Innocent in the Ivory Tower (11 page)

‘You put me on your damn payroll. I thought it was a joke, but it’s not. You got that awful Carlo Santini to give me money!’

‘I’m not allowed to spend money on you?’

‘You’re not spending money on me. You’re
paying
me.’ She shook her head. He just didn’t get it. ‘And for your information I have my own money.’

‘No doubt. But life is going to get expensive for you, Maisy. You’re with me now.’

‘Am I?’ She doubted that. The problem was she didn’t feel as if she was
with
him—and how could she after a single day? She felt like a fraud. The girl who
accidentally
ended up in Alexei Ranaevsky’s bed whilst he was on vacation from his models and his actresses and his Euro trash. She added the last to make herself feel a little better.

Alexei closed in on her again, his hands closing over her arms. ‘Don’t make it a big deal, Maisy. Let’s just play it as it goes.’

‘You think less of me because I’ve never held down a job,’ she blurted out, not sure what she was saying any more.

‘Where did that come from?’ He angled a frown at her.

‘You said so last night—’

‘I said a lot of things last night,
dushka
. I want you to forget them and just focus on the here and now.’

‘I have a job. Looking after Kostya,’ she ploughed on, refusing to be diverted. ‘And I can tell you, caring for a young child is a hundred times more difficult than buying up companies or cruising the stockmarket or whatever it is you do!’

Alexei’s mouth quirked at Maisy’s dismissive summing up of his hard-won business empire.

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘It is more difficult and in a completely different way. But I’m here now. That life is over, Maisy. Time to let it go and face up to a few facts of life.’

‘Facts? Such as?’

‘Life has changed for you. The horizon has widened. Your little purse,
dushka
, isn’t going to bear the strain.’ He smiled slowly, his eyes stroking her. ‘Let me spoil you, Maisy.’

That line usually worked a treat.

Maisy’s mouth formed an ominous little line. ‘Does that mean I get a diamond necklace?’

Alexei’s eyes hardened, his hands falling away from her. ‘You’ve been reading the tabloids.’

‘No, just upmarket magazines. You’re a bit hard to miss.’

‘Is that what this is all about? Don’t you think that’s a bit beneath us,
dushka
?’

He actually sounded impatient. Maisy’s temper went into overdrive.

‘You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?’ she exploded, giving him a good shove, frustrated that even when she put all her effort behind it she couldn’t shift him an inch. ‘A different girl for every day of the week. Well, I’m not going to be one
of them, Alexei. I have my own money. I have my own jewellery. All I want from you is—’ She broke off, scrambling for a neutral term.

‘
Da
? What is it you want from me, Maisy?’

‘Sex,’ she snapped. ‘To quote you.
Just sex
.’

‘Now we’re talking.’ His gaze did a run of her body.

Maisy stiffened all over. She couldn’t imagine what he saw in her. And that was the problem. She knew it was her own insecurities—but, damn it, why couldn’t his former women-friends be a little less polished, a little more … ordinary?

But she was looking at the reason why. Spectacular bone structure, height, lean muscular build and a mind like a steel trap. He was a prize. But not one granted to girls like her. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why. But that would have been too humiliating.

He in turn was studying her like a puzzle. She backed away from him and began shoving the underwear back into the carrier, refusing to look at him. She felt like such a fool, going to all this effort to look pretty for him, spending money she couldn’t afford on lingerie that was probably laughably tame compared to what he was used to.

Out of her depth didn’t even cover it.
Don’t make it a big deal.
Those were his words. Because it clearly wasn’t a big deal to him.

‘I’m convinced I should have tied you to the bed this morning,’ Alexei muttered, expression shuttered.

Maisy turned her back on him and marched into the wardrobe. When she re-emerged he was gone.

Just sex, he’d said. So now she knew.

M
AISY
was almost done feeling sorry for herself, but her shoulder was starting to ache and it was making her tetchy. She told herself all she wanted was to crawl into bed—her own bed. But that wasn’t what she had signed up for. She had Kostya to bathe and read to and put to bed, and then it would be time to front up to entertain the man who put diamonds around the neck of Tara Mills. Mr
Don’t Make It A Big Deal
.

