A Bride for Kolovsky (12 page)

H
E WOKE
to the absence of regret.

Zakahr noticed because it was usually a familiar bedmate—uneasy with intimacy, he saw it as weakness and always awoke wishing she were gone. Not this morning. Faced away from her, his back exposed, he would normally roll on to his back or climb out of bed. But he had left it too late, because she had already stirred beside him. In silence he lay there, felt her cool hands on his back, felt her fingers tenderly probe his scars, and he braced himself for the inevitable—the demand for information on the strength of one night, as if he were just going to roll over and share the darkest part of his life.

He waited for her questions, but they never came.

Still her hand softly roamed him, and as her fingers explored he relived the hell of each scar, reminded himself why he was right to be here, that the plan in action was deserved. It did not have to affect Lavinia, but that meant he had to trust her, and he tensed at the very thought of it—trust was an enigma to Zakahr.

She felt him tense, but kissed his back, his shoulder, his neck. Lavinia willed him with her mouth to turn to
her. Bold, she unfurled beside him, stretching into the new skin of a body that felt different this morning—aware and tender. His skin was warm next to hers, and her hands explored him, past the jut of his hips to the flat of his stomach, inching downwards till she held his morning erection in her hand and adored it. She had been scared—not just last night, maybe all her life—but with him she wasn't any longer. All was beautiful.

Here, now, was where he would turn—here, where he would normally end the intimacy. Yet he lay there and let her explore him, closed his mind to everything but her and then turned to face her. He never wanted to get out of the bed. He felt her mouth kiss his chest and then work down, felt her lips soft, warm and tentative, and then the cool of her tongue. He wanted to give in to her, but he would not. He wanted her, and it had to be now. He slid her up the bed, hooked her leg around his and drove into her.

Last night had been slow and tender, but now there was an urgency—one Lavinia wasn't sure she could match—but there was also an intensity there that excited her, a loss of control in this guarded man as he bucked inside her, an instant need that from nowhere somehow her body easily met in a storm not building but hitting, spreading from her centre and outwards, and she clung onto his shoulders and gripped with her legs, bit on her lip to stay quiet.

He could feel her dense orgasm capture his, felt the shatter of release as he entered a place he had never sought, as he drove hard within her. He could hear her calling his name, and he was saying hers too.

They coupled.

It was a word he had never considered, never used, but in the midst of orgasm its meaning was crystal-clear—so clear he could actually
see
its meaning, feel her vibrations match his as she pulled him deep into her centre. He felt her fading twitches massage the last throes from him and he did not want it to be over, still lingering even after his body was spent. He lay on top of her for a moment, and her hands were still on his back. Zakahr wanted to recoil, to climb off, to get out—because the intimacy was killing him, because somehow he had to detach. And yet
still
he lingered, still his body refused to obey his demand, still he kissed, still he was inside her—still she was in his head. And somehow, if he was to keep her for a little while longer, he had to trust her.

‘We should get up for breakfast…' She lay in his arms, unfazed by his silence. ‘When do we leave?'

‘In a couple of hours.'

She picked up his wrist and glanced at his watch. ‘This time tomorrow I'll be back at my desk,' Lavinia grumbled.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all, he decided. Maybe this was what she'd intended.

‘Why not take some time off?' Zakahr said. ‘Concentrate on getting Rachael.' He saw just a smudge of a frown. ‘You could stay with me…'

‘Sorry?'

‘Move in with me.'

Lavinia laughed—she just laughed.

‘I'm serious. You just said you don't—'

‘It was a comment, Zakahr. I was grumbling about
work—not fishing. Why would you ask me to move in? Any day now I could be guardian to—'

‘Just for a while.' He saw the smile wobble, made himself say it. ‘Till I return to the UK.'

And she'd known she could never keep him, had accepted as best she could that it could never last, but did he have to remind her so soon? She tried to sound casual, tried not to reveal that her heart was breaking. ‘And who's going to do my job if I suddenly leave?'

‘You don't have to worry about that,' he said evenly. ‘I called Abigail, my PA, on Friday. She should be there by tomorrow.'

‘Oh, but I do worry.' She sat up, pulling up her knees and whipping the sheet tightly around her, hating how easily she was being replaced. ‘I like my job…' She shook her head. ‘I
need
my job—I'm not leaving.'

