Expecting His Love-Child

‘Do you like your work?’ Millie attempted vainly.

‘Is this a job interview?’ He was watching her mouth intently now, making it almost impossible to form a sentence. God what did this man do to her? With one look she was a shivering mass of lust—and with one crook of his finger, Millie knew, she’d follow him gladly to wherever he wanted to take her. It both excited and terrified her. Supremely cautious with men, supremely cautious with her emotions, it was as if she had suddenly dropped the rule book she’d lived her life by in the bath, leaving its pages damp and illegible, all its moral guidelines so deeply entrenched utterly indecipherable in Levander’s heady presence.

She wanted him to make love to her—wanted him now, this very minute. Wanted him to take her out of this bar, take her anywhere, just so long as he ravished her…

…wanted him to be her first.

Oh, she hadn’t held on to her virginity for some prudish reason—work, study, the strains of family life had meant she’d never let anyone particularly close, had never actually invested the energy to take a relationship to that next level, had never trusted another enough to give that part of herself.

But she’d give it to Levander.

In a heartbeat.

And that thought alone shocked her to the very core.

‘I came to Australia as a teenager.’ Levander’s voice broke her introspection, broke the sensual spell. Maybe he had sensed the shift in her, the shock that had ricocheted through her, but suddenly things were, if not normal, then safer, and her mind scrambled to remember the question she had first voiced. ‘I studied finance and business—as well as learning English, of course.’

‘You didn’t speak English when you came?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Your brothers and sisters here spoke Russian, though?’ Millie checked, appalled at how it must have been for him to land in a family and not even be able to communicate.

‘Half-brothers and sisters,’ Levander corrected. ‘And, no, they did not speak much Russian. But language was the least of our barriers.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We had different childhoods.’ Levander flicked away the question with his hand, then reached for a drink. But even if he wanted that part of the conversation over, even if clearly she’d wandered into forbidden territory, Millie wanted to know more.

‘What about your mother?’ Millie asked, remembering that here he had a stepmother. ‘Do you get back to see her? Is she still in Russia?’

‘She is dead.’ Just like that he said it—his expression not changing, his voice completely even—as if the detail was so trivial it was hardly worth a mention. ‘So there is no reason at all to go back. As I was saying, when I finished my degree I assumed the role of Financial Director at the House of Kolovsky.’

‘It must be quite a job.’ Millie blinked. ‘I mean, the name’s everywhere.’

‘We have outlets all over the world. Melbourne is really just kept on for sentimental reasons—this is where my father came when he emigrated from Russia. Our main outlets are in Europe, and of course the US, so I travel a lot—which is good.’

‘Must be interesting?’

‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged. ‘But the people in the industry leave a lot to be desired.’ He curled his lip and made a small hissing sound. ‘It is full of bitches—and I am not only talking about the women. It is the most narcissistic environment to be in. Like here—’ His hand gestured to the heaving room. ‘Everyone here would happily claim to be my best friend—would that be the case if I worked in a lower profile job?’

‘I don’t know…’ Millie mused. Because even if the answer was seemingly obvious—even if his position must ensure a never-ending stream of hangers-on—long before she’d known his name, in fact from the second Millie had laid eyes on him, she’d been captivated. And from Millie’s perspective it wasn’t hard to afford others the benefit of the doubt. ‘You can’t know that either…’ She gave a helpless shrug, not sure how she could tell him that even if he took away the suit, the money, the name—he was still far and away the most exciting, breathtaking company she’d ever kept.

‘I do know, though,’ Levander said firmly. ‘From the day I set foot in Australia I have had endless friends—yet no one wanted to know me when I was a Detsky Dom kid.’

‘Detsky Dom?’ Millie frowned. ‘Is that where you’re from?’

It was an innocent question, clarifying things in her own mind as she pieced together his history. She expected him to nod, to just say yes and move on. But instead those brooding features shifted into a wry smile, and she didn’t know if it was her attempt at pronunciation or if he was laughing at some sort of private joke.

‘That is right, Millie—I am from Detsky Dom. Come…’ Standing abruptly, he offered her hand. ‘You do not belong here—let’s go somewhere where we can properly talk.’

