Taming The Big Bad Billionaire (Once Upon a Temptation, Book 6)

by Pippa Roscoe

  Célia had tried to reassure her, to insist that she would follow whatever Ella wanted to do with regards to the Greek billionaire. Let him go, keep him, whatever Ella wanted. No matter the effect on their business. But, despite how Ella felt personally about the man, she couldn’t deny the damage that would be done should they choose to sever ties with their first client.

  Yet that didn’t mean she was willing to let it go.

  As she dialled the contact number for Loukas, she took a fortifying breath. She could still do this. She was still the co-founder of the business. She was still capable—even if she had made terrible mistakes in the past, it didn’t mean she would carry on that way. No. Unlike the men in her life, she would refuse to make decisions about her business for personal reasons.

  ‘Naí?’

  ‘Mr Liordis? It’s Ella Riding.’

  ‘Mrs Black?’

  She flinched and was glad he wasn’t there to see it. Incensed that the man would dare to use her married name.

  ‘Not for much longer.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry to hear that.’

  She almost growled at the man’s audacity. For surely he would have known the full extent of Roman’s plans, once he had his hands on her shares. Ignoring the platitude, she pressed on. ‘I have something I want to discuss with you.’

  ‘All ears, agápe mou.’

  ‘If we are to continue to do business together—’

  ‘Wait... What?’ Loukas’s shocked voice interrupted.

  ‘Let me finish, Mr Liordis,’ she commanded. ‘If we are to continue to do business together, then we need to place all our cards on the table.’

  ‘Okay...’ His voice was laden with suspicion.

  ‘When we did our deal, I was not aware of your interaction with my husband.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it an interaction as such,’ he stated.

  ‘No? Asking me to fund an extra five million euros was not an “interaction as such”?’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone—at being caught out? she wondered.

  ‘Look, Mrs... Ella, I’m not quite sure what’s going on here, but the only thing your...Roman...asked me to do was to take a business meeting. It was very much for both my and your benefit. I was the one who needed to be assured of your financial viability. Beyond that one request to listen to your proposal, there was no other interaction, other than a rather drunken night in his club in New York three years ago. I promise you, I do not mix business with pleasure. So, whatever you think passed between us, you are mistaken.’

  He seemed to give her the time to take that in, but whatever pause he had left her was not enough.

  ‘Now, I would still like to continue to work together very much and will happily put this down to a misunderstanding. But if you plan to sever ties with me, then I need to know now. I have other things riding on this, and will not risk a single one of them.’

  Part of Ella wanted to rail against the dark commanding tone she encountered now from a man who had been seen as more playboy than billionaire, but she couldn’t. Because she was lost in her own confusion.

  ‘No, Mr Liordis. That won’t be necessary. My apologies.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said, his tone instantly turning back to his usual charm. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you in two months at the first gala.’

  Ella cancelled the call and the phone fell from slightly shaking hands. Liordis had no reason to lie. Well, that was not actually true. There had very much been a sense in his response that had strongly indicated how important their business deal was to him. But his surprise at the question about the money had seemed genuine.

  More genuine in some ways than Roman had sounded when he had claimed it had all been about the money. Because Roman had never been obsessed with money and the keeping of it. No, instead, money seemed to be something he was barely even aware of.

  She forced herself to think back to that day in the restaurant. The divorce papers. The trust fund. Now that had been an obscene amount of... Of...

  She almost tripped over Dorcas, trying to get back into the kitchen where she had thrown both sets of papers the moment she had returned from Paris, not daring to look at them since.

  She gave herself a paper cut trying to get into the envelope and pulled out the thick bundle, still with the sticky yellow tab affixed. Instead of turning to that page, she started with the first, scanning and flipping through the pages until somewhere about the fifth page she stopped.

  Looking at the inconceivable number of millions on the page outlined by little black print, she didn’t have to wonder long at where all that money must have come from. It could only have been the total amount of the sale of Kolikov Holdings, give or take an extra five million.

  Her husband had lied to her. Again. She howled out loud in frustration. What on earth was he doing? Because if it wasn’t about the money, if he had given it all in trust to their child, then what was it really about? He had pushed her away. Telling her the only thing that would make her leave. Now she remembered all the bits and pieces he’d shared with her about his childhood. The machinations of a truly awful grandparent, the insecurities of having foster parents who’d never really wanted him. Now she remembered how sincere he’d been about asking her to rethink the sale of her shares. He’d almost pleaded with her not to do it. Now she remembered how he had claimed to be a monster made in his grandfather’s image. But he hadn’t been. She’d seen him. The day he’d discovered he was going to be a father...the pain and desperation as he’d told her about his mother...the night he’d said that he could only hope to be the man she deserved to have by her side.

  And she’d said, ‘Trust me.’ She’d asked him to trust her to know that he was better. And she had been the one to break that trust. She had been the one, despite knowing that the man demanding a divorce didn’t seem like her husband, didn’t seem the man she’d fallen in love with, who had broken that trust.

