Russian's Ruthless Demand. Michelle Conder

her head. ‘Which part of no didn’t you get, Mr Kuznetskov? The n or the o?’

      ‘I don’t tend to respond that well to the word no,’ he drawled.

      ‘Then you haven’t wasted your time coming here after all because you’re about to be taught an important life lesson. And anyway, my sister would never agree to it.’

      Isabelle had been even angrier about Lukas’s disparaging comments two years ago than Eleanore had been.

      ‘Well, that’s too bad.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’ll approach Spencer Chatsfield and see what he can do for me.’

      Spencer Chatsfield? He was probably the only other man Isabelle disliked more. And what did Lukas know about their current feud? ‘Is that some sort of threat?’ she asked incredulously.

      ‘I never make threats.’ His smoking-hot grin told her he knew he had her. ‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

      ‘We don’t have a room 1006.’

      His grin faded into a cocky smile as if he knew his next words would choke her. ‘Room 1006 at The Chatsfield.’

      And he was right.

      Eleanore blinked as he strode unhurriedly from the bar, his loose-limbed grace drawing both male and female glances his way.

       Arrogant, horrible …

      ‘That got a little heated,’ Lulu said, materialising at her side.

       She wasn’t kidding.

      Eleanore frowned. ‘Have you seen my phone?’

      ‘Yeah.’ She reached behind an ice shelf on the bar. ‘I put it here when we got busy before and forgot to tell you.’

      Picking it up Eleanore tried to get her cold fingers to work long enough to call Isabelle. It was still early in New York—if in fact her sister was even in New York—but she still couldn’t get through to her.

      About to leave a message, she hung up. Would Lukas Kuznetskov really approach the Chatsfields for help with his ice hotel? And if he did what would Isabelle say if she knew Eleanore had passed up the opportunity to get in first?

       ‘I’m in room 1006 if you change your mind.’

       Arrogant, horrible …

      Annoyed Eleanore downed a glass of water on the bar and only realised halfway through that it wasn’t water.

      Lulu smacked her on the back repeatedly as she went into a coughing fit. ‘Honey, that was straight tequila,’ she advised.

      Eleanore dabbed at her watering eyes. ‘It’s in a water glass,’ she wheezed.

      ‘We ran out of shot glasses.’

      Great. A burnt oesophagus on top of everything else. What more could go wrong tonight?

       CHAPTER TWO

      TEN MINUTES LATER Eleanore found herself in a cab outside the main entrance of The Chatsfield, Singapore.

      She glanced out the window, scouting for any paparazzi lurking in the shadows. Fortunately no one was around other than a liveried doorman and she steeled her spine as he reached out to open her door.

      Deciding that the best way to go unnoticed was to act like she was just another guest coming in late for the night, she smiled confidently at the doorman as she strode past.

      Once through the gleaming glass doors she crossed the acre of white-and-blue-veined marble floors toward the wall of gleaming elevators, hoping that none of the Chatsfields were in residence. Running into one of them would be truly humiliating!

      If it was possible, she hated Lukas Kuznetskov even more for putting her in this nerve-wracking situation and only exhaled when the lift doors closed behind her, sealing her into its mirrored vault.

      One mission accomplished without incident, she thought with a relieved breath. Maybe the rest of the night would go the same way.

      She took a moment to study her reflection, smoothing out the lipstick she’d taken the time to reapply before leaving her hotel, and checked that her hair was still in place. No way was she meeting Mr Smooth-Talking Kuznetskov on his turf looking like one of Lulu’s wrung-out dish rags.

      Satisfied, she raised her eyes to track the ascending numbers on the lift panel and wondered again if she shouldn’t have left this meeting until morning. Then she decided that no, she was unlikely to fall asleep with Lukas’s ‘opportunity’ hanging over her head and—some wicked side she never would have guessed she possessed—hoped she might interrupt his sleep as payment for his arrogance.

      Unfortunately he wasn’t sleeping, he was on the phone when he answered the door, and he didn’t even pause in his conversation as he ushered her inside. She noticed that he’d rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and ignored the temptation to admire his impressive forearms. So the man had a good body. That didn’t make him an attractive person. A man needed a lot more than money and looks to get her attention.

      ‘Arrogant jackass,’ she murmured under her breath as she stalked past him, stopping in the centre of the spacious sitting room, her designer’s eye admiring the rich furnishings and sophisticated fittings.

      Still talking on the phone he bent over the low coffee table between two large sofas and pressed a few keys on his laptop. Then he swivelled the computer toward her and indicated for her to take a seat. ‘Have a look at these,’ he murmured before returning his attention to his caller.

      Rude was the only word that came to Eleanore’s mind and she resented the superior way he thought he’d won. She had half a mind to ignore his computer but that left only him to look at so she relented. And anyway, she reminded herself, she was here to stop him from offering someone at the Chatsfield Hotels a job until she had a chance to consider his proposal properly. Not that she imagined for one minute that Isabelle would be happy with her being here. Which made her incredibly uncomfortable because she adored her sister and would never do anything to upset her.

      A minute later a fresh bottle of water was plonked down in front of her. She glanced up and a smile tilted the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly how disgruntled she was. Which was impossible. She wasn’t that easy to read. Was she?

      ‘Sorry about the phone call. Unfortunately business doesn’t sleep.’

      The mention of sleep made her think of beds and tiredness and him and she shook off a wooziness probably brought about by the tequila slammer she’d inadvertently ingested.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t want coffee? You look like you could use it.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said tartly, knowing that even if she was dying for a cup she wouldn’t take one from him after that. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’ Now if he’d offered her a chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream on the side she might have set her pride aside. Okay, she would have, but coffee would only keep her up anyway.

      He shrugged at her response and sat down on the sofa beside her. The cushion bowed under his extra weight and she felt herself list toward him and had to put her hand down between their bodies to stop herself from touching him. Even so, her hand brushed the hard muscle of his thigh and she shifted away as if she was politely giving him more space when in reality his closeness seemed to addle her thinking. Or was that the cocktail and tequila? Either way Eleanore wanted to get this out of the way and get back to her bed. Alone.

      Well, of course alone, she admonished the voice in her head. She had little time or inclination for a man as it was and this man would never make her top one hundred, let alone her top ten. ‘So tell me what I’m looking at,’ she said briskly.

      He clicked the mouse a couple of times and a three-dimensional