Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss (The Tenacious Tycoons)

by Jennifer Hayward

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t dare intrude on Leonid’s personal space.”

  “Are you sure?” He moved closer. “You’ve been such a good audience.”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. She put a hand to the wall to lever herself away from it, but Viktor stepped closer, stopping her. He was going to kiss her. She’d been flirting outrageously with him to keep his attention, so why wouldn’t he?

  Her heart raced. “Viktor...this has been so sweet of you to give me a tour but—”

  He set his other hand on the wall beside her so she was well and truly captured. “Don’t run away,” he said in Russian, his voice low and gravelly. “Stay.”

  Panic sliced through her. He dipped his head toward hers. She ducked under his arm and took a step away from him. He gave her a bemused look. Frankie held up her almost empty glass. “I think I need another one of these first.”

  He eyed her glass. “Another?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “It was sooo delicious. Just one more.”

  His generous mouth curved into a smile. “We’ll make a full Russian out of you yet with that...appetite.”

  Her stomach did a little churn. Then relaxed as he good-naturedly held out an arm and led the way back down the hallway to the stairs and the ballroom below. He kept a possessive hand on her back as they wound their way through the crowd toward the bar. Frankie searched furiously for Harrison while he got their drinks, but the crowds were thick now, massed on the dance floor with a strobe light passing over them. She couldn’t see him anywhere.

  Viktor came back with their drinks, handing one to her. “We should dance,” he announced.

  Frankie thought that might be a good idea because she really didn’t need any more to drink. She went to put the glass down on a table. Viktor waved a hand at her. “Bring it with you.”

  He led her onto the dance floor, where the band was playing a slow enough tune that they could dance and drink at the same time. She fake-sipped the cognac as Viktor’s free hand around her waist kept her close. The champagne she’d consumed combined with the first cognac had cast the world in an all-over rosy glow, which would have been nice except this was a bit of a nightmare. The dance floor was packed, the heat of hundreds of bodies was magnifying her partner’s überstrong cologne and he kept moving her closer with his free hand. She had the feeling he was going to try and kiss her again any minute...

  Goddamn you, Harrison Grant. Where are you?

  CHAPTER SIX

  LEONID ARISTOV WAS a solitary figure on the balcony that overlooked the lake. His elbows rested on the marble ledge that bounded the tiny alcove; his tall, thin body tilted forward as he studied the play of light on the water in the moonlight.

  He did not seem at all surprised when Harrison joined him at the railing. His trademark crooked smile flashed white in the darkness. “A Chagall fan? I had no idea.”

  “Always have been.” Harrison rested his forearms on the ledge, mimicking the other man’s stance.

  “And here I thought you were above trying to impress me.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Call it a gesture of good faith. I’m trying to understand the backpedaling, Leonid. I thought we had an agreement.”

  A laconic smile curved the Russian’s lips. “I’m like a bride on my wedding day. I’m having second thoughts.”

  “About the two insignificant clauses you keep tripping over?”

  “I don’t care about those.”

  “Then what?” Harrison kept his temper in check, recalling Francesca’s words. “Help me to understand.”

  Leonid stared out at the water. “A man gets philosophical when his life’s work is crumbling at his feet. What was once important to me has become less so.”

  Harrison’s gaze sharpened on the Russian’s craggy profile. “You’ve made a few questionable decisions, Leonid. You’re a brilliant businessman. You will rise from the ashes.”

  “As you did.” Aristov flicked him a sideways glance. “My gut tells me this deal is not about Siberius, Harrison. It’s about Anton Markovic and your desire to make him pay. The crowning act of your ascension back to glory.”

  Alarm rocketed through him. How could the Russian know? It was impossible. Impossible. But somehow, his mind raggedly conceded, he did.

  He kept his face expressionless. “Why would you think this has anything to do with Markovic? That’s ancient history.”

