‘Shall we cast a wager?’
Eleanore turned. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘A wager. On who will kiss whom first.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘Is that a yes?’
Lukas could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite believe them. She’d aggravated him with the way she so easily froze him out. And the more she tried to mind her ps and qs with him, the more he wanted to run roughshod all over them.
‘How about if I kiss you first you can have Harrington’s name above the door of the hotel?’
Eleanore stilled. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not?’
She couldn’t believe he would wager that. ‘And what happens if I kiss you first?’
‘Worried about your self-control, moya krasavitsa?’
She hated not knowing what he was calling her, but she wouldn’t lower herself to ask. Let him have his fun. Men and their egos.
With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent (but exquisite) children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at www.michelleconder.com.
Russian’s
Ruthless
Demand
Michelle Conder
To Paul and our kids. Life got in the way a bit with this one but we made it through!
And to my fabulous editor, Laura McCallen. This book would not be here if not for your infinite patience and wonderful guidance.
Thank you.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘YOU’RE BREAKING UP, PETRA. Who did you say quit?’ Lukas Kuznetskov pressed his mobile phone closer to his ear, straining to hear as his PA explained the latest issue to befall the supposedly creative genius who had been hired to build his ice hotel. Apparently the man had stormed out after Lukas had questioned his latest set of drawings, complaining that Lukas was too controlling and stifled his creativity.
Creativity?
Lukas swore under his breath.
So far he had come up with the overall concept of the hotel himself while the architectural wizard he’d hired had done little more than fill in the technical details and organise the preliminary build. With only a month left until the most anticipated project in Russia was due to open it was fair to say Lukas was a little agitated. ‘Please tell me he at least redesigned the interior of the guest bedrooms like I asked,’ he growled, grinding his teeth when Petra confirmed that no, he had not.
Useless, lazy, good for nothing … Lukas sucked in a sharp breath as he strove for calm and told Petra he’d handle it. As if he wasn’t busy enough.
‘Trouble?’
Having momentarily forgotten his Italian ship engineer was in the room Lukas turned away from the splendour of Italy’s Adriatic coastline and glanced at the plans laid out on a scored wooden table. They had just finished going over Tomaso’s design for a supertanker that could carry twice as much cargo as any other on the market and go at twice the speed. If they could pull it off it would be another feather in Lukas’s already well-plumed cap.
Tomaso Coraletti was as close to a friend as Lukas had ever allowed himself to have and the older man stroked his neat beard as Lukas updated him on his pet project.
‘Biscotti, Lukas?’
Turning, Lukas replaced his scowl with a smile when he saw Tomaso’s sweet wife, Maria, standing before him with a silver tray of freshly made biscotti in her hands. Tomaso reached across and took a piece before Lukas could respond and got his hand swatted for his efforts. ‘Bah!’ she scolded. ‘Lukas is a growing boy. He needs it more than you.’
Tomaso scoffed and Lukas chuckled. He’d stopped growing a long time ago and they both knew it. ‘Grazie mille, Maria.’ He took a slice of the treat even though he didn’t want it and pocketed his phone.
‘It is the best biscotti in the whole of Italy,’ Tomaso boasted. ‘Maybe one day you will be lucky enough to enjoy biscotti like this. If you’re good.’
Lukas chuckled at Tomaso’s pointed comment. He’d known Tomaso ever since he’d joined his first container ship as a deck boy. In fact, it had been Tomaso who had gotten him the job. He had been the ship’s engineer and had convinced his brother, the captain, to give Lukas a trial. Lukas had been sixteen years old and living off the putrid streets of St Petersburg at the time