Free The Russian's Ultimatum by Michelle Smart Page A

swallow.
    Her body just wouldn’t relax.
    What she needed was noise. She liked noise. It was comforting. If she’d been eating at her flat or at her parents’ house—correction, her dad’s house—the radio would be humming in the background.
    Here, in the shelter, there was nothing but silence. Heavy, oppressive silence.
    ‘Are you not enjoying your meal?’ Pascha asked her.
    Looking down, she found she’d been pushing her pasta around her plate.
    ‘I’m not very hungry,’ she confessed, adding with forced brightness, ‘They always say the chef loses their appetite when it comes to the actual eating.’
    ‘Well, I think it’s delicious,’ he said, popping a heaped forkful of her pasta concoction into his mouth to make his point.
    She couldn’t help but smile, but as the corners of her mouth lifted nodules in her belly tightened.
    How could she eat when Pascha sat so close, near enough that if she moved her foot forward an inch she would graze his leg?
    She was softening towards him. She could feel it. And she didn’t like it one jot. It felt disloyal, as if she was somehow betraying her father by finding the enemy to be so human.
And so damn sexy
...
    However it was dressed up, be it mutual blackmail or force, Pascha had given her no choice but to come to Aliana Island. There had been no option but for her to comply. Her desperate attempt to help her father had backfired so spectacularly, a firework could be made in its honour.
    And yet in the short time they’d been together Pascha had shown more consideration towards her than she’d ever known. He’d sought her out at the waterfall because he’d been worried she would be hungry. He’d sought her out at the lagoon because of the storm, because he’d wanted to take her to safety. Even his anger at her snorkelling alone had been provoked by his concern for her well-being.
    When had anyone last worried about her safety?
When had anyone last worried about her full-stop?
    For her own sanity she needed to hold onto her anger towards him.
    But how could she hold onto her anger and hate when every time she looked up at him she found magnetic grey eyes holding hers and the nodules in her belly tightened that little bit more?
    She waited until he’d cleared his plate before rising.
    ‘Sit down and relax,’ he said, gathering the plates together. ‘You’ve done your share. I’ll clear up.’
    Only when his back was turned to her at the kitchenette did she exhale. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath the entire meal.
    As she watched him load the dishwasher, admiring the tautness of his buttocks against the heavy cotton of his shorts, the strangest feeling crept through her veins, a fizzing, as if her blood had awoken and started dancing.
    Disturbed by all these strange feelings being evoked within her, and determined to pull herself together, Emily decided she might as well take Pascha’s advice and relax. Taking another sip of wine, she put her bare feet up on his recently vacated chair.
    ‘You would make an excellent house-husband,’ she commented idly. He was wiping the work surface down with such thoroughness, she wouldn’t be surprised if the top layer was scrubbed away.
    He gave a grunt.
    ‘I take it the thought of being a house-husband does nothing for you?’ Saying the words made her realise she knew nothing about his private life. Nothing. Was there a woman? Surely there must be? Regardless of his wealth, a man who looked like Pascha would attract pretty much any woman he fixed those grey eyes on.
    Another grunt.
    ‘Do you think you’ll ever marry?’ she asked.
    Pascha paused from wiping the side down to pin her with a stare. ‘What’s with all the questions?’
    ‘I’m bored,’ she lied with a shrug. ‘You’re the one who dragged me to a shelter where there’s nothing to do to pass the time.’
    ‘Can’t you be bored quietly?’
    ‘Why? Am I annoying you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Good.’
    His glare turned into a half-smile