His eyes widened. “Why the hell not?”
She shrugged. “I’ve lived in London all my life, so there’s never been any need for me to learn.”
“How do you get to work?”
“I walk or take public transport.” She hadn’t begun to take driving lessons when her parents and younger brother were all killed in a car accident ten years ago, and since then she hadn’t wanted to learn. “We aren’t all multi-billionaires, you know, Mikhail,” she added exasperatedly when he gave a disbelieving shake of his head.
His jaw tightened. “Most people don’t see that as the drawback you obviously seem to.”
“Most women don’t, I’m sure,” she corrected dryly. “And I was only pointing out that public transport is fine with me.”
“I’ve used public transport in the past.” He frowned. “I wasn’t always wealthy, you know.”
Lindsay did know. Anyone who read the newspapers or magazines knew that.
Over the years they had all taken great delight in reporting Mikhail’s rags-to-riches story, starting with his Russian parents moving to England over thirty years ago, his mother pregnant with Mikhail at the time.
From all accounts, Mikhail’s father Alexei had been a bit of a wastrel, never settling at any job for long despite having a very pregnant wife to support. He then had the misfortune to die in a motorbike accident a month before his son was born. Mikhail’s mother went into early labor as a result, and almost died.
After that it had just been the two of them, and Lindsay could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Mikhail’s mother, newly widowed and alone in a strange country, with a baby to bring up alone. At least Lindsay presumed it was alone: there had never been mention of any other family, and Natalya Lysenko had never remarried.
Mikhail had apparently been the complete opposite of his father, excelling at school before studying economics at university and leaving with an excellent degree four years later.
His mother died during his final year, and after graduating he disappeared backpacking around the world for a couple of years before returning to London to start his own financial company at the age of twenty-four. For the next ten years he single-mindedly, relentlessly, ruthlessly built and added to that business empire, until the rest, as those same newspapers and magazines were so fond of reporting, was history.
There had been rumors over the years of corruption and involvement with the Russian mafiya of course, but nowadays that seemed to apply to every wealthy Russian who had the misfortune to come to the notice of the public eye.
Those rumors never became more than that where Mikhail Lysenko was concerned. So maybe he was that successful because he really was that good at what he did.
All Lindsay knew for sure was he was the most focused and arrogantly confident man she had ever met.
And just being with him made her nipples hard and between her thighs ache!
“I do thank you for the offer.” She nodded abruptly. “But it’s a lovely evening and I’d rather walk home.”
“You would rather walk home than be driven in a Ferrari?”
Lindsay laughed softly at his disgusted tone. “I think that cars are a man thing. To me that’s just four wheels and an engine.” She nodded at the Ferrari. “A pretty four wheels and an engine,” she added dryly as she saw his appalled expression. “But that’s still all it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date—Mikhail?” she gasped softly as his fingers grasped the top of her arm. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to prevent her from leaving.
And to send a charge through her body of—of what? Electricity? Lust? The throbbing of her nipples and the spreading heat between her thighs seemed to say it was the latter.
Mikhail seemed unconcerned with her protest, eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You have a date?”
She gave him an irritated frown. “With a scented bubble bath, dinner for one, and a glass—possibly the whole bottle!—of red wine.” She had a feeling this was definitely going to be a whole-bottle-of-wine kind of evening.
He was overreacting, Mikhail realized—or to be more accurate, the newly awakened Mischa inside him was overreacting to the thought of Lindsay spending the evening with another man.
He forced himself to relax as he released her arm. “Feel like some company?”
Lindsay gave him a startled look. “I beg your pardon?”
Mikhail gave a hard, feral smile. “Without the floral scent in the bubble bath, of course.”
“Of course,” she answered him distractedly.
As if she was thinking about it. Or at least, as if she was thinking about what might happen before and after they shared a bath.
Mikhail was thinking of the same thing. He had showered with other woman, many times, but it made his cock throb just picturing Lindsay’s lithe body as she stepped naked into the water before sliding beneath the bubbles and leaving just the tantalizing tops of her breasts visible. It throbbed even more at the thought of her stepping out of the bath again.
The beast inside him gave an approving growl.
“Er… No, I don’t think so.” She gave a very firm shake of her head as she stepped back. “I really do have to go now. Goodnight, Mr. Lysenko.” She turned on her heel and walked away before he could say anything else to try and stop her.
Maybe if Lindsay hadn’t so formally called him ‘Mr. Lysenko’ before she left, Mikhail might have let her do exactly that; he had waited this long, he could wait a little longer—even if the beast inside him was clawing at his insides in protest at his having let her get away. Again.
But Lindsay had called him Mr. Lysenko in that coolly dismissive voice, and Mikhail was no happier about that than the growling predator inside him watching its prey disappear down the street without so much as a backward glance.
* * *
LINDSAY DIDN’T SLOW her steps until she was well away from where she left Mikhail standing on the pavement next to his sleek and—yes, she inwardly admitted it—beautiful car.
