Pursued by the Devil Read online

  And she was now far less confident in having accused Mikhail of using her. He had reacted so angrily, it now made Lindsay wonder if she really might have misjudged him.

  Not that it mattered if she had, because the outcome would be the same.

  She and David Barbour had an appointment this morning at the offices of Mikhail’s lawyer, and she needed to talk to Peter Haskell before that happened. A conversation she was very much afraid was going to jeopardize her job here at Haskell, Haskell, and Palmer, along with her future career.

  Damn it, she had worked so damned hard to get where she was.

  When her parents and brother died in the car crash her world had been devastated. So much so that she hadn’t been able to take up her place at university until the following year. Oh, there had been some life insurance money to help get her through university, but money didn’t make up for the fact that Lindsay no longer had her family in her life.

  It was an emotional struggle being on her own, at university and through the years of working at a small law firm, doing all the grunt work no one else wanted to do. Landing this job at Haskell’s two years ago was her dream come true, and although her parents hadn’t been there to share it with her, she knew they would have been so proud of her achievements.

  Last night, allowing Mikhail to kiss her, and kissing him back, now threatened to ruin all that hard work.

  And for what?

  A man who had more wealth than a lot of small countries put together.

  A man who could have any woman he wanted. Did have any woman he wanted.

  A man who the newspapers reported changed those women almost as often as he did the silk sheets on his bed.

  Her career aside, Lindsay didn’t want to become known as just another one of Mikhail Lysenko’s women.

  No matter how much being with Mikhail excited and aroused her.

  If she was wrong about his motives then she could regret that, but she couldn’t regret making him leave, when she knew a relationship with Mikhail would only end in heartache. For her, not Mikhail.

  Heather grinned up at her unrepentantly. “All the juicy details, remember?”

  “There are no juicy details—” Lindsay broke off as the front door opened noisily and David Barbour stepped inside. One look at the anger on his face was enough to tell Lindsay something was seriously wrong.

  It took her several minutes after taking him into her office to calm him down enough to make sense of exactly what that something was.

  Mikhail Lysenko’s lawyer had contacted David first thing this morning, to inform him that his client had withdrawn from the negotiations completely, and was no longer interested in purchasing Barbour Industries, now or in the future.

  Lindsay’s heart sank. Literally sank to her shoes.

  Just as nausea rolled over her as she wondered if Mikhail was doing this because he was genuinely no longer interested in buying Barbour Industries, or because of the things she accused him of last night.

  Or could it be because she’d turned him down?

  Or maybe because he wanted to eliminate the reason she turned him down?

  She couldn’t believe the latter was true. The two of them parted very badly the night before, and Mikhail was first and foremost a businessman; she didn’t believe he would let personal issues influence his decisions. She certainly didn’t believe he would let wanting her influence his business decisions.

  Her hand shook as she put a call through to Mikhail’s lawyer under the watchful glare of David Barbour, only to be given the same answer—Mr. Lysenko no longer had any interest in purchasing Barbour Industries.

  “Does this have anything to do with Lysenko’s visit here yesterday?” David demanded suspiciously once Lindsay had relayed the conversation to him. “Never mind,” he snapped angrily before she had a chance to reply. “I don’t care how you do it, talk to his lawyer again, talk to Lysenko himself, but fix this!” he instructed harshly as he stood up and marched out of her office, slamming the door behind him.

  Lindsay had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to go about ‘fixing’ this. Or if she was the right person to attempt to do so…

  Time—past time!—that she made the call and arranged to talk to Peter Haskell.

  * * *

  “CALL FOR YOU on line one, Mikhail.”

  Mikhail turned from staring out of the window at the early evening London skyline, an irritated frown creasing his brow as he took his hand out of his trouser pocket to press the intercom button and answer his assistant. “I thought I said I wasn’t taking any calls today, Gerald?”

  “It’s a Mr. Haskell. And he was very insistent.”

  Peter Haskell? Of Haskell, Haskell and Palmer? The firm of lawyers where Lindsay was employed?

  Lindsay…

  His jaw tightened just thinking about her.

  Be honest with yourself, at least, Mikhail, and admit you haven’t stopped thinking about her all day!

  No, he hadn’t.

  He could almost hear what his grandfather’s advice would have been, in regard to this preoccupation Mikhail had with Lindsay.

  She’s just a woman, Mikhail. There are plenty more women in the world, willing women. Let this one go.

  Letting Lindsay go—much against the wishes of the beast growling in protest inside him—and actually stopping himself from thinking about her, were two distinctly different things.

  He still wanted her, damn it.

  Mischa still wanted her, too.

  At the same time as Mikhail was furiously angry with her because of the things she said to him last night. As if he’d ever needed to seduce a woman in order to clinch a business deal. As if he’d ever given enough of a fuck about any business deal to go to those sorts of lengths to achieve his goal.

  Lindsay obviously believed he did.

  She wouldn’t believe that anymore, though.

  Granted, he had considered Barbour Industries an interesting business prospect, but Mikhail really didn’t like David Barbour. And he certainly didn’t need to listen to anymore of the insults Lindsay leveled at him the previous evening.

