from his companion. So, she was angry, but he had expected that: she was a fiery, independent woman too accustomed to having her own way. He wasn’t going to back off like a little boy who had had his wrist slapped and it was better that she knew the score from the outset. He had trod on glass around her for long enough. That wasn’t his style with a woman and now it was time for him to be himself.
When the jet landed in Cyprus, they transferred to a helicopter. The noise of the rotor blades on board made conversation impossible. As the unwieldy craft came in to land on the pad on the prow of the huge yacht below them, Kat was wide-eyed with wonderment. The Hawk was much bigger than she had expected and infinitely more elegant, different decks rising in sleek tiers rimmed with gleaming metal balustrades. There was already another pair of helicopters parked nearby.
‘I wasn’t expecting anything this size,’ Kat confessed as Mikhail urged her away from the landing area with a predictably bossy hand planted to her spine.
A grin slashed his wide mobile mouth and he told her what length The Hawk was and the maximum speed it travelled at. His zeal and pride of possession were patent and Kat listened graciously to the story of where the yacht was built, who he had chosen to design it and why as well as the exact specifications he offered. Although Kat had very little interest in such matters and much of it was too technical for her, she did have a fond memory of her late father giving her equally enthusiastic and unnecessary details about a new lawnmower he had once bought. The comparison almost made her laugh, for she knew that Mikhail would hang, draw and quarter her if he knew she had likened his precious yacht to a piece of garden machinery.
After a man in a captain’s cap greeted Mikhail and a brief introduction was performed, Kat moved away a few feet to stand by the guard rail, the breeze blowing her hair back from her face as she took in the impressive view of the sleek prow scything smoothly through the turquoise depths of the Mediterranean sea. It was an undeniably beautiful day: the sky was blue and the sun was shining down to pour welcome warmth on her winter-chilled skin and, annoyed as she still was with Mikhail, she could only feel glad to be alive on such a day.
A stewardess in uniform appeared at her elbow, told Kat that her name was Marta and offered to show her to her cabin. Leaving Mikhail chatting to the captain, Kat followed the stewardess down an incredible curving glass staircase, which Marta informed her lit up and changed colours once darkness fell. Quite why anyone would want a staircase that changed colour escaped Kat, but the sheer opulence of the guest suite impressed her to death. The bed in the big room sat on a shallow dais and doors led off to an incredible marble bathroom, a dressing room and a private furnished balcony. A steward arrived with Kat’s luggage and Marta proceeded to unpack it.
‘When do the other guests arrive?’ Kat enquired.
‘In about an hour, Miss Marshall,’ Marta told her.
Positively relieved by the news that she and Mikhail were not to be left alone together for even a day, Kat decided to get changed to ensure that she was ready for her hostessing duties. Choosing a simple but elegant toffee-coloured shift dress from her new wardrobe, she freshened up in the bathroom, emerging just as another door opened on the far side of her room and Mikhail strode in.
‘You’re dressed … excellent,’ he pronounced approvingly.
Through the door he had left open behind him she could see another bedroom, which she surmised to be his and her colour heightened as dismay flashed through her. ‘There’s a connecting door between your accommodation and mine?’
A wickedly amused smile slashed his expressive mouth. He stood there, big and bold and brazen, daring her to object. ‘Did you expect me to have it bricked up for your benefit?’
Her small white teeth scissored together. ‘Of course not, but for future reference … I’ll be keeping it locked—’
‘I have a master key for every compartment on board but you don’t need to be quite so protective of your privacy—I’m equally keen on my own,’ Mikhail informed her drily while simultaneously awarding her slender figure a slow, lingering appraisal that ran from the top of her head down to her curling toes. Beneath that relentless dark and shameless gaze, fresh heat sprang up in her face and her discomfiture increased. ‘That colour suits you—I knew it would.’
Kat was already very tense. ‘You chose my clothes … personally?’
‘Why not? I’ve been buying clothes for my women since I was eighteen,’ Mikhail fielded with lazy assurance.
It was just another piece of his control freakery, Kat told herself in exasperation, not something she needed to get worked up about. Unfortunately there was something alarmingly intimate about the idea that he had personally selected the very clothes she wore to suit his tastes. That was way too intimate. She had assumed some hired help had selected the garments. And she really didn’t want to know that he had been buying clothes for women since he was a teenager. That both shocked and alienated her. The very thought of him with other women was offensive to her and the discovery filled her with consternation. Surely she couldn’t be developing possessive feelings about him?
‘I’m not your woman,’ Kat told him with icy emphasis, green eyes glimmering with hauteur and resentment.
‘Then what are you?’ Mikhail countered levelly, one ebony brow slightly elevated as if he was looking forward to the prospect of her trying to explain her exact role in his life.
‘Your hostess … er, your companion,’ Kat quantified stiltedly.
A charismatic smile of amusement crossed his face. His spectacular eyes glittered like black diamonds in sunshine, his potent sexual appeal making her mouth run dry and her blood run hot in a way she was starting to recognise. With great difficulty she dragged her gaze from his, struggling to control the race of her heartbeat and the edge-of-her-seat excitement he could induce so easily.
‘I’m not your woman,’ Kat told him stubbornly again.
‘But never doubt that that’s my ultimate goal, milaya moya,’ Mikhail imparted silkily just as a knock sounded on the door.
It was the dynamic blonde, Lara, from his London office. Her bright blue eyes ping-ponged assessingly between her employer and Kat before she extended a file to Mikhail, which he immediately passed to Kat. ‘The profiles of the guests I’ve invited,’ he explained.
Kat’s fingers tightened round the file while she told herself that Mikhail’s goal was not a threat to her as long as she kept a steady head on her shoulders. This holiday on his yacht was an interlude in her life, not a real part of it. ‘Thanks. I’ll study them.’
And with a decisive jerk of his chin, Mikhail swung round and returned to his own room. Kat followed him at speed and snapped shut the lock on the door before walking out to the balcony and sitting down on a comfortable wicker seat to open the file.
There were twenty guests in all, more than she had expected. There were several business tycoons with their partners and adult children as well as a well-known entrepreneur and his actress girlfriend. Some of the names were familiar to her, most were not. The presentation of the file, however, had calmed her nerves because it was a welcome reminder that she was on The Hawk to fulfil a function and she intended to do it to the best of her ability as she memorised the useful information she had been given.
An hour later, Lara reappeared to usher her upstairs to welcome Mikhail’s guests, who had arrived on the helicopters sent to collect them. Lara had changed into a very short silver dress more akin to a cocktail frock than