  Aristov turned to him, pinning him with the full force of that whiskey-hard gaze. “Because Markovic has become one of the most powerful men in the world. He put your father in his grave...I would want him to suffer.” His lips twisted at the confusion in Harrison’s eyes. “A few questions to a friend in Mergers and Acquisitions at a major investment bank and I had my answers. I know you’ve purchased another key supplier of Markovic’s. I put two and two together.”

  A red mist descended over his vision, fury mixing with a fear that froze him solid. Heads would roll if it was discovered a banker had divulged that type of information. But that didn’t matter now... He had a way bigger problem. Leonid and Anton Markovic did business together. If Leonid chose to, he could blow his entire plan out of the water.

  Why hadn’t he done so already?

  “I can’t stand Markovic.” Leonid answered his unspoken question. “Yes, I do business with him but you can’t always pick your dance partners. My issue,” he drawled, “is not what you choose to do to Markovic. I would take pleasure in watching him fall. It’s Siberius and your ultimate plans for it I care about.”

  Relief poured through him, slackening his limbs. He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “It becomes a complementary subsidiary to Taladan that gives Grant International access to the markets we need.”

  “Or it becomes extraneous. Superfluous...nonexistent.” Aristov’s gaze narrowed. “The market coverage Siberius brings to the table is not robust beyond the Slavic countries. You may choose to simply fold it into your megalith and it becomes a distant memory.”

  He kept his expression neutral as Aristov read the situation with deadly accuracy. “That market,” he offered, “will become crucial in the next decade. We can’t afford not to play in it.”

  Leonid trained that highly intelligent gaze of his on him with an intensity that would have broken a lesser man. “We have something in common, Harrison. My father built Siberius. It was the foundation for everything that came after it. I care about the company. Maybe it’s this newfound philosophy of mine clouding my judgment. But I will not sell it to you to have it dismantled in an act of vengeance.”

  A wave of conscience enveloped him. He pushed it away. This deal was not about sentimentality. It was about watching Anton Markovic shrivel up and die a slow death. He would not allow it to be sidelined by emotion.

  “This deal is not about dismantling Siberius,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s about cutting Markovic off at the knees.” If the board insisted he absorb Siberius and its operations within Taladan and wipe out Leonid’s legacy as it surely would? Beyond his control...

  Aristov turned and rested his forearms on the ledge. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to be in my second coming, Grant. For you it will be politics, I think. For me? I’ve been eyeing Manhattan real estate. A couple of penthouses I’ve been looking at have come on the market and they’ve agreed to let me see them next week. Present me with a plan for the future of Siberius. If I like it, I’ll sign it.”

  Harrison nodded. It would take some creative positioning but he could make it happen. “I’ll have it ready.”

  Leonid inclined his head. His thin mouth curved in an amused smile. “What have you done to Kaminski? He was supposed to be bringing me a Frapin Cuvée.”

  “I had Francesca detain him.”

  Leonid threw back his head and laughed. “How utterly unfeeling of you, Grant.”

  “On whose part?”

  “Why, Viktor’s, of course. He is besotted.”

  * * *

  Harrison enter
ed the ballroom riding a heady victory that had the blood in his veins pumping in a heated rush. His head felt clearer than it had in months, his walk powerful and full of resolve as he strode through the crowd. All of the low-grade, niggling anxieties he’d harbored throughout Aristov’s backpedaling lifted away like dark clouds chased away by clearer skies.

  Leonid Aristov had guessed his endgame and was willing to play to make the exceedingly evil Anton Markovic pay. All that was left to do was execute. Every piece, every backdoor would be secured when Aristov signed, and the long wait would be over.

  He procured a whiskey at the bar, leaned back against it and drank it down. Congratulations to me.

  Which reminded him Francesca was likely still out there sidelining Kaminski. She’d accepted the challenge without hesitation. She had risen to the occasion. If he denied that turned him on he would be a liar. The man in him loved the fact she had the courage to stand up to him, that she wasn’t afraid to tell him he was a fool. But the employer in him took his attraction to his feisty PA off the table.

