The Russian Billionaire: A Romantic Suspense Novel by Georgia Carre (readict .TXT) 📕

humble cellar. ‘That’s terribly kind of you, Mr. Barrington. Terribly kind. Of course, we’d love to,’ he accepts for both of us.

‘Good. I’ll leave your names at the door. See you there.’ He nods at me and I register the impression that he is obsessively clean and controlled. There is no mess in this man’s life. A place for everything and everything in its place. Then he is gone.

Rupert and I watch him walk away. He has the stride of a supremely confident man. Rupert turns to face me again; his face is mean and at odds to his words. ‘Well, well,’ he drawls, ‘You must be my lucky charm.’

‘Why?’

‘First, I get the deal I’ve been after for the last year and a half, then the great man not only deigns to speak to me, but invites me to a party thrown by the crème de la crème of high society.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He, my dear, is the next generation of arguably the richest family in the world.’

‘The Barringtons?’ I whisper, shocked.

‘He even smells of old money and establishment, doesn’t he?’ Rupert says, and neighs loudly at his own joke. Rupert himself smells like grated lemon peel. The citrusy scent reminds me of Fairy washing up liquid.

A waiter appears to ask what we would like to drink.

‘We’ll have your finest house champagne,’ Rupert booms. He winks at me. ‘We’re celebrating.’

A bottle and ice bucket arrive with flourish. The only time I have drunk champagne is when Billie and I dressed up to the nines and presented ourselves as bride and bridesmaid to be, at the Ritz. We pretended I was about to drop forty thousand pounds into their coffers by cutting my wedding cake there. We quaffed half a bottle of champagne and a whole tray of canapés while being shown around the different function rooms. Afterwards, Billie thanked them nicely and said we would be in touch. How we had laughed on the bus journey back.

I watch as the waiter expertly extracts the cork with a quiet hiss. Another waiter in a black jacket reels off the specials for the night and asks us if we are ready to order.

Rupert looks at me. ‘The beef on the bone here is very good.’

I smile weakly. ‘I guess I’ll just have whatever you’re having.’

‘I’m actually having steak tartare.’

‘Then I’ll have the same.’

He looks at the waiter. ‘A dozen oysters to start then steak tartare and side orders of vegetables and mashed potatoes.’

‘I’m not really hungry. No starter for me,’ I say quickly.

When the waiter is gone, he raises his glass. ‘To us.’

‘To us,’ I repeat softly. The words stick in my throat.

I take a small sip and taste nothing, so I put the glass on the table and look at my hands blankly. I have to find something interesting to say.

‘You have very beautiful skin,’ he says softly. ‘It was the first thing I noticed about you. Does it…mark very easily?’

‘Yes,’ I admit warily.

‘I knew it,’ he boasts with a sniff. ‘I am a connoisseur of skin. I love the taste and the touch of skin. I can already imagine the taste of yours. A skin of wine.’ He eyes me greedily over the rim of his glass.

I have been trying my best not to look at the dandruff flakes that liberally dust the shoulders of his pin-striped suit, but with that last remark he has tossed his head and a flurry of motes have floated off his head and fallen onto the pristine tablecloth. My eyes have helplessly followed their progress. I look up to find him looking at me speculatively.

‘What will I be getting for my money?’ His voice is suddenly cold and hard.

I blink. It is all wrong. I shouldn’t be here. In this dress, or shoes, sitting in front of this obscene piece of filth hiding behind his handmade shirt, gold cufflinks and plummy, upper class accent. This man degrades and offends me simply by looking at me. I wish myself somewhere else, but I am here. All my credit cards are maxed out. Two banks have impolitely turned me down and there is nothing else to do, but be here in this dress and these slutty shoes…

My stomach in knots, I smile in what I hope is a seductive way. ‘What would you like for your money?’

‘Forget what I would like for the moment. What are you selling?’ His eyes are spiteful in a way I cannot understand.

‘Me, I guess.’

That makes him snort with cruel laughter. ‘You are an extraordinarily beautiful girl, but to be honest I can get five first class supermodels right off the runway for that asking price. What makes you think you’re worth that kind of money?’

I take a deep breath. Here goes. ‘I’m a virgin.’

He stops laughing. A suspicious speculative look enters his pale blue eyes. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty.’ Well, I will be in two months’ time.

He frowns. ‘And you say you’re still a virgin?’

‘Yes.’

‘Saving yourself up for someone special, were you?’ His tone is annoying.

‘Does it matter?’ My nails bite into my clenched fists.

His eyes glitter. ‘No, I suppose not.’ He pauses. ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’

I swallow hard. The taste of my humiliation is bitter. ‘I’ll undergo any medical tests you require me to.’

He laughs. ‘No need. No need,’ he dismisses genially. ‘Blood on the sheets will be enough for me.’

The way he says blood makes my blood run cold.

‘Are all orifices up for sale?’

Oh! the brutality of the man. Something dies inside me, but I keep the image of my mother in my mind, and my voice is clear and strong. ‘Yes.’

‘So all that is left is to renegotiate the price?’

I have to stop myself from recoiling. I know now that I have committed two out of the nine sorts of behaviors my mother has warned me are considered contemptible and base. I have expected generosity from a miser and I have revealed my need to my enemy. ‘The