by Lucy Ellis
No, space at the moment was definitely at a premium.
His eyes were like dark onyx in the available light from the steadily burning lamp, and Sybella could see herself reflected in them but in a way she’d never really viewed herself before. This wanton creature who had revelled in her seduction of this powerful man, whom she’d pretty much brought to his knees—literally given a couple of the positions he’d held her in.
‘I have to say, dushka,’ he said in a gravelly voice, ‘leaving is the last thing that’s on my mind.’
He propped himself up, those big shoulders rising over her like cliffs, making it impossible to see over or around him, and Sybella found herself sinking under him again because this old bed, despite being a double, was really not made for two when one of them was six feet six. She enjoyed, however, that sensation of being rendered small and delicate and in thrall to him.
‘You shouldn’t have dragged me up here if you didn’t want me to stay the night.’
‘What do you mean I dragged you up here?’
‘Lured me, then.’ He gave her that slow, sexy smile and laid a kiss on her shoulder, her collarbone, the slope of her right breast, grazing dangerously close to her nipple. Little traitors sat up. She shivered as he brushed the underside of his unshaven jaw over one.
‘You look like a wanton dairymaid—how could I resist?’
‘Is that a reference to the size of my breasts?’
‘Da,’ he chuckled, brushing his lips over them, ‘and your blonde hair and your dimples—and your roomy arse.’
‘My what?’ She hit his chest playfully as he slid his hands under her.
‘More to get a grip on.’ He laughed, doing just that. She’d never been more proud of her wide, womanly behind.
Then a thought hit her. ‘I just imagined you’d be wanting to get back to your superyacht or whatever.’
He studied her. ‘Superyacht?’
‘Meg, my sister-in-law, has this theory that’s where all the rich Russians live.’
‘You’ve been talking about me?’
‘Everyone in the village is talking about you.’
‘I’m only interested in what you had to say.’
Sybella stroked his chest in seemingly idle circles. ‘I said you weren’t very happy with me.’
‘I’m happy with you now.’ He gave her bottom a squeeze.
She gave him a gentle shove.
‘My yacht is about this big.’ He measured it out to about an inch between his thumb and forefinger.
Sybella couldn’t help it. ‘Lucky for me that’s only your yacht.’
‘I could show it to you some time.’
‘I thought you already had.’ He smothered her giggle with a kiss and her blood began to hum again.
‘I also have another estate in Northumbria,’ he murmured against her mouth, and he named it and Sybella went a little pale.
‘That’s one of the finest castles in the north.’
‘Too far and too cold,’ he dismissed.
Sybella sat up, dislodging the sheet in her surprise. ‘Then why did you buy it?’
‘Tax purposes.’
‘If you keep buying up my nation’s history at this rate I’ll end up working for you.’
‘Would that be so bad?’ He traced a line from her collarbone to her nipple. ‘If we could keep doing this.’
Sybella’s breath stuttered in her chest and not just because her breasts felt sensitive and responsive to him. Did he think they could find a way to keep doing this?
‘Any more grand estates I should know about?’ she asked, pulling at the sheet to cover herself again.
‘No, just the two.’ He kissed the exposed slope of one breast and then the other, dislodging the covers so he could look at her while he played with them. Sybella was put in mind of a boy with a new toy.
‘Real estate in London is more profitable. Russia isn’t the safest place to keep all your eggs—’ he spread his hands to cup either side of her breasts ‘—so I’ve got other baskets.’
Then mercifully he stopped talking about real estate and concentrated on their mutual pleasure.
*
When she opened her eyes hours later it was light. Nik was pulling on his shirt, and she sat up on her elbows, dragging the covers with her.
‘What time is it?’ She yawned.
‘Almost nine.’
‘I guess you should go,’ she said half-heartedly.
‘I should go,’ he concurred.
He was looking down at her as if he still wanted her and Sybella’s ego swelled a little more than it should, along with the plummeting feeling she was going to have to let him go and there didn’t seem to be a clear-cut path for them, assuming he wanted one.
‘When will you be back? In Edbury, I mean.’
Nik began reattaching his watch.
‘I was thinking I could fly you up to London next weekend, if you could arrange someone to look after your daughter.’
Fly her up to London? She’d been thinking more along the lines of, When are you coming back to Edbury to see your grandfather? Maybe we could have dinner… Although given they’d already plunged in at the deep end dinner was always going to end here. So maybe London was the right option.
Only it sounded so illicit. And at the same time he was making plans for them, they didn’t involve him stepping into her world, and she was a little taken aback by the impression he saw her daughter as an impediment.
‘Fleur,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘Her name is Fleur.’
He smiled but he didn’t say her name and a little part of Sybella curled at the edges like blight on a rose leaf.
‘I guess I could come up to London. The thing is, I’m really only comfortable with Fleur staying with her aunty Meg or her grandparents, and I can’t be away from her for more than a night. She’s still so little…’
Sybella trailed off. He was getting out his phone. She guessed he wasn’t really that interested in the logistics. It was her domestic life—not his.
He finished buttoning his shirt.
‘Where’s your phone?’
