‘What are you thinking?’ Daniil asked.

‘I’m not going to tell you.’

He didn’t start slow, he just lowered his head—and Libby got the most thorough kissing of her life. His jaw was rough and delicious, but when she tried to kiss him back she was met by a refusal. This was his kiss to her, his mouth said.

His kiss had her hot, right there in the street. The only movement he allowed was for her hands to reach for his chest and slide over the cool fabric of his shirt. He let her experience a fraction of what being held by him felt like, then cruelly removed the pleasure.

‘Bed,’ Daniil said.

‘I don’t …’ Libby halted. What had she been about to say? That she didn’t want to?

Since the age of eight, dancing had come first. Which had meant self-discipline.

In everything.

How nice to stand here on the brink of making a decision based purely on now—on her own needs and wants right at this moment.

And she did want.

So she chose to say yes when the wisest choice might have been to decline.

‘Bed,’ Libby said, nodding.

Irresistible Russian Tycoons

Sexy, scandalous and impossible to resist!

Daniil, Sev, Roman and Nikolai have come a long way from the Russian orphanage they grew up in.

These days the four sexy tycoons dominate the world’s stage—and they are just as famed for their prowess between the sheets!

Untamed and untouched by emotion, can these ruthless men find women to redeem them?

You won’t want to miss these sizzling Russians in this sensational quartet from

USA TODAY bestselling author Carol Marinelli—

available only from Mills & Boon Modern Romance!

The Price of His Redemption December 2015

The Cost of the Forbidden January 2016

And watch for Roman and Nikolai’s stories …

coming soon!

The Price of His Redemption
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL MARINELLI is a Taurus, with Taurus rising, yet she still thinks she’s a secret Gemini. Originally from England, she now lives in Australia and is a single mother of three. Apart from her children, writing romance and the friendships forged along the way are her passion. She chooses to believe in a happy-ever-after for all and strives for that in her writing.

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Irresistible Russian Tycoons

Title Page

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘HEY, SHISHKA.’

Daniil Zverev stiffened as he walked into the dormitory and heard what his friend Sev had just called him.

It would seem that shishka was now his new name.

Russian slang could hit just where it hurt, and tonight it did its job well.

Big gun.

Bigwig.

Big shot.

Daniil watched as Sev put down the book he had been reading.

‘We were just talking about how you’re going to go and live with the rich family in England, shishka.’

‘Don’t call me that again,’ Daniil warned, and picked up the book and held it over his head. He made to rip the pages out but, as Sev swallowed, Daniil tossed it back on the bed.

He wouldn’t have torn it—Sev only occasionally had a book to read—but Daniil hoped he would heed the warning.

‘Did you find any matches?’ Nikolai looked up from the wooden ship he was painstakingly building and Daniil went into his pocket and took out the handful that he had collected when he had done his sweeping duty.

‘Here.’

‘Thanks, shishka.’

Daniil would do it; he would smash Nikolai’s ship. His breathing was hard and angry as he stared down his friend.

The four boys were, in fact, far more than friends.

Yes, Daniil and Roman might be identical twins and Nikolai and Sev no relation, but all four had grown up together. With their dark hair and pale skin, they were the poorest stock amongst the poor. At the baby house they had stood in their cribs and called to each other at night.

Daniil and Roman had shared a crib.

Nikolai and Sevastyan had slept in their own on either side of the twins.

When they had graduated to beds they had been moved to the children’s orphanage and placed in the same dormitory. Now, in the adolescent wing, they shared a four-bedroomed room.

Most considered them wild boys, troubled boys, but they were no real trouble to each other.

They were all they had.

‘Touch my ship...’ Nikolai threatened.

‘Don’t call me shishka, then. Anyway, there is no need to—I’ve decided that I’m not going to live in England.’ Daniil looked over at Roman, his twin, who lay on his bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. ‘I’m going to say that I don’t want to go. They can’t make me.’

‘Why would you do that?’ Roman asked, and turned his head and fixed his brother with the cold grey stare that they shared.

‘Because I don’t need some rich family to help me. We’re going to make it ourselves, Roman.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘We are,’ Daniil insisted. ‘Sergio said...’

‘What would he know? He’s the maintenance man.’

‘He was once a boxer, though.’

‘So he says.’

‘The Zverev twins!’ Daniil was insistent. ‘He says that we’re going to make it...’

‘Go and be with the rich family,’ Roman said. ‘We’re not going to get rich and famous here. We’re never going to get out of this hole.’

‘But if we train hard we’ll do well.’ Daniil picked up the photo by Roman’s bed. Sergio had brought his camera in one day a couple of years ago and had taken a photo of the twins and, because the others had nagged, he had then taken one of all four boys.

It was the photo of the two of them, though, that Daniil now held up as he spoke to his brother. ‘You said that we would make it.’

‘Well, I lied,’ Roman said.

‘Hey...’ Sev had got back to reading but, even though he had just teased Daniil, he cared for him and could see where this was leading. ‘Leave him, Roman. Let him make up his own mind.’

‘No.’ Roman sat up angrily. Things had been building for months, since they’d first been told about a family who wanted to give a good home to a twelve-year-old. ‘He wants to blow off his one chance because he has this stupid dream that he can make it in the ring. Well, he can’t.’

‘We can,’ Daniil said.

‘I can,’ Roman corrected. ‘Or at least I could if I didn’t have you dragging me down.’ He took the picture of the two of them out of Daniil’s hand and tossed it across the floor. There was no glass in the frame, but something broke then. Daniil felt something fracture somewhere deep inside.

‘Come on,’ Roman said. ‘I’ll show you who can really fight.’

He got up out of the bed and there was a buzz around the dormitory as the twins eyed each other.

Finally they would fight.

The Zverev twins trained all day.

