‘I’ll get these chops finished and then I’ll be over,’ he promised, taking the glass from her. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘You’re welcome.’ His smile made her belly flip over and her heart soar. She hurried back to the benches with a skip in her walk.
Pascha watched as Emily sat down with his maintenance guys, an animated conversation breaking out.
He wished he could build a rapport with people as easily as she did but he was not one for making friends. He’d missed so much of his schooling due to illness that by the time he’d been well enough to return he’d become an outsider. Five years was a long time in a small child’s life. He’d been an outsider ever since, never knowing or learning how to fit in. If it hadn’t been for Andrei taking him under his wing, giving him confidence enough not to care when peers had parties to which he was never invited, who knew where he would be today? He’d found his own niche to fit into because he’d always been aware there was nowhere else he could fit. Even being tucked under Andrei’s wing had come at the price of Marat’s hatred for him increasing exponentially.
Was that why he’d been so desperate to hold on to Yana—because he’d felt he’d found a niche with her and had wanted to hold onto it at any cost?
He tried to imagine what his life would have been like if he hadn’t, finally, recognised that the cloudy diamond she’d turned into had been a mask for her misery. What kind of a couple would they have been if he hadn’t set her free?
The icy clenching in his guts told him the answer to that.
He looked back at Emily. Had he even stopped looking at her?
That dress she’d made...
His fire opal had come to life, dazzling him with her vibrancy. If she were to tread the same path as Yana, and be emotionally blackmailed into forgoing her most basic desires, would her lustre fade too?
He would never know. He would never allow her to set off on that path.
He took a seat at the end of the table and looked at her anew, watching her be dragged to her feet to dance around the bonfire with a bunch of his younger staff. The skirt of her gorgeous dress swirled as she moved to the music being played by his gardener, Oliver, who was singing reggae songs as he strummed on his guitar. Her delicate arms clapped and swayed, her black curls fanning in all directions. He could feel the warmth radiating from her.
It drew him to her.
An ache formed in his chest and he swigged at his beer, as if the act of swallowing could loosen it. It didn’t.
From the distance of the bonfire where the embers lit her up, making her beautiful face seem almost ethereal, she caught his gaze. She stilled for a moment before one of the girls grabbed her hand and pulled her into a dance that involved lots of hip-shaking.
He could watch her for hours.
His heart seemed to stutter when she scooped up little Ava, Valeria’s two-year-old niece who lived on the island with her parents, who also worked for him.
He couldn’t hear Ava’s squeals of delight but he could feel them. They hit him deep in his guts.
Emily would be a fantastic mother, fierce and loving, just as his mother had been to him before he’d thrown all her love back in her face.
He could still see the ashen hue of her skin when he’d walked out that final time.
‘Pascha,’ she’d said. ‘Andrei loves you. He would never put Marat above you, only equal to you.’
‘You weren’t there,’ he’d sneered, his anger and hurt turning outward. ‘He thinks Marat is deserving of a place on the board by virtue of his Plushenko blood.’
‘He didn’t mean it like that...’
He hadn’t let her finish. ‘So now you’re taking his side? I thought I could expect support from my own mother.’
‘It isn’t a case of taking sides...’
‘From where I’m standing it is. And I can see you have made your choice. I might have wished for your support but I certainly do not need it. I’m finished with this excuse for a family and its obsession with bloodlines. This cuckoo is leaving the nest.’
He could still see the confusion in her eyes at his parting comment.
Would he have reacted differently if he hadn’t received the test results mere days before, if his dream of having his own blood family hadn’t been crushed?
He didn’t know. All he remembered feeling was hopelessness as he realised that his life meant nothing. That he meant nothing. The woman who had borne him, the one person in the world he shared a bloodline with, had failed to take his side. He was alone. Isolated. So he’d forced Yana to stay, desperate to hold onto something to validate his life.
It had taken almost two years of misery, as he threw himself into work, determined to make a success of himself on his own, before he’d seen what he was doing to her and set her free.
Luis joined him, forcing him to switch his attention away from memories that speared his heart and onto easy talk of boats and island life. By the time Luis had slapped his back and wished him goodnight, Emily was no longer dancing.
Automatically he looked out to the lagoon, his lips curving into a smile to see her paddling out to calf height.
He got to his feet.
At the water’s edge, he removed his footwear and rolled his jeans up.
‘I knew that was you,’ Emily said, turning her head to smile at him. There hadn’t been an atom of doubt in her mind that the person wading into the lagoon behind her was Pascha.
‘I’m just making sure you’re not planning on going for a swim.’
‘I was thinking about it,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe later when everyone’s gone to bed. You should join me.’
She’d come out for a paddle because she’d needed space. She’d needed to put a little distance between her and Pascha before she ran over and dragged him onto the makeshift sandy dance floor.
