The Russian Billionaire: A Romantic Suspense Novel

the shopping trip, thanks.”
His eyes never leave me. “I’m going to pay for your shopping trip.”
“Oh!” I exclaim in surprise. I never expected that of him, but I won’t take up his offer since I would much rather have the loan instead. “Uh, that’s very, very kind of you. Thank you, Konstantin, but there won’t be enough time anyway.”
His eyelids come down over his eyes as if he is deliberately veiling them so I can’t tell what he is thinking. Then he raises them again. “I will arrange for you to shop with one of my assistants. She will take you to Knightsbridge and Bond Street for a few hours tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s not necessary—” I begin to say, but he cuts me off.
A glimmer of mischief comes into his eyes. “You only say that because you’ve never been to London. It is absolutely necessary to shop when you are there.”
It would break my heart to spend money on shopping when I can put it aside for Maddy instead, but I realize it would be churlish to keep arguing. I will make him understand later so I smile graciously and say, “All right. I will look forward to it. Thank you. It is very kind of you.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he murmurs.
I take a sip of champagne. “Will we go directly to your house?”
“We’ll spend tonight at the Claridges, and leave for my house in the country in Berkshire tomorrow afternoon after you’re done with your shopping and sightseeing.”
“Is that where your horses are stabled?”
“Yes.”
I look out of the window. The sky is blue and full of fluffy clouds. I feel as if I am in a dream. A couple of hours ago, I was sitting in our tiny apartment eating cereal with Maddy while my mother got ready to go to her dead-end job where she works her fingers to the bone for slave wages. And now here I am drinking champagne on a private plane on my way to London! I turn to look at Konstantin. He seems as relaxed as a cat in a spot of sunshine as he sits there watching me.
His life seems impossibly glamorous. He flies to London for the weekend, pays for women to shop in Knightsbridge and Bond Street, stays in expensive hotels even though he owns a mansion in Ascot, which is less than an hour away. I know because I researched him and his home online.
The air-hostess comes back, her pretty face lit up with a broad smile and carrying a tray artistically arranged with brightly colored morsels of food. The food looks fresh and appetizing, nothing like the overcooked, limp fare in a compartmentalized plastic tray I was given the other time I was on a plane. Square plates are placed in front of us. Together with real silver cutlery and crisp linen napkins.
Our glasses are refilled, then the girls withdraw.
“Go for it,” Konstantin offers.
I choose a glistening cherry tomato tartlet and slip it into my mouth. The pastry is buttery and the filling is deliciously sweet-sour.
“Mmm… nice,” I say, picking a tiny smoked salmon bagel next.
Of course, it too is divine. Very soon my glass is completely empty, the tray is nearly empty, and I’m feeling drowsy and a bit more than slightly tipsy. Not surprising since I hardly slept last night and drinking champagne in the morning is not something I am used to.
“Why don’t you sleep for a bit,” Konstantin suggests, as he stands and puts my seat into a reclining position. It actually becomes completely horizontal. He covers my body with a silky duvet.
“Thanks,” I mumble, snuggling into the soft material.
“No problem,” he drawls, closing the shutter of the windows next to me. Then he moves away from me.
Cocooned in that wonderful bed high in the sky I drift off.

Raine
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weRHyjj34ZE
Whenever, Wherever
I sleep for five hours. I turn my head and see that Konstantin is also sleeping a bit further down the cabin. Very quietly, I get out of bed and tip toe towards him. In the gloom he appears softer, perhaps even vulnerable. All that distance he deliberately puts between him and the world is gone. I remember again the little thing the Countess had slipped into his hand. He hides secrets. Then there is the painting, what he supposedly stole from someone else. I suddenly wonder what the truth of that scenario really is.
That is the reason he does not allow the world to get close to him.
Seeing him like this makes the butterflies flutter in my belly.
I want him. I really want him. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him. But of course, I don’t. Instead, I take two steps back.
Suddenly, he opens his eyes and looks directly at me. And just like that I am frozen. I cannot move a muscle. It is as if I am hypnotized. I stare at him, taking him in, unable to tear my eyes away from his.
The darkness around us feels like a blanket that I want to pull even tighter around me. And in the midst of it all is his gaze… shrouded in mystery and a haunting depth that makes my heart jitter to a stop in my chest.
“Do you think about it as much as I do?” he suddenly asks, his gaze searing and unblinking.
I know exactly what he is talking about, I can feel the arousal dampening my sex, but I feign ignorance, a nervous smile trembling on my lips.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” His voice is raw and throaty.
“Uh… I d-don’t think I do.”
“I can hear your heart beating,” he says. “It’s fucking racing. Every time I come into the room, it goes into overdrive, and your cheeks flush because your body is burning. You want to be touched. You want me to take you, but that sweet ache makes you very uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”
My mouth falls open.
And for the next few seconds every time I try to speak, my voice sputters like a