With a smile, Nikolai removed Zara’s arms from around his neck and reluctantly pulled her dress back down in place. He had planned to say goodbye to her, yes—a lingering kiss at the door of his Kensington house, perhaps. What he had not planned had been that rather frantic kiss which had quickly escalated into an urgent and very erotic coupling up against the wall of the bedroom. But that was what she did to him. Still did to him. Intoxicated him so that he couldn’t think straight.
‘I’ll be back at the weekend,’ he murmured. ‘Jet-lagged and probably very bad-tempered, but at least while I’m in New York I should get the chance of an uninterrupted night’s sleep—without you tempting me every minute of every day.’
‘I don’t do anything to tempt you, Nikolai.’
‘Oh, yes, you do. You exist.’ He gave a low laugh. ‘And don’t be so coy, milaya moya. You know damned well the effect you have on me.’ He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I wish you were coming with me,’ he said suddenly.
Zara felt the little leap of her heart but she shook her head with a smile. Because hadn’t she decided that she needed these breaks from him, when he went away on business? Needed them to assure herself that she could function without him and that it was good to practise doing exactly that. To get used to living without him in case it ended tomorrow.
‘Well, I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m a working girl.’
His mouth hardened, because the independent streak he had once so admired had become nothing but a millstone around their necks. Her insistence on working for little more than a pittance kept her away from his side—and weren’t mistresses supposed to be always available? ‘So you are,’ he agreed drily. ‘In which case you’d better go and put your panties back on and I’ll see you at the weekend. Do we have anything in the diary?’
‘A party in Primrose Hill the evening you get back.’
He pulled a face. ‘Damn.’
‘We don’t have to go.’
‘No, we don’t.’ He planted a last kiss on her lips. ‘But I think we ought to. Someone from the government who’s in charge of promoting green energy in south-east Asia is going to be there and I’d like to talk to him.’
‘Okay.’ Zara stood at the door, watching as he got into the back of the limousine, realising how many different balls he juggled to keep his empire going. He flashed her a brief smile but she could see that already his thoughts were elsewhere and that he was reaching in his briefcase for paperwork to do on the way to the airport. He worked hard, she’d realised very early on. In fact, he did everything hard. Played, partied, made love, made millions.
She shut the front door, realising that all her own unanswered questions about what she was going to do with her life had become largely academic. Because she knew now that she’d boxed herself into a corner the moment she had agreed to start living with Nikolai. Her future was as uncertain as it had ever been—maybe even more so. There was now no possibility of going away to agricultural college to restart her course—because then she would see hardly anything of him. And he wouldn’t put up with that, she recognised. He just about tolerated her waitressing work—as long as it didn’t eat into their evenings together.
These days they went out as a couple much more than they’d ever done before, with Zara sporting one of the many exclusive items he insisted on buying for her and which now hung in the closet. She still liked to use Emma’s designs wherever possible, but there were a whole host of other things which it seemed were essential to her wardrobe and which her friend couldn’t possibly supply. Soft, leather boots and spiky, sexy shoes. Fragile little wisps of lacy underwear. There were day-dresses and sharp little skirts with silk blouses—as well as satin nightgowns which were never designed to be worn for very long.
She would have been a liar if she’d denied enjoying the clothes and finally she could understand why they were essential to her new life. She’d quickly realised that people were intensely interested in her Russian oligarch and that, in a way, what she wore reflected on him. She didn’t particularly like the attention his presence always attracted, but she was learning to deal with it.
And if sometimes she stopped to think about how little had changed, well—she quickly pushed those thoughts away. What was the point of dwelling on the fact that his feelings for her hadn’t deepened? She couldn’t really start complaining about it, could she? Not when he’d warned her at the very beginning what kind of man he was. It was her who foolishly kept that little spark of hope alight. Who prayed that one day he might open his heart to her.
She’d packed in loads of jobs to coincide with his trip to New York and the busy days gave her life some kind of structure. Made her feel she had some purpose instead of just idling around, waiting for the return of her lover. And it meant that she had her own—modest—source of income, independent of him. She’d already decided to buy him something from her modest salary—a little welcome home gift—something she could give to him, to show him how much she’d missed him. Show him how much she cared, in a way she never dared express with words.
The day before he was due home, Zara went to work at a directors’ lunch, right in the very heart of the City. It was a long and boozy affair and one of the executives she knew well by sight fixed her with a curious look as she began to hand out the coffee.
‘Is it true that you know Nikolai Komarov?’ he questioned.
The cup she was holding rattled as she saw several whoozy heads turn quickly in her direction. ‘Er, yes. Yes, I do.’
‘Good God! How come?’
Stupidly, Zara could feel a flush beginning to stain her neck. What could she say—that he’d picked her up at a party she’d been gatecrashing and it had taken off from there in an explosion of sexual chemistry which had since shown no sign of abating? You’re not being paid to satisfy this man’s curiosity, she told herself. He’s a client, not a friend. ‘Oh, it’s a long story. Er, will you excuse me?’ she added hurriedly as she scooped up an empty coffee pot from the table. ‘I’d bett
er go and refill this.’
She managed to finish the job without further interrogation and later on she met Emma for a drink, expecting her friend to be bursting with excitement about the fact that the chief buyer at Nikolai’s New York store had requested a meeting, with a view to commissioning a future collection from her.
But Emma was not bursting with excitement. In fact, she looked uncharacteristically glum as they sat down at a corner table with two glasses of wine and a packet of salted peanuts.
‘Don’t tell me they’ve cancelled the meeting?’ asked Zara anxiously.
‘No, no—that’s all still going ahead.’
‘So why the long face?’
There was a pause as Emma licked some salt from her finger and when she looked up her expression was uncomfortable. ‘Um, is everything…okay between you and Nikolai?’
Zara frowned. ‘What kind of a question is that? ‘