The Price Of His Redemption. Carol Marinelli

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      Her head was still spinning with all her father had revealed that afternoon. The family business was in serious trouble and they needed this anniversary party to go ahead next month. For that to happen, though, Daniil’s acceptance of his parents’ invitation must be secured.

      Libby couldn’t think about her father’s business troubles now.

      She went through her huge bag and pulled out a fresh ivory wrap and put that on over her leotard and changed from leggings into a grey tube skirt. Her blonde hair was already tied back but messy so she brushed and retied it and pinned it up. Her face was devoid of make-up and she looked far younger than her twenty-five years. Somehow she didn’t think fresh-faced would appeal to such a sophisticated man but Libby didn’t have an awful lot in her make-up bag to work with. Some mascara made her blue eyes look bigger and she added some lip gloss too.

      She’d just have to do.

      Libby knew she didn’t stand a hope with him. A man who had cut ties with his family so dramatically that he’d changed his name was hardly going to want to turn things around on her say-so.

      And, anyway, Libby was the last person to tell someone else what they should do.

      She, herself, didn’t like free advice.

      She’d be working in the family business if she did.

      Resigned to being sent away even before she’d got out the first sentence almost took away the fear of meeting him.

      Yes, she’d just say what she had to and then walk away. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

      Snooty Pants at Reception must have deemed Libby looked suitable now because she picked up the phone and informed him that his 6:00 p.m. appointment was here. ‘However, as I said it is—’ He must have interrupted her because she didn’t finish explaining again that it was Libby rather than Lindsey who was there. ‘I’ll send her in.’

      As Libby finally went to head for the door it would seem that she’d jumped the mark.

      ‘You can leave your bag here.’

      She was about to decline but again she realised it wasn’t a suggestion so she put her bag down and headed for the door. As she was about to raise her arm she was halted.

      ‘Don’t knock, it irritates him. Just go straight through.’

      Libby felt like knocking just for the hell of it!

      And knocking again.

      And then knocking again.

      The thought made her smile.

      Widely!

      And that was how he first saw her.

      Smiling at some secret joke, because, Daniil knew, nothing his PA would have said would have put her at ease.

      She was a dancer.

      He knew that not just from her attire but from her posture as she closed the door behind her, and she was fighting her dancer’s gait as she walked a little way towards him and then paused.

      As she stepped in Libby blinked. She was standing in a postcard view of London. She might just as well have bought a ticket for the London Eye, though there would never have been someone quite as delicious sitting opposite her there!

      He had dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin and there was a livid scar across his left cheekbone. He sat straight in his seat at a very large desk, watching her with mild interest.

      Despite the huge office, despite the vast space, he looked so formal and imposing that he owned every inch of it.

      ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Zverev,’ she said, while privately, such was his impact, she rather wanted to turn and run.

      ‘My, my, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil said. ‘What a high, clear voice you have.’

      His own voice was deep and his words were dipped and richly coated in a chocolaty Russian accent, and as she realised he was alluding to the appointment being with her father her smile stretched further and she lost her fear.

      ‘And, oh, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil continued, his eyes taking in her slender bare legs, ‘what smooth skin you have.’

      She stood before him and, no, Libby wasn’t scared in the least. Still she smiled.

      ‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev...’ she started, and then halted as she properly met those cold grey eyes that pierced her. She sent a silent apology to the women she had so merrily scorned for getting involved with him. She had never understood women who could simply leap into bed with a man but she had to wrestle to hold on to her conscience, for he was so beautiful, his stare so intense and so sexy that he could possibly have had her then.

      She had to clear her throat so she could continue speaking, and she had to recall their words just to find her thread.

       Yes, that’s right...

      ‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev,’ Libby said, ‘that you’re the big bad wolf!’

       CHAPTER TWO

      SURPRISINGLY, WHEN SHE was so bold as to call him the big bad wolf to his face, Daniil actually smiled. ‘Indeed I am.’

      Libby caught her breath. Those hooded, guarded features briefly relaxed, that deep red sulky mouth stretched and the cold grey eyes softened. Not a lot, just enough that, for a brief second, he didn’t look quite so formidable.

      But very quickly that changed and it was down to business.

      ‘Take a seat,’ he instructed.

      Libby did, crossing her ankles and resting her hands in her lap.

      ‘Would you like some refreshment?’ he offered.

      ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘You’re sure?’ he checked.

      ‘Quite sure.’ Libby nodded, just as she realised she was terribly thirsty, yet she felt uncomfortable knowing what she was about to ask him and cross with her father for the position she was in.

      Daniil reached across his desk and opened a bottle of sparkling water. It was chilled, she could see that from the condensation on the bottle, and, suddenly very thirsty, Libby heard the delicious fizzing sound as he opened it and then the lovely glug, glug, glug as he poured it into a heavy glass.

      He didn’t offer again.

      Bastard.

      But then he pushed the glass towards her, and with a slight roll of her eyes she took it. ‘Thank you.’

      He poured his own and she glanced at his hands—even they were beautiful, his fingers long and slender, his nails short and manicured.

      ‘So?’ СКАЧАТЬ