The Russian's Ultimatum Page 5

  Fashion design was all she’d ever wanted to do. But she shouldn’t complain about Hugo. He’d been incredibly supportive through what had been a horrific time, at least initially, but he had a business to run—something he’d made abundantly clear when he’d given her that official warning less than a month ago.

  After a long, thoughtful pause, Pascha said in a softer tone, ‘I’m certain that if you explain the situation when you return Hugo will understand. He must know how ill your father is.’

  Emily felt her heart lurch at the unexpected kindness from Pascha. Heartlessness she could cope with, but not that. Not now when her stomach felt so knotted she was having trouble holding down the beautiful food she’d just eaten.

  Her mother had adored lobster, had been the person to teach her how to demolish one so effectively.

  A wave of despair almost had her doubled over, lancing her stomach with a thousand thorns.

  Her darling, darling mother; oh, how she missed her.

  Emily fought to control her emotions. She couldn’t let him see it. She just couldn’t. He had enough power over her already.

  ‘I...I need to get some sleep,’ she said, backing away from him. ‘Was there anything else you wanted?’

  He shook his head, a strange, penetrative expression in his eyes.

  She gave a brief nod and turned on her heel, forcing her rubbery legs to walk.

  By the time Emily slid the door of her cabin shut, the grief had abated and her sudden tears had retreated back into their ducts.

  Sinking onto the bed, she gazed up at the ceiling.

  She could still feel Pascha’s gaze on her skin.

  * * *

  The next morning, fortified by a huge breakfast that had been brought to her room, and armed with mosquito repellent, high-factor sun-cream and bottles of water, Emily set off to explore the island. It had been a long evening and an even longer night. She’d gone to bed far earlier than she usually did. As hard as she’d tried she’d been unable to sleep, her mind a cacophony of faces clamouring for attention: her mother; her father; her brother. Pascha...

  She’d felt trapped in her guest lodge. She might be free to go anywhere on the island but knowing she could bump into Pascha had kept her firmly inside. She couldn’t even get her sewing machine out. Such was the absolute silence of the island, the noise would have woken everyone up.

  Making her way out of the main living area, she passed dozens of workers bustling around cleaning the house and grounds, the place a hive of activity. First she traversed the beach, smiling to see a couple of small children chasing each other over the sand. She waved politely at Luis, who was at the bow of the yacht at the jetty. He must have returned from taking Pascha to Puerto Rico.

  Now she knew Pascha was off the island she could breathe a little easier, and was already plotting ways to convince Valeria to let her phone England and check on her father. So what if she embarrassed herself? Some things were more important than saving face.

  She’d even tried to crack the code used to block her mobile again. It had been a complete waste of time. She doubted even her old housemate, the whizz who had taught her how to hack into Pascha’s laptop, could have cracked it.

  Finished with the beach, she set off up through the dense foliage. The further inland she went, the greater the humidity, and the trail she followed seemed to go nowhere in particular.

  On the verge of turning back, she heard the sound of rushing water.

  A couple of minutes later, she was awestruck with wonder.

  ‘Oh wow,’ she whispered under her breath.

  She had reached a vast, open area with the middle missing, as if a huge circular section had been dug out of it. On the other side of the bottomless circle ran gushing water, pouring over the edge like a sheet. A ledge jutted out on her side. She stepped onto it and peered over. She’d found the bottom. The drop was at least forty feet, the waterfall pouring into a large, round pool.

  Almost hugging herself with joy, she sat with her legs dangling over the ledge and took a long drink of water. She wished she’d taken Valeria up on her offer of a packed lunch. She could happily spend the next week in this little spot of paradise.

  She’d found a spot very similar to this a few years before, on a holiday in Thailand. She and the friends she’d travelled with had taken it in turns to jump into the pool, exulting at the weightlessness of the fall. Emily hadn’t had a care in the world. Not then.

  Whipping her flip-flops and T-shirt off, leaving just her bikini top and shorts, she slathered herself in sun-cream and rested back, happy simply to soak it all in. Her solitude didn’t last nearly long enough.

  The shuffling of movement made her start. Turning her head, all her contentment died to see Pascha standing behind her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked rudely. He should be snug in his jet, flying away across the ocean.

  Dressed in a pair of knee-length, dark-beige canvas shorts and an unbuttoned black polo shirt, he really was incredibly handsome. Even with his hair perfectly in place, and his clothes pressed to within an inch of their lives, he looked far more human than in his business attire. Her eyes drifted down to his calves, something hot flushing through her at their muscularity and the fine, dark hairs covering them. ‘I thought you’d gone to Paris.’

  ‘Never mind that, come away from the edge.’ Speaking of edges, there was a definite one in his voice.

  ‘I’m perfectly happy where I am, thank you.’ Well, she had been.

  ‘Where you’re sitting could break away. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘Worried I might fall? At least it will save you having to worry about keeping me here.’