  Oh, God, she thought, a shaking hand to her mouth. For all her words of assurance, her apparent faith in him...she had believed the one lie he’d truly told her, the one that had fed her fears rather than her faith. And she’d done exactly what he’d expected her to do. Think the worst. To leave. Just like everyone else in his life had done.

  Roman strode through the tables of the club in Russia, ignoring the slightly worried looks of his staff and oblivious to the gazes of his patrons. At first, after returning from Paris, he’d thought a numbness had descended, wrapping around him and protecting him. But then he’d realised. It wasn’t numbness, but silence.

  No more little tapping noises as Dorcas trotted behind him, her toes clipping along the hard wooden floors of his apartment. The little yips of joy or pleading whines, specifically designed to incite guilt or attention. No more warm weight on his thigh as she would lean into him. How on earth had a damned dog come to mean so much to the Great Wolf? he wondered ruefully.

  And that had only been the beginning. Because as soon as he realised the absence of Dorcas, he knew it was masking the absence of her. Ella. His wife. Mother of his child. And suddenly he realised all the sounds that he would miss in the future. His child’s first cry, first laugh, first word. He realised all the sounds he was already missing. His child’s heartbeat. His wife’s cry of pleasure, her gentle, teasing laugh, the sounds she made in her sleep unconsciously, the way her hand sounded as it swept towards him across the bedsheets.

  All these noises that were consumed by the silence of his life. And even as a part of him wished he’d never met her, the other, the part of his heart still beating, still hoping, knew that he would be thankful for it for ever.

  He knew what he’d done that day. Still held to the decision he’d made. Ella was better off without him. He had told her lies and she’d believed them. His mind taunted him with evil thoughts.

  She never loved you. If she had, she
wouldn’t have believed you. She only ever loved the fiancé, the man you were not.

  And he felt he deserved every single one of them. Because that questioning, that self-doubt, wasn’t that what he’d done to her that first time? If he’d known what it had been like for her he never would have taken her innocence, never would have allowed her back into his life. Because this? This was pure hell.

  So he took his punishment, knowing that he fully deserved it. Every single sharp twist of the knife, he would take a million times over because he had done worse to her.

  And that was why, no matter how much he wanted to go to her, to beg her to take him back, to beg to spend each and every day seeking to make up for his awful actions, to be better, to do better, he would not. Because he would never be worthy of her.

  He reached the corner of the bar, where a barman jumped to attention, knowing without Roman even having to ask for the bottle of vodka he’d appeared almost nightly to demand, before disappearing to his lair above the club.

  The bottle appeared on the counter top and Roman swept it up and stalked towards the lift in the back corner of the room. But in his mind he was not holding the slippery condensation-covered chilled bottle, but the warm, slim crook of Ella’s elbow, his palm heated despite the cool feel of the glass. As he swept his key card over the electronic plate he followed a ghost into the lift, unconsciously making space for the image of her with him.

  Roman caught sight of the image of his reflection in the mirrored surface, barely meeting his own gaze. He grimly acknowledged that he looked like hell, the dark sweeps under his eyes speaking to the fact that he’d not been able to sleep fully through the night since he’d left her bed and, in all likelihood, wouldn’t ever again.

  The only thing that soothed the ache was that he’d provided for them both—Ella and their child. They would never want for anything. Certainly not for a husband or father who wasn’t good enough, who wasn’t worthy enough.

  Was that what his mind had kept hidden from itself? he wondered. All these years and all that determination for vengeance. Had it hidden...this? These feelings and this fear he’d never voiced before he’d met Ella. Never needing to account for his actions or his behaviour to anyone before now.

  He cursed and, rather than waiting to cross the distance of his living area to find a glass, unscrewed the lid of the bottle of zubrowka and raised it to his lips, anticipating the taste of the ice-cool alcohol on his tongue. But, before he could take a sip, he stopped, his hand hovering before his mouth, holding the bottle but not moving.

  Ella sat on his sofa, encased in the red cape he had bought her, and he wondered whether he had finally lost all sense. Because surely his twisted mind had conjured her from his thoughts and memories. Surely she was not sitting there, her beautiful shapely legs crossed, her hands placed in her lap, her level gaze one that could easily be mistaken for serenity.

  But he knew, the moment he took a breath, that she was real because her scent had filled the air of his apartment. A delicious taste of something almost like orange blossom, mint and memories.

  Everything in him became alert, the hair at his nape raising slightly as his first fearful thought careened through him.

  ‘The baby?’

  ‘Is fine.’

  He took a moment for her assurance to sink in, to smooth out the erratic pulse of his heart, but it didn’t work. He was still fired with adrenaline as if under threat, as if the ground was shifting beneath his feet. She looked incredible. Everything he’d ever wanted, right there, within touching distance, and he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

  ‘Then we have nothing to discuss,’ he growled as he stalked past her to the kitchenette. ‘You can let yourself out.’

  ‘I could. But I won’t.’

  He hoped to high heaven that she didn’t see the way his fingers shook as he reached for the glass he would have easily forgone just moments earlier. He felt a growl rising in the back of his throat, the need to lash out and release some, if not all, of this pent-up fury he felt rising in his chest. The fury of pain, of hurt, of loss.

