’ Millie said. ‘You’ve no idea how much it means.’

‘I have a very good idea what it means,’ Levander corrected her. ‘I know how important that first sale is—and, yes, I could have bought your painting—given you the red dot on your work for the world to see—but that would be cheating, yes?’

On so many levels, Millie realised, staring up at him. His skin was white in the street light, contrasting with the hollow shadows of his cheeks, his eyes two dark, unreadable pools.

‘It will sell—some things that are truly beautiful don’t always catch the eye first time around.’ Levander’s voice was a caress. ‘Sometimes you need to actually stop and take another look.’

He was certainly taking a good look now. His gaze was so intense, his face so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. She thought for a blissful second that he was going to kiss her, but instead it was his rich deep voice that bathed her senses, his eyes quizzical as they assessed her. ‘So, you leave tomorrow?’

‘In the morning.’

‘And have you enjoyed your time in Melbourne?’

‘I haven’t really seen anything of it.’ She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I’ve been to a few galleries, a couple of shows—but mainly I’ve been working…’ Her voice trailed off, her simple answer somehow giving him an opening she’d never intended. Millie’s breath caught in her throat as Levander took it.

‘Then we’d better get started. Come…’ He pointed to where a pony and trap was pulling in across the deserted street, tourists climbing down, the weary trap rider about to dismantle and head off home. He shook his head when Levander called for him to wait.

‘Sorry, mate. That was the last ride for the night—back again tomorrow.’

‘I will talk with him.’ Levander turned to go, but she shook her head.

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s late…’ Millie attempted, struggling in quicksand as she stared into his eyes. ‘And I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow…’

‘Plenty of time to sleep on the plane, then.’

But a blip of sensibility was invading now. She was playing with fire here, and her assessment was based on not just what she had read—Anton himself had warned her, and Levander’s own dining companion hadn’t exactly given him a glowing reference.

‘You’re a cold bastard.’

The pain in her voice had been real, the emotion that had choked out those words hadn’t been manufactured—and Levander’s response had done little to dispute the accusation.

What the hell was she doing?

It would be madness to go with this man.

‘Really…’ Millie swallowed hard. ‘It’s probably not such a good idea. I’ve got so much to do, and you—well you…’

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘You just broke up with your girlfriend, Levander…’ She wasn’t going to play games. ‘You’re probably feeling a bit…’

‘You have no idea how I am feeling…’ Instead of walking away, he stepped closer, took her face in his hands, his warm skin actually cool on her stinging cheeks. ‘And I did not break up with my girlfriend—Annika is my half-sister…’

‘It was your half-sister you were rowing with?’

Levander nodded, his eyes narrowing. ‘What did you hear?’

‘Nothing.’ Millie blushed. The only thing she had heard was that he was a cold bastard, but she could hardly tell him that. ‘I just saw her flounce off.’

‘And that is all?’

After a beat of hesitation she nodded.

‘Siblings fight.’ His breath mingled with hers, and that cynical mouth was so close Millie could almost taste it—like a chocolate cake cooking in the oven, teasing her senses…

‘She’s really your half-sister?’ Millie checked, wanting to believe him but scared to at the same time. Wanting him to kiss her but worried that he would.

‘Who else would I allow to talk to me like that?’ Levander answered. ‘Now, you wait here.’

What had she heard?

Levander’s hackles were raised, his mind, eternally vigilant, racing as he recalled not just his conversation with Annika, but the times Millie had been present.

At first he’d barely noticed her—a waitress not meriting even a glance from him, especially with the tense subject matter that had been forcing his attention—and then she’d moved to clear his plate.

Her heavenly scent had reached him, her tiny embarrassed smile as she’d caught his eyes, and from that second on he’d thanked her for the distraction—thanked this unknown woman who had allowed his mind to detour as Annika delivered the fatal news and shrilled the family’s demands.

