“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?
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