  All of it he swallowed as he forced himself to turn around and look towards his...well...if she was here with the divorce papers then he couldn’t really call her his wife any more. Landing on that explanation for her appearance here in his apartment, a cold fist so fierce it burned struck his heart. That was it. That was why. It could only ever be that.

  ‘You could have sent the papers to my lawyers. This,’ he said with a sweep of his arm and the bottle he still held, ‘is unnecessary.’

  ‘On the contrary. I find it deeply necessary.’

  ‘If there is something you want to contest—?’

  ‘And if I wanted to contest the whole thing?’

  Roman reared back as if slapped. ‘I don’t...’

  ‘It’s not often that you are lost for words, Roman.’

  He stared at her, unsure what she was saying, unsure as to what was happening.

  ‘What game are you playing?’ he demanded.

  She cocked her head to one side. ‘The one you apparently decided we were playing.’

  ‘Would you stop speaking in riddles!’

  That his anger apparently caused her only to smile was deeply unsettling.

  ‘I think that might be the first real and honest reaction to this whole damn thing since you took me to the restaurant. A tad ironic, but real at least.’

  Roman ground his teeth together so hard he thought he might have heard something crack. For here she was again. The beautiful, proud, determined fury that he had met here six months ago. The woman who had seduced as much as been seduced. The woman who had become the mother of his child and keeper of his heart.

  ‘You want my anger? Then get out,’ he roared, even more horrified that his fury seemed to have exactly the opposite effect on Ella.

  ‘But how am I supposed to witness your anger if I am gone? No, Roman. Surely better for me to be here and witness you in your full monstrosity, no?’

  He wanted to hurl the bottle he still held against the wall beside him, and the only thing staying his hand was that somehow the glass might shatter and catch her. And when everything in him was screaming out to protect her, to keep her from him, that he could not do.

  ‘What are you doing here? What do you want from me?’ he demanded.

  ‘I want to know why you lied.’

  ‘Good God, Ella, everything I’ve ever said to you has been a lie.’

  ‘Not everything. But certainly all that you said in the restaurant.’

  He couldn’t look at her. He had done that day, but it had taken everything in him and he no longer had the energy to fight. He knew that if she looked too hard, thought too much, she’d realise the truth. And he had to protect her from that.

  ‘You are fooling yourself. Once again. So naïve.’ He forced the cruel words through thin lips.

  ‘But no longer innocent?’

  ‘Have I not hurt you enough? Have I not proved to you how depraved and damaged I am?’

  ‘I will not lie and tell you that. Because there have been too many lies between us and you have hurt me. And I’d not use depraved—that was your word—but damaged? Yes, you have been damaged, but not broken and not irretrievably so. I...’ She paused, and he couldn’t not look at her, couldn’t not face whatever it was that she would say next. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘Hell, Ella. What are you—?’

  ‘I asked you to trust me. I asked you to trust me to know that you could be better. Trust that I knew that about you. And I let you down. Because at the first sign, the first suggestion that you might not be, I walked...ran even, not looking back. Not looking back enough to see the truth.’

  He was shaking then. He was racked by it, the trembling that had started in his heart, spreading out through his body, and he felt the press of hot wet heat against
the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t...

  ‘I told you that I loved you and I left.’

  She was killing him. Tearing him apart with her words. All the things he had never wanted to face, never wanted to know or feel.

  ‘I will not take full responsibility for that, because you did have a hand in that. But, for my part, I am sorry.’

  He wanted to rush to her, drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. Beg her to take him back, promise to do whatever it would take to make it up to her. Tell her that...that...he loved her more than life itself. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  ‘Ella, please.’ Roman no longer knew what he was asking for. For her to stop, or never stop.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ she demanded and he owed her that much.

  ‘I thought—think—that you deserve more. That you are owed more. After all that I have done, under the guise of vengeance... I simply don’t know how to be. When you asked me to buy your shares, you didn’t know what you were doing. Didn’t know that it would give me the only possible chance of having what I had spent a lifetime wanting. I felt, believed, that if you did love me then you wouldn’t ever have asked me to give that up. Kolikov Holdings was the last tie to my past, to my grandfather, to my mother’s death...and I wanted, needed, it to be gone and you placed, in my hands, the ability to do so—and demanded that I didn’t.

  ‘Do you understand, Ella? Do you see? The promise I made to my mother on her deathbed, it was a promise that kept me alive, made me get up in the morning, drove me beyond anything else in this world to succeed and achieve the impossible. You made me promise not to do it, and I couldn’t live up to that. I couldn’t because my mother came first. That promise came first.’

  For the first time since she had made him make that promise Ella realised the cost of it. Tears rose to her eyes at the position she had put him in, unwittingly. In her mind, the destruction of Kolikov Holdings was simply the embodiment of his betrayal—of Vladimir’s betrayal—of her. She hadn’t really thought what it had meant to him, what it had symbolised to him.