“Sorry, I’m not usually so unsophisticated,” I mumble, embarrassed.
“Don’t be sorry. It is refreshing to see someone so appreciative of life. I’m afraid all the people I deal with take great pains to appear world-weary.” His mouth twists. “It’s not as charming as they think it is.”
I smile shyly at him. “That’s good. Because you may see many occasions when I actually spontaneously explode with excitement.”
He grins back. It’s the first time I have ever seen him smile so openly. Usually, he is distant, measured, wary. Almost as if he distrusts me.
I turn back towards the window. For some weird reason my heart is singing. We pass by Hyde Park, London’s own Central park, and turn onto Mayfair and the car comes to a stop outside Claridges Hotel. There are art deco lamps on either side of the revolving doors. Two doormen in top hats, green ties, and long coats standing on either side of them come to help open our doors.
“Good evening, Mr. Tsarnov, Miss,” they greet, their voices crisp, their accents deliciously foreign.
We enter a lofty cream and off-white foyer with the iconic Masonic black and white square tile floor. I look around me in awe. It is pure British pomp with a twist of art deco. Reminders of a more dignified age. The strains of violins playing classical music fills the air.
Apparently, there is no need for us to book in. Everything has already been arranged by his assistants, or Konstantin has some sort of standing agreement. He walks through the vast space like he owns it.
Between the tall pillars are tables with people sitting and eating and drinking. The sounds of the voices float over to me. I cannot see them, but it almost seems to me as if they would be dressed in clothes that belong to a different era.
And then we reach the elevator and it is really like being frozen in time. It is made of wrought-iron with a comfy looking seat and a uniformed attendant. He too greets Konstantin by name.
We are booked in a penthouse suite. It has antique furniture and a grand piano! To my surprise I find out the suite comes with a personal butler. My gaze takes in the vases of fresh flowers and the bucket of champagne on ice laid out on one of the tables. While Konstantin deals with the butler, I walk over to the terrace. It has a superb view of London. It is nearly eight o’clock, dusk is falling over the city and the air is getting chilly. I can hardly believe I am here. It feels like a dream.
I take my phone out and text my mom.
Arrived in London.
In the hotel now.
It’s fantastic, mom. Just fantastic.
I know u are at work now.
Skype me when you get home?
I love, love, love you. xxxx
Raine
I hear a sound behind me and turn slightly. Konstantin is walking towards me. In his hands he carries two champagne filled flutes. He holds a glass out to me. This truly is the champagne lifestyle.
“May your trip to London be memorable.”
“It already is,” I murmur. “To be honest, it is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.”
He frowns. “Really?”
I nod and take a sip.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
His eyes never leave mine. “You never found anyone to lose your virginity to?”
I’m not about to tell him, I’ve never had the time. Ever since I was fifteen Madison has been in and out of hospital and Mom and me have been working all the hours God sends to pay her medical bills. I even left school early to bring in more money into the household.
“Nope,” I say with a grin that I hope will put matters to a rest.
“Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully. “We should get ready for dinner. Our table is booked for eight thirty.”
“Where are we going? What should I wear?”
“It’s just a private club around the corner from here. So nothing too fancy.”
My eyebrows rise. “Just a private club for billionaires?”
To my surprise a slight tinge of color touches his cheekbones. I have embarrassed him.
“Something like that,” he mutters, and quickly changes the subject. “There are two bathrooms. You can get ready in one and I’ll use the other.” Then he moves away.
I turn back to the magnificent view of London and take another sip of champagne. Sounds of people from the street below filter up. As the bubbles burst on my tongue I try to memorize the moment in my head. For the rest of my life I will remember this amazing moment when I stood on the rooftop terrace of the world famous Claridges hotel and drank champagne on my own.
Ten minutes later, I’ve showered in the fabulously luxurious marble bathroom, and smelling of the mango and passion fruit shower gel, I slip into my black dress. It is a second hand buy, but it is of good quality with a classy slim silhouette. I zip up, brush my hair, and put on my make-up. Mascara, red lipstick, and the look is complete. Stepping into thin gold sandals, I go to the living room.
Konstantin is standing on the terrace balcony looking out over the city. He is dressed in a charcoal suit.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He turns. For an instant I see a flash of something in his eyes, then the look is gone, replaced by the cool, distant expression he usually sports.
“You look beautiful,” he compliments, his voice smooth, deep, powerfully masculine. No wonder all those women go crazy for him.
“I hate it when you steal all my lines,” I whisper.
He walks up to me. “Think I’m beautiful, huh?”
“Yeah.” I reach out and palm his crotch. He is as hard as a rock. “Wow! You’re happy to see me.”
His nostrils flare. “All the time. All the fucking time.”
“Do you want to miss dinner and let me take care of this little problem?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, it’ll keep until after dinner. I’ve got a long night of fucking planned for you, little Raine. You’ll need to be fed and full of energy for it.”
“Mmm… I can hardly wait.”
