Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence - Shaw Chantelle - Страница 35

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Vadim could feel his heart slamming against his ribs. Sure, he remembered what he had said when he’d laid down the rules of their relationship, but he had never expected that he would want to change those rules-and he’d certainly never contemplated that Ella would be the one to call time on their affair.

‘You know as well as I do that this isn’t over,’ he said harshly. He pulled her to her feet and wrenched the edges of her robe apart, ignoring her startled cry as he stared down at her naked body. ‘Do you want me to prove it to you?’ he demanded, moving his hand to his belt. ‘I could make love to you right now, Ella, and you wouldn’t stop me.’

‘No!’ The flash of fear in her eyes stopped him in his tracks, and he flung her from him, frustration boiling up inside him.

‘Why?’ he bit out, nostrils flaring as he sought to control his temper and suppress the fear churning in his stomach. He didn’t want to lose her. Hell-where had that thought come from? he asked himself as he raked a hand through his hair.

‘Being here with you has been…fun,’ she told him, praying he would not hear the tremor in her voice. ‘But music is my life, and I need to focus exclusively on my playing to succeed in my career. I don’t have time for distractions. I thought you would understand,’ she said tremulously when his jaw tightened. ‘You admitted that you felt the same drive and determination when you were building your company.’

It was the truth, but he did not like having the tables turned on him, Vadim thought grimly. Ella had a fantastic career ahead of her, and to achieve the success she deserved she would need to dedicate herself utterly to her music. He had no right to try and interfere with the life she had mapped out. But the thought of letting her go tore at his insides. These past weeks at the villa had been the happiest of his life, and he was shocked to realise how much he had enjoyed the time away from his work schedule. He had finally mastered the art of delegation, and had handed tasks over to his chief executives so that he could spend more time with Ella. It was bitterly ironic that she was citing the demands of her career as the reason why she wanted to end their relationship.

But if she thought he would beg her to stay with him she could think again. They’d had a good time, but she was right: it was time to move on. It was not as though their affair could ever have been more than a brief fling. He had proved that he was no good at relationships, and he had no intention of going down that road again.

He swung back to face her, and felt a hand squeeze his heart when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was so very lovely, but she clearly had her own agenda-and beautiful blondes were ten a penny for a playboy billionaire. ‘If that’s really what you want, you’d better pack whatever you want to take with you,’ he said coolly, forcing himself to turn and walk away from her. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to phone the airport and see if I can book you a flight to London?’

‘Please.’ Somehow Ella managed to articulate the word, but the minute he walked out of the bedroom she raced into the bathroom and was violently sick.

It was over. And, from his faintly bored attitude, Vadim clearly did not give a damn. Those times when he had made love to her with tenderness as well as passion, whispering words to her in Russian as he cradled her in his arms, had meant nothing to him, and she had been a fool to hope that he was beginning to care for her.

Somehow she dragged herself back into the bedroom, dressed quickly in the clothes she had brought with her from Paris and packed her few belongings. Her violin was in its case next to the bed, and she picked it up and hurried out of the room, tears burning the back of her throat when she glanced back at the bed where every night Vadim had taken her to that magical place she had believed was uniquely theirs. Doubtless he would soon replace her with another mistress, she thought bleakly. Images of him making love to another woman lacerated her heart, and she flew down the stairs and across the hall to the front door of the villa.

He was lowering the roof of the Aston Martin while talking on his mobile phone. Maybe he was arranging her flight home? Misery swept through her as she faced the devastating reality that he would never hold her in his arms again. She felt dizzy with grief, and as she walked down the front steps she lost her footing. Her startled cry rent the air, and she heard Vadim swear violently, saw him move towards her-and then there was nothing.

She came round to find that Vadim had laid her on the back seat of his car. She lifted her lashes and stared groggily at him, shocked by how grey he looked beneath his tan. His jaw was rigid, and for a moment something blazed in his eyes, before he moved away from her and leapt into the driver’s seat.

‘My violin!’ she cried, staring back at her violin and her suitcase, lying on the driveway as the car sped away. ‘Vadim, I can’t go to the airport without it.’

‘We’re not going to the airport,’ he informed her tersely. ‘I’m taking you to the local hospital.’

‘The hosp…? I fainted, that’s all.’ She sat up, and the wind whipped her hair across her face.

‘Women do not faint without a reason,’ he said grimly. ‘You’re as pale as death, you’ve barely eaten a thing all week, and you collapsed and would have fallen down a set of stone steps if I hadn’t caught you. I have a friend who is a doctor. Claude will check you out, and if he says you’re well enough to travel, then I’ll take you to the airport.’

His implacable tone warned Ella that arguing would be futile. How could she tell him that she had suffered an extreme physical reaction to the mental anguish she felt at the ending of their affair? He would guess that she was in love with him, and then her pride as well as her heart would be in tatters.

At the hospital they were met by a nurse, who whisked Ella off to check her blood pressure and requested a urine sample before ushering her into the doctor’s office.

Claude Arnot stood up from his desk and indicated that she should take a seat. She glared at Vadim when he dropped into the chair next to her, but his hard smile told her that he was staying for her consultation with the doctor.

‘Vadim tells me you have lost your appetite recently, Mademoiselle Stafford. Do know why that could be?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit nauseous, but I suffer from occasional migraines, and I suspect I’m going to be hit by one any day soon.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Is everything else normal? Your periods, for instance? When was the date of your last one?’

‘I don’t really know.’ Ella frowned, trying to remember, and feeling ridiculously embarrassed at discussing something so personal in front of Vadim. ‘They’ve never been regular. In fact my GP told me it’s possible that I will need fertility treatment if I ever want children. But the demands of my career mean that I will probably never choose to have a family,’ she explained, with a faint catch in her voice.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the nurse, who handed the doctor some notes. He skimmed through them in silence. He would probably say that she was anaemic, Ella decided. She had forgotten to mention that her GP had prescribed a course of iron pills last year, when a blood test had shown that she was suffering from an iron deficiency. She wished he would hurry up. Sitting next to Vadim, breathing in the familiar sandalwood scent of his cologne, was torture, and she was in danger of flinging herself at him and begging him to take her to Prague with him.

She gave a start when Claude Arnot cleared his throat, and looked across the desk at him, puzzled by his sympathetic smile.

‘I hope your career is not too demanding, Mademoiselle Stafford,’ the doctor said gently, ‘because you are pregnant.’

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