‘Lavinia, I tell you—you won't have to worry…' He reached out to caress her back, his fingers reaching for her shoulders, running the length of her prominent spine, glad now he hadn't signed that contract—righteous, even, in his decision. She
was
far better out of it. ‘I like spending time with you—I want to spend time with you.' It was an extremely unusual admission from Zakahr. ‘I'm trying to help…' He forced the words out. ‘Soon there will be no job…'

She went to turn her head, but froze. Katina's bitter words, which he had dismissed so readily with his assurances, now repeating.

‘You're going to destroy—'

‘I'm closing it,' Zakahr interrupted.

‘Destroying it.' Her lips were white. Hugging her
knees tighter, she curled up at the wretchedness of it, her mind full of Rachael, how her employment status might change things. If she did get custody, how was she supposed to support her? ‘I can't believe you'd do this.' The implications were trickling in now—her colleagues, Nina. The ramifications grew bigger with each cascading thought.

‘What about Jasmine…?' Lavinia was appalled. They were here as their guests, and Zakahr was planning on closing Kolovsky! ‘She's getting married in a few weeks…'

‘Lavinia—I've been doing this for a long time. People will be looked after—there will be redundancy packages, agreements reached. You cannot make this personal…'

‘It
is
personal, though!' And she said the words she had the first day they had met.
‘It's her wedding…'

‘Her father will be able to sort it… It's a dress…' This wasn't going as well as he had hoped, and he moved to calm her. ‘You are going to be fine. You will be away from all the fall-out. You can stay with me, and I will make sure you don't have to look for another job. When I'm gone, you will be able to concentrate on just yourself and Rachael—you can do your studies…'

Her spine straightened beneath his touch, ramrod straight, and the muscles over her shoulders tensed rigid as he named a price—a price, Zakahr surmised, that was beyond her wildest dreams, that would secure her future, so of course she was silent—of course it was a shock. And then her head turned in fury, till the blue eyes that had always smiled darkened in fury.

‘You'll
pay
me to be your mistress?'

‘I want to look after you.'

‘While you're here,' Lavinia snarled, ‘you'll pay me to sleep with you.'

‘You're twisting things.'

‘I don't have to twist anything. It's pretty blatant.'

‘This way—' Zakahr started. But Lavinia would not let him continue.

‘This way I'll be your prostitute.'

‘You're being ridiculous.'

‘Actually, no. I'm an expert on the subject—my mother was a prostitute, Zakahr. I've done everything I can to claw my way out of that pit, and you'd hurl me straight back in…'

‘I am offering you a chance to change your life.'

‘For the greater good?' Lavinia scoffed. ‘What happens in ten years, when the gas bill's late or Rachael needs schoolbooks? Will I justify it then? You're offering me money, and at the same time you've taken away everything special about last night.'

She wanted to spit at him, but she wouldn't lower herself. Zakahr had done that enough already. She was out of bed in a trice, jumping out as if it were on fire, and wrapped in a sheet she turned to him. ‘I don't need your charity, Zakahr. In fact, you're the one I feel sorry for—the only way you can get affection is to pay for it!'

She would have loved to dress and leave, but there really was no easy escape given they were on a yacht—so Lavinia locked herself in the bathroom, showering away every trace of his scent, repulsed at what he had
said and trying hard not to cry, trying to wash away all evidence of what had taken place. He could not possibly have shamed her more, and all Lavinia wanted was
out
.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and wondered how she could go out there and face him—wondered how on earth she was supposed to face not just him, but Jasmine, the King. How she could ever go back to work knowing what was to come? She realised she would have to deal with this the only way she knew how.

He heard the shower turned off, waited for her to come out—except she was taking ages, and for once Zakahr did not know how he should react. Cursing his choice of words, but not the sentiment behind them, because he
did
want to take care of her, he was bristling, too—he did
not
have to pay for affection. Women threw themselves at him. And yet…

Zakahr closed his eyes. He neither wanted nor needed affection—did not want the questions that came with companionship. Rather, he preferred the detachment that money allowed. He lay, wondering how best to deal with Lavinia, which words might soothe, for already she knew far too much. He would comfort her, Zakahr decided, dry her tears—even apologise if he had to…

Except as the bathroom door opened and Lavinia came out he was stunned at what he saw.

