The Russian's Ultimatum (5 page)

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked rudely. He should be snug in his jet, flying away across the ocean.

Dressed in a pair of knee-length, dark-beige canvas shorts and an unbuttoned black polo shirt, he really was incredibly handsome. Even with his hair perfectly in place, and his clothes pressed to within an inch of their lives, he looked far more human than in his business attire. Her eyes drifted down to his calves, something hot flushing through her at their muscularity and the fine, dark hairs covering them. ‘I thought you’d gone to Paris.’

‘Never mind that, come away from the edge.’ Speaking of edges, there was a definite one in his voice.

‘I’m perfectly happy where I am, thank you.’ Well, she had been.

‘Where you’re sitting could break away. It isn’t safe.’

‘Worried I might fall? At least it will save you having to worry about keeping me here.’

‘Don’t be infantile.’ His face contorted into something resembling anger. ‘While you’re on this island your safety is my responsibility.’

‘Actually,’ she said, adopting an airy tone, ‘I think you’ll find I’m a fully grown woman and perfectly capable of taking responsibility for my own safety.’

‘Not on my watch.’

‘Have you jumped into the pool yet?’ she asked, although she already suspected what the answer would be.

‘That’s a ridiculous question.’

‘It feels like flying.’ She couldn’t help the wistfulness that came into her voice. ‘It feels like nothing else on this earth.’

‘I couldn’t care what it feels like. It’s dangerous. Now, come off that ledge—you won’t be of any use to your father if you hurtle to your death.’

Damn him.

For a few brief moments she’d forgotten what her life had become, had slipped back into a life that had been free of worry and responsibility.

But he was right. What
would
become of her father if anything were to happen to her? What would become of James? James was more than capable of caring for their dad with her instruction, but when it came to working the practicalities out for himself he was useless.

Only a year ago she would have held her ground and refused anything other than taking a running jump off the ledge and plunging into the deep pool below.

As she now knew, through painful experience, a lot could happen in a year. A lot
had
happened. Her whole world had been ripped apart.

Pascha watched as a host of emotions flittered over Emily’s pretty face. It had been a low blow using her father to make her see sense, but until she came away from that ledge he knew his racing pulse wouldn’t rest. Perspiration ran down his back that had nothing to do with the soaring temperature.

But, when she shuffled back and got to her feet, the heat he felt under the collar of his polo shirt surged. Suddenly, now she was safe, the bikini top and shorts Emily wore came firmly onto his radar.

Her ebony hair was piled on top of her head, ringlets spiralling, but she’d left her face free of make-up, her beauty shining through in a wholly disturbing way. And that body... Skin that looked like silk...

As quickly as the snap of his fingers, his pulse raced anew, his blood thickening.

There was nothing immodest about Emily’s khaki bikini; compared to the scraps of candyfloss most women of his acquaintance liked to wear, it was demure. The black shorts she wore with them were figure-hugging but modest. She wasn’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen hundreds of women wear on beaches around the world, yet she was the only one he reacted to with such force.

Breathing slowly through his teeth, he willed away his completely inappropriate reaction to her. ‘Get your shoes on—we’re going back.’

Dark-brown eyes narrowing, she folded her arms across her delicious chest. ‘I’ve moved away from the ledge but I’m not prepared to let you order me around any further. If you want to go back, then go ahead. I’m staying here.’

‘You haven’t eaten for hours. My chefs are preparing a late lunch for us. You can come back here later if you must.’

Something sharp pierced into Emily’s chest.

‘Give me a sec,’ she said, looking away from him and slipping her toes into her silver sparkly flip-flops.

Had he
really
tracked her down just to make sure she had something to eat?

The last person to care that she ate three square meals a day had been her mother. During their daily phone calls she would always ask what Emily had eaten that day, what she was planning for her dinner...

Shaking her head to clear it of despondency, she shrugged her rucksack over her shoulder and followed Pascha back through the trail.

