style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Never assume anything, Miss Sanders.’ Angered by his reaction at seeing beneath the layers of dark fur she wore, as if born to Russian winters, he fought to keep his tone neutral. She was a beautiful woman, and his body’s reaction to her meant that his voice was anything but neutral and much harsher than it should have been.
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, her slender dark brows furrowed into a frown of confusion. ‘Life has taught me that, Mr Petrushov.’
‘Cunningham,’ he corrected her again, but something in the way she said those words and the look of haunted fear which had rushed across her beautiful face as she’d spoken nudged at his conscience. He shouldn’t be so hard, so aggressive. Not if he wanted to steer her away from the truth of his family. Maybe playing to the attraction sizzling between them would be the way to create that distraction?
He wondered what she meant as he picked up on the inference that life hadn’t been easy for her. He resisted the urge to ask, not wanting to draw her into a conversation that may turn back on him. Over the years he’d become adept at providing just enough information about himself to satisfy people, but never enough for them to know the full facts.
‘Then we already understand one another.’ He pulled off his coat and hat, hung them up then took hers from her, his fingers unexpectedly brushing against hers. A jolt of heat surged through him and, as she pulled her hand back, she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled. Her full lips, slicked with gloss, parted and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to lower his head and kiss her. Not a gentle brushing of lips but a hard, demanding kiss. The kind of kiss which led to fierce and passionate sex.
What the hell was he thinking?
She stepped back away from him as a flush of colour covered her pale face and her eyes darkened to resemble the deepest ocean. She’d felt it too, of that there was no doubt. If she had been any other woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about acting on the attraction. But she wasn’t any other woman. She could tear open his past, threatening not just his mother’s happiness but his reputation. He wouldn’t allow it to happen—not at any cost.
‘Yes, yes, we do. We—we understand each other perfectly.’ She stumbled over her words and he stifled a smile of satisfaction. Maybe the attraction could be used to ensure she didn’t find out just who he really was. If a touch and a brief moment of sexual chemistry could disarm her, that would be a pleasant way to distract her from digging around too much into his family’s past.
* * *
Emma hated the way she could hardly form a sentence as Nikolai Cunningham all but scrutinised her. He had muddled her mind and sent her insides into turmoil from the moment they’d met. It was as if a spark of recognition had reached out from him, inexplicably drawing her closer.
She thought of Richard, the man she’d always wished could be more than just a friend, and compared him to this powerful specimen of masculinity. Richard was attractive but safe, but this man was undeniably handsome and oozed a lethal kind of sex appeal. She shivered as something arced between them. He held her gaze and she knew she had to remember he was also the man who held the key to her successfully completing this assignment and securing a long-term contract with World in Photographs.
What happened over the next few days could launch her career as a photographer. More importantly, it would provide a regular income, which was badly needed if she was to stand any chance at all of supporting her younger sister Jess as she embarked on a lifetime dream of becoming a ballerina. They’d both had so many knockbacks in life, going from foster home to foster home, that she wanted her younger sister to do what made her happy. And she was good at it—talented, in fact. After the things they’d experienced together, they both deserved happiness, and if Jess was happy then so was she.
The tall, dark-haired man who’d just sent a frisson of awareness zipping around her had been distinctly cold towards her initially, more so than the icy winds. Something had inexplicably changed in the last few moments. He’d looked at her differently, making heat surge through her in a way she’d never known before, and she wasn’t sure she was able to deal with it. Thoughts of Richard had never done that to her.
‘I shall accompany you to the meeting with Marya Petrushov, who is my grandmother, but first I will take you to several locations you can use for the photographs you require.’ Something about the tone of his voice made it clear that to ask for more than this right now would be inadvisable, especially the way he’d said his grandmother’s name. She immediately sensed unresolved issues and wondered how often he saw his grandmother with so many miles between them.
Throwing caution to the wind and quelling her curiosity for now, she looked directly at him, her chin lifted slightly, and clearly set out her terms. ‘I not only need photographs of locations, Mr Petrushov, but of you and your grandmother—along with any other family members.’
Her brief was to step inside the life of the Russian family which had made its wealth only decades ago and see just how it lived. If she didn’t deliver on that brief, she’d never get her contract, which would mean she’d have no way of funding Jess in one of Russia’s elite ballet schools. The fact that this meeting was taking place in a town only a night-train-ride away from where Jess had a much-coveted place at a world famous ballet school was a good sign and she’d believed it couldn’t go wrong, that it was meant to be.
Now, looking at Nikolai as he laid down his own rules about the interview, she had serious doubts it would ever go right. He dominated the entire room they’d walked into; even though the residents’ lounge was large and spacious, he had taken command of every bit of that space. He was undoubtedly in control.
He also intimidated her, not that she would ever let him know that. It wouldn’t do to let a man who was obviously used to being in charge see subservience. No, she would stand her ground. She sensed she would have to be as strong as him if she wanted to get what the brief dictated.
‘There are no other family members, Miss Sanders.’ He made his way towards a group of comfortable chairs around the warmth of the fire and she followed, determined he wasn’t going to put her off so easily. She only had a week here in Russia and she wanted to see Jess before flying back to London.
He gestured to her to sit and then took the chair next to hers, his long legs suddenly emphasised as he sat. Nerves filled her and the way he watched her unsettled her more than she’d ever known. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but those dark eyes of his were unreadable.
‘A photo of you and your grandmother...’ She hadn’t even finished her suggestion when he leant forward, bringing them close to one another in an intimate kind of way. It was too close and her words faltered into nothing.
‘No.’ That one word silenced any suggestions she had, the anger in it reverberating around the room like a rogue firework. Then, as if he realised how hard and unyielding that sounded, he sat back and offered an explanation. ‘I have not seen my grandmother for many years, so a loving family photo will not be possible, Miss Sanders.’
This wasn’t going well. With each passing second, her dream of easily pulling together the article and then slipping away to Perm to see Jess for a few days was rapidly disintegrating. The wild and untamed look in his eyes as he regarded her suspiciously left her in no doubt that he meant what he said.
‘Look, Mr Petrushov—sorry, Cunningham.’ Now, to make matters worse, she’d called him by his family name again and, judging by the tightness of his jaw, that was not something which would endear her to him. She pressed on, not sure this whole situation could get any worse. ‘I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I am here to do a job. Your grandmother