Sergio put them through drill after drill and they pushed through all of them. The only complaint they ever had was that they wanted to spar. Sergio had refused to allow it until a few months ago, but even then it was always under Sergio’s watchful eye. As an ex-boxer himself, he knew better than to start the boys too early.

These boys were beautifully built. Tall and long-limbed, they were fast, light on their feet and hungry.

He knew that with the right training the twins would go far.

What a package!

Two peas in a pod, two pitched minds and two angry youths.

All Sergio had to do for now was contain them.

But he wasn’t there tonight.

‘Tell the others,’ Roman said, and the room started to fill, beds were pushed back to make floor space and the gathering spectators knelt on them.

‘Show me what you’ve got,’ Roman jeered, as he came out fighting. He had Daniil straight on the defensive, blocking punches and moving back.

No headgear, no gloves, no money to get them.

Not yet.

Roman gave him nothing, no rest, nowhere to hide, and Daniil, with everything to prove, fought back with all he had.

The other boys were cheering while trying not to, as they did not want to alert the workers.

Roman was at his fiercest, and though Daniil did his best to match him it was he who tired first. He moved in and took Roman in a clinch. He just needed a moment to rest but his brother shrugged him off.

Daniil went in again, holding on to his twin so that Roman couldn’t punch him, doing his best to get back some breath before he commenced fighting again.

Roman broke the clinch and the fight restarted, both blocking punches, both taking the occasional hit, but then Daniil thought he was gaining ground. Daniil was fast and Roman rarely needed to rest but it was Roman who now came in for a clinch and leaned on his twin. Daniil could hear his brother’s angry breathing but as he released him, instead of giving Daniil that necessary second to centre, Roman hooked him, landing an uppercut to Daniil’s left cheek and flooring him.

Daniil came round to stunned faces. He had no idea how long he’d been knocked out but it had been long enough to have everyone worried.

Everyone except Roman.

‘See,’ Roman said. ‘I do better without you, shishka.’

The staff had noticed that some of the dorms were empty and, alerted by the mounting cheers, had started running to the room where Daniil now lay, trying to focus.

Katya, the cook, took him into the warm kitchen, calling to her daughter, Anya, to bring the box of tape. Anya was in there, practising her dance steps. She was twelve and went to a dance school but for now was home for the holidays. Sometimes she would tease the twins and say that she was fitter than them.

Anya still had dreams and thought she would dance her way out of here.

Daniil had none now.

‘Hey, what on earth were you doing?’ Katya scolded. She gave Daniil some strong, sweet black tea and then she tried to patch up his face. ‘The rich family don’t want ugly...’

* * *

Daniil sat on a bed just a few days later, seemingly a million miles from home.

In the car he had looked at the small houses and shops as they’d passed them and when the car had turned a corner he had seen in the distance a large imposing red-brick residence. They had been driven down a long driveway and he’d stared at the lawns, fountains and statues outside the huge house.

Daniil hadn’t wanted to get out of the car but he had, silently.

The door was opened by a man in a black suit who looked, to Daniil, to be dressed for a funeral or wedding but his smile was kind.

In the entrance Daniil stood as the adults spoke over him and then up the stairs he was led by the woman who had twice come to the orphanage and who was now his mother.

At the turn of the stairs there was a portrait of his new parents with their hands on the shoulders of a smiling dark-haired child.

He’d been told that they had no children.

The bedroom was large and there was only one bed, which looked out to vast countryside.

‘Bath!’

He had no idea what she meant until she pointed to a room off the bedroom, and then she had gone.

Daniil had a bath and wrapped a towel around himself, just in time, because there was a knock at the door. It opened and she approached him with an anxious smile. She started to go through his things and kept calling him by the wrong name.

He wanted to correct her and tell her his name was pronounced Dah-neel, rather than the Dae-ne-yuhl she insisted on using, but then he remembered the translator explaining that he had a new name.

Daniel Thomas.

That woman, his mother, had rubber gloves on, and his clothes, his shoes were all being loaded into a large garbage bag that the man in the suit was holding. She was still talking in a language he didn’t understand. She kept pointing to the window and then his cheek and making a gesture as if she was sewing and after several attempts he understood that she was going to take him to get his cheek repaired better than Katya had done.

He stared at the case as she disposed of his life and then he saw two pictures, which Daniil knew that he hadn’t packed. Roman had slipped them in, he must have.

‘Nyet!’

It was the first word he had spoken since they had left Russia and the woman let out a small worried cry as Daniil lunged for the photos and told her, no, she must not to get rid of them and neither could she touch them.

His mother had fled the room and the man in the suit stood there for a while before finally coming to sit on the bed and join him in looking at the photos.

‘You?’ He had pointed to Daniil and then to one of the boys in the picture.

Daniil shook his head. ‘Roman.’

The old man with kind eyes pointed to his own chest. ‘Marcus.’

Daniil nodded and looked back at the photo.

Only then did Daniil start to understand that Roman didn’t hate him; he had been trying to save him.

Daniil, though, hadn’t wanted to be saved.

He had wanted to make his way with his brother.

Not alone, like this.

CHAPTER ONE

TECHNICALLY, LIBBY TENNENT LIED.

She had made it through the gold glass revolving doors and had walked across the impressive marble floor and was just at the elevators when a uniformed security guard halted her and asked where she was going. ‘I have an appointment with Mr Zverev,’ Libby said.

‘Perhaps you do, but before you can take the elevator, first you have to sign in at Reception.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Libby responded airily, trying to look as if she had simply forgotten the procedure.

Everything about the place was imposing.

It was a luxurious Mayfair address and, even before the taxi had pulled up at the smart building, Libby had realised that getting in to see Daniil Zverev might not prove the cinch that her father had insisted it would be.

