Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

by Chantelle Shaw

  ‘Oh, Vadim.’ It was a cry from the heart, torn from Ella when she glimpsed the agony in his eyes. There was no thought in her head to judge him. She flew across the terrace, uncaring that she was in danger of revealing how she felt about him, intent only on trying to comfort him.

  He had risen to his feet, and stiffened when she flung her arms around his waist. ‘You have to understand I was not a good husband,’ he said roughly. ‘I was obsessed with work and establishing my company, and I did not spend enough time at home—even when Irina pleaded with me to devote more time to her and Klara.’ His jaw tightened as he fought to control the emotions surging through him. ‘Irina accused me of not loving her. She was wrong; I did love her—but I didn’t value what I had until she had left me, and she and Klara were killed before I had the chance to tell them both what they meant to me.’ He drew a ragged breath. ‘I should not have married. I was selfish and driven by my determination to succeed. I put my interests first, and in that respect perhaps I am not so dissimilar to your father,’ he finished grimly.

  ‘You are nothing like my father.’ Ella fiercely refuted the suggestion. When she had first met Vadim she had believed he was a man like her father, a heartless playboy who only cared about himself. But since they had become lovers he had treated her with kindness and respect, as if he valued her as a person and did not regard her merely as a form of entertainment in his bed.

  But thoughts like those were dangerous, she conceded bleakly. Vadim might have a depth to him that she would not have believed in the early days of their relationship, but he had made it clear that an affair was all he would ever want from her. Lena Tarasov had stated that he would never fall in love again, and now she knew why. He was still in love with his dead wife, and consumed with guilt that he had somehow failed Irina and his little daughter. Falling in love with him would be emotional suicide, warned a voice in her head. But in her heart she knew the warning was too late. She loved him, and learning about the tragedy of his past made her love him more.

  ‘The avalanche that killed Irina and Klara was a terrible accident, but you were not to blame for their deaths,’ she told him gently. ‘You say you feel guilty that you devoted all your time to your business, but I imagine your determination to succeed was so that you could give your wife and daughter a better life.’

  ‘I wanted to buy a house with a garden for Klara to play in—give her the things I’d never had as a child.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘She loved music, and wanted to learn to play an instrument, but it was impossible in our cramped apartment.’ He shook his head. ‘Ironically, most of the children from the village survived. They had gone on a school trip and returned to find their school buried and many of their parents dead. I set up an orphanage and paid to have the village rebuilt, but no amount of money can rebuild shattered lives. I go back every year, but the new Rumsk is a strangely quiet place, shrouded in sadness.’

  He expelled a ragged breath and gave in to the temptation to slide his arms around Ella’s waist and hold her close. Her hair smelled of lemons, and he could feel the thud of her heart beneath her ribs, its steady beat strangely comforting. He turned his head and felt a curious tugging sensation in his chest when she brushed her lips over his cheek, his jaw, and finally across his mouth, in a feather-light caress that soothed his ravaged soul.

  He needed her tonight; he needed her in a way he had never needed any woman—although he refused to assimilate the emotions churning inside him. Her mouth moved over his in a tentative kiss that made his stomach muscles clench, desire and some other indefinable feeling surging through him, so that with a groan he swept her up into his arms and strode back across the terrace.

  She was the most generous lover he had ever known, and the sweetness of her response when he laid her on the bed and claimed her mouth with his evoked an ache around his heart. He knew every inch of her body, but he revelled in exploring every dip and curve again as he opened her robe and stroked his hands over her satin-soft skin. Her firm breasts filled his palms, and he heard her swiftly indrawn breath when he bent his head and closed his lips around her nipple, laving it with his tongue until she clutched his shoulders and twisted her hips in a mute plea for him to slide his hand between her legs.

  Ella gasped at the first brush of his thumb across the ultra-sensitive nub of her clitoris, and molten heat pooled between her thighs as her body prepared for Vadim’s possession. He gently parted her, slid a finger in deep to work his magic, and in response she traced her hand through the crisp dark hairs that arrowed down to his hips. She heard his low groan as she caressed the throbbing length of his arousal.

  She loved him, and tonight she sensed that he needed to lose himself in the passion that, as always, had swiftly built between them. When he moved over her she arched her hips to meet him, and held his gaze as he entered her with one deep thrust that joined their bodies as one. He was haunted by his past, but if he was able to forget the pain of his loss in these moments when they soared to the heights of sexual pleasure then she was glad, and she matched his rhythm, urging him to find solace in the explosive ecstasy of their mutual climax and holding him close against her heart when they slowly came back down to earth.

  For long moments afterwards he lay lax on top of her, his face buried in her throat. Ella’s heart contracted when she felt wetness on her skin, and with shaking fingers she touched his cheek, wanting to weep at the evidence of his grief. How could she ever have thought him heartless? Despite his unhappy childhood, and the brutal years he had spent in the Russian army, he had loved his wife and child. But losing them had been a shattering blow; it was little wonder that he had built a wall around his heart, and if Lena Tarasov was right he would never allow any woman to break through his defences.