But he’d already spotted the chair in the corner where her soft patchwork carryall was slumped. Her phone lay on top of it.
She climbed out of bed, wrapping herself in the pale gold blanket, and drew close behind him to see what he was doing, although she had a pretty good idea and it made her warm inside.
‘I’m programming in my numbers.’
His head was bent as she peered around him to watch what he was doing, a little confused about the entire procedure. It wasn’t as if she had much experience with the whole casual dating thing. She’d only ever dated Simon.
‘This way you’ll be able to contact me if there’s a problem.’
She was about to ask, But what if there’s not a problem? when she heard it. Like a bat, she was on Fleur signal. It was a single muffled word. Then nothing for the count of one, two, three, four, five, six… And then the rattle of keys and her front door opening.
Battle stations.
She dived for her clothes on the floor, pulling up tracksuit pants and dragging a fluffy old jumper down over her head, flashing her boobs at him.
‘They’re back. You have to go,’ she babbled, hunting around for his shoes. ‘Listen, I’ll head them off and get them into the kitchen and you come down and let yourself out.’
She shoved his shoes against his chest. ‘Put these on and just stay there.’
Nik was caught by an unexpected wave of tenderness.
‘Sybella.’ He caught her arm and she gazed up at him with equal measures of annoyance and longing that had him wanting to prolong the moment. ‘You are an incredible woman and you shouldn’t doubt how sexy you are, or how lucky I feel after last night.’
She looked utterly transfixed, and in that moment he cursed her very young, very stupid dead husband.
Then a voice called out, ‘Mummy!’
Sybella said something under her breath and he let
her go.
As she came noisily down the stairs Sybella was convinced she had a scarlet ‘A’ painted on her forehead.
Meg was removing Fleur’s coat and scarf. She looked up with a smile.
‘I thought I’d bring her home and save you the drive, Syb. I have to be in Middenwold this morning anyway. Mum’s having a tooth drilled and she says she can’t drive herself home.’
‘Mummy!’ Fleur ran to hug her and be lifted. Sybella gave a little grunt. Her daughter was getting heavier by the day.
After some kisses Fleur was struggling to be put down. ‘I want to show Aunty Meg my new shoes,’ she complained, but Sybella had no intention of letting Fleur go up until the coast was clear.
‘How about we go and put the kettle on first and make some porridge?’ She charged down the hall, making as much noise as possible. She dived for the radio and turned it up. A cheerful pop song filled the room with chants about love not hurting any more. Fleur began to bop up and down and Meg to dance with her.
By the time Fleur remembered her shoes the porridge had been eaten and at last Sybella was able to step into a shower and wash all of her extraordinary night off her glowing skin.
As she stepped out of the bathroom Meg was examining the broken bedstead Nik had arrayed at the end of the hall.
‘How on earth did you do this?’
Fleur appeared with her new red shoes in either hand. ‘It must have been the giant.’
*
A week from the day Nik had climbed out of Sybella’s broken bed her name flashed up on his phone with a text.
For a moment he just rubbed his thumb lightly over the screen but purposely didn’t read her words, aware of all the times this week he had called up her number only for his thumb to hover and then pass off. Indecision was not his way. He’d let the week get away from him and now he had a choice to make. If he didn’t call her they could put a line under it.
He put his phone down to avoid temptation and picked up his drink.
‘Problem?’ His brother Sasha was watching him.
‘Nichevo.’
They were sitting on the deck of his one-hundred-metre yacht, Phantom. The great beast was moored in the Adriatic, as it always was at this time of year, off the coast of Montenegro.
The centuries-old ramparts of the town of Budva, with limestone hills rising up behind it, was a starry backdrop of lights as the velvety evening dropped around them. The muted sound of thumping dance music heaved from the other end of the boat.
His brother, although long having given away the drugs and alcohol that had derailed him as an adolescent, seemed to need noise and activity around him. His parties on this boat were legendary. Nik had dropped in via helicopter to spend the evening comparing notes and swapping stories before he headed on to some talks and a symposium in Moscow.
‘What are you doing with Deda?’ Sasha asked, leaning back in his deckchair, resting his glass of fizz against his jeans-clad thigh.
Bare feet, Nik noted, the scorpion tattoo on his left ankle. His own were clad in hand-tooled moccasins stretched out in front of him. Kind of conservative, but he was kind of a conservative guy.
He eyed his phone again, wondering if she had a problem and he was ignoring it.
‘When are you moving him out of that old pile?’
‘I’m not.’
Sasha looked out across the water, in profile a muscle clearly leaping in his jaw. His brother liked to pretend he was chilled about everything that went down with Deda, but Nik knew better. He had missed those early years with their grandparents, forced to live with his mother abroad, and it made him diffident about interfering in the old man’s life.
He saw himself as an outsider, the irony being Nik knew himself to be the one who didn’t belong.
‘He’s happy with the public prowling around the place. To be honest it appears to have given him a second lease of life.’
‘Looks like you’re stuck with Mouldy Towers for the interim.’
Nik glanced again at his phone.
‘What’s her name?’ Sasha asked, lifting his glass of fizz and ice to his lips. ‘The woman whose call you don’t know whether to take.’
