Too Proud to be Bought (12 page)

And shouldn’t Zara hear that? Wouldn’t it make her understand why he could never be the man he suspected she wanted him to be? A normal, rounded guy who was eager to create a family unit of his own. ‘I never knew
my father,’ he said quietly. ‘But being illegitimate certainly wasn’t unusual in Moscow in those days. And neither was being hungry.’

He found himself recalling the lines of shabby washing flapping at the front of the high-rise flats. The kitchen and the bathroom shared with three other families. The food eaten at speed—as if fearful that it might be snatched from your plate. It had taken him a long time to learn how to eat slowly.

‘And your mother?’ questioned Zara tentatively.

‘Ah. My mother.’ His mouth hardened and he felt the painful lurch of his heart. ‘My mother could never quite get used to hunger. When your stomach is empty it dominates your world—and she had envisaged a life where there were greater preoccupations than where the next meal was coming from. She was beautiful, you see. Extraordinarily beautiful. I don’t think she could ever quite believe the cards that fate had dealt her. In another time and another place she probably would have risen effortlessly on looks alone. The trouble is that poverty and a fast-growing child do not tend to be great enhancers of beauty. And she was perceptive enough to see a window of opportunity she needed to take, before her looks faded.’

He shook his head as the waitress approached their table. ‘So she travelled to England.’

‘To
England?
You mean you were brought up in England?’

Nikolai realised that he had opened a door and invited Zara to look inside…what he hadn’t realised was how much it could still hurt. If he could have taken his preceding words back, he would have done so in an instant—but he was in too far now to slam the door shut again. ‘No. I was left behind in Moscow with my
aunt and her boyfriend while my mother came here to earn what money she could to make our lives more bearable.’

There was a pause. A pause so full of raw emotion that Zara could barely breathe. She saw the pain in his eyes and flinched, but she knew that she couldn’t shy away. Not now. ‘What…what happened?’

There was another pause, but this time when he spoke his voice was flat, and Zara thought he didn’t sound like a man at all—but one of those machines which spoke people’s weight.

‘Nothing happened. Oh, there used to be a card at Christmas and every year she remembered my birthday. But she never came back to Moscow and she never sent the money she promised, either. And I found that living with a drunken aunt and her wastrel of a partner was more than I could endure.’ He gave a bitter laugh, pushed his plate away.

‘I left Russia as soon as I could earn enough money for the fare—and I went to America, where I had been told that hard work would bring its own reward. For two years I worked in construction and salted away every cent I could. Eventually, I bought a property—a complete wreck of a place, but I could see its potential. Every hour I could spare, I worked on that house and I made a killing when I sold it—so I bought another. And then another. One day I discovered that I had a talent for speculation and so I began to play the markets—and when the money started to come in I diversified my portfolio into aluminium and telecommunications. It was the very best investment I could have made and I poured the profits into revitalising a big store which was on the decline. One store led to another and the rest, as they say, is history.’

Zara stared at him. His rise from rags to riches was impressive—but surely he had missed out the most important part of the story? ‘And your mother? What happened to your mother? ‘

The temperature in the air seemed suddenly to plunge and there was a long moment before he chipped out the icy words. ‘I never saw my mother again.’

For a moment Zara felt her heart lurch in shock as she stared at him in disbelief. ‘What,
never?’

A steely quality entered his voice but part of him could have shaken her for her damned persistence. ‘Once I had the wherewithal, I tracked her down. I discovered that she’d found herself a wealthy lover—and that she’d been living with him on his estate in Oxfordshire all that time. It seemed that she’d put him first all along. That her son counted for nothing.’ There was a pause. ‘Soon after that, word reached me that she’d died.’