But it was a big deal. She just knew she wasn’t going to be able to get past the knowledge of all those other women. Not because of who they were—each individual blurred into one glossy, silicone-enhanced mass—but because it made no sense at all why he was with her now.

She kicked off her heels and padded barefoot to the nursery. It was after six, and Kostya was fractious after his long and exciting day. He babbled about ponies and kept mentioning another boy, one of Maria’s grandsons, but mainly he talked about ‘Alessi’, who was clearly a big hit. As he should be, Maisy thought wearily as she ran his bath and collected the assortment of plastic toys he required.

He was splashing and Maisy was wilting when Alexei put in his appearance, hair damp, freshly shaved, smelling faintly of luxury cologne and male skin. Maisy was suddenly immensely grateful she had spent her afternoon being doused in oils and potions that gave her hair and skin a gleaming intensity her sinking spirits did not match.

The immediate rapport between man and boy sent her into
the corner, perching on the washing hamper, whilst Alexei conducted the Royal Navy in the bathtub.

‘I’ll put him to bed,’ Alexei assured her over his shoulder. ‘Go and fix yourself up and I’ll fetch you for dinner.’

Fix yourself up.
Maisy eyed the soap dish. Could she crack his skull with it if she applied enough force?

‘Maisy?’

‘I heard,’ she said, not bothering to disguise the irritation in her voice.

What in the hell was wrong with her now? Alexei watched as she leaned down to kiss Kostya’s downy curls, her ringlets sliding forward. She was very sweet with him. He found himself leaning forward as Kostya reached up and tugged on one of her curls and held on.

Alexei saw a flash of the old Maisy, laughing a little as she detached herself from Kostya’s tenacious grip. He hadn’t fully realised she had gone until she’d laughed, her expression softening.

It threw him. He’d been so busy justifying his own behaviour he’d forgotten this sweetness, this warmth that had drawn him in to begin with. He wanted this Maisy back—the one who had greeted him at his bedroom door in just his shirt; the one who had wrapped her arms around him this morning in the garden.

If Kostya wasn’t here he’d have her stripped and gasping under him on the bathroom tiles, all arguments and all anxieties over how she’d fit in his life erased by mind-blowing sex. But mind-blowing sex wasn’t going to fix the problem with Maisy, because the problem
was
the mind-blowing sex. She had blindsided him this morning. Last night he’d planned a practised seduction, a little recreational sex with a pretty girl. He could actually pinpoint the moment it had stopped being familiar territory and started being something entirely new: when she’d leaned into his car and told him she wasn’t going to do as he told her and powered off with that pram, a swing in her hips. She said no at every turn, to a man who rarely if ever
heard the word and when he did, manoeuvred his way around it. She’d been defying him ever since, going her own way even when it left her trapped on a terrace or spending money she probably didn’t have on lingerie to seduce him.

So he’d sent Carlo to her with that credit card. He’d arranged a bank account for her. He’d done all he could to force her to conform to the stereotype he’d constructed to
handle
the women in his life. To neutralise relationships.

If he’d planned to push her away he couldn’t have done any better.

He caught hold of her hand as she straightened up and she looked startled. He pressed his lips to her palm. It was a gesture designed to reassure her, but her eyes just flared wide—as if she thought he was going to launch himself at her here and now.

Irritation at the gulf between his expectations and her experience must have made itself known in his expression, because she jerked her hand free as if he’d scalded her.

Releasing a deep sigh, Alexei said, ‘It shouldn’t be this hard,
dushka
.’

Maisy tried not to load his words with meaning, but as she dressed she couldn’t douse the suspicion that she’d managed this afternoon to severely damage whatever connection they’d had in bed that morning.

She stood in front of the mirror, checking herself from all angles in her heels and her new underwear. The image in the mirror was disconcerting. A taller, voluptuous, sex kitten Maisy. The one she’d known existed deep in her fantasy life but who had never been given the kit to play dress-up in and come into being. She hadn’t really bought this underwear for him, she realized. It was for herself. To make her feel confident.