‘So why are you still here?’ she asked after a few minutes of silence. Despite his much longer strides, he never went too far ahead. She took a swig of water. The heat within the dense canopy of trees was fast becoming insufferable.

He ducked under an overhanging branch. ‘There’s a problem with the engine of the yacht. We need to wait for a part to be delivered from the mainland.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘It should be here by the end of the day.’

‘Excellent. So you’ll be leaving for Paris before the evening?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but the part needs to be installed and then checked for safety before I allow anyone to go anywhere in it. I should be able to get away in the morning, depending on what the weather’s like. There’s a tropical storm heading for the Caribbean. I won’t leave until it’s passed.’

Emily didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Are we in its path?’

‘No. We’re likely only to get some high winds and rain at some point this evening, but it’s an uncertain situation...’

Before he could finish his sentence, Emily lost her footing, practically skiing down a particularly steep incline.

Her cheeks were crimson; the only saving grace was that she hadn’t fallen flat on her face.

‘Are you okay?’ Pascha asked, surefootedly hurrying to her side.

‘Yes, yes. No harm done.’ Feeling like the biggest fool in the world, she accepted his help, allowing his large, warm fingers to wrap around her own and pull her back to her feet.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, knowing her cheeks had turned an even deeper shade of red that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

She snatched her hand away from his, as if the action could eradicate the effects of his touch. It felt as if he’d magically heated her skin, his clasp sending tiny darts of energy zinging through her veins, making her heart pump harder.

Pascha was still staring at her intently.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked after too long a pause.

‘Honestly, I’m fine.’ To prove it, she started walking again. It was with relief that she spotted the roof of the main cabin of the lodge poking through the foliage.

‘Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?’

‘I
said
I’m fine.’

Before he had a chance to quiz her further, the theme to a cartoon she’d adored in childhood rang out. To her utter amazement, she realised it was his phone ringing.

Pascha had the theme to
Top Cat
as his ringtone?

He pressed it to his ear. ‘
Da
?’ His eyes immediately switched to her face. ‘Yes, she is right with me. One moment.’ He handed the phone to her, mouthing,
‘Your brother,
’ as he did so.

Her blood turned to ice.

‘James?’ The coldness quickly subsided when she learned the reason for her brother’s call. He couldn’t work the washing machine. Their mother had always done it for him, even after he’d left the family home. Since she’d died he’d used a laundry service—after failing to cajole Emily into doing it for him.

By the time she ended the call, irritation suffused her. She’d explicitly told him only to call in a genuine emergency—one call too many and for all she knew Pascha might decide not to bother passing on any messages. It was pure luck that she’d been with him at that moment.

Still, she consoled herself, at least she wouldn’t have to badger Valeria for use of the lodge phone for another day. James had assured her their father’s condition was the same, so that was one less thing to worry about.

Pascha had listened to Emily’s side of the conversation with increasing incredulity. ‘Your brother called about a
washing machine
?’

Judging by the way she inhaled deeply and swallowed, it was obvious Emily was carefully choosing her words. ‘James isn’t the most domestic of people.’

‘Doing the laundry does not require a PhD.’

‘In my brother’s eyes, it does. Anyway, how would you know? I bet you’ve never used a washing machine in your life.’

‘I make a point of learning how to use all the domestic appliances in my homes,’ Pascha told her coldly. He understood why she made so many assumptions about him but it needled all the same. He hadn’t been born rich—quite the opposite. Everything he had he’d worked damned hard for. Just being here, being alive, had been the hardest battle of all.

‘Why would you do that?’ For once there was no sarcasm or anything like it in her tone, just genuine curiosity. ‘Surely you have a fleet of staff in all your homes?’

‘I like to take care of myself,’ he said tightly. ‘Aliana Island is different—I come here to get away from the world and switch off.’

The lodge was only a few yards ahead of them now. Emily slowed down to adjust her rucksack. ‘I can see why you would do that,’ she admitted. ‘I think Aliana Island might be the most beautiful spot on the planet.’

‘I think that too.’