Which was easier said than done. As he guided her through the throng, his hand on her waist, his broad shoulders acting as a buffer, his name was called from every direction. Not that he deigned to respond—even when a rather ravishing Latina woman grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket, Levander merely shrugged her off.

‘Levander, please…’ She caught up with them just as they stepped out of the lobby. Millie’s foot was almost on the pavement outside when her tearful voice pleaded her case. ‘You cannot walk out like this…We made love last night—please talk to me.’

Which was a pretty good case to plead, Millie thought, as with a grim half-smile Levander excused himself and led the dark beauty to a corner of the lobby—leaving Millie to stand making polite small talk with the doorman. Her cheeks burned with humiliation—not just because of the paper tissue way he clearly treated women, not just because she was obviously the next one in the box, but because of the very fact she wasn’t walking away.

It was hell to watch.

Like some gory bit in a film, where you wanted to peek from behind a cushion, it was just horrible, listening to her plead her case, begging him for another chance, promising to change and more. But far worse for Millie was Levander’s response—not cool and detached, as she’d expected, instead he bordered on sympathetic, seeming understanding of her plight even as he patiently explained why he hadn’t returned her calls and reiterated what he had already told her—that it was over.

Still, when her glittering eyes fell on Millie, when a few choice words were said, his Latina lover must have crossed Levander’s questionable line of moral conduct—because he stalked off, taking Millie firmly by the arm and leading her out onto the street.

‘Levander…’ the brunette sobbed. ‘We need to talk.’

‘What is the point?’ Levander snarled, and never had his Russian accent been more pronounced as he bundled Millie into a taxi. ‘When you’re too drunk to remember what was said in the morning?’

‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’ They’d ended up at St Kilda Beach, and as they wandered along the foreshore it was the first time since the incident that either of them had spoken.

‘Perhaps it’s better that I did,’ Millie answered tightly—the sobbing spectacle had been a rather timely reminder of what she’d almost let herself in for.

‘We went out for a few weeks—but we were having problems…’

‘Clearly you weren’t having too many problems last night,’ she sniffed.

He had the nerve to laugh at her response. The bloody nerve to laugh!

‘Stop it,’ Millie demanded. ‘That’s completely irredeemable….’ Only it wasn’t; Levander was so unashamedly bad, his behaviour so utterly and completely reprehensible, that inexplicably after a moment or two Millie was laughing too. Oh, not out loud laughing—but a very reluctant smile was wobbling on her lips as he took her in his arms. The whole thing was so awful, so far from anything she’d ever experienced, it was either that…

…or cry.

‘Millie, I do not as a rule have…er…problems in that department. But Carla was wrong when she said we had made love last night.’

‘I don’t need the details…’

‘In fact, though last night wasn’t lacking in physicality, I could say that Carla and I, while we enjoyed each other, never “made love”.’

‘Please.’ Millie closed her eyes against his gaze—because that wasn’t the concern right now. Here she stood, with the most beautiful man she had ever met, listening as he told her, quite clearly, that he, unlike others, had no trouble separating sex from love—which should make perfect sense. After all, nestled in the club, feeling his legs pressing against her, all she had wanted was him, and love surely hadn’t entered the equation…

Love couldn’t have entered the equation because she barely knew him…

And yet…

Troubled eyes opened on his—and he was still there, still just as divine, still just as confusing.

‘I am sorry…’ His breath mingled with hers, his lips a mere fraction away, and she stiffened, terrified of the dizzying effect he had on her. But somehow she didn’t relax when he broke contact—when, extremely frustratingly, he became the perfect gentleman.

He talked politely as they walked towards the pier, occasionally taking her elbow when the moon dipped behind a cloud. Millie couldn’t decide if she was either totally misreading the signs and he didn’t fancy her a jot, if he was literally giving her a guided tour of Melbourne, or he was an absolute master in seduction. But by the time they neared the pier every cell in her body was quivering, every nerve taut with arousal. The skin on her bare arms flared as he took her forearm and turned her around. Surely now, Millie begged to herself, her lips aching with want, surely now he would kiss her. Only his simmering tease wasn’t quite over. Turning the burner down just a touch, even as Millie’s want bubbled near the edge, he guided her back into a public place.