Which didn’t stop Lindsay from thinking about him on the ten-minute walk to her apartment.
Did she feel like company?
In the bath?
With a very naked Mikhail?
Just thinking about that muscled body completely naked was enough to cause her breathing to hitch in a gasp, let alone imagining the two of them together in her small bath barely big enough for one. The only the way the two of them would be able to fit in there together was if—
No, definitely not going there!
Not when she had somehow found the willpower to walk away from him just now. Although she wasn’t sure how long that willpower was going to last if Mikhail was going to keep popping up several times a day, and when she least expected it.
Was it possible for any woman to expect someone like Mikhail?
If there was then Lindsay took her hat off to them. Heather was right, Mikhail was every woman’s fantasy come true. He was—
Oh God, he was parked outside her apartment building!
Well…a black Ferrari was, and as she only knew one person who owned a black Ferrari…
Her steps slowed and finally came to a stop as Mikhail pushed open the driver’s door before getting out to come round the car to join her on the pavement.
She frowned up at him. “Are you stalking me?”
Mikhail didn’t answer as he frowned up at her apartment building.
“More to the point, how did you know where I live?” she added suspiciously.
“I called my assistant and asked him to find your address for me,” Mikhail answered her distractedly as he continued to study the building where Lindsay lived.
As far as he could see, security was almost nonexistent. The lock on the front door looked flimsy as hell, and even if it hadn’t, there were two convenient glass panels on either side of it, easily broken if someone wanted to get inside. The building was Victorian architecture with modern single-glazed windows, and aesthetically ugly.
His own apartm
ent building had a coded lock on the front door, a guard on duty at the front desk, in the cream marble lobby, twenty-four hours a day, and to use the elevator you needed another key code. His apartment was on the penthouse floor of the ten-floor building, and the thickness of the structure and windows prevented him from hearing any noise from the city below.
“Of course you did,” Lindsay snapped resentfully; no doubt Mikhail had a building full of minions just sitting around waiting to do his bidding. “Well, you could have saved yourself the trouble, because I’m still not inviting you inside!”
He slowly turned his head to look at her. “You really want to do this out in the street?”
Lindsay’s eyes widened in alarm. “Do what out in the street?”
He gave a slow smile. “I’ve decided I’m not leaving until after I’ve kissed you.”
“You’ve decided?” she gasped.
He grinned unrepentantly. “Yes.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
She gave what she hoped was a firm shake of her head. “This a bad idea, Mikhail.” She held her hands up in a halfhearted attempt to keep him at bay as he moved softly towards her. Halfhearted, because the nearer Mikhail came, and the more she could feel his warmth and inhale the totally seductive smell that was all him, the less she wanted him to stop. “A very bad idea…” she repeated breathlessly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said my intentions are good where you’re concerned,” he murmured throatily.
Lindsay knew that he hadn’t. She just… If this man actually kissed her—
“Lindsay!” he groaned as he lowered his head, breath hot against her throat. One of his hands reached up to remove the band securing her hair before loosening it and tangling his fingers in that silkiness to hold her in place as his head lowered towards hers.
Lindsay felt something melt inside her the moment Mikhail touched her.
Resistance?
Willpower?
Whatever it was, Lindsay knew she didn’t have it anymore.
She purred low in her throat in response to the heat of Mikhail’s lips tasting the curve of her neck. Those lips then moved higher, teeth gently biting against her earlobe.
Desire coursed through her, her breasts swelling inside her lace bra, nipples aching as they hardened to ripe peaks. The heat between her thighs—never far away when this man was near—raged into an inferno of hot, wet desire, a need that could only be filled by the hard and throbbing length of Mikhail’s erection pressing so temptingly into her softness.
At the same, she knew she had allowed this to go far enough.
That she couldn’t do this.
Not couldn’t, shouldn’t.
Lindsay made a determined effort to pull away from him. “You have to stop, Mikhail—” the rest of her words were swallowed up as his mouth claimed hers.
Oh, dear God, this man could kiss!
His lips were soft and sensual and yet totally commanding as they moved over and against hers, and Mikhail kissed her with a thoroughness that had Lindsay groaning within seconds, her hands clinging to the muscled width of his shoulders to help support her as her knees went weak.
Because she had wanted Mikhail from the very first moment she met him.
It had all seemed impossible then, a forbidden ache—a fantasy—because he was off limits and she knew that Mikhail would never want her, too.
Because he didn’t…
She wrenched her mouth free of his. “I told you to stop, Mikhail!” She glared up at him as she pushed against that hard, implacable chest. “This has gone quite far enough!” she snapped her anger.
Too far.
Lindsay knew that by allowing Mikhail to kiss her at all, she had totally compromised herself, that she would have no choice now but to ask to be removed from David Barbour’s case.