The club is so close by we walk to it. It has no bouncers standing outside it, or velvet ropes. It is a discreet door, which opens as if by magic as soon as we approach it. Inside a man greets Konstantin by name and takes us deeper into the interior. The sultry eggplant and red cocktail bar he seats us in has a cozy, intimate allure. There are candles in red glass jars on the tables. Some exotic music, perhaps Japanese or Oriental, is playing softly in the background.
A waiter brings a silver dish with a butternut squash on it. Tucked into the hollow of the cooked squash, he tells us, is imperial Oscietra caviar. However, the squash is not just for ornamental purposes. There are little spoons with which we are supposed to peel the sweet buttery flesh of the squash and eat with the glossy black pearls.
A bottle of champagne is opened and our glasses filled with the straw liquid. I am struck by the waste. We drank one glass from a whole bottle on the plane, one glass each from the bottle in the room, and now another bottle has been opened. We are given menus to study. A quick glance tells me that the food here is going to be nothing like anything I am used to.
Game terrine with crab apple jelly, Cornish crab salad with rock samphire, Venison Wellington.
I also notice the menus have no prices. I suppose I should have expected that, with it being a private club and everything. I stare at him, mesmerized by the fantasy of being able to afford absolutely anything you want in life.
I lean forward. “Not knowing the prices of what I’m ordering is killing me.”
He lifts a finger to summon a waiter. The speed with which the man arrives at his side is impressive. “Can I have a menu with prices for the lady, please?”
The waiter’s eyes almost drop out of his head. “Of course,” he mumbles, and scampers away. When he returns with a menu for me, his eyes are carefully blank.
I open the menu and learn that the price is fixed. It is £490.00 per head, which whoa, translates to $671.00. That’s our family food bill for
two freaking weeks. I look up at Konstantin and find him watching me, a speculative expression in his eyes, and I realize paying this kind of money for a meal is nothing to him.
At that moment, I decide to stop obsessing about how much everything costs, and simply be grateful for this unexpectedly marvelous gift from the universe. Anyway, it’s only for a weekend and then it will all be over, but there will be no regrets, no hankering for more. I will happily go back to my usual life where every cent is carefully counted and hoarded away so Madison can have her operation.
Konstantin leans back in his armchair. “You said you were saving up for something important. If you don’t mind sharing, what is it?”
I take a deep breath. It is now or never. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “I’m saving up for my sister, Madison’s operation.”
He stares at me stoically. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She suffered several bouts of cancer, and now she needs to have a bone marrow transplant. The good news is I am a match and can make the donation which means the cost will be almost half. Mom and I have already saved $92,000 and we are working towards another $118,000 more.”
His eyes narrow. “Doesn’t a procedure like that cost a lot more than $200,000?”
“Yes, if it’s done in the States. I’ve found a reputable hospital in Brazil that will do it for that price. The real escalation in cost comes from the long stay, like two to three months, in hospital for her. That’s what makes it impossible for us to get it done in America. The plan is for the three of us to fly out to Brazil. I’ll make the donation. There will be side effects, nothing long lasting, but things like nausea, back and hip pain, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, muscle pain. It means I’ll need a few days to recover. Once I’m back to normal I’ll leave Mom to stay on and take care of Madison while I fly back and keep earning money to make sure all the bills are paid and—”
I stop abruptly because he is beaming at me. His face is filled with pure joy. It is as if I have told a homeless man that he has won the lottery and is now a multimillionaire.
Konstantin
I know I’m grinning like a fool, and this is not at all the reaction anyone would expect when they are telling you about their seriously ill sister, but I can’t help it. Something inside my chest is soaring. She’s not a honey pot! This is the reason why I kept getting weird vibes off her. That’s why she was still a virgin at her age. And that’s why alarm bells were going off in my head the whole time. But all she wants is to ask me for my help. Obviously, I’ll check out if her sick sister’s story is legit, but my intuition is good and I’m pretty sure just by looking at how cut up she is that her story is heartfelt.
I wipe the grin from my face. “I’ll pay for your sister’s procedure.”
Her eyes widen with shock. “What?”
“I’ll pay for it. Isn’t that what you wanted to ask from me?”
She recoils as if in horror. “No. Of course not. I honestly thought about asking you for a loan, which I will pay back in full as soon as possible, but I was never just going to ask you to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”
I shrug. “I am happy to pay for it on one condition.”
“What?” she whispers.
“The procedure must be performed by the best doctors in the best hospital in America.”
Her jaw drops. She snaps it shut, then opens it to say something, but nothing comes out, so she shuts it again. Suddenly, her eyes fill with tears, and she slaps her mouth with her hand. Tears start pouring down her face.
She jumps to her feet and looks around her wildly. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Please excuse me.” Then she turns and runs the way we came. I see her talk to a waiter who points her in the direction of the toilets.
She seemed so broken I wanted to crush her to me, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I don’t understand what I’m feeling. I do know though that women don’t affect me like this. Never.
A few minutes later she comes back to the table. Her eyes are red and slightly puffy, but she has herself under control again.