Everything she had done this morning, everything Alexei had done to her, played itself over in Technicolor as she lifted her black satin dress over her head. It slid like water down her
body and she felt her pulse leap lightly as her silhouette metamorphosed with the aid of her expensive lingerie.

I look good
, she thought, feeling more confident. She carefully ran a brush through her ringlets, slicked her lips with the glittery lipstick she had purchased at the spa. They looked fuller, and with her eyes made up she looked as beautiful as she had felt this morning, when Alexei had been moving inside her and she’d had his whole rapt attention.

That was what she missed, she realised, and she didn’t know how to get it back. She was puzzling over it when a rap on her door broke the spell.

Alexei was leaning on the wall across the hall from her door. He was dressed up. Dinner shirt, jacket and dark pants. Muscles and testosterone and moody blue eyes. Maisy’s pulse picked up, overriding the morass of feeling that was swamping her tonight. She almost forgot how different she looked, but was reminded as Alexei came away from the wall, his sullen mouth widening into a decidedly elemental smile.

He said something in Russian. It sounded beautiful—all rolling ‘r’s and hushed vowels. Then he said something else, and it sounded dirty.

‘Suddenly I don’t have an appetite,’ he finally said in English, crowding her. ‘Let’s skip the food and get down to business.’

She closed the door quietly behind her, then folded her arms in a self-protective gesture that wiped the smile off Alexei’s face.

‘I was joking, Maisy. The helicopter’s waiting. We’ve got a table booked.’

‘We’re going out?’

‘It’s usually the idea when you dine with a beautiful woman.’

Natural colour swept into her cheeks and Alexei relaxed. He watched her arms unfold, some of the tension flow out of her shoulders and her spine lift.

‘I can’t believe we’re going out in public,’ she marvelled. ‘On a proper date, like normal people.’

Alexei stared at her, wondering if she was actually going to clap her hands and jump up and down.

‘Except for the helicopter,’ she added, smiling.

‘I can do normal,’ he asserted roughly. He was starting to get the hint that what worked for Maisy were the traditional aspects of relations between men and women. He could do that. He suddenly wondered if he should have brought her flowers. Instead he obeyed a sudden instinct and bent and kissed her gently on the cheek, took her hand.

Maisy lit up like Christmas in response, and floated after him.

Afterwards she didn’t know where she’d found the nerve to climb into the glass fishbowl he called a helicopter, but she got to cling to him in the dark, which made it all worthwhile.

It was a magical night. The exclusive restaurant was in Naples, and Maisy would never forget slipping out of the limo with Alexei and walking hand in hand the rest of the way through the old city. They had a private room, but Maisy had the thrill of walking across a room full of people on his arm. She discovered she had an appetite, despite her long and eventful day, stealing bits off Alexei’s plate and feeding him the anchovies she couldn’t stand. As she licked up her dessert—a meringue and cream fantasy with tiny pink crystals that melted on her tongue—she knew for once exactly what she needed to do tonight to make everything perfect.

Alexei had brandy and coffee, watching her eat with obvious pleasure. She extended her spoon to him and he obliged, taking a sweet mouthful he didn’t want just to make her smile.

‘I don’t want this night to end,’ she confided as he draped her cape around her shoulders.

‘Would you like to go dancing?’

Maisy turned up happy eyes. ‘I would.’

Alexei took her to a supper club where he could slow dance with her. Maisy wrapped her arms around him, wanting to tell him this was the first time she’d danced like this. He was her first in so many ways. She shivered in reaction.

‘What is it,
dushka
?’

His voice had dropped to a low pitch that thrummed in her belly.

Speaking before she could lose her nerve, she replied, ‘I want to make love with you.’

She actually felt Alexei’s breath hitch in his chest beneath the press of her hand. It was gratifying, and thrilling. For the first time since they’d met she felt as if she had taken the reins.