‘Oh, Nikolai.’ She tried to imagine the poor, lonely little boy he must have been—waiting for his mother to return. Waiting for money to arrive and lift him out of poverty, and the comfort of her arms around him. But he had been bitterly disappointed on both counts. How bewildered he must have been, she thought as she reached out and laid her hand over his on the table, but he did not return her tentative caress. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘Maybe. But it is what it is. A therapist I once dated told me that my mother’s behaviour was responsible for my “careless” attitude towards women. She said it explained why I was such a cold, heartless bastard.’ He gave a short, humourless laugh. It hadn’t stopped the woman from trying to get into his bed at every available opportunity, of course—or to persuade him that she wanted to have his baby. And it had taught him a very important lesson:
never
date therapists.

‘Nikolai—’

But he shook his head. ‘And do you know something? She was right. I
am
a cold-hearted bastard,’ he said. ‘I can go only so far, but no further. I don’t
do
love. I don’t want to marry—and I certainly don’t want children of my own. And neither—’ his ice-blue eyes now glittered out a distinct message ‘—do I want some woman on a mission—however sweet and sexy she might be—thinking that she’s going to change my mind for me. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Zara?’

She thought that you would have needed to be completely dense not to have understood the meaning which he had just hammered home so ruthlessly. And even though her heart clenched with a terrible feeling of disappointment she tried to tell herself that it was better to know the facts. He wasn’t spinning her stories and making her build him up in her head and her heart. He was warning her. Showing her where the boundaries lay. Telling her not to fall for him because to do so would be pointless.
I don’t do love,
he had said unequivocally—and nothing could be clearer than that.

Staring at the question in his ice-blue eyes, she nodded. ‘Of course I do.’

‘And that if we are to carry on seeing one another, you have to realise that I mean it. That there isn’t going to be some miraculous conversion or change of heart.’

If we are to carry on seeing one another. If.
Zara looked down at her hand, which still covered his. It was such a tiny word—but such a powerful one. He was laying down his terms, she realised. Just as he would do a business acquisition. ‘Yes, I can see that you do mean it,’ she said quietly.

‘I can offer you a great deal, Zara—and if you want to continue with the arrangement we have, then nothing
would please me more. You make a great—if somewhat unconventional—mistress. But I’ll never marry you—and I’ll never give you a baby. I’m sorry.’ His gaze was very cool and very steady. ‘I can’t offer you long-term security, and if you want any of those things, then you’d better walk away right now and find it with someone else.’

Zara bit her lip. His words were harsh and brutal, but clearly that was his intention—just to be sure that there was no misunderstanding. She could be his mistress, yes—with all the pleasure that offered—but only if she was prepared to make the biggest sacrifice any woman could be asked to make. To kiss goodbye to the chance of having children as long as she stayed with him.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he said softly.

‘That was a bit of a bombshell. Actually, quite a big bombshell.’

There was a pause as his eyes seared into her. ‘And?’

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Nobody could say he hadn’t been honest with her—but was honesty enough? Would she be settling for a situation which would ultimately break her heart—and wouldn’t a sensible person end it now, before she got in any deeper?

But as her eyes drank in the angles and shadows of his sculpted features, Zara knew that she had neither the strength nor the inclination to end it. What had started out as fierce physical attraction between them had grown into something she’d neither wanted nor expected. And tonight he had peeled away some of the layers which made him such an indomitable force. She had seen through to the core of the man who lay beneath. A man with his own vulnerabilities and heartache.

And somewhere along the way, she realised, she’d fallen in love with that man.

She realised something else, too. That deep down she wanted to be cherished—just as she one day wanted to be a mother. She just hadn’t known until that precise moment how much she wanted it. And Nikolai had just told her that he could never give it to her.

So what was it that made her pin a bright smile to her lips and to utter words which were fundamentally flawed? Was her love for him stronger than her desire for security, and a family? It seemed that maybe it was.

‘I don’t care about marriage or children, Nikolai,’ she said. ‘I’m happy just being with you.’

‘Y
OU
haven’t forgotten that we’re going out to dinner tonight,
milaya moya?’