  ‘Don’t be infantile.’ His face contorted into something resembling anger. ‘While you’re on this island your safety is my responsibility.’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, adopting an airy tone, ‘I think you’ll find I’m a fully grown woman and perfectly capable of taking responsibility for my own safety.’

  ‘Not on my watch.’

  ‘Have you jumped into the pool yet?’ she asked, although she already suspected what the answer would be.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous question.’

  ‘It feels like flying.’ She couldn’t help the wistfulness that came into her voice. ‘It feels like nothing else on this earth.’

  ‘I couldn’t care what it feels like. It’s dangerous. Now, come off that ledge—you won’t be of any use to your father if you hurtle to your death.’

  Damn him.

  For a few brief moments she’d forgotten what her life had become, had slipped back into a life that had been free of worry and responsibility.

  But he was right. What would become of her father if anything were to happen to her? What would become of James? James was more than capable of caring for their dad with her instruction, but when it came to working the practicalities out for himself he was useless.

  Only a year ago she would have held her ground and refused anything other than taking a running jump off the ledge and plunging into the deep pool below.

  As she now knew, through painful experience, a lot could happen in a year. A lot had happened. Her whole world had been ripped apart.

  Pascha watched as a host of emotions flittered over Emily’s pretty face. It had been a low blow using her father to make her see sense, but until she came away from that ledge he knew his racing pulse wouldn’t rest. Perspiration ran down his back that had nothing to do with the soaring temperature.

  But, when she shuffled back and got to her feet, the heat he felt under the collar of his polo shirt surged. Suddenly, now she was safe, the bikini top and shorts Emily wore came firmly onto his radar.

  Her ebony hair was piled on top of her head, ringlets spiralling, but she’d left her face free of make-up, her beauty shining through i
n a wholly disturbing way. And that body... Skin that looked like silk...

  As quickly as the snap of his fingers, his pulse raced anew, his blood thickening.

  There was nothing immodest about Emily’s khaki bikini; compared to the scraps of candyfloss most women of his acquaintance liked to wear, it was demure. The black shorts she wore with them were figure-hugging but modest. She wasn’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen hundreds of women wear on beaches around the world, yet she was the only one he reacted to with such force.

  Breathing slowly through his teeth, he willed away his completely inappropriate reaction to her. ‘Get your shoes on—we’re going back.’

  Dark-brown eyes narrowing, she folded her arms across her delicious chest. ‘I’ve moved away from the ledge but I’m not prepared to let you order me around any further. If you want to go back, then go ahead. I’m staying here.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten for hours. My chefs are preparing a late lunch for us. You can come back here later if you must.’

  Something sharp pierced into Emily’s chest.

  ‘Give me a sec,’ she said, looking away from him and slipping her toes into her silver sparkly flip-flops.

  Had he really tracked her down just to make sure she had something to eat?

  The last person to care that she ate three square meals a day had been her mother. During their daily phone calls she would always ask what Emily had eaten that day, what she was planning for her dinner...

  Shaking her head to clear it of despondency, she shrugged her rucksack over her shoulder and followed Pascha back through the trail.

  ‘So why are you still here?’ she asked after a few minutes of silence. Despite his much longer strides, he never went too far ahead. She took a swig of water. The heat within the dense canopy of trees was fast becoming insufferable.

  He ducked under an overhanging branch. ‘There’s a problem with the engine of the yacht. We need to wait for a part to be delivered from the mainland.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘It should be here by the end of the day.’

  ‘Excellent. So you’ll be leaving for Paris before the evening?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but the part needs to be installed and then checked for safety before I allow anyone to go anywhere in it. I should be able to get away in the morning, depending on what the weather’s like. There’s a tropical storm heading for the Caribbean. I won’t leave until it’s passed.’

  Emily didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Are we in its path?’

  ‘No. We’re likely only to get some high winds and rain at some point this evening, but it’s an uncertain situation...’

  Before he could finish his sentence, Emily lost her footing, practically skiing down a particularly steep incline.

  Her cheeks were crimson; the only saving grace was that she hadn’t fallen flat on her face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Pascha asked, surefootedly hurrying to her side.

  ‘Yes, yes. No harm done.’ Feeling like the biggest fool in the world, she accepted his help, allowing his large, warm fingers to wrap around her own and pull her back to her feet.

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered, knowing her cheeks had turned an even deeper shade of red that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

  She snatched her hand away from his, as if the action could eradicate the effects of his touch. It felt as if he’d magically heated her skin, his clasp sending tiny darts of energy zinging through her veins, making her heart pump harder.

  Pascha was still staring at her intently.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked after too long a pause.

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’ To prove it, she started walking again. It was with relief that she spotted the roof of the main cabin of the lodge poking through the foliage.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?’

  ‘I said I’m fine.’