She gave him something that looked like the beginning of a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling a touch at the corners. It sent the most peculiar sensation fluttering in his chest. Before he had a chance to analyse it, he spotted Valeria waving at him in the distance.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘But work calls.’

As he walked, that same strange fluttering sensation stayed with him.

CHAPTER FIVE

E
MILY
HAD
A
quick shower, then steeled herself before setting off to the main lodge. But, when she stepped in the dining hall, the table was set for one.

A curious emptiness settled in her stomach when a young girl—she was certain the girl was Valeria and Luis’s daughter—brought a bowl of bisque and some warm rolls through to her and gave a garbled apology about something important Pascha needed to attend to.

She ate mechanically then retired back to her hut, distantly aware the island’s staff was now out in force. Though they weren’t bustling in the sense that people bustled in large cities, the speed with which they were working had increased dramatically.

Back at her lodge, Emily dragged her sewing machine out and placed it on the table then got her tubes of fabric and her A5 pad of designs. What she really needed but had forgotten to bring was a mannequin on which to pin the dress she wanted to make. She wondered if Valeria’s daughter—she must learn her name—would model for her.

Finally she had enough time on her hands to turn her own designs into something. Her own creations. Her own visions. No Hugo demanding she focus solely on
his
.

Disregarding the lack of mannequin and model, Emily laid the fabric on the long table and began to make her marks. How long ago had she designed this dress? Over a year, at the very least, before the bottom of her world had dropped away from her and she’d been left floundering, clinging on to anything that would give her a purpose.

The past year had been a constant whirl of hospital trips and visits to the family home. She’d been desperate to care for and spend as much time with her mother before the inevitable happened. All of this on top of holding down a demanding job and looking after her own home. When the inevitable had happened, life had continued at the same pace, this time a whirl of funeral arrangements, form filling and taking care of her increasingly fragile father. There had been no time to switch off. There had been no time for herself.

She placed the fabric chalk under her nose and inhaled, squeezing her eyes tight as memories of sitting in her mother’s craft study assailed her. Her mother would have loved the opportunity to be a seamstress but it had never been an option for her. She’d married at eighteen and had had her first child at nineteen, devoting herself to being a good wife and mother.

And she had been. Even if Emily had been given a city of women to choose a mother from, Catherine Richardson would be the one she’d have chosen. Always supportive, always loving. When Emily had won her place at fashion college, she doubted there had been a prouder mother alive.

She wished her mother was here with her to see this beautiful island. But of course, if that awful, awful disease hadn’t claimed her mother, Emily would never have seen Aliana Island either.

Catherine Richardson’s death had unhinged the entire family and, no matter what Emily did or how hard she tried, she couldn’t fix it back together.

She couldn’t fix this dress either. She’d finished her markings but without a model or a mannequin she would be sewing blind.

How could she not have thought to bring a mannequin with her when she’d remembered everything else?

Sighing, she gathered all her stuff back together and put it neatly away before wandering out onto the veranda.

As she leaned over the wall, she couldn’t help but peek up to her left, where Pascha’s hut jutted out. Nothing. If he was in there, he was out of sight.

She forced her attention onto the calm blue lagoon before her and breathed in the salty air which, mingled with the mass of sweet frangipani growing everywhere, created the most magical scent. If she could bottle it, she would make a fortune. She wanted to be out there in it.

She’d been shown a huge wooden hut that held a host of items for outdoor entertainment. She’d been told she could use whatever she liked when the mood took her. It was kept unlocked. She skipped down from her cabin and let herself in. Tennis and badminton rackets, sets of boules and kites all lay neatly shelved amongst kayaks and surfboards. So orderly was it all that she found what she was looking for with no effort at all: a row of snorkels and flippers.

Kitted out, she headed for the lagoon, delighting to feel the warmth of the fine white sand between her toes and the beam of the sun heating her skin, a breeze tempering it enough to make it bearable. In the distance, a boat sailed away from the island, going quickly enough soon to be a speck on the horizon.