  When Ella opened her eyes the following morning she was alone, the faint indentation on the pillow the only evidence that Vadim had slept beside her. She rolled onto his side of the bed and breathed in the evocative scent of his cologne that lingered on the sheets. Last night, his decision to confide the details of his marriage to her had given her confidence that they had passed a cornerstone in their relationship. But in the clear light of day she could not escape the stark realisation that he was still in love with his dead wife.

  The fact that he had opened up his heart to her must mean something, she thought wistfully as she slid out of bed and wrapped her robe around her. His ravaged expression when he had spoken of Irina and Klara was indisputable proof that, far from being the heartless playboy she had once believed, he was capable of deep emotions. But the possibility that he could ever fall in love with her seemed as remote as ever. Vadim was tied to his past—not simply by the love he felt for his wife and child, but by guilt because he felt that he had not been a good husband and father.

  Could he ever be persuaded to take another chance on love? She cast her mind over the happy times they had spent together since they had come to Antibes. The closeness they had shared had not only been in her imagination, she thought, feeling a fragile flame of hope spark inside her. They had become friends as well as lovers, and in choosing to reveal the secrets of his past to her Vadim had shown that he trusted her.

  She walked down the stairs and out to the terrace, her heart clenching when she saw him sitting at the breakfast table. It was important that she encouraged him to talk more about Irina and Klara, she decided. He had kept his pain locked away for far too long, but now he had lowered his barriers she wanted to help him come to terms with his past.

  ‘Good morning, angel face.’ Vadim lowered his newspaper when Ella approached, and gave her a cool smile that bore no hint of the raw emotions that had overwhelmed him the previous night. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I…yes, thank you,’ she murmured, trying to hide her confusion that he was acting as if the events of last night had never taken place. His face was once more a handsome mask, his eyes concealed behind designer shades so that she had no clue to his thoughts. She dropped into a chair opposite him, and
poured herself a glass of orange juice while she assembled the words she wanted to say. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ She bit her lip when his dark brows winged upwards, and continued in a rush, ‘I realise that last night it must have been very difficult for you to tell me about your wife and little girl, but I just want you to know that I…I’m here if you need to talk some more.’

  ‘You mean you are offering to be…what, exactly? My counsellor?’ Vadim suggested sardonically.

  The faint mockery in his voice caused Ella’s heart to dip, and she stared at him, searching his face desperately for some sign of the man who had opened his emotions to her the previous night.

  ‘I’m offering my support,’ she told him quietly. ‘You’ve bottled up your grief about Irina and Klara for far too long and I want to help you.’

  A nerve jumped in Vadim’s cheek as he stared at Ella’s beautiful face. She was so very lovely. His eyes strayed to her pale gold hair that fell in a silky curtain around her shoulders. He had never felt as close to any other human being as he did to this woman, but his every instinct was to fight the feelings she evoked in him. He did not fear any man, but emotions scared the hell out of him, he acknowledged grimly. He bitterly regretted revealing his past to her. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, and the look of pity in her eyes made him want to weep, as if he were once again the small boy who had prayed every night that his mother would come back to him.

  ‘I don’t need your help, or your support,’ he said abruptly. ‘The past is gone, and no amount of talking will bring Irina and Klara back. You are my mistress, Ella—nothing more—and all I want from you is mind-blowing sex.’

  Ella flinched as if he had slapped her, and she blinked hard in a desperate attempt to dispel the tears that blurred her vision. Vadim could not have made it plainer that she meant nothing more to him than a convenient sex partner. She had entered into an affair with him confident that her emotions would not get involved, but, fool that she was, she had repeated the mistake her mother had made and fallen in love with a man who did not love her. Unlike her father, who had been incapable of love, Vadim had proved that his emotions ran deep, but his heart belonged to his dead wife.

  The sheer hopelessness of loving him swept over her; and with it a feeling of nausea that made her jump to her feet, terrified that she was actually going to be sick in front of him. She had felt queasy for the past few days, and had lost her appetite—classic symptoms that a migraine was brewing.

  Vadim was watching her through narrowed eyes. She could not bear for him to realise how much he had hurt her and she forced a brittle smile. ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve clarified my role in your life. If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a couple of headache tablets,’ she said coolly, before she hurried back into the house.

  Vadim walked into the bedroom an hour later and found Ella sitting on the balcony, apparently engrossed in her book. He stared intently at her pale face, and she was glad that her sunglasses hid her red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Something has come up,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have to go to Prague for an urgent business meeting. The maid has packed a case for you. I thought we’d spend a few days there and play tourist. Have you ever been to Prague?’

  ‘I performed there once,’ Ella replied slowly, ‘but I didn’t get a chance to look around the city.’ She hesitated, feeling her heart splinter. Earlier, she had fled from Vadim in tears, and after an hour of soul-searching she had reached the conclusion that she could not continue her relationship with him knowing that, while he was the love of her life, his heart belonged to Irina.

  Why not enjoy one last trip with him? whispered a voice in her head. She would love to go to Prague with him—but then she’d happily fly to the moon with him if he asked her, she acknowledged heavily. She had always known their affair couldn’t last, but she hadn’t envisaged that ending it would feel as though her heart was being ripped out.

