Return Of The Untamed Billionaire - Carol Marinelli Mills & Boon Modern

Скачать книгу

that she too had been dirt poor. Before she had boarded at dance school and later during the holidays, she had risen before five in a freezing house and had gone to the orphanage with her mother. There, unlike at home, the kitchen had been warm. Katya would work all day and through till late at night, not just cooking but cleaning and scrubbing and sorting out supplies. Once her mother had put the oats to soak, ready for the morning, they would return to their dark, cold home, ready to do it all again the next day.

      Anya had always yearned for the next day. When she was there, she had always looked out for him.

      And she was looking out for him now.

      Now she peered into the dark of the audience, but he did not call out again. Perhaps she had misheard. Or maybe she was going mad, Anya thought as she made her way back to her dressing-room.

      Now she was exhausted and aching.

      She sat there at her dressing-room table and fought to concentrate as she was told that soon she would receive the duchess.

      ‘Who else?’

      There were many people who would want to greet her, and Anya found she was holding her breath as the names were read out.

      Last year, when she had first played Firebird, Daniil, Roman’s twin, had been in the audience and had come backstage to make sure that it really was her.

      She had run to him as for a tiny second she had thought it was Roman, but even before she had seen the scar, her heart had collapsed as she had realised it was not Roman.

      She was scared to get her hopes up again.

      Yes, she understood that it was imperative that she greet the duchess and she gave a terse nod. Of course one of the sponsors was here and with him his teenage daughter, who wanted to be a ballet dancer too. Anya felt her hands ball in impatience as the list was read out.

      ‘Who else?’ Anya snapped.

      ‘There is a gentleman, he says that you would remember him as Daniil Zverev’s twin...’

      Anya’s heavily made-up lashes fluttered as it was confirmed that Roman was here, yet he had not directly given his name.

      ‘He offered his congratulations for your performance tonight. He said that he always knew that you would make it. He asked that I pass on this.’

      Anya glanced down and there in the assistant’s palm was the small, thin gold hoop that she had left behind the time they had first made love.

      Oh, she remembered coming home that day, late of course. Her mother had asked where she had been.

      ‘Your earring is missing,’ Katya had said, and then she had seen her daughter’s glittering eyes and flushed cheeks and her mouth and skin inflamed from Roman’s rough, hot kisses and she had slapped Anya’s cheek.

      Hard.

      And then the other.

      Now Anya’s cheeks reddened at the memory of their first time and the bliss that both had found, and now Roman had brought the earring back to her.

      ‘Tell Daniil’s twin that he can return it himself. You can bring him to my dressing-room after I have greeted the others.’

      Oh, she ached to have the pair. Her mother had given her the earrings when she had been accepted into the school of dance.

      But, no, it would be a cheat to her heart and it would scald her fingers to take it from anyone other than Roman.

      For now she had to line up with the rest of the cast, and as the duchess congratulated her on her performance, she shivered with the hope that Roman was still near. Tatania curtsied deeply and smiled and conversed with the duchess, but her breathlessness was not from awe, but for the potential moment to come.

      She greeted others that she had to and accepted their congratulations with grace. She spoke with the sponsor’s young daughter and even gave her a pair of pointe shoes.

      Yes, she did all the right things until finally she sat at her dressing table and told the assistant that she was ready to receive her final guest.

      She stared into the mirror and saw that the feathers shook in her headdress and her eyes were wide, as if in shock.

      She was.

      After all these years they would come face-to-face and speak.

      Oh, she had seen him once, a couple of years ago, but it had been from a distance and Anya did all she could not to think of that time.

      All she could.

      There was a knock on the door and she could not stand or turn. All she managed was to call the word Enter in Russian.

      And still, as the door opened and then closed behind him, she did not turn.

      Her skin shivered just to have him close.

      He came into view in her mirror. At first there was just the darkness of his suit and the whiteness of his shirt, but it was enough to let her know that his body was still delicious. Oh, better even, because he was taller perhaps and broader, and as he came and stood behind her, Anya forced herself to look into the mirror and meet his eyes.

      Roman was more beautiful than she remembered.

      His hair was shorter than she recalled but was still black and glossy. The black eyes that met hers warned her heart to still fear him, for even after all these years he had the absolute power to hurt her again.

      She could not recover from losing him twice.

      Three times, in fact, but she chose not to go there in her mind.

      It would seem that the years of despair she had suffered through had suited him. The man she looked back at was polished and poised and the cologne she now inhaled was heady.

      He commanded her senses—he always had, for whether he wore cheap denim or a designer suit, the effect of Roman up close was the same.

      Her senses did not point out the differences.

      They did not care that the fingers that came to her shoulder were now manicured.

      Just his touch had her fighting not to arch her neck, to rub her cheek against his hand.

      He was back.

      That was all she knew.

      And as his hand remained on her shoulder, the contact had her eyes close in the ecstasy of his touch.

      ‘Brava,’ he said.

      ‘Roman.’ It was all her voice would allow.

      For Roman, just one word was almost too much—hearing his name from her lips, the familiar slight huskiness of her voice, made locked-away memories pour in.

      Finding out that his brother had married, that Daniil’s wife had just had a baby, had hit Roman like a fist. Knowing that he had a niece and that his twin was now a father had been difficult and he had fought not to make contact.

      He could remember a worker speaking with him on the day of the fight, the last time the four had shared a dorm. Called into the office, Roman had been nonchalant as he’d been used to being in trouble.

      ‘Daniil is talking about not taking this opportunity unless they adopt you too.’

      Roman had sat.

      ‘They don’t want you.’

      Roman had said nothing.

      ‘Do you remember when you were four and that family took you for a walk?’

      ‘Nyet.’

      ‘They were a married couple and were considering adopting the two of you, but they said you were too wild.’

      Roman had vaguely recalled something of the kind. They had been taken to a park and he had remembered standing on a swing for the first and only time.

      ‘Back then we said we would prefer not to separate twins. Roman,

Скачать книгу