Libby walked over to the reception desk and repeated her story to a very good-looking receptionist, saying that she had an appointment to see Mr Zverev, silently hoping that the woman wouldn’t notice that the appointment was, in fact, for her father, Lindsey Tennent.

‘And your name?’

‘Ms Tennent.’ Libby watched as the receptionist typed in the details and saw that her eyes narrowed just a fraction as she looked at the computer screen.

‘One moment, please.’

She picked up the phone and relayed the information. ‘I have a Ms Tennent here. She says that she has an appointment with Mr Zverev.’ There was a moment’s pause and then she looked at Libby. ‘Your first name?’

‘Libby,’ she said, but then, realising that given the way the security was in this place she was likely to be asked for official ID, she amended, ‘Short for Elizabeth.’

Libby tried to appear calm and avoided curling a stray strand of her blond hair around her finger or tapping her feet, as she did not want to appear nervous.

She was nervous, though. Well, not so much nervous, more uncomfortable that she had agreed to do this.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to because the receptionist shook her head as she replaced the phone. ‘Mr Zverev cannot see you.’

‘Excuse me?’ Libby blinked, not only at the refusal but that it came with no apology or explanation. ‘What do you mean, I have—?’

‘Mr Zverev only sees people by strict appointment and, Ms Tennent, you don’t have one.’

‘But I do.’

The receptionist shook her head. ‘It is a Mr Lindsey Tennent who has a 6:00 p.m. appointment. If he was unable to make it then he should have called ahead to see if sending a replacement was suitable—Mr Zverev doesn’t just see anyone.’

Libby knew when she was beaten. She had rather hoped they might not notice the discrepancy—as most places wouldn’t. She was almost tempted to apologise for the confusion and leave, but her father had broken down in tears when he’d asked her to do this for him. Knowing just how much was riding on this meeting, she forced herself to stand her ground. She pulled herself as tall as her petite five-foot-three frame would allow and looked the receptionist squarely in the eye.

‘My father was involved in an car accident earlier today, which is the reason that he couldn’t make it, and sent me as a replacement. Now, can you please let Mr Zverev know that I’m here and ready to meet with him? He knows very well the reason for my visit, or perhaps you’d like me to clarify that here?’

The receptionist glanced at whoever was standing behind Libby and then to the left of her. Clearly Libby had a small audience. The receptionist must have decided that the foyer wasn’t the place to discuss the great man’s business because she gave a tight shrug.

‘One moment.’

Another phone call was made, though out of Libby’s earshot, and eventually the immaculate woman returned and gave Libby a visitor’s pass. Finally she was permitted past the guarded barrier that existed around Daniil Zverev.

The elevator door was held open for her and she stepped in.

Even the elevator was luxurious. The carpet was thick beneath her feet. There was no piped music, just cool air and subdued lighting, which was very welcome on a hot summer evening after a mad dash across London to get here.

She should never have let her father talk into this, she thought.

In fact, she hadn’t. When Libby had said yes to trying to persuade this man to come along to his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary celebration, it had been a Daniel Thomas she had expected to be meeting.

But just as she had been about to leave her father had called her back.

‘Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you.’

Her father, who had been begging Libby to the point of tears, had then looked a touch uncomfortable and evasive. ‘He goes under a different name now.’

‘Sorry?’ Libby had had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Or rather it would seem that Daniel Thomas has recently reverted to his real name—Daniil Zverev. He was adopted.’

‘Well, if he’s gone back to his birth name, clearly there’s a serious rift. I’m not going to interfere...’

‘Libby, please,’ her father begged. ‘All Zverev has to do is show up and make a speech.’

A speech? The list of demands for Daniil had again increased. Show up, dance with aunts, be sociable, and now she had to ask him to make a speech!

No, Libby was not comfortable with this at all. She lived in her own dreamy bubble where the role of negotiator didn’t exist. She was very forthright, in that she had an expressive face and a tendency to say what she was thinking. She also, to her parents’ disquiet, had always refused to quietly toe the line.

‘You never said anything about him having to make a speech.’

‘Can you just talk to him for me, Libby? Please!’

Why the hell had she said yes?

Of course, she had looked Daniil up on her taxi ride here. Her father had said that face-to-face he was sure that Libby would be able to appeal to his conscience but it would seem, from her brief skim through several articles, that the esteemed financier previously known as Daniel Thomas didn’t have one.

It was, one article observed, as if he saw everyone as the opposition and would step over whomever he had to if it meant he achieved his aim.

As for women—well, it would take far longer than a thirty-minute taxi ride to read up on that part of his history! The word heartbreaker was thrown around a lot. User. From what Libby could glean, his longest, for the want of a word, relationship had been a two-week affair with a German supermodel, who had been left devastated by their sudden ending.

Well, what did these women expect? Libby had thought when she’d read how some considered the break-up to have been cruel.

Why would anyone ever get involved with him?

Libby had never been one for one-night stands but it would seem Daniil Zverev was a master of them. She was cautious in relationships, never quite believing men who said that her dancing wouldn’t get in the way and that they had no issue with the hours she devoted to her art.

Always she had been proved right to be cautious. Invariably the reasons for the break-ups were the same—that she was obsessed with ballet, self-absorbed and hardly ever free to go out.

Correct.

She’d told them the same at the start.

Libby got back from dwelling on her disastrous love life to trying to fathom Daniil.

Surprisingly, there had been little made of his name change—it was as if even the press was wary of broaching certain topics around him.

So, too, was Libby. She certainly didn’t relish the prospect of asking him to play ‘happy families.’

Of course, she felt like David going into face Goliath as she came out of the elevator and walked along a corridor, only to face another seriously beautiful woman who ran her eyes over Libby as she approached the desk.

‘I’m here to see Mr Zverev,’ Libby said, but her smile wasn’t returned.