Zara zipped up her black uniform skirt and turned round to look at Nikolai, aware that he’d been watching her get dressed, which seemed to be one of his favourite occupations. A striptease in reverse, he called it—and said it turned him on almost as much as the traditional variety. But then, pretty much everything turned Nikolai on …

‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ she said as she slipped a foot into the rubber-soled black soles which all Gourmet International staff had to wear. ‘It’s someone you know from when you lived in America, right?’

‘That’s right. We worked in construction together.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘He’s a senator now.’ He frowned as she fiddled with the waistband of her skirt. ‘I wish you weren’t going to work today. I don’t have meetings until later this morning, and …’

‘And?’ she questioned as his words tailed off and his eyes sent out a speculative message.

‘We could have spent the morning in bed.’

‘We can spend the morning in bed tomorrow—it’s Saturday and I’ve got the whole weekend off, remember?’

‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,’ he growled. ‘I meant that I don’t like you going out to work.’

‘I have to.’

He felt a flicker of irritation. ‘Not really, Zara. I can easily support you.’

Zara smiled. Of course he could. He could probably support the entire staff of Gourmet International on a fraction of his income if he wanted to, but that wasn’t the point. He’d
told
her that there was no permanence in this arrangement of theirs and Zara knew that she had to keep something of her independence. Because if she allowed Nikolai to take over her life completely, then what on earth would happen when the relationship finally fizzled out?

True, she would always be able to find a waitressing job—because waitressing jobs were fairly easy to come by—but lately she had begun to realise that maybe she wanted something more than just serving other people. And hadn’t the impermanence of her relationship with Nikolai made her look at the bigger picture of her life and start wondering about her future? Perhaps she should look into the possibility of going back to agricultural college—or at least go and talk to somebody about it.

‘We’ve had that discussion lots of times,’ she said smoothly. ‘And I’ve given you my views on it. I need to work—not just for the money, but for me. For my self-respect.’

‘How stubborn you can be,’ he mocked.

Zara smiled. ‘You just don’t like it because you’re used to getting your own way!’

‘Perhaps.’ He let his gaze flicker over her feet. Funny how she could even look sexy in those horrible shoes she wore for work. ‘But the dinner tonight
will
be grand,’ he said carefully.

The unmistakable inference didn’t escape her. ‘Meaning that there’s nothing in my wardrobe which is really suitable?’

‘I’d hate you to feel awkward. Especially when it’s so easy to fix.’ There was a pause and he glittered her a look. ‘So are you going to let me buy you something pretty to wear?’

He would have tempted a saint, but Zara shook her head. She’d never thought she’d end up being the mistress of a wealthy man and she was determined to escape the stereotype. That scarlet bikini he’d bought her in France had been the only thing he
had
bought her. She’d sketched out certain boundaries for herself, and she didn’t want to feel like a kept woman.
And wasn’t she aware that part of him would despise her if she just soaked up his generosity with little thought to the consequences?
He was bitter enough about his own mother falling prey to the lure of wealth, and she suspected that he longed to tar all women by the same brush. ‘No, thanks. I’ll ask Emma if I can wear one of her creations.’

‘Ah, yes—your friend, the designer. Has she been in touch with my New York store yet? ‘

‘She has. I told you the other evening but I didn’t think you were listening.’

‘That’s because you always distract me,
angel moy’
‘Well, she says to thank you and that they’ve asked to see some more of her designs.’ She smiled. ‘So I take it you won’t mind if I model one of them tonight? ‘

For a moment he didn’t answer as he pulled a silk tie from the drawer. Actually, yes, he
did
mind—and it had nothing to do with her modelling her friend’s clothes. It was Zara’s general resistance to letting him pay which was irritating the hell out of him. Yes, he admired her
independence, but hadn’t she made her point by now?

He’d got the message that she wasn’t with him for his money—but she was taking pride onto a whole new level. Why, even on her birthday last week, when he’d twisted her arm and taken her to a fancy jeweller’s, she had shunned the gleaming pearl necklace he’d offered to buy her, and opted for a new watch instead. Even that had been less than satisfactory. He’d never known a woman refuse an exquisite diamond-studded gold watch strap and opt for a plain leather band on the grounds that it was more practical. But Zara had.