Just one day in paradise and she had to admit she was already revising her opinion of the sun. Beneath the top heated layer, the water in the lagoon was deliciously cool, and she waded out in her flippers to waist height before donning the snorkel and diving under the surface.

What a sight there was to behold. She’d seen so many pictures in the media of coral reefs dying, but here it thrived—blooms of colour in all shapes and sizes, an abundance of fish and other marine creatures, their individual colours and features clearly delineated.

Utter heaven.

Sitting on the ledge earlier overlooking the waterfall, she’d felt a sense of peace. She felt that same tranquillity now. It was just her and the lagoon. Nothing else. Down here, the rest of the world might not exist, and she was going to revel in the feeling. Even if just for a short while.

* * *

Emily’s hut was still empty.

Pascha swore under his breath.

He’d searched the rest of the lodge. He needed to speak to her and she’d done another disappearing act. The only place now he could think she might be was at the waterfall she’d been so enamoured with. It was a good forty-minute walk, which wasn’t the greatest length of time, but with the latest weather developments every second was precious.

Stepping out onto her veranda, he spotted the figure far out in the lagoon. He didn’t even have to blink to know it was her.

Pascha cursed again, descending the outdoor stairs that led to the beach at a much quicker rate than usual.

In an ideal world he would send someone else out to her, but to do so would be to tear a member of his staff away from jobs that were now being undertaken as a matter of urgency.

As soon as he reached the sand, he kicked his deck shoes off.

After far too long standing, waiting vainly for her to notice him, he sat down and stripped off his polo shirt, ready to swim out to her. Except during that small action she’d disappeared from view.

Where was she?

Eyes narrowed in concentration, he scoured the area she’d been but could see no sign of her. His heart thudded harder. Where was she?

And then she emerged feet from the shoreline.

For the briefest of moments, his heart stopped.

Emily was wearing the same modest khaki bikini she’d worn earlier but she’d removed the shorts to reveal brief bikini bottoms. She’d donned a white T-shirt—sensible in this heat; he would give her credit for that—but the water made it transparent, the material clinging to her like a second skin.

He didn’t think he’d ever witnessed such an erotic sight. Her dripping hair was longer than he could have imagined, the water pulling her curls out so it hung in a long sheet down to the small of her back.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the tantalising sight before him, his mouth went dry and heat pooled in his groin.

It wasn’t until she started wringing water from her hair that she noticed him.

Something that was a cross between a scowl and a smile played on her lips as she removed the flippers and headed over to him.

‘Come out to play?’

Mouth dry, he swallowed and shook his head, partly to refute her question and partly to clear it from the haze that had engulfed it.

He wanted to reach out a hand to her waist and pull her down to him. He wanted to roll her onto the sand and...

‘Next time you decide to go out into the lagoon, make sure you let someone know,’ he said in a far harsher tone than he’d intended.

Suddenly he felt furious. He should be in Paris finalising the documents that would make the completion of the Plushenko deal a formality, not worrying about the safety of the woman whose actions had been the catalyst preventing him from being
in
Paris. He certainly shouldn’t be fantasising about making love to her, and
certainly
not right now when there was an emergency afoot.

She eyed him coolly before a tight, emotionless smile formed on her face and, so quickly that he had no time to react, she gathered her thick hair together and wrung it out again, this time over him, cold droplets falling onto his chest.

He jumped back. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Because I felt like it,’ she answered with a shrug. ‘And because I’ve possibly just spent the most relaxing, wonderful hour of my entire life and you’ve ruined my mood completely with your irrational sanctimony.’

‘I am being neither irrational nor sanctimonious.’ He gritted his teeth together. He would hold on to his temper if it killed him. ‘Anything could have happened to you out there. You might have got cramp...’

‘Anything
could
have happened, but it didn’t.’

‘But if it had there would have been no one there to help you. In future, I would appreciate it if you let someone know when you’re planning an activity with danger attached to it.’

