The Russian Billionaire: A Romantic Suspense Novel Georgia Carre (ink ebook reader .txt) 📖

His gaze sweeps meaningfully to my champagne glass. ‘Shall we give this party a go first and bargain later, when you are in a…better mood?’

I understand his thinking. He thinks he can drive the price down when I am drunk. ‘The price is not negotiable,’ I say firmly. ‘And will have to be paid up front.’

He smiles smarmily. ‘I’m sure we’ll come to some agreement that we will both be happy with.’

I frown. I have been naïve. My plan is sketchy and has no provisions for a sharp punter or price negotiations. I heard through the office grapevine where I worked as temporary secretary that my boss was one of those men who are prepared to pay ten thousand pounds a pop for his pleasure and often, but I had never imagined he would reduce me to bargaining.

While Rupert stuffs himself with cheese and biscuits I excuse myself and go to the Ladies. There is another woman standing at the mirror. She glances at me with a mixture of surprise and disgust. I wait until she leaves, then I call my mother.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Where are you, Lana?’

‘I’m still at the restaurant.’

‘What time will you be coming home?’

‘I’ll be late. I’ve been invited to a party.’

‘A party,’ my mother repeats worriedly. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t know the address. Somewhere in London.’

‘How will you get home?’ A wire of panic has crept into her voice.

I sigh gently. I have almost never left my mother alone at night; consequently she is now a bundle of jittery nerves. ‘I have a ride, Mum. Just don’t wait up for me, OK?’

‘All right. Be careful, won’t you?’

‘Nothing is going to happen to me.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she says, but she sounds distracted and unhappy.

‘How are you feeling, Mum?’

‘Good.’

‘Goodnight, then. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Lana?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I love you very much.’

‘Me too, Mum. Me too.’

I flip my phone shut with a snap. I no longer feel cheap or obscene, but strong and sure. There is nothing Rupert can do that can degrade me. I will have that money no matter what.

I look at myself in the mirror. No need for lipstick as I have hardly eaten—just watching Rupert gurgle down the oysters made me feel quite sick, and how was I to know steak tartare was ground raw meat. For a moment I think again of that sinfully sophisticated man, his eyes edged with experience and mystery, his lips twisted with sensuality, and I am suddenly overcome by a strong desire to press my body against his hard length. But he is gone and I am here.

I return my phone to my purse and go out to meet my fate.

Read More Here:

The Billionaire Banker

Sample Chapter

Blackmailed By The Beast

Chapter 1

Chelsea

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8&list=RDhn3wJ1_1Zsg&index=24

“Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?”

“Ms. Appleby.”

The busy street below my window suddenly ceases to exist. I freeze, not daring to even take a breath.

Thorne Blackmore?

No. No. No. It can’t be. He couldn’t have found me here.

And yet … I would recognize that voice anywhere. Husky and beautiful. I hear the click of my office door closing and his footsteps come closer. Closer still. So close I can feel the heat from his body. The raw power of his energy surrounds me and makes my skin tingle. In the industry they call him The Beast, because he is so cold and ruthless, his methods are pitiless.

“Hello, Chelsea,” he whispers in my ear. The familiar rumble of his voice is bittersweet. Greedily, I drag in the scent of his aftershave, leather, pine forests, and the tangy ocean. I shut my eyes. Oh, sweet Jesus. How I have missed him. These last two years without seeing him have been hell. How did I survive? I walked wounded and bewildered. Days passed, then weeks, the leaves changed, the cold winds came, then the mornings began to fill with sunlight again. After the first year, I lied to myself. I told myself I had forgotten him. But like a ghost, this man haunted me.

Will he still match the memory I keep deep in my heart?

I take a step forward, then turn around to face him. For a second my whole body goes cold. It is like coming home to find that a leopard has leapt in through your kitchen window and it is eating your sweet little dog. He’s standing there in his usual ten-thousand dollar suit and thousand dollar tie, but he is bulkier, deadlier, bloodier, scarier and; oh God, his eyes. The gray orbs were never warm before, but now they are as frozen as the most inhospitable winter lake. And yet he is beautiful. Beautiful like lightning ripping through the night sky, or the angry sea crashing into cliffs. The breath I was unconsciously holding escapes in a rush, and I stand there like a deer, beyond conscious control, motionless, sniffing the air, terrified, ready to run.

He studies me expressionlessly.

For a few seconds, I can do nothing but stare into those pitiless eyes. Then I force a bright, happy smile onto my face. Pretend, Chelsea. You can do this. Just pretend. “Hiya. What a lovely surprise to see you again.” My voice sounds breathy and shaky.

He smiles slowly. A cold, mocking smile. Undertones of danger.

Oh, Mother of God. I decide to take the bull by the horns. “I know you must be angry, I’m really sorry I stole from you.”

His smile grows. It could be mistaken for an almost friendly grin except for the hostile wasteland in his eyes. “Are you now?” he murmurs.

“Yes, yes, I am very, very sorry. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll make immediate arrangements to return the money to you.”

His blunt charcoal eyelashes sweep down, and I stare at him hungrily. I never expected to see him again. He is spectacularly elusive. Even catching a glimpse of him is hard. He is hard. “What kind of arrangements might they be?”

“I … I have some savings and I’ll take a loan for the