There was no trace of tears, her hair was glossy and tied back in a low ponytail, her make-up was on and—most confusing of all—she smiled over to him and,
without a trace of embarrassment or shame, dropped her towel and pulled on her underwear.

‘You'd better get ready.'

In purple panties and bra she hurried him, and Zakahr watched as she put on a simple white cami, then topped it with a smart lilac trouser suit. She looked fresh and poised and incredibly beautiful, and—worse for Zakahr—she was still smiling.

Worse still, she was looking him straight in the eye.

He had expected tears, arguments, perhaps, even that she might have reconsidered—it was a life-changing sum, after all. But instead she was looking at him, smiling at him, talking to him as if none of it mattered, as if she was enjoying his company, even—and it hit him then like a fist in the stomach. She was performing—just as she had for those revolting men she had once danced for.

Lavinia—the real Lavinia he had started to glimpse—was closed.

‘M
ORNING
.'
He walked in on Monday to the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pleasing perfume. The computers were on, as he sat at his desk his diary was open at today's page, his schedule updated, and of course there should be nothing but relief when he looked up and it wasn't Lavinia bringing him coffee but Abigail instead.

The journey back to Melbourne had been hellish. There had been no grand gestures, no flouncing off. Instead Lavinia had chatted away about nothing, thanked him when his car had dropped her off, and then walked up her garden path and closed her door.

She wouldn't be back—of that he was sure. And it was for the best, Zakahr told himself. For without Lavinia buzzing in his ear, messing with his head, finally he could execute his plans.

‘I want this sorted by the end of the week,' Zakahr told Abigail.

‘I thought we had longer.'

‘I want it done,' Zakahr said—because he just wanted to be on that plane and heading home. But even his head protested at that word. Home? To where? London?
Switzerland? Or would he stop over in Singapore? Home to what? His family was here.

He
had
no family, Zakahr reminded himself.

‘Aleksi Kolovsky called,' Abigail unwittingly taunted him. ‘He says it's nothing urgent. He just called from his honeymoon to see how things were going.'

Zakahr shrugged and flicked his hand, which told Abigail to disregard it—that it wasn't important. They had worked together for years. Abigail was married—very happily married—which meant she would never jeopardise things with sudden demands. But they were still occasional lovers, and Zakahr could not fathom that now, even as Abigail flirted a little and offered him a cue.

‘It seems a little strange…' Abigail smiled ‘…just us in Australia.'

‘It won't be for long.' Zakahr did not pursue it. ‘I'm making the announcement on Friday—you'll need to arrange the press—but till then try to keep it business as normal as far as you can. Though I
do
need the auditors in.' He recited his orders. ‘I want the team flown in by the weekend. I'm leaving straight after the press conference on Friday.'

He saw Abigail frown. Normally Zakahr stayed to wrap things up, was steadfast in his decisions. He stood by the burning building as it fell, answered questions, and fended off the reporters.

‘Won't you be needed here?' Abigail checked. ‘At least for a few days?'

‘I've been away long enough. It will be pure admin.'

He turned to his computer, and because she wasn't
Lavinia, Abigail took her cue. Did not question a detail, nor argue a point. But there was one thing he needed to clear up, so he headed out of his office, to where Abigail was now working, and briefly brought Abigail up to speed.

‘There was an assistant,' Zakahr said. ‘Lavinia. I doubt she will be back, but just in case, she is to know nothing…' His voice trailed off, for there she was, walking in, just as she had on that first day, offering a quick apology for being late and carrying a large takeaway coffee. Only this morning her make-up was fully on. ‘
I'm
Lavinia.' She offered her hand to Abigail, who after a moment's hesitation shook it. ‘Just ask me anything you need to know, or need me to do.' And, swishing past Zakahr with a bright smile, she wished him a good morning, then headed for her old office.

With that she set the tone.

It was business, but it was so not as normal—Lavinia was just caught up in the dance of pretence, while knowing it was all a charade. She loathed Abigail, with her pussy-cat smile and her long red nails that lingered too long on his arm—loathed the scent of the woman who was so devoted to Zakahr that she would accept him without question. Not that she let Abigail see how she felt.

‘Rula's agent insists the new contract is signed before her client puts on weight.' Lavinia listened as Abigail passed on the message. ‘They've drawn it up; I've got it here. I'll bring it through and let Katina know.'

‘Here.' She made the other woman a drink, rolled
her eyes in sympathy as Abigail juggled with an angry Katina on the phone.

