Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence - Shaw Chantelle (полная версия книги txt) 📗

‘No, that’s fine.’ Ella forced a smile, despite the sudden feeling that her head was about to explode. The migraine she had sensed brewing earlier had kicked in with a vengeance, the pain escalating as quickly as it always did with her, so that she could barely concentrate on anything else. She refused to make a fuss about the travel arrangements, even though the prospect of waiting around for her lift home seemed unbearable when a dozen hammers were beating against her skull. She supposed she could ring another cab company, but moving her head even slightly was agony, and she was conscious of the unpleasant queasy sensation in her stomach that usually preceded a bout of sickness.

‘Are you okay?’ Jenny’s voice sounded like a pneumatic drill to Ella’s ultra-sensitive ears. ‘You look a bit green.’

Somehow Ella managed another faint smile. ‘A headache. It’s nothing. You’d better go, or the taxi will leave without you.’

Jenny hesitated, frowning at Ella’s sudden pallor. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ll take Ella home.’ Vadim’s deep voice was firm and decisive, and at any other time she would have railed against his authority, but right now getting home as fast as possible was imperative, so she nodded her head very slightly, trying not to wince as stars flashed in front of her eyes.

‘Thank you.’ She sensed his surprise at her sudden meekness, but the pain was worse, blinding her, so that she stumbled after him, back through the Egyptian Room and out to the foyer, where she collected her violin from the security desk and then followed Vadim out onto the street. She’d hoped that a few gulps of fresh air would lessen the nauseous feeling, but if anything she felt worse, and after easing carefully into his low-slung sports car, and muttering instructions on how to reach her house, she closed her eyes and prayed she would not throw up over his leather upholstery.

If there was one thing Vadim couldn’t stand it was a woman who sulked. He did not even know why he was bothering with Ella, he thought grimly, after his attempts at conversation were met with a barely monosyllabic response. He took his eye off the road for a second and threw her an impatient glance, his mouth tightening when he saw that she had turned her head away from him and was staring fixedly out of the window. He knew of half a dozen extremely attractive women he could phone who would be happy to provide a few hours of pleasant company and uncomplicated sex. So why was he hung up on this pale, underweight girl, who changed from hot to cold quicker than a mixer-tap, and was now subjecting him to the big freeze because he had proved that she was sexually attracted to him?

Her coolness intrigued him, he admitted, particularly now he had sampled the heated passion she kept hidden behind her ice-maiden facade. But his attempts to get Ella to have dinner with him, let alone persuade her into his bed, had so far come to nothing, and he was beginning to wonder if she was worth the effort. Maybe he should drop her home and put her out of his mind? His hectic work schedule meant that he hadn’t had a lover for weeks. Celibacy did not agree with him, he acknowledged self-derisively. But Ella Stafford was too much like hard work.

‘Stop the car,’ she cried suddenly.

He frowned. ‘According to the sat-nav we’re still a mile from your address.’

‘Just stop the car now. Please.’

The urgency in her voice puzzled him. Did she want him to leave her at the side of the road because she was afraid that if he drove her all the way home he might demand an invitation into her house? He swore violently in his native tongue and pulled up in a lay-by, his frown deepening when she immediately shot out of the car and raced towards the bushes a few feet back from the road.

‘Ella…?’

‘Don’t follow me,’ she yelled.

He swore again. God damn it, what did she think he was going to do to her? He swung back to the car and then paused at the unmistakable sound of retching coming from the bushes. A few minutes later she reappeared, whey-faced, her eyes like great hollows in her pinched face. She looked like death, and his impatience faded as some indefinable emotion tugged in his chest.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’

‘Migraine.’ Ella forced the word past her chattering teeth, took one look at Vadim’s horrified expression and wanted to die of embarrassment. There was no hint of desire in his eyes now, she noted grimly, but that was hardly surprising when he had just heard her lose the contents of her stomach. ‘I occasionally get them after a performance. Playing is incredibly draining, and it seems that a surfeit of emotions affects me physically.’ She leaned weakly against the car, wondering if he would allow her to get back in, or whether he expected her to walk the remaining distance to her house for fear that she would be sick again. ‘You’re partly to blame,’ she muttered, not daring to look at him and see the disgust he must surely feel. ‘You unsettle me.’

He gave a rough laugh, but when he spoke the anger had gone from his voice. ‘Honesty at last! If it’s any consolation, you unsettle me too. But I’m not sure I like the idea that I make you physically ill.’

‘You don’t…I mean, it wasn’t you…’ Why on earth had she admitted that he unsettled her? Ella asked herself crossly. She was naturally reserved-a trait that was frequently mistaken for aloofness-and she hated the nickname she’d earned of Ice Princess, but right now she would give anything to appear cool and collected. ‘I find Dvorak’s New World Symphony very emotional to play,’ she muttered, colour flaring on her white face.

‘I’m relieved to know that my kissing you did not make you sick.’ There was amusement in Vadim’s voice now and Ella glared at him, or tried to, but the pain across her temples was excruciating and she closed her eyes, wishing she were back home at Kingfisher House rather than standing by the side of the road with a man who infuriated her and fascinated her in equal measures.

‘Do you have medication for your headache?’

She forced her eyes open to find him standing close beside her, and for some inexplicable reason she wanted to rest her pounding head against the broad strength of his chest. ‘My prescription painkillers are at home. I usually carry some with me, but I forgot them tonight,’ she muttered ruefully.

‘Then I’d better get you home quickly.’ Vadim helped her into the car and strode round to the driver’s side, coiling his long frame behind the wheel. ‘Here, let me do that.’ He leaned across her and adjusted her seat belt, and despite the throbbing pain in her head Ella was acutely conscious of his closeness, her senses flaring as she breathed in the subtle scent of his cologne.

In the glow from the street-lamp his swarthy olive skin gleamed like silk, but the brilliance of his blue eyes was shielded by thick black lashes. His mouth was inches from hers, and she recalled the firm pressure of his lips easing hers apart, demanding a response she had been helpless to deny. She suddenly felt hot, when seconds ago she had been freezing cold, but she could not blame her erratic temperature swing on her migraine, she admitted dismally. For some reason this man affected her in a way no man had ever done-made her feel things she had confidently assumed would never trouble her.

When Vadim had told her that some of her male friends thought she was frigid, she hadn’t been surprised. It had occurred to her that the reason for her complete lack of interest in the opposite sex might not only be due to the hatred she had felt for her father, and that she must simply have a low sex-drive. But the erotic dreams that had plagued her since this Russian had first kissed her hand in Paris had turned that notion on its head. He had awoken her sensuality-but far from wanting to explore the feelings he aroused in her-her instinct was to run and keep on running.