  He tilted the last sip of his drink toward the light and considered its amber depths. Francesca had a unique ability to read people—to draw them to her with her frank, open—charm and somehow he’d known Juliana would be no different. She had saved the day. Been his secret weapon. But he would be equally well advised to caution himself against falling under the spell of Francesca’s seductive charm. It would be all too easy.

  He took the last sip of the whiskey, put the glass down and went looking for his PA. Francesca might have taken on her assignment with confidence, but she was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with men like Kaminski.

  He wound his way through the throngs of people on the dance floor. It was hot and sweaty and hard to negotiate. He had just about given up on finding Francesca in the ballroom and was about to search out Juliana when he saw her on the corner of the dance floor with Kaminski.

  Kaminski’s hand was wrapped around her incredible body, perilously close to her bottom. Francesca had a smile on her face, but it was a hunted, close-to-the-edge smile that made a switch flick in his head. What had he been thinking?

  Five long strides took him to the couple. “May I cut in?”

  Kaminski gave him an annoyed look. Harrison stared back at him. Luckily Aristov’s second in command wasn’t a combative personality like his boss and handed Francesca over. “I’ll come find you afterward,” he told her with a lingering look.

  No, you won’t, Harrison thought. Francesca nodded to the other man with another of those smiles he knew to be plastic and stepped closer to Harrison. She stood on tiptoe. “I don’t need this drink,” she whispered in his ear.

  The husky whisper went up his spine, then straight back down. He took the glass from her fingers, deposited it on a table and took her in his arms. She flowed easily into him without that awkwardness some women possessed, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and lacing the fingers of the other through his. “Thank God,” she murmured. “I think he was about to try and kiss me again.”

  “He tried to kiss you?”

  Her hand fluttered from his shoulder in a delicate wave. “My fault. On our tour of Leonid’s art collection, I had to lay it on a bit thick to keep him occupied.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean a bit thick?”

  “Oh, I just flirted with him...nothing too much, you know. It was just at one point, he said he had to go meet Leonid and I was afraid you wouldn’t be finished talking so I poured it on a bit and well—maybe he sort of got the wrong idea.”

  Hell. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “That was my fault. I never should have sent you after him. He’s clearly—” he used Leonid’s word “—besotted with you.”

  Her cheeks went pink. “I think that’s a bit of a strong word.”

  “I don’t.” He tended to agree with Leonid that Frankie had been the dangerous one in that equation. She looked stunning. He’d had to pick his jaw up off the ground when he’d seen her in that dress, not because he hadn’t seen a voluptuous woman in a low cut dress before, but because on Francesca it looked like innocence and temptation personified. An irresistible combination that had had his hands itching to touch her all night.

  When he had earlier on the red carpet, his palm to her beautiful back, it had been an addiction he could easily fall prey to.

  He studied the high color in her cheeks, her lush, beautiful features, the spirited curve of her mouth... It wasn’t just her great legs Kaminski had gone wild for. It was the whole vibrant package that made you want to be the one to capture it.

  A highly inappropriate wish on his part. Which was not happening.

  Her floral, feminine scent drifted into his nostrils. What was it? Orange blossoms? It infiltrated him. Attacked his common sense. It was one thing keeping his brain detached when she was ten feet away from him sitting in her office chair. Another thing entirely when she was in his arms, her ample curves tracing the length of him. She was relaxed now, lacking the tension she’d displayed earlier, her body melding perfectly with his as they moved.

  She looked up at him, gray eyes tangling with his in a long, tension-filled moment where he forgot his mask entirely. The jolt of awareness in her smoky eyes marked it a huge mistake.

  “Did you at least get to talk to Leonid?” Her hasty words desperately broke the spell.

  He nodded. “Because of you, Leonid and I figured each other out.”

  “What was his issue?”

  “Sentimentality. Siberius was his father’s company. He’s finding it hard to part with it.”