  Which was why he’d decided to call his lawyer first thing this morning and withdraw from the negotiations.

  Only to spend the rest of the day thinking up reasons for how and why he could see Lindsay again!

  This phone call from Peter Haskell sounded promising…

  * * *

  THERE WAS NO sleek black Ferrari waiting outside that evening when Lindsay left work.

  It was also raining—more typical summer weather for England than the beautiful sunshine of last weekend—and the buses were all full with everyone else also trying to avoid getting wet in the downpour.

  Lindsay decided to walk rather than be crushed in amongst a lot of other wet and miserable people.

  Being miserable and soaking wet on her own suited her current mood better anyway.

  And just to make a perfect ending to her already perfectly shitty day, instead of that black Ferrari—and Mikhail—waiting for her when she finally reached home, it was Roger who sheltered inside the small entry porch to the front door.

  “What are you doing here?” Lindsay didn’t waste time on pleasantries as she searched in her shoulder bag for her door key.

  “Don’t be like that, Lindsay.” Roger gave her what he obviously thought was a winning smile. “It’s been over two weeks now; isn’t it time you forgave me and took me back?”

  Lindsay stared at him incredulously. Time she forgave him and took him back? The image of Roger eating his secretary’s pussy would remain forever etched in her memory as one of the most disgusting things she had ever had the misfortune to witness! Nor was it one she was ever likely to forget. Or forgive.

  Looking at Roger now, she wondered why she had ever wasted three months of her life on him. Oh, he was attractive enough in his dark business suit, and with his overlong blond hair and blue eyes. He also had that endearing dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. He cou
ld also be very charming when he wanted to be.

  But Lindsay could see past those looks and charm now. Just as she realized that the endearing dimple was probably something he deliberately exploited when he was trying to charm or wheedle his way out of trouble. He probably practiced it in front of a mirror every morning before he left his apartment!

  “Go away, Roger,” she told him wearily, having found her key at last and put it in the lock. “We have nothing more to say to each other.”

  He grabbed hold of her arm. “Why won’t you accept I made a mistake and I’m sorry?”

  She eyed him pityingly. “Probably because I really don’t care.”

  He gave a shake of his head. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you want, Roger, but please do it somewhere else. And take your hand off my arm,” she added warningly, reluctant to actually turn the key in the lock and go inside, just in case he should decide to try and follow her.

  “Why are you being such a bitch to me?” He looked totally nonplussed by her attitude.

  Why had Lindsay never seen this side of Roger before? The self-absorbed part of him that didn’t understand he had done anything wrong. Except get caught…

  Before that day at his office, Roger had been dropping hints about the two of them becoming engaged. If Lindsay hadn’t actually seen him with his secretary, would she have agreed to the engagement, maybe even married him? Was this what their life would have been like? Roger fucking his secretary whenever he felt like it, and Lindsay living in complete ignorance of the fact?

  She shook Roger’s hand off her arm as she turned to face him, only for her eyes to widen as she saw the sleek black car slowing and then parking beside the pavement, Mikhail sitting behind the wheel.

  This couldn’t be happening to her!

  And yet she knew it was…

  Chapter Five

  “WHO THE HELL is that?” Roger demanded in an accusing hiss as Mikhail stepped out of the car and walked purposefully across the pavement towards them.

  Lindsay closed her eyes, wishing herself far, far away from what she knew was going to be a very uncomfortable meeting.

  What on earth was Mikhail doing here?

  It was the last thing she expected after the way they’d parted last night and the awful day she’d just had.

  But when she reopened her eyes, there he undoubtedly still was, and wearing another one of those beautifully tailored suits—because he had come here straight from his own office?—hair ebony, with his eyes a pale, startling blue against the naturally dark tones of his flesh.

  He was arrogance.

  And pure unadulterated sin.

  “Mikhail,” she greeted stiffly when reached her side.

  “Lindsay.” He nodded tersely before turning to look at the other man, eyes narrowed in cold query.

  “Mikhail?” Roger repeated sharply, eyes widening as he stared at the older man. “Jesus Christ…you’re Mikhail Lysenko?” He turned to give Lindsay a bewildered glance. “You know Mikhail Lysenko?”

  Client-lawyer confidentiality meant that Lindsay had never discussed meeting the other man with Roger, but was that really any reason for him to look quite so incredulous that she might know the Russian billionaire?

  “Obviously we know each other,” Mikhail answered the other man icily as he looked down the length of his nose at him. “And you are…?”

  The other man’s chin jutted up challengingly. “Roger Maitland. I’m Lindsay’s bo—”

  “He’s a very ex-boyfriend.” She put in firmly. “And I believe you were just leaving, Roger,” she added pointedly.

  “I—”

  “If you’ll excuse us? Lindsay and I have a date this evening.” Mikhail didn’t wait for Roger to answer, the fingers of one hand taking a firm grasp of Lindsay’s arm at the same time as his other hand moved to turn her key in the lock and open the door into her apartment building. He stepped inside, taking Lindsay with him before closing the door on an obviously still stunned Roger.

