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Sybella knew she’d remember this when she was old and grey and had great-grandchildren who would never believe their granny had once given her heart to a Russian billionaire and sailed the Indian Ocean in his boat, a man who had the world at his fingertips but right now wanted only her, Sybella Frances Parminter, and her wide, womanly arse. All at once she began to giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’
She looked up, smiling at him. ‘One day I’ll be telling this story about you and me and standing in a vegetable patch and no one will believe me.’
‘Come inside, then.’ He scooped her up and carried her back into the house and up the creaking stairs and past Fleur’s room with its night light and into the corner bedroom where she had moved in alone, almost six years ago after Simon had died, and spent the first night wide awake, tearless and terrified because of the enormity of facing life alone—that was until her baby had kicked.
Fleur had kicked hard. As if to remind her being alone was no longer her fate.
It was time to stop being afraid and to accept that maybe Nik was her fate too.
* * *
Nik looked at the clock. He needed to get up but Sybella was lying partially on top of him, her mermaid hair strewn across his chest.
He eyed the low ceiling above them. If he stood up and extended his hand he could flatten his palm on that ceiling. He frowned. Damn this place was small. Built for pygmies. They needed to move.
Which was when he flipped his gaze from ceiling to woman and he grinned. He knew then he could get used to this very quickly. How in the hell had she pulled him around this far in the span of several weeks?
Only Sybella didn’t give him a clue, she continued to rest her angel face in the crook of his shoulder, as if he were more restful for her than a pillow. He shared the sentiment. She was warm and her lavish curves cushioned him perfectly. They complemented one another in more ways than one.
He traced the fine skin beneath the soft arc of her pale lashes and trailed his finger down to the curve of her slightly parted lips. She grew more beautiful to him every day and stirred strong feelings in him he didn’t recognise.
Smitten didn’t even begin to cover it.
He cared about what she thought of him, and at the moment he had a lot to hide.
It was almost ironic when his phone lit up several minutes later and he palmed it off the bedside table, not surprised to see it was from his assistant.
Pavel worked the mad hours he did.
It was a message about an explosion in the Urals mine.
He left Sybella to sleep because he was accustomed to handling things alone, and only remembered to call her when he was in-flight and she wasn’t answering.
He sent a message.
* * *
Sybella read the message.
Real life intrudes, accident at mine, no loss of life, I’ll ring tonight.
For the next two days she didn’t hear from him and consequently found herself up at midnight, boiling tea, standing over the sink and wondering how her bed had got to feel so lonely when he’d been sharing it for only a brief time.
Which was when it occurred to her there would probably be some information about the mine accident on the Internet.
She fired up her laptop and sure enough the screen filled with various links connected to Nik’s name, but at the top with an accompanying small image was an article from an infamous British tabloid. Marla puts raunchy moves on Russian oligarch!
Sybella just stood there. For a moment all she could think was, Don’t look…don’t look.
But she was clicking and scrolling and, like Bluebeard’s wife, once seen, she couldn’t forget it.
There was an image of Marla Mendez in tiny black barely there underwear, holding a bottle of champagne. Another of Marla pouring champagne over her breasts, her virtually bared breasts, because the bra was basically there as a frame for the main event. Marla climbing onto some guy’s lap. The fourth image was recognisably of Nik, in profile, sitting on a chair with Marla astride him, looking, well, looking…
It was hard to get past all the naked female flesh and her boyfriend, but Nik didn’t seem to be touching her in any way or engaging with her.
Sybella leaned onto the bench and rested her head in her hands, utterly thrown.
It must have happened before they met.