Nik debated for a moment saying nothing. ‘Her name’s Sybella. She volunteers at the Hall.’
‘So put it through to your office in London.’
Nik shook his head slightly. ‘I slept with her.’
Sasha laughed out loud. ‘Does that qualify as droit de seigneur?’
‘Nyet, it means it’s complicated.’ Nik flashed his brother a quelling look.
‘It’s always complicated, man. Women as a species aren’t happy unless they’re raiding your head for what you’re thinking at any given moment and then using it to crucify you.’
‘Bad break-up with what’s-her-name?’
‘Just brotherly advice. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t want full access to both your bank account and your darkest secrets.’
‘Not Sybella.’ Nik settled back, still nursing his phone. ‘She mainly wants to keep the Hall open and for me to spend more time with Deda.’
‘Oh, man, that’s worse. She’s already managing you.’
Nik frowned. ‘It’s not like that. It’s complicated because she’s got a daughter.’
‘So? Has she got a nanny for the kid?’
‘Even if she had the money for help it’s not that kind of set-up. She’s hands-on, home schools, community oriented. She’s the whole package.’ Nik shook his head slightly. ‘Why am I telling you this?’
‘So I’ll talk you out of it. How long have you known her?’
‘Forty-eight hours.’
Sasha obviously did his best to keep a straight face. ‘That long?’
It had been enough time to get her life story, lose himself in the wonderland of her body for one night and find himself here on the deck of a yacht half a world away unable to stop thinking about her.
He downed his whisky.
‘Why don’t you stop overthinking it and show her a good time? You might find out she’s more than happy to have a bit of a break from her packaged life. Is the kid’s father in the picture?’
‘She’s a widow.’
‘Then I don’t see your problem. But if it bothers you that much move on. I’ve got a phone full of numbers I don’t want. I can hook you up.’
‘Really?’ Nik raised a brow. ‘You’re farming out women now? Nice, Sasha.’
He ignored his brother, whose personal life was a car crash of beautiful girls and a man who walked away from the wreckage without a scratch, and stared meditatively at the tough glass, stainless steel and tiny circuit board he held in his hand that had revolutionised people’s lives and made it hard for a guy to go to ground.
Surely he was doing the right thing keeping away?
He’d seen the photo on her bedside table, of the dark-haired, homely young man with an even younger, bright-eyed Sybella welded to his side.
That was what she needed. A man who would be there for her every day, not one who couldn’t fix anyone’s life.
He’d tried with his grandfather, but there was no bringing Baba back, which was all Deda really wanted, and Sasha was never going to forgive him for having the upbringing that was stolen from him.
Although Simon Parminter hadn’t been there for Sybella in the end, he’d left her pregnant and with some hang-ups about her body that made Nik wish he could have set the guy straight.
Which was idiotic. If her husband was still alive Sybella wouldn’t have looked twice at him.
She was that kind of woman.
Clearly her husband hadn’t left her with much money either, given she was leasing the cottage.
He frowned. He could at least stop her payments. If they were seeing one another she could hardly be paying him rent.
Were they seeing each other?
Not that Sybella would accept any handouts. But he hated the idea of her struggling.
Maybe he could sort out the bed. Start with s
omething basic.
Something solid.
Not a bed he would be occupying. Just a bed.
And under no circumstances was he delivering it himself.
He checked the text.
Can I have a yes or no on whether you’re closing west wing down? Syb.
After all that, not a romantic bone in that sentence’s body.
He exhaled a snort of amusement. She wasn’t pining for him at all. Practical, realistic Sybella.
He texted her back.
No, dushka.
*
No, dushka?
Sybella stood at her kitchen sink, scowling at the message on her phone.
It had been a week since Nik had stormed into her world and made love to her so thoroughly and tenderly he’d set the bar ridiculously high for any other intimate relationship she might have one day, far into the future, and left her with a broken bed and a bit of a bruised heart because she really liked him.
Then she’d sent a text.
She’d been sitting in front of an old film last night, sipping on a glass of red and nibbling some comfort chocolate, when she’d worked up the nerve to text him. Not Why haven’t you called? but a perfectly reasonable professional enquiry. She’d sat there while Jimmy Stewart carried a tipsy Katharine Hepburn back to her room, trying not to envisage Nik reading her text and saying Sybella, who?
Then No, dushka had popped up on her screen. She’d held her breath, feeling he was suddenly in the room with her, waiting for more. Only there was no more.
It answered her question whether she could show a pre-booked school group through the Hall on Thursday, but left her completely in the dark as to whether he was even interested in seeing her again.
She shoved her phone in her back pocket and ran the tap, frowning as her kitchen sink began to fill with dirty water.
Only it wasn’t coming from the tap, it was surging back up the drain.
That wasn’t good.
Sybella removed her gloves and opened her laptop, which was sitting on the bench where she’d been doing a little Internet surfing earlier this morning. She’d put ‘Nikolai Voronov’ into the search engine and up had come a few images of him in a suit at various glamorous functions with equally glamorous women clinging to him, and even more of him in hi-vis gear on mine sites. He did know how to rock a hard hat.