‘He'll sign it soon,' Abigail said crisply to the chief designer, ‘and we'll get it couriered. Go ahead with the alterations. One moment.' She handed a file to Lavinia. ‘Could you ask Zakahr to sign these? He knows what it's about.' She returned her attention to the phone call with Katina. ‘That's your department. Zakahr does not need to be concerned with those details.'

Zakahr didn't look up when the door was knocked upon and opened. Abigail had said she was bringing the documents in, but whether it was her scent, or her walk, or just her presence, before the paperwork even reached his desk he knew that it was Lavinia.

‘These are for you to sign.'

He looked at her immaculate French polished nails, then dragged his eyes up past her immaculate clothes to her groomed face. There was no trace of tears, no malice in her eyes—there was nothing.

A nothing he wanted to refute—because he
knew
she was hurting.

She was unreadable, and that was what killed him—she was closed off to him, and he did not like it a bit. But he consoled himself that it was for the best—his plans were coming into place. Soon it would be done with—soon he could resume his life. If only Lavinia stopped challenging him. Zakahr had no conscience where his family were concerned, and he had considered it the same in business—figures, facts were what he dealt with. Numbers, the bottom line. It had to be that way—and yet a lowly assistant was like a loose cannon
now, bursting into his office and asking for answers, her lips smiling but her blue eyes glinting with confrontation, forcing self-examination when Zakahr would rather not.

‘Just one thing,' Lavinia said as he picked up his pen. ‘If you do go ahead with your plans, just understand that with a stroke of your pen you're about to terminate her career.'

‘Rula will get other work…'

‘Rula will be known as the Face Kolovsky didn't want.' Lavinia tossed her hair. ‘And thanks to this contract she'll be several kilos heavier!'

‘She'll be all the healthier for it.' Zakahr signed with a flourish, but his teeth seemed welded together as he passed her the forms.

‘Has she rung yet?' Lavinia asked, and Zakahr shook his head in impatience.

‘Why would Rula ring
me
?'

‘I meant Ms Hewitt,' Lavinia retorted—because even if it was hell right now, even if her heart was breaking, there were other more important things on her mind.

‘No.'

‘She did say that she would?' Lavinia checked, and for just a fraction the mask slipped. ‘That wasn't another piece of your plan to get me away from this place?'

‘No.' Zakahr almost tasted blood. It felt as if he were swallowing shards of glass as he heard her take on things. He could see how it looked—the night away, Abigail flying in… ‘I will let you know when she calls.'

 

He didn't.

She limped through to Thursday, but it took every ounce of strength she possessed to go to work. She should just leave, just walk away. Except she wouldn't give him the satisfaction—and there was, despite all evidence to the contrary, still a flare of hope in her heart that Zakahr would not go through with it, that he would be the wonderful, intuitive man she knew he could be, the caring man who had listened about Rachael.

And the devil himself she was sure
did
have a conscience. Because while she smiled and carried on as before, while she made extra effort with her appearance, Zakahr didn't seem to care less. He'd stopped shaving—since Sydney his face had not met a razor—but unfortunately it made him look sexier.

What wasn't so endearing was that for the first time since he'd taken over Zakahr had the same suit on for a second day in a row—and, Lavinia was positive, the same shirt. And he wasn't wearing a tie.

She wondered whose bed he'd just rolled out of.

‘I don't give “warm wishes”.' He placed two letters she'd actually been asked to draft on her desk beside her, and Lavinia should have jumped—after all, she was scrolling through Positions Vacant—but she refused to jump to
him
.

‘And I'm not a typist,' Lavinia said. ‘What do you prefer—yours truly?'

The irony wasn't wasted on Zakahr, and he gave a thin smile. Even though they barely spoke, when they did, thanks to Lavinia—who had always refused to bend to him—they managed pretty much as before.

‘Yours sincerely,' Zakahr said. ‘If you can manage it.' He glanced at her computer screen. ‘Anything good?'

‘A few!' Lavinia said. ‘Don't worry—I shan't ask for a reference.'

It shouldn't concern him at all. But as he sat later, going over and over the events of tomorrow with Abigail, over and over his mind drifted to Lavinia.

What would she do?

He'd seen the jobs she was looking at—and he knew the types of qualifications they required. She'd need a pretty good job to match her wage. She was, he admitted, one of the sharpest people he knew—but by her own admission on paper she was qualified for little.