So much more pleasant to stare over Annika’s shoulder and watch the woman, the pink flush on her cheeks, her blonde curls tumbling further out of their hair tie with each swoosh through the kitchen door, her slight exasperation as she dealt with a rowdy table. He had felt surprising pleasure as he’d watched that full, pretty mouth nibble on the end of her pen between writing down orders. And later, when still Annika had persisted, when it had all been just too much to deal with—his battle to remain outwardly calm despite the emotions churning within—it had been a welcome relief when she’d returned to his table. Her soft fragrance had been such a contrast to the bitter musk of the Kolovsky perfume Annika had doused herself in—a delicate hint of vanilla and something he couldn’t define, like a breath of fresh air—and as she’d leant forward to clear his table he’d tried and failed not to notice the slight tug of her blouse as it strained over her breasts. He had actually had to look away when she’d stooped to retrieve a dropped napkin and he’d caught a glimpse of the creamy flesh of her cleavage.

He wanted her.

Handing the rider a sizeable wad of notes, he bought them a little more time—but somehow he knew it wasn’t enough. That if he made a move too soon—she’d run like a squirrel up a tree.

And yet if it was sex he wanted there were easier ways. He could head back to the hotel, return any one of the endless messages that would undoubtedly be on his answering machine and lose himself tonight.

How he wanted to lose himself.

Like a judge summing up, he bitterly assessed the conversation that had taken place with Annika—the family demands that had been delivered by the sweetest, the most vulnerable of them all.

His father was dying.

Which, according to the family, meant there was now no question of Levander leaving—no question of him turning his back on the people who had apparently given him everything he possessed.

Five more years of hell was what they were demanding.

Levander had gritted his teeth at the prospect, but the sentencing hadn’t ended there—a wife and child had been added to the non-parole period.

Well, they could all go to hell!

He’d more than served his time—he had saved the House of Kolovsky from financial suicide almost the second he’d joined the firm. That they now had the audacity to think he actually owed them anything made Levander’s stomach churn with loathing.

To think that that bastard, after all he had done—

‘Hey.’ Her sweet voice broke into his black thoughts, her smiling, trusting face such an engaging contrast with the hard-nosed women he was too used to dealing with. ‘Did you manage to persuade him?’

‘Of course,’ Levander answered calmly, though his mind was anything but. ‘I am a very good persuader.’ He watched her eyes widen a touch, registered the tiny nervous swallow in her throat at the slightly provocative statement, and so badly he wanted to kiss her—to push that soft body against a wall, to press his lips to hers, to feel her soft, fragrant skin beneath his hands, to take her up to his hotel and make love to her…

To somehow take refuge from the savage sleet of his thoughts…But strangely, for Levander, it wasn’t all he wanted from her.

For the first time Levander wanted more than the passion of a woman to fill his night.

He wanted her company.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS the strangest first date she’d ever been asked on—but one thing was sure: it was a date.

Millie knew that—knew from the way he was looking at her and the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him—knew from the butterflies dancing in her stomach and the shrill of pleasure that there was definitely romance in the air.

If it had been with anyone else a romantic horse and cart ride around the city would have been tacky, but with Levander it didn’t feel that way. With the feel of the cool night air on her cheeks, the noise of the horse as it clipped through the semi-deserted streets and the warmth of Levander by her side it felt amazing. It was a whirlwind Monopoly board tour of Melbourne. They clopped past Flinders Street Station, the famous old building stunning by night and lit up like a fairground, and Levander pointed out the sights as they went, from a vibrant Southbank that was still awake despite the hour, and the casino glittering and beckoning, to the smart theatre district and lavish hotels at the top end of town.

‘This is where I live.’

He had to lean into her to say it. Her skirt had already ridden up a touch, and, feeling his suited thigh against her bare one, it was almost all she could do to look up instead of down. Her whole focus was on his body against hers.

‘It’s a hotel.’

‘Up there,’ Levander elaborated. ‘On the top floor.’

‘You actually live there?’

‘Why not?’

