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Only with the greatest effort did Pascha keep his features still.
Emily's brown eyes held his as if in challenge before her lips—amazing lips, like a heart tugged out at the sides—curved upwards. Her eyes remained cold. She leaned forward.
‘It is obvious this buy-out is important to you and that you need to keep it a secret. I suggest we make a deal. If you agree to withdraw the threat of legal action against my father I will keep my mouth shut about the Plushenko deal.’
Pascha's fingers tightened on the document in his grasp. ‘You think you can blackmail me?’
She raised her shoulders in a sign of nonchalance. ‘You may call it blackmail, but I like to think of it as us making a deal.’
If the Plushenko deal fell through his legacy would be gone.
And so would Pascha's last chance at redemption.
Could he trust her?
Beneath her collected exterior lurked wildness. It echoed in the flickers of light emitting from her dark eyes. He could feel it.
MICHELLE SMART’S love affair with books began as a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. This love for all things wordy has never left her. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance cemented at the age of twelve, when she came across her first Mills & Boon® book. That book sparked a seed and, although she didn't have the words to explain it then, she knew she had discovered something special—that a book had the capacity to make her heart beat as if she were falling in love.
When not reading, or pretending to do the housework, Michelle loves nothing more than creating worlds of her own, featuring handsome, brooding heroes and the sparkly, feisty women who can melt their frozen hearts. She hopes her books can make her readers’ hearts beat a little faster too. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire with her own hero and their two young sons.
The Russian’s Ultimatum
Michelle Smart
This book is dedicated to my wonderful parents and their equally wonderful spouses.
Contents
EMILY RICHARDSON DUCKED under the scaffolding over the entrance of the smart building in the heart of the city of London, strolled through the spacious atrium and headed to the wide staircase. When she reached the second floor she took an abrupt left, walked to the end of the corridor and pressed the button for the lift. Only once she had stepped inside and the door had slid shut did she allow herself to expel a breath.
Catching sight of her reflection in the mirrored wall, she raised an eyebrow. Power suits were really not her thing, especially ones dating back to the eighties. She felt suffocated—and her feet, in their patent black stilettos, were already killing her.
She had to fit in, she had to look as if she belonged in the building, so no one would give her a second glance. Her usual attire made her too noticeable—she would have been recognised before she’d got her foot over the threshold of the building. Even with the suit, she’d have to be careful. She’d timed her entrance to perfection—not too early to be conspicuous but not so late that the people she needed to avoid would be in yet. So far, so good.
For this particular lift to work, a code had to be punched in. She duly obliged and was carried all the way to the top floor and the private offices held by the senior management team of Bamber Cosmetics International—or, as it had now been renamed, Virshilas LG.
The largest of the offices was held by Mr Virshilas himself. But not today; today Pascha Virshilas was in Milan.
Unlike in the rest of the building, renovation work had yet to begin on the top floor. She imagined it wouldn’t be long before it was remodelled into Pascha Virshilas’s idea of an executive suite of offices.
She walked up the narrow corridor to an unassuming door that required a swipe card to open. As luck would have it, Emily had such a card, slipped from her father’s wallet...
The door opened into a large, open-plan office. It appeared empty and for that she expelled another breath of relief.
Holding her chin aloft and forcing her back straight, she walked through the central hub of the floor, gently swaying her empty black briefcase.
The place really was deserted. Excellent; she’d beaten the executive secretaries in.
It surprised her to find Mr Virshilas’s office unlocked. Given how security-conscious the man was, she’d assumed it would be rigged with explosives in case an intruder made it through the security measures.
Maybe he wasn’t as paranoid as she’d been told.
All the same, she paused after she’d opened