style="font-size:15px;"> If only she’d kept to her diet, Alina thought, feeling the bite of her waistband.
That was the problem with working at the very top-end restaurant at The Rocks—the owner was nice and ensured that all of the staff got a meal from the sumptuous menu on their break.
Who could say no to that?
Not Alina.
She was a country girl at heart and had an appetite to match, yet today she had to play the part of a slick city PA who allowed nothing to faze her.
Not even the formidable Demyan Zukov.
Alina could feel sweat on her top lip as she made herself known to Reception and was asked to show her ID.
‘One moment, please.’
Oh, God, Alina thought, she wasn’t even going to get past the receptionist! But a few moments later she returned and handed Alina a card for the elevator that would take her up to the presidential suite.
Alina actually felt sick as the elevator hurtled her towards the twenty-fourth floor. Worse, though, was when the elevator door opened at its destination and a very beautiful raven-haired, mascara-streaked woman stepped in as Alina stepped out.
That must have been his date for the night, Alina decided.
Alina had read more than her fair share of glossy magazines and so she was pretty well versed as to Demyan’s rather decadent lifestyle.
Or she’d thought she was!
As Alina walked down the corridor a teary, pale blonde beauty teetered on high heels towards her. Alina could see, though she very quickly diverted her eyes, that the woman’s left breast was exposed.
Nothing fazes you! Alina reminded herself for the hundredth time, though she was terribly tempted to simply turn tail and run.
Just act as if you’ve seen it all before, Alina told herself.
But she hadn’t.
As she went to ring the doorbell to his suite her hand paused when the door opened and Alina swallowed nervously as she prepared herself to come face to face with the legend that was Demyan Zukov. Instead, it was a gorgeous redhead that stepped into Alina’s line of vision, though the woman barely gave Alina a glance as she swept her way out of the master’s chambers.
Alina was very used to being looked straight through.
Nondescript—she had actually heard Elizabeth describe her as that on the phone once.
It was an asset at times, Elizabeth had assured her as Alina had sat there with cheeks flaming. Some of their clients actually asked for the most nondescript women, Elizabeth had explained, so as not to inflame jealous wives.
Joy!
‘Hello!’ Alina knocked on the open door and waited. When there was no response she wondered if she should step inside or wait to be invited in. Her brief from the agency had stated that she was to arrive at eight.
Alina glanced at her phone—it was two minutes to.
‘Hello!’ Alina knocked and called out again. ‘It’s Alina Ritchie from the agency...’
Again there was no response.
Perhaps, given his busy night, he’d overslept, Alina thought, tentatively stepping inside.
The place was in utter chaos. There were clothes strewn everywhere as well as plates and glasses still wearing the evidence of having once been dressed with the most lavish food and drinks.
‘Hello!’ Alina said again, but then her panic mounted and she wondered if she was about to find him dead from his excesses in bed.
Stop it! she cursed her overactive imagination, but really, with all the evidence to hand and with all that she had read about Demyan, it was a distinct possibility.
She stood, trying to work out what she should do, but then she almost shot from her skin as a deep, richly accented voice came from behind her.
‘Good, you are here.’
Alina swung around and braced herself—for what, she didn’t really know but the sight that greeted her certainly wasn’t on the list of possibilities that her mind had produced. Demyan might just as well have spent the night being groomed and pampered in the hotel spa to prepare for this moment. Like a beautiful phoenix rising from the ashes, he stood, looking absolutely exquisite, amidst the chaos.
The angels must have dressed him because his attire was the closest thing to perfection Alina had ever seen—an immaculate dark suit accentuated his tall, lean frame and his shirt was so white it was gleaming, but what drew Alina’s eye wasn’t just the dark silver-grey of his tie but that it matched his eyes, when first she met them, perfectly.
No, not perfectly, Alina, decided, because colours and hues were perhaps her favourite things.
Nothing could match his eyes—they made even the night sky seem dated. If he wasn’t so imposing, Alina could have stared into them for ever.
‘I’m Demyan.’
As if she needed to be told.
Alina took his outstretched hand and felt his long dry fingers close around hers. She caught a waft of his cologne, one that would surely mean her weekend was going to be spent in a perfume department just so that she could inhale that heady sent again—bold, clean and fresh yet with a musky undertone. She had never smelt anything quite so delicious before.
‘I’m Alina.’
‘Alina?’ Demyan gave a small frown. ‘That is a Slav name, no?’
‘No,’ Alina croaked. ‘Celtic...’ She could barely speak he was so stunning. Where was the crashing hangover he should be nursing? His black hair was freshly washed and brushed back and he was clean-shaven. Demyan’s skin was smooth and pale—certainly he didn’t come up all red and blotchy as Alina did if she drank so much as one glass of wine. On second brief inspection Alina saw that his dark eyes were perhaps a touch bloodshot but apart from that there was no evidence to denote a clearly wild night.
This was his usual, this was how he lived, Alina realised as she attempted to speak on. ‘Actually, it can be both.’
‘Both?’ Demyan checked. He’d already lost the thread of the conversation and desperately needed the kick-start of a very strong coffee. Usually he did not leave his bed without one but, remembering that he had ordered the temporary PA to be here at eight, instead of having his coffee brought to him, Demyan had first showered and dressed for work.
Work always came first for him.
He had never once been late, or missed an appointment. Every facet of his life he controlled to the letter.
Demyan was not at the top of his game by either chance or mistake.
‘I think it’s both Slav and Celtic. It means...’ Alina stopped herself then as she sensed his distraction. What would Demyan care about the meaning of her name? He had merely
