Pursued by the Devil

by Carole Mortimer

  Damn it, she couldn’t do this. She was the lawyer currently acting on behalf of David Barbour, the man opposing this man’s attempt to buyout his company.

  Mikhail Lysenko was a corporate shark of the worst kind, buying up ailing companies—and the long years of recession had assured there were plenty of those—before picking the bones out of them and then selling off the rest. The Russian had been sinfully rich before the recession, he was now obscenely so.

  He obviously believed that gave him some sort of superiority over lesser, poorer mortals—which pretty much covered everyone else on the planet.

  Inwardly, Lindsay might admit Mikhail Lysenko was all of her fantasies come true, and just that low growling voice was enough to send shivers of pleasure and want—need—down the length of her spine. As for what it did for other parts of her body!

  She knew she was tempted by his dinner invitation, professional etiquette be damned.

  Except Lindsay questioned the why of the invitation.

  She was passably attractive, and her career as a lawyer said she was reasonably intelligent, but there was nothing special about the way she looked. In fact, compared to the beautiful movie stars and models this man usually dated, she was ordinary, bordering on homely.

  She simply didn’t believe a man like Mikhail, a man who could have any woman he wanted, was so overcome with lust for her that he now felt compelled to pursue her.

  No, a more likely explanation for his interest in her had to be because he believed that by seducing David Barbour’s female lawyer, she would then no longer be acting in her client’s best interests.

  Not very flattering. In fact, Lindsay was insulted that Lysenko had ever thought she would be stupid enough to be taken in by such an obvious tactic.

  She jerked her head back from those caressing fingers, stepping away before briskly crossing the room to open the door. “I hope you have a pleasant morning, Mr. Lysenko,” she said pointedly when he didn’t take the hint and just leave.

  “There you are, Lindsay!” someone greeted warmly from the reception area behind her. “Heather just informed me that—what the hell is going on here?”

  Lindsay spun round to see David Barbour, her nine o’clock appointment—a few minutes early—his gaze accusing as he looked first at Lindsay and then at the man standing behind her.

  Chapter Two

  “I CAN’T SAY I’m sorry today is over,” Lindsay groaned to Heather when she finally closed her office door behind her almost nine hours later. The silence in the rest of the building told her that most of her coworkers had left some time ago.

  It had been a surprise to see it was almost six o’clock in the evening when she finally put the last of her work away and glanced up at the clock on her office wall.

  “It started off awkwardly, I’ll grant you that.” Heather gave a teasing smile as she turned off her laptop.

  Awkwardly?

  The word disastrous was more fitting.

  Mikhail Lysenko, totally unconcerned with coming face-to-face with his latest business adversary in the office of that man’s own lawyer, simply strolled out into the reception area this morning before nodding terse acknowledgement to the other man. After which he had turned to warmly tell Lindsay he would ‘see her later’ before continuing unhurriedly on his way out the door.

  It had taken Lindsay over half an hour to convince David Barbour that she really wasn’t colluding with his enemy behind his back. That she was as surprised as he was when the Russian turned up at her office this morning.

  Explaining Lysenko’s reason for being there at all was a little more difficult.

  If she told David of Mikhail’s dinner invitation then she would be jeopardizing, weakening, her position as his lawyer.

  Unfortunately, not telling David put her in a similar position, causing her to fudge the reason as being informal talks about their official meeting tomorrow. The very same reason for David’s own appointment with her this morning.

  She’d offered to remove herself from the case if David was unhappy with Lysenko’s visit this morning. An offer he had refused, assuring her he was sure he could trust her to procure the best deal for both his company and his employees. Which only made Lyndsay feel even guiltier, for having lied to him.

  Which in turn made her feel even more pissed with Mikhail Lysenko.

  She spent the rest of the day trying—and failing—to concentrate on her work. She half expected David Barbour to rethink his position, resulting in her being called into the office of one of the senior partners, who would demand to know what the hell was going on.

  When the morning passed agonizingly slowly, without receiving that call, Lindsay finally breathed a sigh of relief—and then spent the afternoon catching up on the work she hadn’t been able to concentrate on this morning.

  She also found herself wondering, even more annoyingly, considering how close she had come to being reprimanded at the very least because of him, what Mikhail meant by his parting comment of ‘see you later’.

  Did he mean it literally, as an indication he wasn’t about to give up on persuading her to have dinner with him this evening? Or had he just used it as a parting comment, like ‘catch up with you soon’ or ‘we must do this again sometime’? Which pretty much meant ‘maybe we’ll bump into each other again by accident, but if we don’t it isn’t going to bother me’.

  It bothered Lindsay that she was thinking about Mikhail at all!

  It infuriated her when she thought of the trouble he had already caused her today.

  The Mikhail Lysenkos of this world were a law unto and of themselves.

  Not that there was anyone else quite like him.

  Lysenko was a phenomenon. Unique. A man who lived mainly in London but owned homes all over the world, as well as a number of private jets and helicopters, several yachts, and God knew what else.

  Although Lindsay believed he’d drawn the line at buying a football team!

  “’Night, Heather.” She smiled as she continued towards the front door.