‘Shall we go home?’ she suggested.

Alexei didn’t argue.

Something had altered. Maisy felt the change come over Alexei as they entered the house. All the lights were glittering in the many windows, and the place looked like a fairytale castle, but Alexei strode across the mezzanine and up the stairs as if on a mission.

Maisy struggled along behind, no longer holding his hand but being shackled and dragged. So much for taking the reins. But she didn’t mind all that much. If he wanted to behave like a caveman she was happy to be what he was dragging back to his cave.

To her annoyance, Carlo Santini stepped out of the corridor at the top of the stairs. Alexei swore when he saw him. A volley of vitriolic Russian intruded on Maisy’s dreamy state.

Alexei made a silencing gesture with one hand, then turned with elaborate politeness and said in English, ‘A small emergency has arisen, Maisy. I may be some time.’

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t kiss her. He just walked away. And Maisy, disappointment settling over her, very slowly bent down and removed her shoes, sinking back down to ground level.

In her stockinged feet she returned to her room. She felt alarmingly keyed-up, but had no intention of decking herself out on his bed on the faint chance he would return and want her on tap. The moment had passed.

She didn’t know why, but seeing Carlo Santini had reminded
her of the type of relationship Alexei had set down for them. He had his life, his work—which he was now attending to—and he had a woman for recreation. Which happened to be her.

It didn’t go a long way to making a girl feel special.

Maisy stripped herself of all her clothes but didn’t take a shower. She spent a long time scrubbing her make-up off until she was barefaced. She hesitated over the negligee. Something was niggling—something that told her if she donned it and waited for him she would be playing right into his stupid mistress scenario.

So she dug out her old sleepshirt instead. It was just a long white T-shirt with a cartoon mouse on the front, soft from hundreds of washings. It felt so familiar she was assailed with an overwhelming longing for a simpler life, and the less complicated girl she had once been.

I need Anais
, she thought sadly, curling up like a snail on her bed. Anais would read Alexei like a book and provide footnotes.
To me he’s just a seething mass of testosterone and conflicting messages. I can’t keep up.
She yawned and snuggled into her pillow, hugging it to her. Her bed felt huge and empty, but it wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to sleeping alone.

She surfaced to consciousness with a sigh. A large male hand was on her inner thigh and she jolted, rolling backwards to thud into his big, solid body.

‘Alexei. You gave me a fright,’ she mumbled groggily.

‘I apologise,
dushka
, I didn’t mean to wake you.’ But he was kissing the back of her neck in the way she’d learned she liked, and her bottom was pressed against what was clearly on his mind.

‘I can’t do this,’ she protested, but he was already lifting her T-shirt, peeling it up her body. She squirmed and pulled away. ‘No, stop it.’ She kicked out at him. ‘I need to sleep.’

‘Sleep?’ Alexei sounded incredulous.

‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘And so do you if your mood’s anything to go by.’

A very big part of her wanted him to pull her into his arms
and override her objections. Instead Alexei literally thrust himself away from her, rolling onto his back, sweeping aside the covers.

‘Where are you going?’ she demanded softly, struggling to sit up.

He jack-knifed out of the bed. ‘I need a shower, if that’s all right by you. A cold one.’

Maisy pulled the covers back over her, but as the minutes went by she felt herself shivering. It only grew worse as the time ticked by. She heard the shower being switched on and off. Any minute now he was going to walk through here and out of that door.

She heard the door open, shut. Maisy rolled over to watch him in the moonlight coming through the window. He was picking up her clothes.

‘What are you doing?’ she framed softly.

He didn’t reply. He draped her gown over the armchair in the corner, and then her bra, her stockings and barely there cami-knickers. All the bits she had strewn carelessly over the floor. Maisy had never met a coat hanger she liked.

She watched him silently, still shivering but feeling strangely moved. His gestures were so precise they seemed to have meaning. Now he would leave, she thought, as he ran out of items. Except he didn’t. He climbed into bed beside her and there was only the sound of his breathing, steady and deep, and hers, uncertain and shallow.