Her eyes held his, narrowing, studying him, before he caught an imperceptible shift in them, as if they’d melted a little. Her clamped lips relaxed, a wry smile playing on the corners. ‘Message received.’

‘Good.’ All the same, he made a mental note to warn his staff to keep an extra eye on her. Emily had a reckless streak in her. He would not have anything happen to her when she was on his island and under his protection.

‘Was there a particular reason you sought me out? Or are you just stalking me? Only, it’s the second time you’ve come looking for me today.’

He ignored her flippancy. ‘The tropical storm I mentioned earlier has changed paths—only slightly, but it’s now heading for us.’ He’d been given the news on his way to the dining hall.

She blanched and tilted her face upwards. ‘I thought it felt a little breezy.’

The wind was slowly picking up speed, a few tendrils of her drying hair lifting with the breeze.

‘These storms can turn from nothing to something very quickly.’

A sharp breath escaped her pretty lips. ‘Okay, so what do we do?’

‘What we do is go to safety,’ he said grimly.

‘Are we leaving the island?’

‘No. We have the necessary shelter and provisions here.’

‘The way you were talking, it was as if we had to move to safety now.’

‘We do. The ocean currents are already strengthening. I’ve sent the last of my staff who live on the neighbouring islands home so they can be with their families, but the rest of us need to move to higher ground.’

* * *

Emily had been a touch sceptical about Pascha’s insistence that they head straight for the shelter. Now she understood. The weather was changing far too quickly, even for her liking.

When they’d started walking the trail, a different path to the one she’d followed to the waterfall, the sun still blazed down on them. They finished guided by Pascha’s powerful torch.

He’d insisted she carry a torch too, which she’d nestled in her rucksack with the few other items he’d permitted her to bring to the shelter. He’d chivvied her along in her hut, glaring at her while she’d debated what she needed to take.

In the end, he’d snapped with exasperation, ‘The lodge and its huts are designed to the highest of standards. The chances of it sustaining any significant damage are very slim. Your possessions will be fine.’

‘Then why are we going somewhere else for shelter?’ she’d asked.

‘Because a slim chance is worse than no chance. The shelter’s on high ground and is designed to withstand the worst the weather can throw at us. I can guarantee your safety there.’

The wind had picked up as they walked but had no more strength than a mildly blustery English day. She knew this would increase, could feel it in the air around her. And she could see it. It wasn’t yet full sunset but thick, black clouds covered what was left of the sun, the previously cobalt sky now a dismal dark grey.

Yet, now she saw the fortress he’d brought her to, she felt total confidence they would make it through the night unscathed, at least in terms of any damage by the storm. The shelter was a small concrete building in a small clearing, close enough to be protected by the surrounding trees but far enough not to sustain any real damage should any of them fall. When she followed Pascha inside, she was further encouraged that no damage could befall them, the interior walls of the shelter being reinforced steel.

But whether or not a night spent here presented dangers of a different sort...

‘Where’s everyone else?’ The lodge had been deserted when they’d set off up the trail.

‘They’ve gone to their own shelter.’

‘What, this one is just for you and me?’

Pascha nodded, his mouth still set in the grim line it had held for the past couple of hours.

‘Why didn’t you tell me it would be just the two of us sharing?’ she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.

‘I didn’t think it important.’

‘Well,
I
do. If you’d told me, I could have camped out with Valeria and the rest of the staff in their shelter.’

He raised a bored brow. ‘My staff are all, in one way or another, extended family to each other. I deliberately built them their own shelter so in events like this they could be together
as
a family. You might be a guest, and I might be their boss, but they deserve their privacy away from us.’

How could she possibly argue with that? Although, she wanted to. She
really
wanted to. Sharing a confined space with Pascha for the foreseeable future could only bring trouble.

The interior of the shelter was practical but luxurious, with a large double bed, a plush sofa, a dining table and a small kitchenette with a bar at the end. The only privacy came in the form of a bathroom which was, by anyone’s standards, opulent.