  Before he had a chance to quiz her further, the theme to a cartoon she’d adored in childhood rang out. To her utter amazement, she realised it was his phone ringing.

  Pascha had the theme to Top Cat as his ringtone?

  He pressed it to his ear. ‘Da?’ His eyes immediately switched to her face. ‘Yes, she is right with me. One moment.’ He handed the phone to her, mouthing, ‘Your brother,’ as he did so.

  Her blood turned to ice.

  ‘James?’ The coldness quickly subsided when she learned the reason for her brother’s call. He couldn’t work the washing machine. Their mother had always done it for him, even after he’d left the family home. Since she’d died he’d used a laundry service—after failing to cajole Emily into doing it for him.

  By the time she ended the call, irritation suffused her. She’d explicitly told him only to call in a genuine emergency—one call too many and for all she knew Pascha might decide not to bother passing on any messages. It was pure luck that she’d been with him at that moment.

  Still, she consoled herself, at least she wouldn’t have to badger Valeria for use of the lodge phone for another day. James had assured her their father’s condition was the same, so that was one less thing to worry about.

  Pascha had listened to Emily’s side of the conversation with increasing incredulity. ‘Your brother called about a washing machine?’

  Judging by the way she inhaled deeply and swallowed, it was obvious Emily was carefully choosing her words. ‘James isn’t the most domestic of people.’

  ‘Doing the laundry does not require a PhD.’

  ‘In my brother’s eyes, it does. Anyway, how would you know? I bet you’ve never used a washing machine in your life.’

  ‘I make a point of learning how to use all the domestic appliances in my homes,’ Pascha told her coldly. He understood why she made so many assumptions about him but it needled all the same. He hadn’t been born rich—quite the opposite. Everything he had he’d worked damned hard for. Just being here, being alive, had been the hardest battle of all.

  ‘Why would you do that?’ For once there was no sarcasm or anything like it in her tone, just genuine curiosity. ‘Surely you have a fleet of staff in all your homes?’

  ‘I like to take care of myself,’ he said tightly. ‘Aliana Island is different—I come here to get away from the world and switch off.’

  The lodge was only a few yards ahead of them now. Emily slowed down to adjust her rucksack. ‘I can see why you would do that,’ she admitted. ‘I think Aliana Island might be the most beautiful spot on the planet.’

  ‘I think that too.’

  She gave him something that looked like the beginning of a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling a touch at the corners. It sent the most peculiar sensation fluttering in his chest. Before he had a chance to analyse it, he spotted Valeria waving at him in the distance.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘But work calls.’

  As he walked, that same strange fluttering sensation stayed with him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMILY HAD A quick shower, then steeled herself before setting off to the main lodge. But, when she stepped in the dining hall, the table was set for one.

  A curious emptiness settled in her stomach when a young girl—she was certain the girl was Valeria and Luis’s daughter—brought a bowl of bisque and some warm rolls through to her and gave a garbled apology about something important Pascha needed to attend to.

  She ate mechanically then retired back to her hut, distantly aware the island’s staff was now out in force. Though they weren’t bustling in the sense that people bustled in large cities, the speed with which they were working had increased dramatically.

  Back at her lodge, Emily dragged her sewing machine out and placed it on the table then got her tubes of fabric and her A5 pad of designs. What she really needed but had forgotten to bring was a
mannequin on which to pin the dress she wanted to make. She wondered if Valeria’s daughter—she must learn her name—would model for her.

  Finally she had enough time on her hands to turn her own designs into something. Her own creations. Her own visions. No Hugo demanding she focus solely on his.

  Disregarding the lack of mannequin and model, Emily laid the fabric on the long table and began to make her marks. How long ago had she designed this dress? Over a year, at the very least, before the bottom of her world had dropped away from her and she’d been left floundering, clinging on to anything that would give her a purpose.

  The past year had been a constant whirl of hospital trips and visits to the family home. She’d been desperate to care for and spend as much time with her mother before the inevitable happened. All of this on top of holding down a demanding job and looking after her own home. When the inevitable had happened, life had continued at the same pace, this time a whirl of funeral arrangements, form filling and taking care of her increasingly fragile father. There had been no time to switch off. There had been no time for herself.

  She placed the fabric chalk under her nose and inhaled, squeezing her eyes tight as memories of sitting in her mother’s craft study assailed her. Her mother would have loved the opportunity to be a seamstress but it had never been an option for her. She’d married at eighteen and had had her first child at nineteen, devoting herself to being a good wife and mother.

  And she had been. Even if Emily had been given a city of women to choose a mother from, Catherine Richardson would be the one she’d have chosen. Always supportive, always loving. When Emily had won her place at fashion college, she doubted there had been a prouder mother alive.

  She wished her mother was here with her to see this beautiful island. But of course, if that awful, awful disease hadn’t claimed her mother, Emily would never have seen Aliana Island either.