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Brides For Billionaires. Lynne GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.

Brides For Billionaires - Lynne Graham


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was, Mikhail ground his teeth together and added another score to her tally of flaws. ‘Da … it is.’

      Kat nodded, wishing his mind weren’t always one hundred per cent focused on business. Was it naive of her to have hoped that he would let his guard down a little on her last day and engage in meaningful conversation? Mentally she winced at that pathetic hope. Had she really thought Mikhail might come over all romantic and tell her that he wanted her to extend her stay? What a silly dream that would be for her to cherish when she badly needed to go home and pack up her belongings in the farmhouse! After all, Emmie had already established that a little terraced house in the village would soon be available for rent. It wasn’t like Kat to be so impractical and it was past time that she told Mikhail what she had decided about Birkside. She studied his bold bronzed profile while he talked on his phone and her eyes warmed, any prospect of practicality draining away. She adored those eyelashes, thick as fly swats, the only softening element in his lean dark face. But there was more to her feelings than the fact that he was an incredibly handsome man and a breathtakingly passionate and exciting lover. She loved his strong work ethic, his open-handed generosity for the right charitable cause, his bluntness, his essentially liberal outlook.

      ‘We have something to talk about,’ Kat said stiffly.

      ‘We can talk when we get back on board,’ Mikhail murmured abstractedly as he dug his phone back in his pocket.

      ‘You want to leave already? You haven’t even touched your coffee yet,’ Kat pointed out.

      ‘There’s a chip in the cup,’ Mikhail informed her drily. ‘I don’t do ordinary very well … I’m sorry.’

      In a forgiving mood, Kat shrugged a narrow shoulder. ‘That’s OK. You’re not on trial. I do need to talk about that legal agreement we made though—’

      Mikhail frowned. ‘That’s water under the bridge—’

      ‘No, it’s not. I can’t accept the house from you now,’ she said with a tight little grimace of discomfiture. ‘In the circumstances it would feel too much like payment for services rendered in the bedroom.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Mikhail told her bluntly. ‘I offered the house and you accepted it—it’s a done deal.’

      ‘I haven’t accepted it and I’m not going to,’ Kat protested stubbornly. ‘The house is worth thousands and thousands of pounds and far too big a payment for the amount of hostessing I’ve done for you.’

      ‘That’s my decision, not yours,’ Mikhail traded curtly, dark eyes now cool as rain on her sun-warmed skin; indeed she actually felt physically chilled by that look.

      Kat’s spine was rigid with tension but she was determined not to surrender because for once she knew that she was right and he was wrong. ‘I won’t accept you signing the house back to me. I’ve thought about this and I mean what I’m saying, Mikhail. Everything’s changed between us since we made that agreement and it would be wrong to stick to it.’

      Mikhail thrust back his chair and sprang upright to stare down at her with intimidatingly cold, dark and angry eyes. ‘You’re getting your house back … end of!’ he framed with a growling edge of ferocity.

      Out of the corner of her eye she watched Stas rush to pay the bill while simultaneously keeping a wary eye trained on his employer. She reddened when she saw the diners at the next table staring at them.

      Kat hurried over to Mikhail’s side before he could stride off without her. ‘I had to tell you how I felt,’ she told him ruefully.

      ‘And now you know how I feel,’ he countered grimly. ‘Stop messing me around, Kat! It annoys the hell out of me!’

      ‘I’m not doing that,’ Kat protested in sharp disconcertion.

      But that they had differing opinions on that score was clear when the tender whisked them back to The Hawk and Mikhail strode away from her the minute they boarded. She had said what she had to say and she was not taking it back, she told herself squarely, and she went downstairs to her suite to pack her case so that she would be ready to leave in the morning. She walked next door into Mikhail’s suite to retrieve her wrap, two nightdresses and the toiletries that had taken up residence in his bathroom. When she returned to her own room, she was taken aback to find Mikhail lodged in the doorway like a big black-haired thunder cloud.

      ‘You’re packing,’ he noted flatly.

      Kat nodded uneasily, her mouth running dry as he stared in level challenge back at her.

      ‘This is for you …’ Mikhail tossed a jewellery box carelessly on the bed where it landed beside her suitcase. ‘A small token of my … my appreciation,’ he selected with cool precision.

      Her heart beating very fast, Kat lifted the box and flipped it open to display a breathtaking emerald and diamond pendant. ‘It’s hardly small,’ she told him, taken aback by the sheer size of the emerald and its deep glowing colour. ‘What on earth do you expect me to do with this?’

      ‘Wear it for me tonight. What you choose to do with it afterwards is entirely your business.’

      ‘I suppose I ought to have said thank you straight away but I was rather overwhelmed by you giving me something so expensive,’ she said apologetically.

      An ebony brow rose. ‘You expected something cheap and tacky to go with this ordinary kick you’re suddenly on?’

      ‘Of course not, but it’s not a kick—I’m ordinary, Mikhail. And tomorrow I’m going back to my own life and it’s ordinary as well,’ Kat countered with quiet dignity as she set the jewellery box down on the dressing table and studied it with a sinking heart and a growing sense of desolation.

      That spectacular emerald was his way of saying goodbye and thanks. She knew that so why was the fact that he was treating her exactly as she had expected him to treat her hurting her so much? Had she somehow thought that she might be different from her predecessors in his bed, that she might mean a little more to him? Pallor now spread below her fair complexion, her tummy succumbing to a nauseous lurch. Well, if she had thought that she was more special, she was being thoroughly punished for her vanity. He had just proved that she meant little more to him than a willing body on which he could ease his high-voltage sex drive. She had fulfilled his expectations and pleased him and now it was time for her to leave: it was that simple. She was no longer flavour of the month. She spun back to look at him, lounging in her doorway in an open-necked shirt and jeans, six feet five inches of unadulterated alpha male, absolutely gorgeous with his black hair ruffled by the breeze and a dark covering of stubble accentuating his handsome jaw line and wide expressive mouth. Tension screamed from him and she dropped her gaze, belatedly appreciating that he was not enjoying the process of putting her back out of his life any more than she was.

      ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he told her and he walked away.

      Hearts didn’t break, Kat told herself as she clasped the pendant round her throat a couple of hours later. Hearts dented and bruised. She would head home tomorrow, sell the emerald to buy some security for her and her sisters and find a job. In truth, a new life awaited her, for the loss of the guest house was forcing her to strike out in an alternative direction. Where was her eagerness to greet that fresh start? She smoothed down the folds of the maxi dress, a colourful print that accentuated her bright hair and light skin. The emerald glowed at her throat, the surrounding diamonds twinkling to catch the light.

      A knock sounded on the door. It was Lara, studying her with languid cool to say, ‘Dinner is ready … I see you’re packed and ready to go.’

      Kat nodded. Lara had abandoned her friendly approaches once it became obvious that Kat and her boss had become lovers. ‘Yes …’

      ‘Are you upset?’ Lara asked, disconcerting Kat once again.

      Kat shrugged a bare shoulder as she concentrated on climbing the colourful glass staircase without tripping over her long skirt. ‘Not really. Staying on The Hawk has been


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