She’d felt his eyes on her as she danced. Whenever she could no longer resist, she’d peeked back, her heart tugging to see him alone nursing his beer, setting himself apart while the party he’d instigated went on around him.
‘Wading to my calves is enough for me,’ he said. ‘Not all the marine life in the lagoon is friendly, especially at night.’
‘Is that your way of telling me not to go for a midnight swim?’
‘It’s my way of asking you to consider the dangers of doing it.’
She laughed softly. ‘I’ve probably had too much to drink to swim.’ Not that she was drunk. A little merry, maybe, but probably more than was safe to go swimming alone.
Pascha standing beside her made her feel giddy in a completely different way; her blood fizzed at his closeness.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said, his voice dry.
‘I’ll save my swimming for the waterfall tomorrow,’ she couldn’t resist saying before laughing. ‘Do you have any idea how lucky you are, owning this island? You’ve got your own lagoon and your own waterfall!’
‘I do know how lucky I am.’
Something in his tone made her stare at him, made her realise that up to that point she’d avoided his gaze.
With the darkness of the sky enveloping them it was impossible to read his eyes; she knew only that something glittered there that made her heart double over.
In the distance, Oliver was singing a Bob Marley classic, the remaining partygoers singing along, the music blurring with the gentle lapping of the waves around them.
Pascha’s chest rose and he looked up to the stars before staring back down at her. He reached out a hand and caught a ringlet.
All the breath rushed out of her body as he leaned his head forward.
She had no idea what profound comment he would say next, and certainly didn’t expect the mirth that spread over his face. ‘You smell like a bonfire.’
His fingers still played with her curl.
He’d moved closer to her, near enough for her to feel the heat of his body.
The amusement left his face. He dropped her curl and dragged his fingers down the mane of her hair to her shoulders, then brushed up her neck to gently cup her throat.
His breath was hot on her skin. She closed her eyes. Her lips tingled, anticipating his kiss...
‘You could make a man lose himself, Emily Richardson,’ he murmured into her ear, before releasing his hold.
She snapped her eyes back open to find him striding through the water back to shore.
She spent the night in her cabin alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMILY SAT ON the ledge watching the sun make its ascent, the moonlit silver slowly vanishing, shades of blues and greens emerging. The only sound was the steady rush of the waterfall opposite. It glistened in a multitude of colours.
At best she’d managed a few hours of sleep. Every time she’d closed her eyes all she’d been able to see was Pascha’s face. He’d been there when she’d opened them too. He was everywhere.
She’d been so sure he was going to kiss her. When he’d walked away she’d felt such rejection despite the strange words he’d uttered. Those feelings were still there but also in the mix was the euphoria of a whole evening with no worries. The impromptu party had been exactly what she had needed. Pascha had made it happen. It hadn’t been for her, it had been for his staff, but it was all down to him. All the anxiety that had held her in a noose for the best part of a year had slipped away.
But now, here at the waterfall, her head felt crammed.
Her father was going to be all right. She could feel it. Such a small thing, getting out of bed. Given the state he’d been in, though, it was a huge thing. It showed willingness.
The road ahead wouldn’t be easy but for the first time she allowed herself to believe the road ahead would have him travelling on it.
The relief was indescribable.
But mingled with the relief was something else. It shamed her. As childish and selfish as she knew it to be, she couldn’t help feeling despondent that it was for James that he’d made that first step. Not for her. It didn’t matter what she did or how hard she tried, it was never for her.
It shouldn’t matter. It really shouldn’t matter. That he was treading the first steps on the path to recovery was enough. She’d done everything she could to help him, given up so much. Surely now...
Surely now it was time for her to start living again?
And she knew just the way to start.
She got to her feet and peered over the edge. A thrill of anticipation rushed through her. She unwrapped her sarong and placed it on the grass, then slipped her flip-flops off.
Another image of Pascha came into her mind. If he knew what she was about to do, he would probably tie her to a chair for the rest of her stay. It was one of the reasons she’d started the trail before the sun had come up.
She forced his image away.
Adrenaline pumping, she took a few paces backwards and then ran, jumping high into the air right at the very last second.
Those few moments of weightlessness were indescribable, exhilarating: the heady rush of flying combining with the hint of danger at what lay beneath the clear water.
Keeping the presence of mind to point her toes and hold onto her neck, she entered the cool water at incredible speed. Down she went, lower and lower into the pool, waiting to hit the bottom.
* * *
The sun had not long risen when Pascha awoke with a start.
He’d slept well enough but his dreams had been fitful. He’d woken to the vivid image of Emily jumping off the ledge and into the waterfall.
He threw on a pair of shorts and raced to her hut.
It came as no surprise to find it empty.
His subconscious had been telling him something.