‘Perhaps you would like to freshen up before you go through.’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ Libby shook her head—she really just wanted to get this over and done with.

‘You will find the ladies’ room just down the hall and to your right.’

To her sudden embarrassment Libby realised that it was being suggested, and strongly so, that she needed to tidy herself up.

Could the great Daniil Zverev only lay eyes on perfect people? Was he only prepared to hold court with women at their coiffed best?

She held back the smart retort, though, and instead, blushing to her roots, took herself off to the ladies room. As she stepped inside and saw herself in a full-length mirror she was, though she would never admit it, rather grateful for the advice to take a little time before seeing Daniil.

It was a warm and windy August day and she had the hair to prove it.

Determined to keep practising and to maintain her skills, without the delicious routine of dance class and rehearsals, Libby had been home, warming up, when word had come in that her father had been involved in a car accident. Of course, she had just pulled on some leggings and a wrap over her leotard, grabbed her workbag and raced to the accident and emergency department.

Her head was still spinning with all her father had revealed that afternoon. The family business was in serious trouble and they needed this anniversary party to go ahead next month. For that to happen, though, Daniil’s acceptance of his parents’ invitation must be secured.

Libby couldn’t think about her father’s business troubles now.

She went through her huge bag and pulled out a fresh ivory wrap and put that on over her leotard and changed from leggings into a grey tube skirt. Her blonde hair was already tied back but messy so she brushed and retied it and pinned it up. Her face was devoid of make-up and she looked far younger than her twenty-five years. Somehow she didn’t think fresh-faced would appeal to such a sophisticated man but Libby didn’t have an awful lot in her make-up bag to work with. Some mascara made her blue eyes look bigger and she added some lip gloss too.

She’d just have to do.

Libby knew she didn’t stand a hope with him. A man who had cut ties with his family so dramatically that he’d changed his name was hardly going to want to turn things around on her say-so.

And, anyway, Libby was the last person to tell someone else what they should do.

She, herself, didn’t like free advice.

She’d be working in the family business if she did.

Resigned to being sent away even before she’d got out the first sentence almost took away the fear of meeting him.

Yes, she’d just say what she had to and then walk away. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

Snooty Pants at Reception must have deemed Libby looked suitable now because she picked up the phone and informed him that his 6:00 p.m. appointment was here. ‘However, as I said it is—’ He must have interrupted her because she didn’t finish explaining again that it was Libby rather than Lindsey who was there. ‘I’ll send her in.’

As Libby finally went to head for the door it would seem that she’d jumped the mark.

‘You can leave your bag here.’

She was about to decline but again she realised it wasn’t a suggestion so she put her bag down and headed for the door. As she was about to raise her arm she was halted.

‘Don’t knock, it irritates him. Just go straight through.’

Libby felt like knocking just for the hell of it!

And knocking again.

And then knocking again.

The thought made her smile.

Widely!

And that was how he first saw her.

Smiling at some secret joke, because, Daniil knew, nothing his PA would have said would have put her at ease.

She was a dancer.

He knew that not just from her attire but from her posture as she closed the door behind her, and she was fighting her dancer’s gait as she walked a little way towards him and then paused.

As she stepped in Libby blinked. She was standing in a postcard view of London. She might just as well have bought a ticket for the London Eye, though there would never have been someone quite as delicious sitting opposite her there!

He had dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin and there was a livid scar across his left cheekbone. He sat straight in his seat at a very large desk, watching her with mild interest.

Despite the huge office, despite the vast space, he looked so formal and imposing that he owned every inch of it.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Zverev,’ she said, while privately, such was his impact, she rather wanted to turn and run.

‘My, my, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil said. ‘What a high, clear voice you have.’

His own voice was deep and his words were dipped and richly coated in a chocolaty Russian accent, and as she realised he was alluding to the appointment being with her father her smile stretched further and she lost her fear.

‘And, oh, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil continued, his eyes taking in her slender bare legs, ‘what smooth skin you have.’

She stood before him and, no, Libby wasn’t scared in the least. Still she smiled.

‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev...’ she started, and then halted as she properly met those cold grey eyes that pierced her. She sent a silent apology to the women she had so merrily scorned for getting involved with him. She had never understood women who could simply leap into bed with a man but she had to wrestle to hold on to her conscience, for he was so beautiful, his stare so intense and so sexy that he could possibly have had her then.

She had to clear her throat so she could continue speaking, and she had to recall their words just to find her thread.

Yes, that’s right...

‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev,’ Libby said, ‘that you’re the big bad wolf!’

CHAPTER TWO

SURPRISINGLY, WHEN SHE was so bold as to call him the big bad wolf to his face, Daniil actually smiled. ‘Indeed I am.’

Libby caught her breath. Those hooded, guarded features briefly relaxed, that deep red sulky mouth stretched and the cold grey eyes softened. Not a lot, just enough that, for a brief second, he didn’t look quite so formidable.

But very quickly that changed and it was down to business.

‘Take a seat,’ he instructed.

Libby did, crossing her ankles and resting her hands in her lap.

‘Would you like some refreshment?’ he offered.

‘No, thank you.’

‘You’re sure?’ he checked.

‘Quite sure.’ Libby nodded, just as she realised she was terribly thirsty, yet she felt uncomfortable knowing what she was about to ask him and cross with her father for the position she was in.

Daniil reached across his desk and opened a bottle of sparkling water. It was chilled, she could see that from the condensation on the bottle, and, suddenly very thirsty, Libby heard the delicious fizzing sound as he opened it and then the lovely glug, glug, glug as he poured it into a heavy glass.

He didn’t offer again.

Bastard.

But then he pushed the glass towards her, and with a slight roll of her eyes she took it. ‘Thank you.’

He poured his own and she glanced at his hands—even they were beautiful, his fingers long and slender, his nails short and manicured.