  Lindsay immediately pulled out of Mikhail’s grasp. “That was unbelievably rude of you. And we do not have a date!”

  He gave an unrepentant shrug. “You didn’t look as if you were having a particularly happy time with him when I drove up.”

  “That isn’t the point—”

  His eyes narrowed. “You said he was an ex-boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  Mikhail studied her through those narrowed lids. “Exactly how much of an ex is he?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  His lips thinned. “How long since the two of you broke up?”

  She frowned. “A couple of weeks or so…”

  “Since shortly after the two of us met?”

  He would have to pick up on that! “Look, Mikhail, I—”

  “Did I interrupt a touching reunion?” he jibed hardly.

  Heat warmed her cheeks. “No, of course not, but—oh never mind,” Lindsay snapped her irritation, realizing that Mikhail had, in fact, just rescued her from continuing that pointless conversation with Roger. “What are you doing here?”

  The tension in Mikhail’s shoulders eased slightly. “You seem to ask me that a lot…”

  Lindsay gave him a pointed look; she ‘asked him that a lot’ because this turning up whenever he felt like it was becoming far too much of a habit. A habit she may have trouble breaking…

  Mikhail returned her pointed look by raising a single arrogant eyebrow.

  Lindsay was wet, she was irritable—she could cheerfully have punched Roger on the nose for daring to come anywhere near her again, let alone think she might ever contemplate taking him back—and now she had the even more infuriating Mikhail to deal with.

  He had also managed to inveigle his way inside her apartment building…

  Now what was she supposed to do with him?

  Lindsay knew what she would like to do with him—after maybe taking that bath together!—but as that really wasn’t going to happen, she might as well know Mikhail’s reason for being here.

  Today had been even worse than yesterday; it had felt as if she was stumbling from one mess to another all day. Having to deal with Roger, and now Mikhail, was just the latest in a series of disasters.

  She looked up as a door opened further down the hallway and one of the other tenants left his apartment, shooting the two of them a curious look as he stepped past and let himself out of the building.

  Whatever Lindsay and Mikhail had to say to each other, they obviously couldn’t do it here in the entrance hall. “Um—perhaps we should finish this conversation upstairs in my apartment?” She invited awkwardly.

  Mikhail gave a mocking smile. “I thought you were never going to ask!”

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I’m still not sure it’s a good idea…”

  “But you’re going to invite me up anyway?”

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself or I might change my mind!” she warned irritably. “Oh very convincing—not!” She gave a wry smile as he affected a completely innocent expression.

  Mikhail and innocence did not go together!

  Although she couldn’t deny she was grateful for his presence when she saw the second ‘offering’ in two days lying on the floor outside her apartment.

  * * *

  “IT WAS JUST a rose, Lindsay—”

  “A black rose,” she corrected Mikhail with a shudder as she paced her sitting room restlessly after throwing the jacket of her business suit over the back of one of the armchairs.

  “I thought all women liked to receive flowers?”

  “Not black ones!”

  “The reason you’re so upset is because someone sent you a black rose?”

  Yes, she was upset. Last night there had been a dozen of the same roses wrapped in the cellophane outside her door, tonight just a single black bloom.

  Again with no card to say who had sent it.

  No florist’s address either.

  Just the lo
ne rose.

  Black.

  Deathly.

  Evil?

  “You do know there’s no such thing as an actual black rose?” Mikhail prompted conversationally from where he had made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs in her sitting room. “A very deep red or purple, but not black.”

  “It looked black enough to me,” Lindsay dismissed impatiently, totally agitated by these anonymous ‘gifts’.

  Mikhail gave a shake of his head. “I still can’t believe you went all the way downstairs again just so you could throw it into the bin outside!” He had been taken aback by her violent reaction to the rose, as she first unlocked her apartment and told him to go inside and make himself comfortable, before she picked up the flower and disappeared back down the stairs with it.

  He hadn’t been impressed with the outside of Lindsay’s apartment building yesterday; he was even less impressed with the drabness of the hallways and stairs leading to her apartment.

  In contrast, the inside of Lindsay’s apartment was bright and airy, the sitting room decorated in warm earth tones and golden yellows with touches of cream, and her furniture was big and comfortable rather than modern. The kitchen was really only a few cupboards and a breakfast bar for her to eat on, but again Lindsay had personalized the area, with colorful pots and pans and numerous magnets on the fridge.

  He hadn’t ventured as far as the single bedroom, deciding that he would wait for Lindsay to invite him in there.

  If she ever did…

  She gave an obvious shudder now. “I told you, I don’t want it in my apartment. And it was definitely black,” she added stubbornly.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Mikhail soothed. He had been trying to ease her tension rather than belittling her obvious aversion to the black flower. “I was merely pointing out that color is only achieved after they’ve been dyed by putting them in water laced with black ink.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about them…” She eyed him suspiciously.

  Hmm, maybe he shouldn’t have started this conversation… “An…ex-girlfriend thought they were exotic.” He grimaced. “She also enjoyed the exclusivity of them.”

  “You sent them to her?”