Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence - Shaw Chantelle (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно полностью TXT) 📗
CHAPTER FOUR
UP UNTIL eighteen months ago, Ella’s working wardrobe had consisted of elegant but unexciting black dresses which she wore for performances. But when Marcus Benning had become her publicist and taken over the marketing side of her career he had insisted that she should go for a sexier image, and had persuaded her to buy daring designer outfits in a variety of coloured silks and satins. Naturally shy, she had struggled with her new look, especially when she’d found herself the focus of male attention, but now she was grateful for the make-over that had included lessons on how to apply make-up for her publicity photo-shoots. A light foundation, grey eyeshadow to highlight the colour of her eyes and black mascara to emphasise her lashes created a mask to hide behind, and the addition of bright red gloss on her lips completed the illusion of an elegant, coolly self-confident woman who was more than capable of rejecting unwanted advances from any man.
Unfortunately it was just an illusion, Ella acknowledged as she stepped into a red silk cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and a skirt that was shorter than she remembered it being when she’d tried it on in the shop. She felt brittle with nerves, and the pulse beating erratically at the base of her throat was a giveaway sign of her tension, but after sweeping her hair up into a chignon and spraying perfume on her wrists she could not put off returning to the sitting room and Vadim any longer.
He was standing by the fireplace, studying the many photographs of her mother, but turned as she entered the room. The flare of heat in his eyes as he subjected her to a leisurely inspection rattled her shaky composure. ‘You look stunning, but I get the feeling you’re making some sort of statement,’ he murmured sardonically.
His perception was uncomfortably close to the mark, and Ella flushed. ‘You’d prefer me to wear a sack?’ she demanded tightly.
‘You would look beautiful whatever you wore.’ He paused for a heartbeat before adding outrageously, ‘And exquisite wearing nothing at all.’ He had closed the gap between them and was standing too close for comfort, the scent of his after-shave-a subtle blend of citrus and sandalwood-teasing her senses. ‘However, I’d like to make one improvement.’ He moved before she could guess his intention, placed his thumbpad over her lips and wiped off her lipstick. ‘That’s better. Your lips are infinitely more kissable when they’re not covered in gunk.’
‘You’ve got a damn nerve,’ Ella breathed, trembling with anger. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go to dinner alone. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.’
‘That is a pity, because I’m ravenous.’ His eyes glinted wickedly as he trailed them down from her elegant hairstyle to her red stiletto shoes. ‘And I hate to eat on my own; it makes me irritable, which is bad for my digestion. Anyway, you have to have something for dinner, and there’s nothing in your fridge apart from a yoghurt that’s past its sell-by date-I noticed when I helped myself to a glass of water and pinched a couple of ice-cubes.’ He took advantage of Ella’s fulminating silence to drop a stinging kiss on her lips before he spun her round and, to her utter fury, tapped her lightly on her derriere. ‘A word of warning, angel face: I can’t abide women who sulk,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘Shall we go?’
‘You are the most arrogant, overbearing…’ Cheeks the same shade of scarlet as her dress, Ella snatched up her stole and purse and swept through the door he’d opened for her, her steps faltering as she passed the vase of roses on the dresser. The last rays of evening sunshine slanting through the windows turned the petals blood-red, and their sensuous fragrance seemed to mock her, but good manners forced her to turn to him. ‘Thank you for the roses,’ she muttered stiltedly. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘My pleasure.’
How could he infuse two simple words with such a wealth of meaning? she wondered. Or was she badly overreacting? She guessed that most of the women he dated were skilled in the art of flirting, and happy to indulge in verbal foreplay. But she felt on edge, unsure of her ability to handle a man as self-assured as Vadim, and it didn’t help that her lips were still tingling from that last unsatisfactorily brief kiss.
On the way to the restaurant she was relieved that he did not seem to want to talk, although his brooding silence did nothing to ease her tension, and she darted him a surprised glance when he activated the CD player and her latest recording of Mendelssohn violin concertos filled the car.
‘I first heard you play a year ago,’ he said quietly, ‘and I was blown away by your incredible talent. Undoubtedly your career will go from strength to strength.’
Sales of the CD had been high-hundreds, if not thousands of people must have listened to her play-but as the haunting notes of Mendelssohn’s exquisite composition trembled between them in the close confines of the car Ella once again felt as though she had revealed her deepest emotions to Vadim, and it made her feel acutely vulnerable.
She was glad when they arrived in Mayfair. Simpson-Brown was reputed to be one of the best restaurants in the capital, and bookings were taken months in advance, but when they walked into the elegant front bar Vadim was greeted by the maitre-d’ like a long-lost brother and they were immediately escorted to a table.
‘Do you come here often?’ Ella queried when they finally took their seats, after Vadim had paused several times on their journey across the restaurant to greet other diners who had eagerly sought to gain his attention. The cliched line sounded horribly gauche, and she coloured and quickly stared down at her menu, irritated with herself for acting like a teenager on her first date. It didn’t help that Vadim was so impossibly gorgeous. She had been aware of the speculative glances directed his way by several beautiful women as he had crossed the restaurant. But his magnetism was due to more than the perfection of his sculpted features and the inherent strength of his lean, hard body. He possessed a raw, primitive quality which, laced with unquestionable power and more than a hint of danger, made him utterly irresistible to just about every female between the ages of sixteen and sixty.
He shrugged. ‘I dine here maybe two or three times a month. I don’t yet have a permanent base in London, so I’ve been living at a hotel in Bloomsbury for the past six months.’ He paused fractionally and gave her an enigmatic glance across the table. ‘But that situation is about to change.’
‘Will you be going back to Paris? I read somewhere that you have a home there.’ Even better, maybe he was planning to return to his native Russia, she mused, wondering with a sharp stab of impatience why her stomach dipped at the thought.
‘It’s true I have an apartment on the Champs-Elysees, but I intend to settle in London for the foreseeable future to pursue various…’ again he paused for a heartbeat ‘…interests.’
Undoubtedly he meant business interests, Ella assured herself frantically. But she could not control the quickening of her heart rate at the blatant sexual hunger in his gaze, nor drag her eyes from his sensual mouth that had wreaked havoc on her composure earlier. Get a grip, she ordered herself angrily. She was twenty-four years old, she had a successful career, and this was not the first time she’d been invited to dinner with a good-looking man-although it was the first time in her life she had been so intensely aware of a member of the opposite sex, she acknowledged ruefully.
The arrival of a waiter at their table to enquire whether they would like cocktails before they ate broke the tangible tension. ‘I’ll have a vodka martini.’ Vadim glanced at Ella. ‘We’ll decide on red or white wine when we order dinner, but would you like an aperitif? Anton, here, can recommend several non-alcoholic cocktails if you prefer.’