He made it to the waterfall in a third of the usual time, his body drenched in sweat.
Her possessions were at the base of the ledge. Blood pounding in his head, he peered cautiously over it.
He caught a flash of ebony hair.
Squinting to get a better focus, he saw her properly, legs stretched out, arms resting back atop a crop of rocks at the edge of the waterfall, the stream of water pouring over her steadier than the torrent flowing in the centre.
She must have sensed him for her head lifted and she raised an arm in a wave. She called out but her voice was muffled by the waterfall.
It was not until she beckoned him that he realised she was asking him to join her.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Shaking her head, she got to her feet and dived into the pool, staying submerged for so long the breath caught in his throat.
When she resurfaced she swam to the other end of the pool and hauled herself out. ‘Jump in,’ she called up to him, now far enough away from the waterfall for her voice to carry.
‘No!’
‘I promise you, it’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world.’
She was too far away for him to see her features clearly but there was a definite air of elation about her.
Pascha did not take risks. Having come so close to death at such a young age, when the question of whether he lived or died had been completely out of his control, he had determined always to decide his own fate. He did not compromise his safety and he never put it solely in the hands of others.
Less than ten hours earlier he’d been tempted to throw off his clothes and swim into the lagoon in the dark. She’d made him want to do that with the sparkle in her eyes as she’d looked out over the lagoon, the sense of an adventure waiting to happen.
The temptation he’d felt had been real. But not half as real or as consuming as the temptation to pull her into his arms and taste those delectable lips all over again. He’d wanted to taste all of her all over again. He still did.
If it had been just the two of them at the beach, he doubted he would have had the presence of mind to hold himself back. His staff surrounding him had kept his control—his sanity—in check. He’d lain in his large, lonely bed and fought the greater temptation to take himself to her, as he’d done the night before, and slip beneath her covers; to make love to her all over again. Because that was exactly what it felt like: making love. And that was the greatest danger of all.
And now she wanted him to jump forty feet with only her word that it was safe.
‘Pascha, trust me. Keep your feet together and hold onto your neck. You will love it, I promise. Trust me.’
Trust her? Put his control and safety in the hands of another?
Despite all his self-imposed safety mechanisms, his body zinged, as if it were trying to take possession of his mind.
Her madness must be contagious.
Focusing solely on the raven-haired beauty perched like a mermaid on the pool’s edge, he removed his boots.
All you have to do is run and jump.
He hadn’t run on anything other than a treadmill since he’d been fourteen.
His legs had had enough of his procrastination.
Almost as if it were happening to someone else and he was watching from afar, he took the short run and jumped.
Those few seconds of flying felt like nothing else in the world.
As gravity sucked his body down to the clear blue abyss, all Pascha could think was that she was right: this was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.
He hit the water, landing with an enormous splash. It consumed him, as if he were being dragged to the centre of the earth.
He refused to panic, keeping a clear head through the enormous shot of adrenaline the jump had produced. Pointing his arms upwards, he propelled his body up until he broke the surface.
&nb
sp; The first thing he saw was the relief on Emily’s face, a look that was immediately replaced with the brightest, most beautiful smile he had ever seen.
‘You did it!’ She laughed, a sweet, lyrical sound that warmed his heart. ‘You really did it.’
He swam over, caught hold of her thighs and pulled her down into the water, using his arms to trap her against the edge of the rocks. He tried to catch his breath, tried to suck oxygen into his burning lungs, but all he could focus on was the beam of her smile.
The swell of her breasts pushed against his chest but she made no move to escape the confinement. Instead, she rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him, her chest hitching, an intensity swirling in her eyes that drove into his veins and paralysed him.
Her thighs brushed against his. A charge careered through him, so powerful he could feel it singe his blood.
He wanted to lose himself again in the wonders of her—the woman who made his senses come alive. The only woman capable of making him forget himself.
Her eyes had transformed into liquid. Her lips parted.
And then there was no more staring.
There was no slow build and no tentative caresses either. They simply fused into one, plundering each other’s mouths with scorching fierceness.
Her fingers dug possessively into his scalp, her legs lifting and wrapping around his waist, whether by his instigation or her own volition he could not say.
She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her thighs ever tighter, the movement making him realise he’d lost his shorts during the jump. The only barrier between his rampaging erection and her welcoming warmth was the flimsy material of her bikini bottoms.
For the first time in nearly two decades he had to grit his teeth to stop himself losing all control.
He needed air. He needed to feel the ground beneath his feet before he lost all contact with reality.
In one motion he lifted her out of the water, pulled himself out and tumbled down onto the grassy bank, pinning her beneath him.
The expression in her eyes... Never had he seen such openness reflected back at him. No inhibitions, nothing except honest, naked desire.
The Russian's Ultimatum Page 12