He stared down at her and she forgot her question, sure he was about to kiss her. She almost wept in frustration when the cart halted somewhat abruptly, lurching them both backwards into their seats, but Levander gave a small lazy smile as he climbed out—a smile that told her there was plenty of time for that later. And as he stepped down and took her hand to help her down, just his touch confirmed what they both knew.

There would be a later.

‘You like to dance?’

‘No,’ Millie admitted, gulping as they descended steep stairs into a tiny smoky and very exclusive private club that she wouldn’t have known existed even if she’d been walking on the street outside.

Exclusive because only the most beautiful or famous seemed to be present—faces that had Millie frowning as she tried to place them, then jolting in recognition as the social pages she devoured in magazines came to life before her very eyes.

‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged, pushing her through the crowd with one arm around her.

The slow, heavy thud of the music was out of time with her rapidly beating heart as he led her to a small, plush impossibly sexy booth that was clearly designed for intimacy. Like some erotic confessional, the purple velvet-lined seats went up to the ceiling, dulling the chatter and noise enough to allow conversation so long as one leant forward. And as he sat opposite her the table was so narrow it was impossible not to touch knees—impossible to look anywhere but at him.

He ordered their drinks—didn’t even ask her what she wanted—and some strange red cocktail appeared that tasted icy and delicious, burning her throat and stomach as she sipped it. But it didn’t compare to the sensations Levander evoked.

‘Relax,’ he ordered, as if she should be able to on command. Only Millie couldn’t.

Even here, amongst Melbourne’s most beautiful, Levander caused a stir—she’d seen the ripple effect wash through the crowd as they’d walked to their table. Like a mini Mexican wave going through the bar, heads had turned and conversations had paused; Millie had half expected oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling as every female sucked in her stomach en masse—but all eyes were most definitely on Levander. His questionable choice of date tonight didn’t even merit a second uninterested glance.

Clearly there’d be a new one tomorrow.

Clearly every woman present hoped it might be them.

‘You are here to sell paintings, I take it, not for a holiday?’

‘That was the plan,’ Millie sighed.

‘So why are you going back now?’

‘I gave myself three months. It was Anton who suggested I come out here.’

‘You knew Anton before you came?’

‘I met him last year, when he was in London.’ Millie nodded. ‘I was just finishing my degree and he came as a guest speaker.’

‘He is not an artist?’ Levander checked.

‘No—but he’s extremely well known for showcasing new talent, and I was fortunate because he liked my work. We got on well, and he said if I was ever interested in coming over…So here I am—at least until tomorrow. I really can’t afford to stay on any longer.’

He pulled back just enough to squint down at his watch. ‘It is already tomorrow,’ Levander pointed out. ‘So what happens now—when you go back, I mean? If your work is not selling…’

‘I studied teaching as well.’ Millie sighed at the prospect. ‘As something to fall back on. I suppose it’s just as well I did.’

‘You can do both,’ Levander pointed out. ‘Just because you cannot make a living from your art, it does not mean that you have to give it up completely.’

‘I know that.’ Millie sighed again. ‘It’s just…’ her voice faded. Melancholy musings were not really the correct form for a first date, but Levander pushed her to continue and, given that nothing about tonight had even bordered on normal, Millie decided to tell him—to reveal just a little more of herself than she otherwise might. ‘When I work…well, it’s sort of hot and cold. Yes, in theory it would be fabulous to work Monday to Friday, and save my art for the weekends and evenings—I know it’s what a lot of people do—but…’

‘But?’

‘The picture you saw tonight?’ Millie said, and Levander nodded. ‘It was sort of brewing in my head for a couple of weeks, and finally—when I could see it, when I was actually ready to put my vision onto the canvas—I locked myself away for a more than a week. I just can’t imagine that I’d ever have done that piece if I’d had to slot in the real world. My focus is totally on my art; it’s like I just turn on and everything else is off. Except for occasionally surfacing for food and showers I just live and breathe to paint. Actually…’ she gave a tiny embarrassed giggle ‘…come to think about it, nutrition and hygiene weren’t exactly at the top of my agenda.’