‘So?’ Daniil said.

Oh, yes. She dragged her mind back to the reason she was there. ‘My father is very sorry that he couldn’t make it this evening. He was involved in a car accident earlier today.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Daniil said. ‘He wasn’t seriously injured, I hope?’

‘Oh, no.’ She was surprised at the concern in his voice. ‘It’s just a mild concussion...’

Daniil hid his smirk as her voice trailed off and he watched as Libby frowned. It was a very mild concussion. In fact, the doctor had come in just as Libby had been leaving and had told Lindsey that he could go home.

If this meeting with Daniil had been so pressing, so vital and urgent, then surely he could have made the effort and come?

‘He needs to rest for the next forty-eight hours,’ she said, though suddenly she felt as if she was convincing herself instead of him. ‘As you know, he’s an events planner and—’

‘And the event that he is planning will not go ahead unless I attend.’ Daniil broke into her chatter.

‘Yes.’ Libby took a sip of her water. ‘Sir Richard is very adamant that without his son there...’ She looked at Daniil and saw the tiny rise of his eyebrows and she had the feeling he was laughing at her, though his lips did not move. ‘Well, it’s their fortieth wedding anniversary. That’s quite an achievement these days.’

‘What is?’ Daniil checked.

‘A forty-year marriage.’

‘Why?’

Libby blinked at his question. ‘Well, I guess if it’s a happy marriage then it’s quite an achievement.’ She shot out a nervous laugh—he picked up on everything.

‘I guess it is something.’ Daniil shrugged. ‘I have never made it past forty-eight hours...’

His eyes held hers, really held hers, and to her astonishment Libby realised that there was a warning there. A delicious warning perhaps, and Libby’s own eyes narrowed at something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

One—she pondered, was he flirting with her?

Possibly, she conceded. A lot of work would have gone into honing his technique so he was just idly practising perhaps.

Two—if he could be so direct then so would she.

‘There was that German supermodel...’ Libby wagged her finger at him. ‘You lasted two weeks with her, I believe.’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ Daniil said approvingly. ‘Ah, yes, Herta. I followed her to a photo shoot in Brazil, not because I was lovesick, more that I had to check something...’ His gorgeous index finger went to his Adam’s apple.

‘Sorry?’

‘I kept thinking—she was so tall and that voice of hers was so deep...’

Oh, my God, he was shocking.

‘And was she...?’ Libby croaked.

‘A she?’ Daniil said, and nodded. ‘She definitely was. Thank God.’ He let out a low laugh and Libby forgot what planet she was on. It was Daniil who had to bring her back to earth. ‘Go on,’ he said.

She had two big guns to use on him and a very impatient target. She could almost sense her time with the great man was about to expire.

‘Well, as you know, Lady Katherine is unwell,’ Libby said. ‘Extremely unwell.’

‘Not so unwell that she can’t throw a party,’ Daniil pointed out.

‘No, but...’

‘But?’

She tried to trip or even make a tiny jiggle on his guilt switch but he just coolly stared back at her as she spoke. ‘Well, there might not be a forty-first.’

‘Is that it?’ Daniil frowned.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your attempt to persuade me?’

She swallowed. She did think of her other big gun, that there was a letter awaiting him if he went and something about Sir Richard not giving Daniil’s inheritance to his cousin, but, hell, Libby thought, how tacky was that, so she chose not to use it.

‘That’s it.’ Libby sighed and gave in. ‘I’m not very good at trying to persuade people. I tend not to bother, in fact.’

‘Well, just so you know, your technique is all wrong,’ he said. ‘First, you should have given me all the shit, just laid it out on the table for me.’

‘Such as?’

‘You should have told me that I would have to go by my adopted name if I attended—Daniel Thomas—and that I would be expected to give a speech...’

Libby sat with her mouth gaping, realising he was streets ahead of her.

‘Then,’ Daniil said, ‘when you had my emphatic refusal, then you should have tried to persuade me and talk me round by pointing out my mother’s declining health and such things.’

‘Would it have worked?’

‘Not on me,’ he said. ‘I’m just letting you know, for future reference, that you were working backwards with your technique because, had I dubiously agreed, there was still more you had to ask of me. You hit me too soon with the sob story.’

‘Well, then, it’s just as well this isn’t my usual kind of work,’ Libby said, and peered at him. He completely intrigued her. He was a stunning mix—arrogant and hostile yet somehow approachable.

‘Tell your father the answer is no—I shall not be attending my parents’ wedding anniversary celebrations.’

‘Because?’ she asked.

‘I have no reason to, neither do I wish to share my decision-making process with you.’

‘Was it always going to be a no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, why did you agree to see my father?’

‘Well, he insisted that he had something to say that might change my mind. I notice that you didn’t mention my inheritance going to Cousin George.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I have no reason to, neither do I wish to share my decision-making process with you.’ Libby parroted his words but he just smiled.

‘You know you want to really.’

She did!

‘Well—’ Libby shuffled in her seat ‘—I happen to think that’s blackmail.’

‘That’s my parents’ favourite sport,’ Daniil said. ‘Anyway, I don’t need a draughty old mansion on my hands. I loathe the place. I certainly have no wish to ever own it.’

Libby hated that she’d been talked into doing this, she really did. ‘Look, I’m very sorry for interrupting you, Mr Zverev.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Yes.’ Libby beamed. ‘I’ll pass on your response to my father.’

‘If he is annoyed at not getting his way, know that he would have lasted one minute with me. You can console yourself you did better than he ever could have.’

‘Why?’

‘I liked watching your mouth.’

‘You can’t say that.’

‘Why not? You demanded to see me, you came into my office without a proper appointment, you don’t get to dictate how I behave in here.’