  “You don’t escape that easily, young lady,” The older woman stood up. “You’ve been avoiding me all day,” she complained.

  “I wonder why!” Lindsay teased dryly.

  “Whew, that Mikhail Lysenko is something else, isn’t he?” Heather fanned a hand in front of her flushed face.

  Yep, that was the reason Lindsay had kept mainly to her office today.

  “What I wouldn’t give to be twenty years younger.” Heather sighed longingly.

  She eyed the older woman curiously. “What would you do if you were?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Heather rolled her eyes. “He’s all of my wickedest fantasies come true in one smexy package.”

  He was all of Lindsay’s fantasies, too!

  And she didn’t want him to be, knew she couldn’t allow him to be. That he spelled trouble for her, professionally and personally.

  Although she couldn’t help laughing at the combination of the word sexy and smutty; it was exactly how Mikhail made her feel, too. Sexy beyond her imaginings, and those imaginings had gone way beyond smutty and deep into the realms of erotica.

  Maybe it was as well that she’d literally caught Roger ‘in the act’ with his secretary, because she knew now that her emotions hadn’t really been invested in pursuing a relationship with Roger even before his birthday ‘surprise’…

  Because she had met Mikhail Lysenko.

  Not that she was interested in a relationship with him either. Even if such a thing was possible.

  From all accounts, the man didn’t do relationships any more than he did marriage. What he did do, according to the gossip in the newspapers, was short to medium-term sex-a-thons. And if any of those had ever ended acrimoniously then no newspapers had ever reported it, nor had there ever been any kiss-and-tell stories written about him. Anywhere. Ever.

  Perhaps because Mikhail owned or controlled much of the world media?

  Whatever. Lindsay had no inten
tions of becoming his next sex-a-thon!

  She continued to chuckle as the two women walked towards the door. “I’m not sure Jim would appreciate knowing that,” she teased, having met and liked Heather’s husband at one of the company barbeques a couple of months ago.

  “I have no control over my fantasies—Oh, my God, it’s him!” Heather’s fingers clutched painfully onto Lindsay’s arms.

  Lindsay frowned at the other woman before following her fixed and wide-eyed gaze through the glass entry door and out into the street beyond, half of her already knowing whom she would see there. Mikhail.

  His face was turned away as he watched something going on down the street, but Lindsay would know that profile anywhere. It was definitely Mikhail, larger than life—and even more dangerous—his arms crossed over his powerful chest as he leaned back against a sleek, black sports car.

  A car that was blatantly parked in the personal parking space of a senior partner of Haskell, Haskell and Palmer.

  Heather looked up at Lindsay speculatively. “Did you know he was going to be here?”

  “No,” she bit out between stiff lips, unable to look away from the man standing outside, the August sunlight reflecting off that beautiful honey-toned skin she ached to touch.

  “Wow, in that case, you really have to give him points for persistence,” the older woman commented as she turned back to look at him appreciatively.

  “No,” Lindsay muttered, well aware of the trouble that persistence had already caused her today. “No, I really don’t.”

  Heather gave a chuckle. “I’ll expect to be given all the juicy details in the morning!” She opened the door, her arm linked through Lindsay’s as she pulled her outside and down the steps to the pavement.

  To where Mikhail was waiting…

  Mikhail turned from watching the traffic to look at the two women, instantly recognizing the older one as the receptionist he had spoken to this morning. Beside her was a red-faced Lindsay Carlisle, green eyes flashing as she glared her displeasure at seeing him there.

  Mine, Mischa growled.

  “Mr. Lysenko,” the older woman greeted warmly.

  “Mrs. Forbes.” He nodded in acknowledgement before straightening away from the side of his car.

  “See you in the morning, Lindsay.” Heather Forbes gave them both a beaming smile, and Lindsay an added wink, before turning and walking away.

  Mikhail arched a questioning brow at Lindsay.

  Her mouth thinned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” he dryly stated the obvious.

  She eyed him exasperatedly. “No, I meant what are you doing here, in Mr. Haskell’s parking spot?”

  Mikhail shrugged. “He said he was leaving anyway so—”

  “You spoke to him?” she gasped.

  “Yes, I spoke to him,” he confirmed dryly. “It would have been rude not to when Peter was just getting in his car as I arrived—”

  “You know him well enough to call him Peter?” Lindsay gaped up at him. “You know each other?”

  “We’ve met socially.” He nodded.

  “You—Oh, God!” Her fingers tightened about the strap of her shoulder bag. “You didn’t actually tell him you were waiting here for me, did you?”

  “No.” Mikhail smiled derisively. “Lindsay, you seem to be talking in capital letters—”

  “Well, of course I’m talking in capital letters!” she snapped impatiently. “Against every rule in the book, you’ve turned up at Haskell, Haskell and Palmer’s offices to see me twice today, first without an appointment and now without an invitation. Now you’re telling me you know one of the senior partners well enough to call him by his first name—Wait, if you know Peter Haskell so well why don’t you use his law firm?” she added suspiciously.

  “Because I already have a lawyer,” he explained patiently. “Also, I don’t believe in mixing business and friendship.”