‘I don’t see why you insist on being so stubborn.’

‘Don’t you? Think about it, darling—you’re an intelligent man!’ She gave him a soft smile. ‘Don’t you think we should try and keep the balance of power between us as equal as possible? It isn’t always easy, but I’m doing my best.’

He felt wrong-footed—infuriatingly so—even though he understood her reasoning perfectly. But Nikolai was hard-wired to control and to dominate—and Zara’s refusal to let him call all the shots was robbing him of that dominance. Did she imagine that stubborn pride would win his heart? he wondered grimly. Surely she could not be
that
naïve?

‘As you wish,’ he said coolly, bending to give her only the briefest of kisses. ‘I’ll see you later.’

But his cool reaction left Zara with a slightly unsettled feeling—even when she made it to Emma’s studio and discovered that her friend was delighted to lend her a scarlet silk dress which would be perfect for the event.

‘How’s life with lover-boy?’ Emma questioned curiously. ‘Mum says you always dash off as soon as your shift’s over and never stay behind for a drink. Can’t wait to get back to him, I suppose? Not that I blame you, of
course. If I had a man like Nikolai waiting at home, I don’t think I’d ever set foot outside the house.’

Zara frowned as she considered her friend’s words. Had she been neglecting her work friends because of her obsession with her Russian lover? Maybe she
should
join them all for a drink next week. ‘It’s…it’s wonderful.’

‘Is it really?’ asked Emma sagely. ‘Is that why you’re starting to get frown lines on your brow or why I’m having to take in this dress at the waist?’

Zara stared into the unforgiving mirror, taken aback by faint shadows beneath her cheekbones and the loose fabric which was bunched in Emma’s hand.
Had
she lost weight? Probably. But didn’t all women lose weight when they began a love affair?

Her friend’s words still mocked her as she took the dress and shoes back to Nikolai’s Kensington mansion and began to get ready for dinner. But her heart was heavy as she pulled on silk stockings after her shower—as if she had suddenly become aware of the things missing from her life. Maybe it was time she confronted the truth instead of dodging it. Started seeing things as they really were and not how she wanted them to be. And this…relationship between them seemed to be going nowhere, did it?

Because despite his warnings that he didn’t want marriage or babies or that he didn’t ‘do’ love, that hadn’t stopped Zara hoping that he might change his mind, had it? Hoping that Nikolai might start to feel something deeper for her, too. Because that was what women did. They hoped and they dreamed, no matter how much the odds were stacked against them.

She pushed her troubled thoughts aside as the car took them to the dinner. The red silk dress fitted like a dream and Zara was grateful she’d worn it because Nikolai had
been right: it was certainly a very grand occasion. She was seated on the opposite side of the table, several feet away from her lover, and she found herself watching him almost objectively as he made the senator’s wife roar with laughter. She realised that he had an abundance of charm he could use when it suited him—and it suited him to do so tonight.

She saw the way that people hung onto his every word—men
and
women, but especially women. She heard the rather sycophantic way they laughed at his jokes, while her own conversation to her neighbours was greeted with polite indifference. Didn’t matter how engaging or witty she was, nobody was interested in her. She was just Nikolai’s accessory—his current bed partner with no status and only a limited shelf-life.

And suddenly the reality of her watered-down existence hit home as she tried to imagine what was going to happen to them, as a couple. Only this time her vision wasn’t clouded by wishful thinking as she recognised that it would just be more of the same—the intensity of their relationship gradually diminishing as initial passion burnt itself out.

She remembered when he’d made love to her in the south of France—how she’d felt like one of his puppets—well, what had changed? Absolutely nothing. This wasn’t really living, she realised—it was pretending. It was closing her eyes to what lay ahead of her.