He stood and she just about folded over in her seat as six feet two of heaven gracefully walked across the floor and retrieved his jacket from a stand. Well, he sort of flicked it off the hook and then slipped it on, all in one lithe motion.

‘There’s water,’ Daniil said, ‘and over there is a fridge with some nice contents. The bathroom is through there...’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re still sitting and I’m clearly on my way out so I assumed you were staying.’

‘Oh!’

Even standing was a challenge with him in the room. Her legs had forgotten their role, and so had her head because she even bent down to retrieve her bag, which, of course, wasn’t there.

‘That’s right, I left it at Reception.’

He made her seem slightly mad.

She felt slightly mad.

As she stepped out of his office it was like walking out of a ten-hour back-to-back session at the movies and blinking at the light.

Libby picked up her bag and gave Snooty Pants a smile then headed for the elevator but she jumped in quiet surprise when she realised that he was standing behind her.

‘I thought that you’d have a special elevator,’ Libby observed. ‘One that only goes up.’

Yes, she thought, he would take her to heaven.

They stepped in and the doors closed and Libby waited for the most excruciating elevator ride of her life to commence, but instead it turned out to be the best ever.

He was checking his phone and then he looked up to where she stood. She was leaning against the wall, gazing at his stunning face, intrigued by his scar.

‘Do you want an early dinner?’ he said, and, just like that, he offered her a delectable slice of his time.

‘Dinner?’

‘Well, I’m hungry and I guess you didn’t have time to eat in your haste to get to your critically injured father.’

Libby’s lips twitched into a smile.

‘And then,’ Daniil continued, ‘there would have been all the shock and relief of finding out that he only had mild concussion.’

She laughed. ‘No, I didn’t have lunch.’

‘So do you want dinner?’ Daniil checked. ‘But on one condition.’

They stepped out and walked across the foyer. She glanced at the receptionist who hadn’t been going to let her in and Libby was tempted to poke out her tongue.

‘What’s the condition?’ she asked.

‘Know that I shan’t be changing my mind.’

‘About?’ Libby frowned and then answered her own question—oh, yes, the reason she was there. ‘I get that.’

They walked out and a car with a driver standing outside was waiting for him.

‘How did he know you were on your way out?’

‘Cindy would have rung down to alert him that I was leaving.’

Cindy!

Well, yes, she would be called that.

As she climbed into the car, one of the many things that Libby was thinking about was how much money she had on her and what the balance on her credit card was.

Her mother had always warned her to have enough money for a taxi ride home and she also wanted to know she had money enough on her card to pay for dinner.

He was, she had read, prone to walking off in the middle of a meal, or a holiday, or a photo shoot in Brazil. When bored, he did not push through politely.

He could leave at any moment, and she accepted that—this was transient and temporary.

She wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Now they were out of his vast office and in the smaller surroundings of a car, his size was more noticeable. Tall, his shoulders were wide, but as he had put on his jacket she had noted just how flat his stomach was.

She was small but he made her feel tiny as she sat beside him. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere nice,’ he said.

Nice was a roped-off club that drew a crowd even on a Monday evening.

And it was very nice not to have to queue.

‘Did you have a reservation?’ Libby asked, as they were shown straight in and through.

‘No, I never book anywhere,’ he said as they took a seat. She put her bag on the floor and they put their phones down on the table. ‘How can you know in the morning what you will want that night?’

Second warning bell.

She glanced around and people were staring at them.

She felt a little like she had when she’d done work experience at the library and the real worker had gone to lunch. Someone had asked her a question and had expected her to know the answer.

‘I don’t really work here,’ Libby had wanted to say as she’d tapped away on the computer.

‘I’m not really with him,’ she wanted to correct the curious onlookers.

Except, to her absolute delight, tonight she was!

Oh, she knew it was a one-off, that she was here by default only, but it was such a lovely turn of events that she decided to simply enjoy it.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Daniil asked, as she read through the cocktail menu.

It was overwhelming.

Like him.

Just breathing normally was an impossible feat with him so near.

She gave a slightly helpless shake of her head, which was probably terribly unsophisticated but it was all she could manage.

‘Champagne?’ he checked, and she nodded, but when he gave the order and she heard just what champagne they would be drinking she knew she had better hold on to that attention span of his because her credit card would not be able to cover it.

The champagne was poured and the ice was truly broken when Libby’s phone rang and Daniil glanced down and saw from Libby’s caller ID that it was her father calling.

‘Answer,’ he said.

She did so.

‘I’m sorry, Dad, I did speak to him but the answer’s still no.’

Daniil watched her as she talked.

His invitation to take Libby to dinner had surprised him. She was nothing like his usual type, which was generally close to a foot taller and quite happy to sit bored and silent, just pleased to be seen out with him.

Libby Tennent didn’t sit. She squirmed in the chair as she chatted, one hand was playing with her hair, her eyes were rolling and she was frantically blushing as she spoke with her father. ‘No, I’d say that there’s no chance of him changing his mind.’

Daniil watched.

‘No, I wouldn’t try calling him if I were you, Dad,’ Libby responded when her father suggested he do just that. She gave Daniil a little wink. ‘He’s a very cold person.’

Daniil smiled and took a drink of his champagne.

‘No, I think you’re just going to have to accept that his answer is no. How are you feeling—?’ she attempted, but he had already rung off.

She put down her phone and raised her palms in the air then looked up when Daniil started counting.

‘One,’ Daniil said, and Libby frowned. ‘Two...’ Just as she was about to ask what he meant, his phone rang. ‘I still don’t know how he got my private number.’

He took the call from Lindsey and was about to give his usual cold, brusque response, but, maybe because he knew that he’d be sleeping with his daughter in, say, an hour or so from now, Daniil was a touch more polite than he would usually be.

‘Lindsey, I am sorry to hear about your accident. I’m blocking your number now. Don’t try to get hold of me again.’