And if that revelation wasn’t correct form either, Levander didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact he leant closer, if that were possible, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, could feel his knee and the lower part of his thigh against hers as he dizzied her with his thoughts.

‘Now you are really turning me on!’

Shocked, wondering if she’d misheard, misunderstood, perhaps, Millie tipped back a fraction, wide eyes meeting his, flushing under his lazy scrutiny as he told her without a word that she hadn’t misheard.

‘Do you come here a lot?’ Millie croaked, taking a desperate slug of her drink and wondering if she’d been spirited into a very early menopause as for the millionth time that evening a hot flush sent another searing blush up to her face. The heat between them was so stifling surely someone must have turned off the air-conditioner—and had there been a menu handy Millie would have grabbed it as a fan.

‘Occasionally,’ Levander answered easily—so pale and elegant and utterly calm it made her want to weep at the injustice. His eyes shifted momentarily as he glanced at the beautiful crowd. ‘But really I don’t like it much: too many people with empty minds who think they are interesting.’

‘Oh.’

He mesmerised her—every word reeling her in, every feature captivating her. How long she stared, how long they held eye contact, Millie had no idea—but it seemed to go on for ever. Another entirely separate conversation was taking place, without a single word, and though his eyes never left hers, though his hands were safely on the table, he might just as well have been touching her—because her body seared at his beckoning, the dull red of her cheeks stealing down over her bosom as still they didn’t speak, blood fizzing through her veins. It seemed to engorge her body, swelling her most feminine places. Her nipples were thrumming against her flimsy blouse as somewhere deep inside—low, so low in her stomach—a delicious knot tightened. Her panties were damp now as still he stared on. She couldn’t move, didn’t dare even to run a dry tongue over her lips so intense was the arousal, and all Millie knew was that if she didn’t break the spell, didn’t literally force herself to speak, then she’d surely lean over and kiss him, or take him by the hand and run…

‘How long have you been in Melbourne?’ Her voice was a croak.

‘Does it matter?’ Still he stared.

‘Do you like your work?’ Millie attempted vainly.

‘Is this a job interview?’ He was watching her mouth intently now, making it almost impossible to form a sentence. God what did this man do to her? With one look she was a shivering mass of lust—and with one crook of his finger, Millie knew, she’d follow him gladly to wherever he wanted to take her. It both excited and terrified her. Supremely cautious with men, supremely cautious with her emotions, it was as if she had suddenly dropped the rule book she’d lived her life by in the bath, leaving its pages damp and illegible, all its moral guidelines so deeply entrenched utterly indecipherable in Levander’s heady presence.

She wanted him to make love to her—wanted him now, this very minute. Wanted him to take her out of this bar, take her anywhere, just so long as he ravished her…

…wanted him to be her first.

Oh, she hadn’t held on to her virginity for some prudish reason—work, study, the strains of family life had meant she’d never let anyone particularly close, had never actually invested the energy to take a relationship to that next level, had never trusted another enough to give that part of herself.

But she’d give it to Levander.

In a heartbeat.

And that thought alone shocked her to the very core.

‘I came to Australia as a teenager.’ Levander’s voice broke her introspection, broke the sensual spell. Maybe he had sensed the shift in her, the shock that had ricocheted through her, but suddenly things were, if not normal, then safer, and her mind scrambled to remember the question she had first voiced. ‘I studied finance and business—as well as learning English, of course.’

‘You didn’t speak English when you came?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Your brothers and sisters here spoke Russian, though?’ Millie checked, appalled at how it must have been for him to land in a family and not even be able to communicate.

‘Half-brothers and sisters,’ Levander corrected. ‘And, no, they did not speak much Russian. But language was the least of our barriers.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We had different childhoods.’ Levander flicked away the question with his hand, then reached for a drink. But even if he wanted that part of the conversation over, even if clearly she’d wandered into forbidden territory, Millie wanted to know more.

‘What about your mother?’ Millie asked, remembering that here he had a stepmother. ‘Do you get back to see her? Is she still in Russia?’