It wasn't his problem.

He'd never have got where he was if he'd worried about individual staff—Zakahr had to be ruthless. He'd come from nothing. She could do it, too.

‘Your mail.' Lavinia knocked and went in, handed him his personal mail—which was one of the few jobs still left to her.

‘Thanks.' He didn't even look up at her, and Abigail sat in silence, clearly waiting for Lavinia to be gone.

‘Oh, Abigail.' Lavinia smiled sweetly. ‘The beauticians rang—they can squeeze you in for your Brazilian after all. Just so long as you don't need your bottom done! I said I wasn't sure, and that you'd call them back.'

‘That was cruel.' Zakahr couldn't help but grin as a purple-faced Abigail excused herself for a moment.

‘No,' Lavinia corrected, ‘that was bliss!' She turned to go, but then, blonde, dizzy, still absolutely stunning,
she turned back. ‘I've just had Alannah on the phone. She's a bit upset there are internal auditors going into the boutique.'

‘External,' Zakahr corrected. ‘They're an international firm I regularly use. Just tell her something—I don't know.' He shrugged. ‘Tell her I don't trust anyone else's figures—even Nina and Aleksi could not agree on Kolovsky's worth. Tell her there's nothing to worry about.'

‘Lie to her?'

‘It's your job to keep things normal,' Zakahr said. ‘If you can't handle it…'

‘Fine—I'll tell her. I'm going to the boutique anyway. Abigail's given me quite a shopping list!'

As Zakahr took a phone call, Lavinia flounced out. A boot-faced Abigail scowled at her from her desk.

‘If you ever do that again…'

‘You'll what?' Lavinia challenged. ‘Fire me?'

‘I'll speak to Zakahr!'

‘And tell him what? That I'm a bitch?' Lavinia just laughed. ‘Oh, I can be…'

Unfortunately Zakahr chose that moment to put in an appearance. ‘Come,' he said. ‘I'll speak to Alannah myself. You can have a lift.'

It was their first real time alone since the weekend, and for Zakahr, even if it was awkward, it was actually a relief to get out of the office. As they moved out of the city Zakahr watched as Lavinia looked out of the window. Perhaps feeling his eyes, Lavinia turned and gave him a smile. It didn't look false, and that was the part that gutted him—he knew it had to be.

‘How are you doing?' he asked—because despite everything he did want to know.

‘Good!' she said.

‘Lavinia…' Zakahr could not stand the bright smile. ‘Can you drop the act…?'

Never. She would smile, she would carry on, she would laugh and she would talk. But she would never let him in again.

‘Ms Hewitt just called.' There was a slight inclination of her head. It was the only indication of how much this mattered to her. ‘That is why I wanted you away from the office. I confirmed that you have worked for Kolovsky for more than two years…'

‘Did you tell her that after tomorrow I wouldn't have a job?'

‘Of course not.'

‘She'll find out anyway.' Lavinia shrugged. ‘I've got an appointment with her at lunchtime.'

‘I told her that you are responsible—that you have…'

Except Lavinia shook her head—didn't need to hear it. Instead she opened the partition and chatted with Eddie about his tiny granddaughter.

When they got to the boutique she didn't wait for Eddie to come round and open the door—just shot out of the car and walked ahead of him. And it was Lavinia who held the heavy door open as Zakahr refused to hesitate. He had seen many House of Kolovsky boutiques on his travels, but he had never been able to bring himself to go in, loathing them from the outside.

‘Age before beauty!' Lavinia said brightly—only today she didn't make him smile.

He was very good with Alannah and her team. Lavinia had to give credit where it was due. In fifteen minutes he had the worried staff convinced this audit was nothing out of the ordinary, that it would all take place after hours, and that none of the clients would know, nothing would be compromised.

Lavinia picked up Abigail's order, which was actually two dresses, a jacket and a sheer silk shirt, a thick coat, and a gorgeous heavy silk scarf that Lavinia could quite happily have throttled her with—because if it was worth a fortune today, as Abigail knew only too well, tomorrow it would be priceless.

As they went to walk out of the boutique, as always Lavinia's eyes lingered a moment on her favourite signature piece. He must have followed her gaze as Zakahr's hand moved to the garment and there was a flare of recognition in his eyes.