He rang off.

‘I feel so bad for him,’ Libby admitted. ‘As well as cross with him for sending me to try to persuade you. I told him I didn’t want to.’

‘So why did you?’

Libby gave a tight shrug. ‘He pointed out that, unlike June, my sister, I do nothing at all for the family business.’

‘What does June do?’

‘She’s a chef.’ Libby sighed. ‘Who married a chef.’

‘A very handy daughter to have for an events planner.’

Libby gave a glum nod. ‘Unlike me.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She works with my father.’

‘Do you get on?’

‘We do but...’ Libby gave another tight shrug. ‘I’m far too demonstrative for the lot of them. You know, sometimes I’m sure that I’m adop...’ She swallowed down the most appalling faux pas but Daniil just gave a wry smile.

‘At least I knew that I was.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Libby winced. ‘That was thoughtless.’

‘What is it with the English and guilt?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t bother me a bit, and there’s no reason for guilt about your father—it’s not your fault his business is about to go under.’

Libby shot him a look.

‘How?’ she asked. How did he know?

‘Does he usually chase up every non-attendee with such vigour?’

‘No.’

‘Clearly this party is very important to him.’

‘It is.’

‘Guilt and manipulation are terrible bedfellows,’ Daniil said. ‘My parents must know that your father is desperate, so they used him to get to me. In turn, he knows that he’s getting nowhere, so he guilts you into coming to see me, hoping I would not be able to say no to your lovely blue eyes.’ He wagged his finger at her. ‘Tut-tut, Libby.’ Then he gave her a thin smile. ‘So are you close to your parents?’

‘For the most part,’ Libby said. ‘I think all families have their issues that drive each other crazy but if you love...’ She hesitated as she remembered that Daniil was estranged from his parents. ‘Do you care about them at all?’

‘No.’ He shook his head but offered no elaboration.

‘Were you ever close to them?’

‘I never let myself get close to anyone.’

She frowned, but said nothing at first. It wasn’t for her to correct him, it wasn’t for her to say he was wrong. She had stepped into his world uninvited and she didn’t make his rules or get to tell him how he should be.

‘Why?’ Libby asked, and from the blush spreading on her neck both knew she wasn’t just discussing his lack of relationship with his parents.

‘Because it leads to expectations that it might last and, in my opinion, nothing lasts. Libby...’ Daniil was incredibly direct. ‘You do understand that whatever happens tonight won’t change my mind about attending my parents’ party?’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t believe her for a moment. ‘You’re sure?’ he checked.

She nodded.

‘Because,’ he warned, ‘that would be very foolish of you.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I hope that you understand that your expensive champagne won’t buy a night in bed with me.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’ Daniil nodded. ‘But my charm might.’

Libby laughed.

He was bad but it felt so good.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘You know about my two-week record, what’s your record in a relationship?’

Libby thought for a moment. ‘Eighteen months,’ she said. ‘Though the last six don’t really count.’

‘Why?’

‘We were seriously limping along by then.’ She thought back to that time—the constant knot in her stomach at the juggling of too many balls. It had been a relief when the relationship ball had finally fallen and she could fully immerse herself in dance. ‘Apparently I was too focused on my career.’

‘Instead of him?’ Daniil checked, and Libby nodded. ‘That’s his issue.’

‘Perhaps,’ she sighed. ‘I keep telling myself that.’

‘Then, it’s time to start believing it.’

The waiter came and Libby ordered the French onion soup as her main and Daniil asked for two steaks and a green salad.

When they were alone she looked back at him. ‘Two?’

‘I have a big appetite,’ he said, and then admitted that he was curious about her order. ‘I’m surprised that you didn’t ask for them to leave off the cheese and bread. Isn’t that what most ballet dancers do?’

‘Ha.’ Libby gave a wry smile. ‘Unfortunately the only time I’m not hungry is when I’m anxious or stressed. The moment I’m happy I’m constantly starving. How did you know I was a dancer?’

‘You were trying very hard to keep your legs parallel and not walk like a duck when you came into my office.’

Oh. Her thighs were definitely parallel now—in fact, they were squeezed tightly together just from the delicious brush of his knees.

‘Professional?’ Daniil asked.

‘Ex.’ For the first time he saw that happy smile waver. ‘Well, I guess I shall be again soon but in a different way—I’m looking at two rentals tomorrow so that I can start my own dance school. You know the saying, those that can’t, teach.’

‘That doesn’t sound like something you would say to somebody else,’ Daniil observed.

‘No,’ Libby admitted.

‘So why do you say it about yourself?’

‘I’m guess I’m not where I’d hoped to be.’

‘Which is?’

For the first time conversation faltered.

Libby took a large slug of champagne before speaking. ‘My biggest part never happened...’ She saw his small frown. ‘I was understudy once. You know when they say, “Break a leg”? Well, I meant it. But, of course, she didn’t.’

‘You never meant it.’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’d have loved her to get at least one migraine, though.’

Daniil smiled and now so did she.

‘Look, I’ve accepted that the small roles I get aren’t going to lead to anything bigger. I love ballet, seriously I do, but it’s not everything. It’s almost everything but if you want to go far then that’s what it has to be. I’ve also had a couple of injuries that I haven’t come back from...’

‘Such as?’

‘You never want to see my feet,’ she said.

‘Oh, but I do.’

Said feet’s toes were curling at another press of his knee, so much so she was almost tempted to flick off her shoe and place it in his lap.

Help!

‘Anyway, the last fracture I had demanded rest and you just can’t. You have to push through but I realised that I can’t keep doing it any more. I know I’m not going to go far, at least not anywhere that’s going to pay more than my rent, so I’ve been studying to teach. I’m actually excited about it now. I’ve had my depression.’

