Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence. Chantelle Shaw

room was from the moonlight glimmering through the open curtains.

      ‘I’ll get you some water.’

      She heard him walk into the en suite bathroom, and he returned seconds later to hand her a glass of water. The safety lid on the painkillers was beyond her, and she was grateful when he opened it and tipped two tablets into her palm. They were strong, and she knew that in ten minutes, fifteen at most, she would sink into oblivion and escape from the pain that was making her feel so sick.

      ‘Can you see yourself out?’ she whispered as she sank back against the pillows.

      ‘I will, once you’re in bed.’ Vadim’s velvet-soft voice was strangely soothing, and she closed her eyes, only to open them again with a jolt when she felt his hand on her ankle.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Taking your shoes off.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘You can’t get into bed wearing stiletto heels.’

      How could the feel of his hands lightly brushing the soles of her feet as he removed her shoes be so intensely erotic? Ella wondered fretfully. Even in the throes of an agonising migraine she was desperately aware of him, and she could only pray he had not noticed the tremor that ran through her.

      ‘Now your dress.’

      ‘No way are you going to take my dress off.’ She glared at him through pain-glazed eyes, daring him to touch her, but he ignored her and rolled her gently onto her side, so that he could slide her zip down her spine.

      ‘You’re telling me you can undress yourself?’ He took her fulminating silence as a no, and, with a deftness she assumed he’d gained from regularly removing women’s clothes, drew her dress over her shoulders and down to her waist. Arguing with him was impossible when her head was about to explode. More than anything she wanted to go to sleep and blot out the pain, and when he told her to lift her hips she obeyed, and allowed him to slide her dress down her legs. She didn’t even care that he could see her functional black bra and knickers. Shivering with pain, she was past caring about anything, but when he drew the covers over her and stood up, good manners prompted her to speak.

      ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

      Ella looked achingly fragile, and the fact that she hadn’t fought him like a wildcat when he had removed her dress was an indication of the severity of her headache, Vadim mused wryly. ‘Do your migraines usually last long?’

      ‘I should be fine in the morning, hopefully,’ Ella mumbled sleepily, her eyelids already feeling heavy as the painkillers began to work.

      ‘Good. As for thanking me, you can do that when you have dinner with me next week.’

      It took a few seconds for his words to sink in, and when she forced her eyes open he was already on his way out of the door. ‘I told you, I’m going to Germany next week,’ she called after him.

      He glanced over his shoulder, and his sensual smile made her heart lurch. ‘But you’re back at the weekend. I checked with one of the other members of the orchestra. I’ll be in touch.’

      Ella didn’t know whether to take that as a threat or a promise, but he had strolled out of her room and closed the door quietly behind him while she was still trying to think of another excuse. Irritating man, she thought angrily as she settled back on her pillow. But as she teetered on the edge of sleep she reminded herself that his ability to disturb her equilibrium also made him a dangerous man, and she was utterly determined not to have dinner with him.

      Ella had completely recovered from her debilitating migraine by the time she flew to Cologne with the RLO. She had visited the city many times before, and instead of joining Jenny on a sightseeing trip she made up for her lost practice time by rehearsing for several hours before the concert. The programme of concertos by Bach and Beethoven was received with much acclaim; the orchestra received excellent reviews and arrived back at Gatwick on Saturday morning.

      ‘I wouldn’t mind being greeted with a bouquet of flowers,’ Jenny commented enviously as they walked through the arrivals gate and spotted a courier clutching a huge arrangement of red roses.

      Ella watched the courier talking to one of the orchestra members up ahead, and she gave Jenny a puzzled glance when he walked purposefully in their direction.

      ‘Eleanor Stafford? These are for you.’

      Struggling to hold her violin and suitcase, as well as the bouquet that had been thrust into her arms, Ella was nonplussed. ‘There must be a mistake…’

      ‘Open the card. Here…’ Jenny rescued the violin, and with fumbling fingers Ella ripped open the envelope and read the note inside.

       Welcome home, Ella. Dinner tonight, 7 p.m. I’ll pick you up from Kingfisher House.

      It was signed ‘Vadim’, and the sight of the bold black scrawl filled Ella with a mixture of annoyance and jittery excitement that she swiftly quashed. ‘He hasn’t even left a phone number so that I can cancel,’ she noted irritably.

      Jenny gave her a look that told Ella she was seriously questioning her sanity. ‘Why would you want to? He’s incredibly good-looking, mega-rich and as sexy as sin,’ she listed. ‘And he’s sent you two dozen red roses. What more do you want? This guy is clearly keen.’

      ‘I don’t want anything from him,’ Ella snapped. ‘And all he wants is to take me to bed.’

      ‘So, what’s wrong with that?’ Jenny stopped dead on the way out of the airport terminal and stared at Ella. ‘You’ve always said—right back from when we were pig-tailed first-years at boarding school—that you never wanted to get married.’

      ‘I don’t.’ Ella frowned, wondering where the conversation was leading.

      ‘But you’re saying you don’t want an affair either? What are you going to do—live like a nun for the rest of your life?’

      ‘Yes—no—I don’t know,’ Ella muttered. They had been friends for over a decade, and Jenny knew her better than anyone, but she couldn’t explain her violent reaction to Vadim when she didn’t understand it herself. ‘Are you advocating that I should become Vadim Aleksandrov’s plaything?’she demanded tersely.

      ‘I can think of worse fates,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘Seriously, Ella…’ Her smile faded. ‘I know you didn’t get on with your dad, and that he treated your mum badly, but you can’t cut yourself off from the world, from men and relationships, because your parents’ marriage didn’t work out.’

      ‘I haven’t.’ Ella defended herself tersely, but she knew deep down that she was lying. Jenny didn’t understand. How could she, when her parents had been married for thirty years and her father was a gentle, kindly man who patently adored his wife and four children. Ella had spent many happy school holidays with Jenny and her family, and would have gladly swapped the lonely grandeur of Stafford Hall for the Marches’ cramped bungalow in Milton Keynes, which was full of love and laughter. Jenny had no idea what it had been like to witness her father destroy her mother with his mental and sometimes physical cruelty, but the emotional scars ran deep in Ella’s mind, and she had promised herself she would never put herself in a position where a man had any kind of hold over her.

      ‘When was the last time you went on a date?’ Jenny demanded.

      Ella shrugged. ‘A couple of months ago, actually. I had dinner with the flautist Michail Danowski when the Polish orchestra visited.’

      Jenny gave her a look of mingled pity and exasperation. ‘He’s gay, so he doesn’t count.’

      Ella was saved from answering when a taxi drew up, and they spent the next few minutes stowing violins and luggage in the boot. ‘You can’t put those in here; they’ll get crushed,’ Jenny said when Ella crammed Vadim’s flowers on top of her case. The roses were beautiful, she conceded when the taxi finally pulled away, and she stared at the bouquet on her lap. The velvety petals were a rich ruby-red, filling the car with