  Her brows rose. “Then what would you call this?” She waved a hand between the two of them.

  His smile turned feral. “Pure pleasure.”

  “You are unbelievable!” Lindsay muttered disgustedly.

  “But truthful,” he drawled softly.

  Sex

  Lindsay could see it again, glittering deeply in those laser-blue eyes, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her at that silent promise of off-the-charts wild sex.

  An intensity of emotion Lindsay found impossible to withstand as she allowed her gaze to drop from his. But she couldn’t prevent the heat of her awareness from burning her cheeks as she turned to look at his car. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes,” Mikhail confirmed as he concentrated on her; he could look at his car anytime, and right now Lindsay was proving much more entertaining.

  Her hair was still in that perky ponytail, but the gloss had worn off her lips—giving him a preview of how her lips would look after he kissed the hell out of them. God, they were luscious lips, made for kissing and fucking…

  The beast roared inside him as his cock stirred to attention at just the thought of being between those puffy lips and thrusting into the heat of her mouth.

  “I thought they were usually red?” She stepped forward and stroked the bonnet of his car almost reverently.

  Mikhail watched those caressing fingers and imagined them caressing the rock-hard length of his cock, grasping him, stroking him—

  Jesus, if he didn’t stop this now then he was going to come just from the erotic imaginings.

  “I’m thirty-four years old, not nineteen,” he answered her huskily. “And if you have the money to buy one of these then I believe it can be any damned color you want it to be!”

  “Of course it can,” she accepted self-derisively.

  Mikhail arched one dark brow. “Ever driven one?”

  “Oh, please!” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never actually seen one up close and personal enough to touch it before now.”

  Up close and personal sounded good to Mikhail right now. More than good, if it involved taking care of the painful throb of his erection. “Like to take it for a drive now?” He held up the car key.

  She slowly straightened to turn and look at him warily. “What’s the catch?”

  Mikhail smiled appreciatively as he reminded himself that Lindsay was a lawyer, and so would always know to look for the catch, the fine print, in any agreement. Probably because lawyers were usually the ones to instigate and write that fine print in the first place. Legal-speak, he called it, because only another lawyer could be expected to understand it.

  He looked down at her challengingly. “You invite me up to your apartment when we get there?”

  She gasped. “I can’t invite you up to my apartment—”

  “Sure you can,” he drawled. “When we get there, you just open those delectable lips and very prettily say ‘Would you like to come up to my apartment with me, Mikhail?’ Easy.”

  Delectable lips? Mikhail Lysenko thought she had delectable lips?

  No, of course he doesn’t, stupid. This is just another part of his seduction routine. He probably says the same thing to every woman he—

  He what?

  Mikhail’s motive for pursuing her was questionable at the least, and downright scary at worst.

  She hadn’t thought he could look any more devastatingly attractive than he did in those perfectly tailored formal suits she had seen him in to date.

  She was wrong.

  The formal clothing gave him an air of arrogance and power. The casual clothes he was wearing this evening didn’t detract from that arrogance and power in the slightest, what they did do was make him look far more relaxed and—and touchable.

  As if he needed to be more touchable than he already was!

  His tousled hair looked even more just-been-fucked than it had this morning, and there was a dark shadow of designer-stubble on his chiseled jawline.

  A thin—cashmere?—pale blue sweater, the exact color of his eyes, outlined ever
y muscle and sinew of his perfectly muscled chest and torso. The sleeves were pushed up to just below his elbows, revealing a broad expanse of that dark gold flesh. Black denims fitted snugly over the taut curve of his ass, emphasizing the long length of his legs. They also had that slightly faded area right over the telling bulge at the front. A very large and telling bulge…

  Mikhail was aroused!

  He was also a walking, talking temptation, and as such he shouldn’t even be allowed out without a public warning hanging round his neck.

  Lindsay certainly didn’t need him messing with her head—and those other more rebellious parts of her body.

  “Lindsay?” he prompted softly.

  She drew in a deep breath and determinedly dragged her thoughts back from whatever bedroom she had been imagining Mikhail and herself in. “Does this usually work?”

  “Sorry?”

  “‘Temptation thy name is Ferrari’?”

  His eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You think I’m offering to let you drive my car as some sort of bribe to get you to be alone with me?”

  She gave an uncomfortable shrug, sensing the tension in that tightly coiled body.

  “You think I need to use a bribe to persuade a woman to get into my bed, let alone my car?” He scowled darkly.

  What Lindsay thought was that she might have gone a tad too far with that remark. Mikhail’s displeasure was tangible, so thick it was barely leashed. As if something inside him wanted to break free, to lash out, before claiming and taking.

  And she didn’t think Mikhail had to use a bribe to get a woman to do anything. Her remark had been a defensive reaction to the fact that what she really wanted to do was get into his car with him and let him do any damned thing he wanted to her.

  She could almost smell the combination of the dark grey leather interior of the car, along with Mikhail’s cologne and that musky scent that was all him.

  Soft new leather and hard experienced man.

  Oh God…

  Chapter Three

  LINDSAY GAVE A determined shake of her head. “It really doesn’t matter why you’re making the offer, Mikhail, because I can’t drive.”