‘You thought that your life was over?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she readily agreed, because for months she had not been able to imagine leaving her dream behind, but now, well, she was happy with what she’d achieved and excited for all that was to come.

Almost.

There was an ache there—that she would never be a part of a big production again, never audition—but she avoided touching it for now.

‘And so tomorrow you look at places to open your own dance school?’

‘I do.’

‘Good luck, then.’ He raised his glass and they chinked them.

The soup was sublime, the crust perfect, and she poked a hole to get to the lovely brown broth beneath.

‘Tell me about the places you are looking at tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Well, there’s one not very far from where you work and it has the rent to prove it. Then there’s one in the East End, which I can afford and it already has mirrors...’

‘So it was once a dance studio?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did it close down?’

Her spoon paused midway to her mouth. ‘Don’t spoil my appetite.’

‘No, these are the questions that you need to ask. Trust me, I know these things.’

She gave him a tight smile. ‘I don’t think teeny-tiny dance studios are your area of expertise...’

‘Business is business.’

‘Perhaps, but it’s very personal to me.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being personal,’ he said. His knees did not dust hers now, they were there touching hers and pressing in a little and, yes, they were officially flirting, and if he could be nosey then so could she. ‘How did you get your scar?’

He gave a tiny shake of his head as a response.

Just that.

No evasiveness, no excuses, just a tiny shake of his head that told her not to go there.

It intrigued her, though.

The scar was jagged and raised and, given his billions, Libby wondered why he didn’t get it tidied up.

His teeth were beautifully capped—well, she assumed that they were because no genes were that good—and clearly, from everything else she could see, from his immaculate hair to his exquisitely cut suit, Daniil took care of his appearance.

Apart from that scar.

They chatted, or rather she did. He was extraordinarily good at getting information out of her. Where she lived, where she’d gone to school, where she’d danced.

And as he went to top up her glass and only a trickle came out, she realised most of the conversation had been about her.

‘I’ll get more,’ he said, about to call for a waiter, but Libby stopped him.

‘Not for me—I’d pass out.’

‘Dessert?’

He saw the wrestling in those lovely blue eyes. Libby knew their time was up, yet she simply couldn’t walk away.

‘Please.’

The menus came again and she looked through her choices, tempted to order the chocolate soufflé, just to prolong the inevitable end.

‘Crême brulée,’ Libby settled for instead. ‘You?’

‘Just coffee.’

It was eight twenty-seven when her dessert was served and it was already over.

‘Nice?’ Daniil asked.

‘Very.’ Libby nodded, yet she could more than sense his distraction. He glanced out to the street and once more she saw him check the time.

Thank him for dinner and go home, Libby told herself, but instead she dragged things out a tiny bit by going to the loo. Then she had a coffee and little chocolate mints but all too soon their drinks were done and all that was left for Libby to do was slip a serviette into her bag as a memento of the evening.

A few moments later they walked out into the street and there, waiting for him, was his driver.

‘I’m going to get a taxi home,’ Libby said.

‘Why would you do that when I have a car waiting?’

A car that, from the way she was feeling, would only lead to his door. She looked up at him. ‘I think we both know why.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was very refreshing to meet you, Ms Tennent.’

‘It was very daunting to meet you.’ Libby smiled. ‘Well, it was at first.’

‘And how about now?’

His hands went to her hips, the move sexy and suggestive as he framed where their minds were. Libby had a sudden urge to be lifted by him, to wrap her legs around him.

‘I’m very daunted,’ she admitted, ‘though the middle bit was fun.’

It was daunting only because she was about to be kissed by the devil.

Why the hell did I order French onion soup, she thought, wondering if she could press Pause on him and scrabble in her bag for mints.

Oh, that was right, she’d had those chocolate ones with her coffee.

‘What are you thinking?’ Daniil said, because her eyes were darting and it was as if she was having a conversation with herself.

‘I’m not going to tell you.’

He didn’t test the waters, he didn’t start slowly, he just lowered his head from a great distance and Libby got the most thorough kissing of her life. His lips parted hers, his lips, not his tongue, and he held her so firmly that even as she went to rise onto her toes still he held her down. And when her lips were opened his tongue tipped hers and he explored her, not particularly softly. His jaw was rough and delicious, and when she tried to kiss him back she was met by a refusal.

This was his kiss to her, his mouth said. It wasn’t a dance of their mouths. He didn’t even lead, he simply took over, tasting her, stilling her, making her body roar into flame with his mouth. So solid was he Libby felt as if she were leaning against a wall. Even when someone knocked into them they were barely interrupted, such was the shield of him.

His kiss had her hot, right there in the street, but the only movement he allowed was to let her hands reach for his chest. She slid her fingers over the cool fabric of his shirt and found the nub of his nipples. Yes, she was hot and aching for more, her hips were pushing frantically against his hands so their bodies might have more contact. But then, when he coiled her so tight, he released her mouth. He’d let her glimpse a fraction of what being held by him felt like and then he cruelly removed the pleasure.

She sucked in the summer night air while craving his mouth again.

‘Bed,’ Daniil said.

‘I don’t...’ Libby halted. What had she been about to say—that she didn’t want to?

Well, yes, she did.

Since the age of eight, dancing had come first, which had meant self-discipline.

In everything.

How nice to stand here on the brink of making a decision based purely on now, on her own needs and wants right at this moment.

And she did want.

So she chose to say yes when the wisest choice might have been to decline.

‘Bed.’ Libby nodded and then blinked at her response. She didn’t retract it but her voice was rueful when she spoke next. ‘I am so going to regret this in the morning,’

‘Only if you expect me to love you by then.’

Third warning bell.

She could turn and walk away now.

‘Oh, no,’ Libby said, and in that at least she was wise.

‘Then, there’s no reason for regret.’

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