Instinctive Male - Cait London

Скачать книгу

was a fool for even listening to her. Ellie Lathrop was a natural disaster to men, especially when she wanted her way—a true Kamakani curse. Perhaps Paul would listen to logic—but more than likely not, if Ellie had portrayed the situation realistically. Paul had always considered his daughters as bargaining chips in marriages that would bring him even more power and wealth. He wouldn’t hesitate to use a child as a pawn.

      Still, a child needed protection. Mikhail rubbed his hand across his jaw, and the sound of flesh against stubble matched his irritation. Above all, he wanted Ellie as a woman, and she would be a disaster.

      Three

       E llie awoke the second time to a click of the big solid door. She lay quietly trying to pull herself from sleep into the harsh reality of Mikhail Stepanov…and the rejection he was certain to give her. Rest had brought the truth to her: Mikhail was not likely to jeopardize the Amoteh.

      She caught his scent, felt him near, his presence almost pulsating around her, and her skin felt that prickle—like the hair of a cat sensing danger—just as it had last night. She didn’t want to face him this morning, not when he had seen her stripped of pride, had seen her cry, and knew that she was practically penniless, with a child she couldn’t support. Ellie had humbled herself to him, practically begged him. Tanya needed his protection, but on a more intimate level, Ellie resented being so helpless and dependent upon his decision.

      And in her sleep, she had actually undressed in front of him, cuddled him as she would Tanya. Mikhail wasn’t a man to cuddle; he was all taker, a man who moved methodically to get his way.

      All pride fell beside the question. “I know you’re there, Mikhail. Will you help us?”

      “We are here,” he said quietly, warning her against any further discussion about the child. “Tanya came to see where you slept last night. She was worried about you.”

      Ellie opened her eyes to see Tanya, in her favorite blue sweatsuit, seated on Mikhail’s shoulders. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt and worn jeans, still bearing the night’s stubble on his jaw.

      In a business suit, he looked too intense, danger streamlined into quiet, groomed power. But dressed casually, the sweatshirt stretching across his broad shoulders, he was raw male.

      Ellie trusted the man in the suit—the predictable, cold, methodical man—not this relaxed one. His hair was rumpled by the child’s hands that circled his forehead. But too quiet, too watchful, Mikhail’s sea-green eyes held Ellie’s as if warning her not to speak of the problem in front of the child. Then that long slow prowl of his gaze down her body, beneath the comforter, tugged at her senses, taking away her breath.

      She was still wearing his shirt, but she had just felt as though those big hands had moved over her bare skin. His eyes had glittered just that once, possessively, and the hair on her nape rose. Whatever primitive and intimate thing it was that sizzled in the air between them frightened and warmed her.

      A passing glance at a walnut-encased clock told her it was eleven o’clock, and the late morning hour redefined Mikhail’s expression—he had always considered her spoiled. “I was tired, okay?” she snapped at him.

      “Evidently. Was the bed all right?” Mikhail’s deep, sensual voice curled around her, reminding her that they had shared the bed…that she had aroused him, that he had seen her undress….

      This time it was her turn to blush, her senses prickling as their eyes met and the quiet air sizzled between them.

      And then she knew for certain that Mikhail wanted her now; not a sweet, loving need, but a raw passionate one to be filled and forgotten.

      Ellie braced herself for another trade-off; she’d made a deal with one man that had failed, and if she had to—

      Deep inside a warning voice told her that Mikhail wouldn’t be easy to forget.

      She breathed quietly, unsteadily, aware that her body had already reacted to him, her breasts tightening, that poignant clench in her lower stomach.

      “Mama?” Tanya’s uneven whisper said she needed reassurance, and Ellie instantly lifted up her arms.

      Mikhail lowered Tanya to the bed and watched her slide into Ellie’s waiting hug. As she always did, Ellie gave Tanya her full attention, soothing her fears. The girl cuddled close. “Good morning, pumpkin. Did you like that great big bed?” Ellie asked.

      “I wasn’t scared,” Tanya whispered as her little hand smoothed Ellie’s hair. “The man said you were very tired and needed to rest last night. You look all sort of rosy, Mommy. He was afraid if you came out in the rain, back to sleep with me, you would catch cold. And Fadey woke me up this morning. I think he likes me, just like a grandpa would. He showed me these pretty wooden eggs, all painted with people, and when you open one, guess what? There’s another one inside.”

      “Of course,” Mikhail said quietly, still watching Ellie, the tension of last night alive between them. Would he help them?

      Ellie smoothed Tanya’s blond silky hair and prayed that he would. “Have you made up your mind?” she asked quietly as, fascinated with the showroom, Tanya slid from the bed to wander around the room.

      The answer cut through the shadowy air. “No. I have not.”

      “When?” Already, she was thinking of how she could manage to drive away from Amoteh. Because if Mikhail decided against helping her, he would probably tell Paul their whereabouts.

      “When I have decided.”

      That arrogance grated; she had stripped away her pride, coming to him, asking for his help, and now he held her on tenterhooks, just as Paul would do. The men were too much alike, hard, impenetrable and looking for what a bargain could do for them.

      And looking up at Mikhail from her vulnerable position in bed did little to soothe the nerves he had always scraped. Ellie clamped her lips against the words she wanted to let fly at him, and Mikhail’s narrowed eyes said he had read her silent message.

      He reached to push a button on the wall intercom. “Georgia? Would you come here, please? There is a little girl who wants to meet you. Perhaps she would like to see your kitchen and eat those croissants you’ve just made. And please put together a breakfast tray for two, please—a carafe of coffee? I’ll be having breakfast in here with the girl’s…mother.”

      “You could leave and give me a moment of privacy,” Ellie whispered in a furious tone she didn’t bother to disguise.

      “No. You’re the one asking, not me. I would advise you to be civilized and to wait until the child is out of hearing distance before you yell.”

      “Me? Civilized? Don’t you dare—”

      Mikhail’s smile was brief and contained genuine humor, a notice that he had once more scored a hit. Then ignoring Ellie’s frown, he walked to crouch beside Tanya, explaining the collection of shells in the pottery bowl.

      Georgia, a plump woman wearing a white apron and a hairnet that crossed her forehead, arrived with the tray. Mikhail replaced the previous tray with the fresh one, and the scent of aromatic coffee and fresh croissants cruised the room.

      In a heartbeat, Georgia had won Tanya’s confidence, and they left the showroom, leaving Ellie alone with Mikhail. He poured two cups of coffee from the carafe and leaned against a tall dresser, watching her.

      Watching her like a big predator, assessing, waiting. She could feel him trying to put her together, like a puzzle. Then there was something else in him, brooding and male and resentful.

      That look pushed all her buttons, her anger leaping. He’d seen her without her pride, inferred her poverty by the hole in her briefs. Ellie sprung from the bed, tossing back the covers. “Tanya is not used to very many people, and I don’t like you taking control of her. She gets frightened when she’s away from me too long.”

      “And you resent that she isn’t in your control, dependent upon you. She

Скачать книгу