She sits down and looks me in the eye. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything like that. It’s just been such a big burden to carry. I could never really talk to anyone about it. I didn’t want anyone to think that I resented the sacrifice, because I truly didn’t. If anything I wished I could do more, but you cannot understand how big the fear has been to think she could die because I couldn’t earn enough money… and… and… no one has ever been so kind to us as you have just been. I couldn’t possibly take so much money from you. You must let me pay it back.”
I shrug. “I don’t want the money back. I own watches that cost many times more than what your sister needs.”
She blinks, then whispers, “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I can ever do to repay you.”
It’s all happening too fast and I am already far more affected by her than I care to admit. So I try to look wolfish as I utter the next words and keep everything on a sexual level. “Oh, I can think of a few things you can do.”
She smiles suddenly and it is like the sun coming out from dark clouds. “Thank you again. From the bottom of my heart. You don’t know what you have done for me and my mom.”
Before I can answer her, I see Blake and his wife enter the bar. As soon as they catch my eye they wave and approach our table.
I stand to greet them.
Raine
I turn back to see a well-dressed couple heading towards our table. The woman has long black hair and easily the most uniquely colored eyes I have ever seen. Perhaps it is the lighting in the bar, but they appear to be orangey gold. As for the man he has a cold, forbidding look.
“Hello, how nice to see you here,” Konstantin greets politely. They turn towards me, “Raine, meet Blake and Lana Barrington. Blake and Lana, this is Raine Fillander.”
“Hello, Raine,” both Blake and Lana say. Blake’s face remains aloof and detached, but his wife shoots me a genuinely friendly smile.
“Hello,” I greet back shyly.
“I love your dress,” she says softly.
She manages to sound sincere, but I blush. I can tell just by looking at her dress that it is wildly expensive and mine is a second-hand garment I bought a year ago from Facebook.
“How long are you staying?” Blake asks.
“Just the weekend. It’s Raine’s first time so we’re doing the touristy thing.”
“Right,” he says.
“I have a message from your mother.”
Instantly, the mood in the group changes. Both Barringtons become still.
“She wanted me to tell you to kiss her grandson for her.”
Blake frowns and Lana pales, as if she is scared by the innocuous message. Blake curves his hand protectively around her.
“I have no idea how she knew I was coming to London,” Konstantin continues, “but it would seem that she approached me at the Iserby’s party simply to pass this message on.”
Blake nods, his eyes veiled again. “Thank you for the message. I hope you enjoy your stay. See you in New York next month.”
Then Lana steps forward and kisses Konstantin on the cheek, but I notice that she does exactly the same thing the Countess at the party did. She surreptitiously slips something into his hand before she steps back.
She turns to me, a polite smile on her face, but it is clear that she is now troubled and unhappy. “Have a wonderful time, won’t you?”
“Goodnight,” Blake says to both of us, and they walk away.
“It’s getting late. Shall we go into the dining room and have dinner?” Konstantin asks me.
“Yes, let's,” I reply, turning away from the departing couple and looking up at him.
His expression reveals nothing, but I know then, that the meeting with the Barringtons was not accidental. It was planned. That is what we are doing in this bar. Waiting for them to appear so Lana could pass whatever it was she slipped into Konsta
ntin’s palm.
We move to the dining room. It has dark wood panels and paintings of fox hunting on the walls. The lights are dim and the tablecloths seem to be super white. I eat my dinner in a daze. I think I still cannot believe I am not dreaming. I listen to his hypnotic voice and watch his mouth move and I think of it between my legs.
Before I know it, the meal is over, we are standing up, and walking out into the night air. The air is wonderfully cool. We stroll back to the hotel together, our bodies slightly touching. At the hotel, we go up the elevator, our bodies still touching. I can feel the heat from his. My stomach feels tight with knots.
We get to our suite and he holds the door open for me. I walk in, and suddenly, I feel his hand on my arm. He whirls me around, yanks me so I slam into his body, and catches my lower lip between his.
Whoa! What magic is this?
I can hardly believe what is happening. This is not just a kiss. It is nothing like the one he gave me on the plane—oh, no. This is entirely different. His mouth on mine, moving slowly. Drawing it out. Making me moan from a place deep down in my center, a place only he’s ever touched. All through one simple kiss.
But it stays gentle only until I melt against him.
When he knows how lost I am, his hands slide around my waist. He presses them into my back and pulls my body closer to his. I feel his hardness acutely through my dress. I wind my arms around his neck to hold on as he slowly drives me crazy and my knees go too weak to keep me standing. His tongue slides along the opening of my mouth before probing inside, exploring me as fireworks go off in my head. He groans, his hands pressing harder, the need between us growing like a fire which threatens to consume us both.
I want it to.
Yes, I want it with every fiber of my being. I want his hands on me and his lips, oh, his lips, his tongue and all of it. All of him. All night long and into the morning, again and again. Like how it was high in the sky. I want to touch him everywhere and taste his skin and listen as he whispers my name in the darkness. My entire body seems to sizzle, and my nerve endings feel like they are tingling.
The Russian Billionaire: A Romantic Suspense Novel Page 8