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‘Yes, and they’re going to want to have lots of sex.’
Suddenly becoming conscious of their rapt audience Eleanore lowered her voice. ‘They’ll want lots of romance too, and sleigh rides and huskies pulling sleds are definitely romantic. And very Russian. And really, at some point your couples are going to get sick of all that bed time together and want to find something else to do.’
‘If they get sick of all that bed time,’ he murmured provocatively, ‘then they’re not doing it very well.’
‘Maybe you should offer lessons,’ she suggested tartly.
A smile flickered at one corner of his mouth and his eyes held hers. ‘Maybe I should.’
Eleanore’s breath caught and she deliberately cast her eyes around the small elevator at the frozen expressions on the other occupants’ faces. She smiled at the woman beside her. ‘Dasvida—oh, I mean zstraduetye.’ Even though she covered her slip she barely got a nod from the woman, or anyone else. Probably they were all as shocked by the topic of their conversation as she was.
The lift seemed to stop at every floor in the building but finally it was blessedly empty and she turned back to Lukas. ‘You’ve certainly given those people something to talk about at the water cooler later on. You do realise everyone was staring at you when you mentioned sex.’
‘On the contrary, everyone was staring at you because you were challenging me.’
‘Why? Don’t people usually challenge you?’
Not like she did. Which wasn’t the most comfortable of realisations. It made him feel as if the balance of power in his carefully constructed world was somehow under threat. An illogical thought because the petite woman beside him was about as dangerous as a daisy. ‘No.’
‘Well, that seems silly. Surely they don’t agree with everything you say.’
Irritation at her persistence rode him hard. ‘If they don’t they table their concerns in the appropriate manner and then they’d better have a damned good reason for wasting my time with it.’
Eleanore frowned up at him. ‘But how do you build on your ideas? How do you flesh them out?’
‘My ideas rarely need fleshing out. They just need executing.’
‘Oh, right. You and Stalin both.’
Her soft mouth twitched with humour and Lukas wondered what she would do if he gave in to his body’s urges and leant forward and kissed her. Would she resist or would she melt like butter in the hot sun? He recalled her assertion moments ago that relationships were about more than sex. That they were about fun, and he was annoyed to realise that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fun. And fun with a woman? The type she was talking about. Did that even exist?
Wanting to quash the unsettled feelings in the pit of his stomach he pointed his finger at her. ‘No sleigh rides, no huskies and sleds, and—’ the lift doors pinged open ‘—no reindeers with red noses either.’
A mutinous scowl crossed her face and she raised her chin as she stalked out of the lift ahead of him. Something else people around him tended not to do. When she gasped in awe at the layout of his private sanctuary something deeply satisfying bloomed in his chest.
‘I love these plants. They’re gorgeous. And incredibly hard to grow.’
Plants? What plants? Lukas ran his gaze around the room and saw a corner filled with green palm fronds. Had they always been there?
‘I love the use of the space as well and the angle of the windows. Is that because they have solar panels attached to the bottom?’ She strode over to peer outside.
‘Yes. I wanted the building to be self-sustaining.’
She glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘This was your idea?’
He didn’t like the amazement that flashed across her face as if somehow he was too base to consider environmental concerns. Especially when he’d commissioned the solar panels before it had become trendy to do so. ‘It’s my building, who else’s would it be? Stalin’s?’
Her mouth kicked up a little. ‘Well, as much as it pains me to admit it, I like it.’
‘I’m so very pleased to have your endorsement, Miss Harrington,’ he said sarcastically, irritated to find that actually he was. It wasn’t as if he sought out, or desired, anyone’s approval, let alone a woman who looked far too good in a pencil skirt.
She smiled at something behind him and crossed the room. ‘Zdrasvustske.’
Lukas grimaced at her appalling pronunciation and turned to see her holding her hand out to his PA. ‘I’m Eleanore Harrington.’