  “At least he’s putting it in good hands...”

  Guilt scored his insides. “An acquisition is an acquisition,” he said roughly. “There’s a lot I can’t control.”

  “He will sign, though?”

  “Yes. We need to show him a plan on how we’ll assimilate Siberius into the company when he’s in New York next week. But that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Good, then.” Her chin lifted with satisfaction. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “You did more than help. You were a superstar tonight. I owe you my sincere thanks.”

  She blinked. “Well, that’s...good. You’re welcome.” She chewed on the side of her mouth in that anxious habit she had when something was bothering her. “I wanted to say on the plane...I mean—I’m normally a very efficient, together person, Harrison, but since I’ve started working with you, I haven’t been myself. I’ve been...off. I know that and I’m not sure why.”

  He knew why and he wasn’t going there. “Because you’re still intimidated by me.”

  “Maybe.” She nodded. “There’s a bit of that...”

  And a whole lot of something else. He reached his limit. “I think we should go,” he announced abruptly. “Before Kaminski comes around for round two.”

  She nodded, her eyes on his as she stepped out of his arms. She looked as conflicted as he felt.

  They said good-night to Leonid and Juliana. Leonid promised to have Tatiana call with his schedule for the following week. Viktor Kaminski looked dismayed they were leaving. Francesca stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to both of the Russian’s cheeks. He said something to her. Francesca frowned, thought about it for a minute, then replied. Kaminski let her go.

  “That was awful,” she muttered, climbing into the back of the Rolls-Royce ahead of him. “He wants to take me on a tour of the Met next week when they’re in town.”

  He peeled his gaze off her amazing rear end and got in beside her. “Tell him you’re busy. You will be.”

  She laid her head back against the leather seat. “I will. I just feel bad about leading him on.”

  “He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” Just like he was going to get over his intense awareness of her at the moment.

  She was silent, her gray eyes contemplative. He gave the driver instructions, slid the partition closed and the car moved softly off into the night. Frankie turned and stared out at the tall, dark sh
adows of London as they rolled by, interspersed with bright lights. He directed his gaze the other way. She was as direct and honest as most women were deceptive and ambitious. He’d never realized what a highly attractive quality that was in a woman, when so many in his social circle made game-playing a trait acquired at birth.

  Silence fell in the car. He kept his gaze trained on the skyline of London rather than on Francesca’s beautiful profile cast in the light of the street lamps. The whiskey he’d consumed, the satisfaction coursing through his veins at the night’s success, the attraction he’d been fighting for a week were all too potent a combination to address.

  The longer he was silent, the more the tension seemed to rise in the car. Francesca stared out her window, fidgeted with her clutch strap, anything but address it. Finally he felt the heat of her gaze on him. “Harrison?”

  He turned to look at her.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  He frowned. “No. Why?”

  Her gaze fell away from his. “I—I don’t know. I feel like I’ve done everything right tonight and something still feels wrong.”

  The shadows carved the enticing hollow between her breasts in the low-cut dress. The pout in her amazing mouth had lust snagging at his throat. “There’s no issue,” he assured her roughly. “I told you, you were perfect tonight.”

  “Then why have you been ignoring me since we walked off the dance floor? Did I say something wrong to Leonid or Juliana?”

  “No.” He wanted to leave it at that, sanity told him to leave it at that, but the vulnerable look she wore tore at his insides. He exhaled deeply. “I’m keeping my distance.”

  That gray stare widened. Her hands fluttered uselessly to her lap. The uncivilized part of him knew he never should have looked at her.

  “This attraction between you and me...” He shook his head. “It can’t happen. We both know that.”

  She nodded. But her gaze stayed glued to his as if she knew the train was running off the track, but was willing to risk full and complete disaster.

  “Francesca...” The word was a final, husky plea for her to put some distance between them. She didn’t. She moved toward him at the same time he brought her closer with a palm to the bare skin of her back. It felt even sexier than he remembered.