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This was talking to her?
‘Try Spanish,’ was all he said, in a deep, gravelly voice she hadn’t registered before when he had spoken in Russian.
Maisy sat through Spanish, Italian and interestingly Polish renditions of the same introduction. As the Polish rolled musically on she tried to marshal her racing thoughts. Her gaze kept creeping back to the man who had restrained her. He seemed to be the focus in the room, and he reeked confidence and control. Except when she had been in his arms for a moment there she had sensed something else. Something very much uncontrolled.
Maisy suppressed an involuntary shiver and his head came up, as if sensing her movement. His darkened eyes moved over her, settling on the pulse that was beating wildly at the base of her throat. It held his assessing gaze for a moment. Then he said abruptly, ‘She’s English.’
He despatched the mobile and gave her a measured look.
‘I need to know where the boy is.’
Maisy’s skittering pulse went still. Every hackle in her body rose.
Alexei saw the moment she shut down, and cursed himself inwardly. He didn’t have time for this. When she didn’t answer he lost patience. ‘I’m taking Leonid Kulikov’s son out of here. I need you to take me to him.’
‘No,’ she said.
No? No? Alexei made a soft sound of disbelief.
‘I’m not letting you anywhere near the Kulikovs’ child. Who in the hell do you think you are?’
The kitten could scratch. Despite himself, Alexei felt his libido give a little kick.
‘I’m Alexei Ranaevsky, his legal guardian.’
Her gaze made an involuntary skate over the breadth of his chest and shoulders, then fastened on his face. He had dark hair, curling and close-cropped, and he was about as close to a fantasy as Maisy had ever had.
Yet her stomach twisted, even as she knew she ought to feel relief.
Someone had finally come for Kostya. But because no one was walking Kostya out of this house without her, this man had come for her too. Only he didn’t know it. Something fluttered low in Maisy’s chest and she recognised it was fear—quite different from the terror she had felt when these men had burst in on her. This was fear of the known.
Alexei had apparently said everything he was going to say to her, and turned around and headed for the stairs.
Maisy’s anxious ‘Wait!’ didn’t break his stride.
She chased him up two flights of stairs, all the while babbling about not waking Kostya, but he ignored her completely.
Why isn’t he listening to me?
He’d reached the nursery landing when she launched herself at him physically. ‘Please. Stop.’
Alexei paused midstride as female arms came around his waist. Bumping up against him, she grappled to take hold of his jacket. She was panting, and Alexei looked down to see some of her curls had come loose. With the colour high in her cheeks she was considerably more intriguing than she had been at first glance. She was also clearly very distressed.
But that was not his concern, Alexei dismissed irritably. She knew who he was. She was either trying to garner his attention or behaving irrationally. Either was of no interest to him. He moved and she didn’t, and a very decisive ripping sound rent the air between them.
There was an awful moment as Maisy realised what she had done. His eyes locked on hers, whatever he’d been about to say giving way to a look of complete disbelief. Satisfaction at finally gaining his attention turned up the corners of Maisy’s lips, and his stare dropped to the lush unpainted pink of her mouth and buzzed there.
Disconcerted, she lost her concentration for a moment, and something of this must have communicated itself because an answering smile hovered over his mouth. Struck, Maisy dropped her gaze and, making the most of her advantage in that moment, moved fast, scooting ahead of him and blocking his way as best she could.
‘I am not letting you see Kostya until you tell me what’s going on.’
His gaze ran the length of her, and his tone was an arctic degree cooler than his eyes. ‘You’re in full possession of the facts. I’m his legal guardian. Remove yourself.’
As if that was all he had to say.
‘Or what? You’ll get one of your bully boys to do it for you?’ Maisy challenged. Some part of her brain told her this was not persuading him she was the right person to look after Kostya, but he was making her so angry with his high-handed attitude. It wasn’t his house. Kostya wasn’t his child. And she certainly wasn’t his doormat.
‘Do you cook here? Clean?’ he rapped out. ‘Because, quite frankly, I don’t explain my actions to staff.’
‘I’m the nanny,’ she flung at him—which was close enough to the truth.