She had carried on waitressing because the undemanding work suited her current lifestyle—conveniently ignoring the fact that before she’d met him she had been thinking of doing something else with her life. He had laid down his rules and she had eagerly agreed to abide by them because she was in love with him. Had she perhaps thought that her love plus a little independence
might be enough to make him soften his stance a little? Even though he’d explicitly warned her not to, hadn’t she hoped that he might change his mind about marriage, and children? Well, she had been wrong—and unless she had the courage to try to change things, then her frustration would grow and grow.

Questions she’d never dared ask him began to bubble up inside her as they made their way home but she waited until they were in his vast bedroom. Waited until he had made love to her and they lay, sleepy and sated against the rumpled bedding, with the glowing lamps throwing pools of pale amber light onto the polished floor.

She turned onto her stomach and lay her head on his chest.

‘Nikolai?’

‘Mmm?’ He picked up a strand of her silky hair and wound it around his finger.

‘Can I ask you something?’

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Now why does that kind of question always make my heart sink?’

She heard the unmistakable warning contained in his careless response but Zara had spent hours plucking up the courage to do this. She
needed
to do this. Gently, she stroked the side of his face. ‘Did you ever find out what your mother’s life had been like in England? Did you…did you ever go to Oxfordshire to try to discover more about what had happened to her?’

Nikolai stiffened, aware of the sudden race of his heart. ‘What’s brought this up all of a sudden? ‘

‘Does it matter?’

‘Actually, it does. It matters that you’ve seen fit to spoil a perfectly good evening by dragging up something which is none of your business.’

Zara bit her lip as she heard the abrasiveness in his voice. ‘Can’t I ask a question without you flying off the handle?’

‘But your very question implies that I’ve been neglectful in some way!’ he declared. ‘What do you think I should have done? Turned up on her doorstep and said, “Look, I know you left years ago and broke all your promises to me—but I’m longing to meet the man who made you turn your back on your only child.”’ His mouth curved with contempt. ‘Is that what you think, Zara?’

Much of it was hidden behind a blaze of anger, but the pain in his eyes was very real and Zara knew that she couldn’t let up—not now. ‘Nothing’s ever as black and white as it sometimes seems,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t know what your mother had to face when she came over here.’

‘What’s this, a spirited defence of women in general, or her in particular—a woman you never even met but now see fit to judge?’

‘It’s neither!’ she said, recoiling from the icy fury in his eyes and feeling tentative hope wither inside her. ‘It’s the realisation that I’ve suddenly come to my senses—and I can’t be involved with someone who doesn’t allow himself to feel
anything!
Who pushes uncomfortable topics away rather than confront them.’

‘But I told you what I was like at the beginning, Zara.’

‘I know you did. I know.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘And I thought that I could accept it. But I was wrong, Nikolai. I can’t.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘So is this leading to some kind of ultimatum you’ve been cooking up? You threaten to leave me and hope that the diamond ring and promise of commitment comes swinging your way? As a strategy, I
have to tell you that it’s been used before—but it never works.’

There was a moment of stunned silence while she stared at him, realising that her fierce determination to remain as independent as possible had gone unnoticed. Nikolai had never really revised his opinion of her, had he? To him, all women were deceitful gold-diggers and nothing was ever going to rid him of that notion.

‘My God,’ she breathed. ‘You’re even more cold-hearted than I thought. You think that I’d actively choose to share my life with a man who is so sparing with his affection? Are you labouring under the illusion that your wealth somehow makes up for your emotional deficiencies? Well, in that case—you don’t have a clue! And maybe I’d better leave you to your suspicious little world, Nikolai—because I’m finding the atmosphere in it too
stifling
to stay!’

Her heart hammering, she leapt from the bed and began scrabbling around to find some clothes, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater which she kept in a couple of the drawers she’d been allocated.

Nikolai didn’t move, just lay in bed—watching her—like some brooding golden statue.

‘Where do you think you’re going? ‘

She pulled out her small bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and hurled a handful of knickers inside it. ‘Home!’