  ‘As a matter of fact I really need to go back to London. Marcus phoned yesterday evening while you were in the shower,’ she explained, flushing as she uttered the lie. ‘He told me that rehearsals for the film score we will be recording have been brought forward.’

  Vadim’s eyes narrowed on the twin spots of colour that flared briefly on her pale face before they faded again, leaving her looking like a fragile ghost. She had seemed unwell for the last few days, but had dismissed his concern, saying merely that she was tired. It was a reasonable explanation, considering that they frequently made love several times a night, he conceded. But it wouldn’t hurt to insist that she see a doctor.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention your conversation with Marcus last night?’ he queried.

  ‘I…I forgot.’ Ella dropped her eyes from his. ‘Give me ten minutes to pack and I’ll catch a lift to the airport with you. I’m sure I’ll be able to book a last-minute flight home.’

  ‘I told you—the maid has packed a case for you.’

  The edge of impatience in Vadim’s voice exacerbated Ella’s tension, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I need to pack my own clothes, that I brought with me.’ She paused and then said quietly, ‘I’ve been in touch with Uncle Rex. He’s found a flat big enough for me to keep my piano, and I intend to move out of Kingfisher House as soon as I get back to London.’

  Vadim regarded her silently for long, tense moments which stretched her nerves to snapping point. ‘This is all very sudden,’ he drawled. ‘What has triggered this unexpected urgency to return to London, Ella?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a few days,’ she mumbled untruthfully.

  ‘Really? So every time we made love recently you were plotting to leave me?’ he queried coldly.

  ‘It’s time we moved on,’ Ella said desperately, when anger blazed in Vadim’s eyes. ‘Our affair was only ever a temporary arrangement, to last as long as either of us wanted it to.’ She reminded him of his words when they had first become lovers.

  Vadim could feel his heart slamming against his ribs. Sure, he remembered what he had said when he’d laid down the rules of their relationship, but he had never expected that he would want to change those rules—and he’d certainly never contemplated that Ella would be the one to call time on their affair.

  ‘You know as well as I do that this isn’t over,’ he said harshly. He pulled her to her feet and wrenched the edges of her robe apart, ignoring her startled cry as he stared down at her naked body. ‘Do you want me to prove it to you?’ he demanded, moving his hand to his belt. ‘I could make love to you right now, Ella, and you wouldn’t stop me.’

  ‘No!’ The flash of fear in her eyes stopped him in his tracks, and he flung her from him, frustration boiling up inside him.

  ‘Why?’ he bit out, nostrils flaring as he sought to control his temper and suppress the fear churning in his stomach. He didn’t want to lose her. Hell—where had that thought come from? he asked himself as he raked a hand through his hair.

  ‘Being here with you has been…fun,’ she told him, praying he would not hear the tremor in her voice. ‘But music is my life, and I need to focus exclusively on my playing to succeed in my career. I don’t have time for distractions. I thought you would understand,’ she said tremulously when his jaw tightened. ‘You admitted that you felt the same drive and determination when you were building your company.’

  It was the truth, but he did not like having the tables turned on him, Vadim thought grimly. Ella had a fantastic career ahead of her, and to achieve the success she deserved she would need to dedicate herself utterly to her music. He had no right to try and interfere with the life she had mapped out. But the thought of letting her go tore at his insides. These past weeks at the villa had been the happiest of his life, and he was shocked to realise how much he had enjoyed the time away from his work schedule. He had finally mastered the art of delegation, and had handed tasks over to his chief executives so that he could spend more time with Ella. It was bitterly ironic that she was citing the demands of her career as the reason w
hy she wanted to end their relationship.

  But if she thought he would beg her to stay with him she could think again. They’d had a good time, but she was right: it was time to move on. It was not as though their affair could ever have been more than a brief fling. He had proved that he was no good at relationships, and he had no intention of going down that road again.

  He swung back to face her, and felt a hand squeeze his heart when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was so very lovely, but she clearly had her own agenda—and beautiful blondes were ten a penny for a playboy billionaire. ‘If that’s really what you want, you’d better pack whatever you want to take with you,’ he said coolly, forcing himself to turn and walk away from her. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to phone the airport and see if I can book you a flight to London?’

  ‘Please.’ Somehow Ella managed to articulate the word, but the minute he walked out of the bedroom she raced into the bathroom and was violently sick.

  It was over. And, from his faintly bored attitude, Vadim clearly did not give a damn. Those times when he had made love to her with tenderness as well as passion, whispering words to her in Russian as he cradled her in his arms, had meant nothing to him, and she had been a fool to hope that he was beginning to care for her.

  Somehow she dragged herself back into the bedroom, dressed quickly in the clothes she had brought with her from Paris and packed her few belongings. Her violin was in its case next to the bed, and she picked it up and hurried out of the room, tears burning the back of her throat when she glanced back at the bed where every night Vadim had taken her to that magical place she had believed was uniquely theirs. Doubtless he would soon replace her with another mistress, she thought bleakly. Images of him making love to another woman lacerated her heart, and she flew down the stairs and across the hall to the front door of the villa.