She doubted she would have to give too much of a reason for doing so either. Peter Haskell must have wondered at Mikhail’s presence outside the building earlier. Once Lindsay made her request, it wouldn’t take too much thought on Peter Haskell’s part to add two and two together and arrive at the right answer. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks at the realization she may even lose her job over this—
“We haven’t done anything wrong, Lindsay,” Mikhail bit out impatiently as he obviously saw her reaction.
“I have.” Lindsay stepped away from him completely before turning away to blink back the tears. “I’ve completely compromised my client’s position—”
“Your client can go fu—” He drew in a deep breath. “I don’t give a damn about Barbour’s position—”
“I do,” she turned on him fiercely. “I care!”
A nerve pulsed in Mikhail’s tightly clenched jaw. “It was just a kiss, damn it.”
It had been so much more than that to Lindsay. She had wanted more. So much more.
She still wanted more.
And she couldn’t have it.
Couldn’t have Mikhail, not even once.
He scowled darkly. “I don’t see why anyone else has to know. Or what damned business it is of theirs what you do away from work—”
“I’ll know, Mikhail, and that means I can’t do my job properly. But then you knew that all along, didn’t you.” After everything she had told herself earlier today, she really was this stupid.
It was no excuse that this man was just too overpoweringly sensual, so damned sexy he made her want to rip his clothes off right here in the street. She knew better than this.
Mikhail stilled, his eyes narrowed to icy slits. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Lindsay gave him an impatient glare. “I may have just behaved like one, but please don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“Are you saying my only reason for…pursuing you, is because you’re David Barbour’s lawyer?” His voice was dangerously soft.
“Why else?” she stated flatly.
Mikhail had heard many insults leveled at him over the years. Ruthless and uncompromising, from business associates. Cold-hearted bastard, from disgruntled ex-girlfriends. Rich playboy, from those who didn’t know him at all.
None of those insults ever got to him in the way Lindsay’s now did.
She really thought he only desired her because he wanted to secure a business contract?
Fuck, he made and broke men like David Barbour every day, and he certainly didn’t need to seduce their lawyer in order to do it.
He gave a shake of his head. “You can’t really believe that?”
Her chin rose. “Why else would you bother with someone like me?”
Mikhail was starting to wonder the same thing.
As a rule, he didn’t pursue women, they pursued him. He’d made an exception with Lindsay Carlisle—this relentless, clawing desire inside him hadn’t allowed him to do anything else—and look how well that turned out.
He looked down at her coldly. “Fine.” He gave a terse nod, shoulders tense as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Before he did something stupid—like strangle her or kiss her again! “This never happened.”
Lindsay gave him a pitying glance. “You really think it’s that simple, don’t you? That you can just say it didn’t happen and it will all go away?” She gave a derisive shake of her head.
“It can.”
“And what about Peter Haskell?”
“What about him?”
“You don’t think he’s going to be curious as to exactly who you were waiting for this evening?”
“What I think, Lindsay,” Mikhail bit out tersely, “is that it’s none of his fucking business! I also think,” he continued remorselessly as she would have spoken, “that you should have more confidence in your own attraction, so that when the next man comes along you don’t verbally slap him in the face, too, with your insults!”
“The next man?” She eyed him scathingly. “Believe me, there isn’t going to be a ‘next man’.” In the past few weeks Roger had cheated on her and now Mikhail h
ad attempted to use her.
“Not with that attitude, no,” he acknowledged hardly.
How had he managed to turn this conversation around on her, Lindsay wondered incredulously, when he was the one who had behaved so despicably?
Hadn’t he?
There was no doubting that he was coldly—furiously?—angry.
Because of what she’d said?
Because she’d outed him for knowing exactly what he was doing?
Or because she was wrong?
It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. This had to end now.
“I think you’d better go, Mikhail,” she told him wearily. “Before either of us says something we’ll regret.”
“You’ve already said several things I regret hearing,” he assured her icily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he bit out. “You’re right, this was a bad idea.” He turned on his heel and returned to his car before getting inside, the engine roaring into life seconds later, Mikhail’s face in hard profile. He didn’t even glance her way as he accelerated the car back into the flow of traffic.
Lindsay felt sick, both from the harshness of their argument and the abruptness of Mikhail’s departure.
She felt even sicker when she saw what was lying on the floor outside the door to her apartment.
Something black and wrapped in cellophane, something that caused her to recoil with a gasp when she got close enough to see exactly what it was.
Chapter Four
“ISN’T IT TIME you told me what happened last night?” Heather pounced on Lindsay the following morning as she left her office on the way to the staff room to collect a coffee partway through the morning. “Did you and Mikhail do the deed?”
“Heather!” Lindsay choked, not sure whether the question made her want to laugh or cry. Laugh at Heather’s outrageousness, or cry because she knew she and Mikhail were never going to ‘do the deed’.
Last night had been a mess, and not just because of her argument with Mikhail.
The ‘gift’ left outside the door of her apartment had really upset her, so much so that she’d forgone the bubble bath and the dinner and just gone straight to the bottle of wine.
She had woken up this morning suffering from an almighty hangover.
Pursued by the Devil Page 3