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 agreed with World in Photographs to be interviewed and photographed for the magazine and my job is to ensure that happens.’
She glared up at him, hoping to match his dominance with her determination, and wondered why she’d ever agreed to take on the interview role when photography was her field. The answer to that was her commitment to allowing her sister to follow her dreams.
He looked at her, his gaze slowly searching her face, lingering just a little too long on her lips. Tension crackled in the air around them and she was totally unaware of anything except the two of them. Mentally she shook herself free of it. Now was not a good time to become attracted to a man, and certainly not this man.
All through her teenage years she’d steadfastly held on to to a vow never to succumb to the temptation of a man. She’d managed that until she’d met Richard, a fellow photographer and the first man to pay her any kind of attention. She’d hoped their friendship would turn into something more, but two years down the line nothing had changed, and she watched in disillusion from the sidelines as he dated other women.
‘And it is my duty to ensure my family isn’t upset by your intrusion into our life, Miss Sanders.’ He spoke slowly, his dark eyes hard and glittering, a very clear warning laced into every word. How could she be intruding when the old lady had agreed to be interviewed?
‘I have no wish to upset anyone.’ She looked up at him, into those midnight-black eyes, and knew she couldn’t fight fire with fire. Her life with her mother, before she and Jess had been put into care, had taught her that. If she tried to match his strength and determination, she’d never get this assignment done. She lowered her gaze and looked down at her hands before looking back up from beneath her lashes. ‘I apologise. Can we start again?’
* * *
The request completely stunned Nikolai. Moments ago she’d been brimming with fire. Passionate indignation had burned in her eyes, making his fight not to give in to the temptation to kiss her almost impossible. Now within seconds she’d become soft and compliant. Such a drastic changed filled him with suspicion. She was playing games with him.
‘You want to go back into the cold and shake hands?’ He couldn’t resist teasing her and was rewarded with a light flush of pink to her cheeks.
‘No.’ She laughed softly and her smile made her eyes shine, as if the sun was breaking through the forest and bouncing off fresh, green, spring leaves. ‘I think we should start again with our conversation. Let’s have a hot drink and discuss how we can both help each other out.’
Now he really was surprised. She was up to something, trying to manipulate the situation round to what she wanted. It was what the woman he should have married had always done and he’d been fool enough to let her—until he’d ended the charade that had been their engagement. She’d only wanted him for what he could provide for her.
‘I don’t think there is anything you can offer that will help me, Miss Sanders, but we will have a drink, and I will tell you how the next few days are going to work.’
Before she could say anything else, he signalled to a member of staff and ordered tea—something he wouldn’t have requested in New York but, being back in Russia, his childhood memories were resurfacing in an unsettling way. Until he saw the flicker of interest in her eyes, he hadn’t registered he’d used the first language he’d spoken as a child before his world had been torn apart by the pain of his mother’s secret.
A secret that now haunted him. It was the same secret he suspected his grandmother wanted to unleash in the article and, just like her son, his cruel father, she was spiteful enough to manipulate him back to Russia to witness it all.
‘Please, call me Emma,’ she said, leaning back in the chair opposite him, her jeans, tight around long, shapely legs, snagging his attention, filling his mind with thoughts he had no right to be thinking. ‘And may I call you Nikolai?’
‘Nikolai, yes,’ he replied sharply. He had wanted to change his name to Nik when he’d left Russia as a young child—it had been his way of distancing himself from his father’s family—but his mother had begged him to keep Nikolai, telling him she’d chosen the name because it was a family name and that he should keep some of his Russian roots.
‘I get the distinct impression that you are not at all willing for me to talk to your grandmother, Nikolai—and yet it was her who approached World in Photographs, which makes me think there is something you don’t want told.’
‘How very shrewd.’ And he’d thought he was going to turn on the charm and make her bend to his will. It seemed he’d greatly underestimated this woman. Her act of innocent shyness was exactly that. An act. Just like his ex, she was able to be whatever was necessary to get what she wanted.
‘Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement, one that will give me enough information to complete my job and afford your family enough privacy.’ She sat back in her chair and looked at him, her dark brows raised in a silent show of triumph. If that was what she thought she’d achieved, he’d let her think that—for now.
‘On one condition.’ He picked up his tea, took a sip then met her gaze. He looked into her eyes and for the briefest of moments thought he’d seen anxiety. No, more than that—fear.
‘And what is that condition?’
‘That you tell me why this job is so important to you. Why come all the way from London to Vladimir for the ramblings of an old woman?’ He had no idea if his grandmother rambled; he hadn’t seen her for almost twenty-three years. It had been the day of his father’s funeral and as a bemused ten-year-old he’d had no idea what was going on. No idea why his grandmother had turned him and his mother out. It was only