‘She is dead.’ Just like that he said it—his expression not changing, his voice completely even—as if the detail was so trivial it was hardly worth a mention. ‘So there is no reason at all to go back. As I was saying, when I finished my degree I assumed the role of Financial Director at the House of Kolovsky.’

‘It must be quite a job.’ Millie blinked. ‘I mean, the name’s everywhere.’

‘We have outlets all over the world. Melbourne is really just kept on for sentimental reasons—this is where my father came when he emigrated from Russia. Our main outlets are in Europe, and of course the US, so I travel a lot—which is good.’

‘Must be interesting?’

‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged. ‘But the people in the industry leave a lot to be desired.’ He curled his lip and made a small hissing sound. ‘It is full of bitches—and I am not only talking about the women. It is the most narcissistic environment to be in. Like here—’ His hand gestured to the heaving room. ‘Everyone here would happily claim to be my best friend—would that be the case if I worked in a lower profile job?’

‘I don’t know…’ Millie mused. Because even if the answer was seemingly obvious—even if his position must ensure a never-ending stream of hangers-on—long before she’d known his name, in fact from the second Millie had laid eyes on him, she’d been captivated. And from Millie’s perspective it wasn’t hard to afford others the benefit of the doubt. ‘You can’t know that either…’ She gave a helpless shrug, not sure how she could tell him that even if he took away the suit, the money, the name—he was still far and away the most exciting, breathtaking company she’d ever kept.

‘I do know, though,’ Levander said firmly. ‘From the day I set foot in Australia I have had endless friends—yet no one wanted to know me when I was a Detsky Dom kid.’

‘Detsky Dom?’ Millie frowned. ‘Is that where you’re from?’

It was an innocent question, clarifying things in her own mind as she pieced together his history. She expected him to nod, to just say yes and move on. But instead those brooding features shifted into a wry smile, and she didn’t know if it was her attempt at pronunciation or if he was laughing at some sort of private joke.

‘That is right, Millie—I am from Detsky Dom. Come…’ Standing abruptly, he offered her hand. ‘You do not belong here—let’s go somewhere where we can properly talk.’

Which was easier said than done. As he guided her through the throng, his hand on her waist, his broad shoulders acting as a buffer, his name was called from every direction. Not that he deigned to respond—even when a rather ravishing Latina woman grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket, Levander merely shrugged her off.

‘Levander, please…’ She caught up with them just as they stepped out of the lobby. Millie’s foot was almost on the pavement outside when her tearful voice pleaded her case. ‘You cannot walk out like this…We made love last night—please talk to me.’

Which was a pretty good case to plead, Millie thought, as with a grim half-smile Levander excused himself and led the dark beauty to a corner of the lobby—leaving Millie to stand making polite small talk with the doorman. Her cheeks burned with humiliation—not just because of the paper tissue way he clearly treated women, not just because she was obviously the next one in the box, but because of the very fact she wasn’t walking away.

It was hell to watch.

Like some gory bit in a film, where you wanted to peek from behind a cushion, it was just horrible, listening to her plead her case, begging him for another chance, promising to change and more. But far worse for Millie was Levander’s response—not cool and detached, as she’d expected, instead he bordered on sympathetic, seeming understanding of her plight even as he patiently explained why he hadn’t returned her calls and reiterated what he had already told her—that it was over.

Still, when her glittering eyes fell on Millie, when a few choice words were said, his Latina lover must have crossed Levander’s questionable line of moral conduct—because he stalked off, taking Millie firmly by the arm and leading her out onto the street.

‘Levander…’ the brunette sobbed. ‘We need to talk.’

‘What is the point?’ Levander snarled, and never had his Russian accent been more pronounced as he bundled Millie into a taxi. ‘When you’re too drunk to remember what was said in the morning?’

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ They’d ended up at St Kilda Beach, and as they wandered along the foreshore it was the first time since the incident that either of them had spoken.

‘Perhaps it’s better that I did,’ Millie answered tightly—the sobbing spectacle had been a rather timely reminder of what she’d almost let herself in for.