Staking His Claim. Tessa Radley

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СКАЧАТЬ did a double take. “You? Get married? So that you can adopt a child?”

      She hadn’t thought Big Brother Yevgeny could surprise her. She’d thought she had his number. Russian. Raffish. Ruthless. But this announcement left her reeling. What would this playboy Russian billionaire want with a child, a girl child at that?

      Which led her to say, “But you don’t even want a girl.”

      Something—it couldn’t be surprise—sparked in the depths of those light eyes. “What made you think that?”

      “I heard you…” Ella thought back to that moment of tension when she’d heard his voice in the family room next door.

      “When?”

      “As you came in.” She searched to remember exactly what he’d said. Slowly she said, “You asked where the boy was. You never even considered that the baby might be a girl.”

      “Aah.” He smiled, a feral baring of teeth. “So obviously that meant I wouldn’t welcome a girl, hmm?”

      Sensing mockery, Ella frowned. “Why would you want a child? Any child?” Wasn’t that going a little far—even for Yevgeny—to get his own way?

      Yevgeny shrugged. “Perhaps it is time,” he said simply.

      “For a trophy toddler?”

      “No, not a trophy.”

      “Not like your girlfriends?”

      That dangerous smile widened, but his eyes crinkled with what appeared to be real amusement. “You yearn to be one of my trophies?” he asked softly—twisting her insides into pretzels.

      An image of his latest woman leaped into Ella’s mind. Nadiya. One of a breed of supermodels identified by their first names alone. Ella didn’t need a surname to conjure up Nadiya’s lean body and perfect face that were regularly featured in the double-page spreads of glossy fashion magazines. Barely twenty, Nadiya was already raking in millions as a face for a French perfume, which she wore in copious amounts that wafted about her in soft clouds. Six foot tall. Brunette. Beautiful. With slanting, catlike green eyes, which devoured Yevgeny as though he were a bowl of cream. Enormously desired by every red-blooded man on earth. A trophy any man would be proud to show off. So why should Ella imagine Yevgeny would be any different?

      “That’s a stupid question,” she said dismissively.

      “Is it?”

      “Of course, I don’t want to be any man’s trophy.” Ella was not about to be dragged into the teasing games he played. She gave him a cool look—mirroring the one she’d caught him giving her earlier—and let her eyes travel all the way down the length of his body before lifting them dismissively back to his face. “Anyway, you’re not the kind of man I would ever date.”

      He was laughing openly now. “That’s not an insult. From my observation, there is no kind of man you date.”

      The very idea that he’d been watching her, noting her lack of romantic attachments, caused a frisson to run along her spine. She refused to examine her unease further, and focused back on the bombshell he’d delivered. “You can’t adopt this baby.”

      He came another step closer to the bed. “Why not?”

      “I’ve already told you. You’re not married.”

      “That’s old-fashioned.” He leaned over her. “Ella, I never expected such traditionalism from you.”

      His closeness was claustrophobic. He was so damn big. “Everyone knows you’re a workaholic—you’re never home.” Yevgeny had less time for a kitten than she did.

      At that, he thrust out his roughly stubbled chin. “I’ll make time.”

      Right.

      Somewhere between his twenty-hour workday and his even more hectic X-rated nightlife? The man obviously never slept—he didn’t even take time to shave. His life was littered with women—even before his latest affair with Nadiya, she’d seen the pictures in the tabloids. Keira and Dmitri remained fiercely loyal and insisted the news was all exaggerated but Ella ignored their protests. They’d been brainwashed by the man himself. Ella knew his type—she’d seen it before. Powerful men who treated women like playthings. Men who kept their women at home, manacled by domesticity and diamonds, before stripping them of everything—including their self-respect—when the next fancy caught their eye.

      “Sure you will.”

      “Damn right I’ll take care of her.”

      As if the baby felt his insistence, she made a mewing noise and stirred. The pretzel knot in Ella’s stomach tightened, yet thankfully the baby didn’t wake. But at least it got rid of Yevgeny—he’d shot across to the cot and was staring down into the depths.

      Ella breathed a little easier.

      “Money doesn’t equal care.” She flung the words at the back of his dark head.

      At her comment, his dark head turned. Ella resisted the urge to squirm under those unfathomable eyes.

      “What’s her name?”

      “She doesn’t have one.” Ella had no intention of picking out a name—that would be a fast track to hell. Attachment to the baby was a dark and lonely place she had no wish to visit.

      “Keira didn’t choose one?”

      “Not a final name.”

      It had puzzled Ella, too. Keira had spent weeks pouring over books, searching websites for inspiration. But she’d never even drawn up a short list. Now Ella knew why: Keira had been dithering about motherhood. Choosing a name would’ve been a tie to bind her to the baby.

      To rid herself of that critical, disturbing gaze, Ella said, “I can ask Keira if there’s one she particularly liked.”

      Yevgeny’s gaze didn’t relent. “You were supposed to be the baby’s godmother, yet you have no idea of the names your sister might have been considering?”

      She was not about to air her theory about why Keira hadn’t picked a name in order to jump to her own defense. She simply stared back at him wordlessly and wished that he would take his big intimidating body, his hostile pale blue eyes and leave.

      “Why don’t you ask Dmitri what they planned to name the baby?” Let him go bully his brother. Ella had had enough. “Anyway, the baby’s new parents will probably want to pick one out. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’m tired, I need to rest.”

      The baby chose that moment to wake up.

      At the low, growling cry, Yevgeny scooped her up in his arms and came toward the bed.

      No. Panic overtook Ella. “Call the nurse!”

      “What?”

      “The baby will be hungry. Call the nurse to bring a bottle—they will feed her.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