Free The Russian's Ultimatum by Michelle Smart Page B

and a rueful shake of the head.
    ‘So are you going to answer my question?’
    ‘The answer is no. No, I don’t think I’ll ever marry. In fact, I know I won’t.’
    ‘That sounds pretty emphatic.’
    ‘That’s because it is.’
    ‘Why don’t you want to get married?’
    He turned his head to spear her with a glance. ‘Why don’t you have a man in
your
life?’ he countered. ‘How long have
you
been single?’
    ‘Seven years.’
    He leaned back against the work surface and folded his arms. ‘That long?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Any flings?’
    ‘Nope. I work in the fashion industry. The vast majority of the single men I work with are gay. It’s rare I meet an eligible straight man.’ She tried her best to keep her tone light and nonchalant. Okay, so she was exaggerating, but it was the old tried and tested response she’d been using for years. Anything had to be better than admitting she’d given up finding anyone who didn’t make her feel inadequate. Who didn’t make her feel second-best.
    She’d long accepted love would never happen for her. She’d grown tired of trying to find it. When her father had sunk into the dark depressions that had blighted her childhood, it had always been her mother who’d lifted him out of it, never his daughter. When he was at his lowest ebb, Emily might not exist. She’d never doubted his love for her but it had never been enough.
She
wasn’t enough. His suicide attempt had only reinforced that feeling. If she wasn’t enough to make her own father want to live, how could she possibly be enough for someone else?
    And, just like that, the lighter mood she’d been trying to create darkened, making her stomach cramp.
    Time to move onto safer territory, far away from relationships of any form.
    ‘Seeing as the subjects of marriage and relationships bring us both out in a cold sweat, why don’t you tell me why you want to buy Plushenko’s instead? My guess is that it has to be personal.’
    ‘What makes you think that?’
    ‘You don’t force a woman to travel halfway round the world simply to salvage a deal without it being personal.’
    Although the very mention of the word Plushenko was enough to tighten his chest, Pascha found himself grinning. ‘Were you a journalist in a previous life?’
    ‘You would know the answer to that yourself if you’d bothered to ask about my job,’ she said tartly.
    ‘I couldn’t get a word in,’ he said, raising his brow. ‘You ask more questions than the old KGB.’
    ‘That’s because I’m incurably nosy.’
    Picking up the wine bottle, he headed back to the table. ‘Tell me about your job first and then I’ll consider telling you about my relationship with Marat Plushenko.’ He topped both their glasses up then deliberately tugged his chair out from under her feet and sat down.
    For half a moment he thought she might put her feet back up and onto his lap.
    For half a moment his skin tingled with anticipation.
    What, he wondered, would she do if he were to lean a hand down and gather those pretty feet onto his lap...?
    Emily took a sip of her wine. ‘You want to know about my job?’
    ‘I do.’ It dawned on him that he wanted to know a lot more than that. Emily Richardson was the most intriguing person he’d met in a long time, maybe ever. A seemingly fearless woman without limits when it came to those she loved. ‘You say you’re in the fashion industry?’
    ‘I’m an in-house designer for the House of Alexander.’
    ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘You work for Hugo Alexander?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘All the pieces fall into place.’ The House of Alexander was one of the UK’s foremost fashion houses, famous for its theatrical, off-beat designs. Hugo Alexander’s designs had captured the eye of fashion editors around the world and the imagination of the public. It was one of the fashion houses to buy on his radar.
    ‘What, you mean the sewing machine and the rolls of fabric I brought here with me?’
    ‘And all the fashion