The Russian's Pleasure Proposition

By Joanne Walsh

Hannah’s excited to be working for Frankie Kontarinis’s property company in the Greek island resort of Agia Kalamaros. And determined to impress her first client. Even if he’s millionaire music mogul, Sergei Alkaev, who’s well known as the Russian Rake, is a heartless playboy who changes girlfriends as often as his socks.

Tired of dating greedy, fickle women, Sergei’s not looking for another relationship—until Hannah has him thinking again. But her opinion of him is that he’s heartless, so how can he change her mind and persuade her to be his lover? When Hannah lets slip she’s inexperienced, Sergei makes her a proposition: let him teach her about love-making until she’s ready to find a man who will give her the happy-ever-after she deserves…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Jul 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950510627

Book preview

Author

Prologue

Sergei’s watershed moment arrived one warm morning in early September.

I’m catching the morning flight to Paris tomorrow, Olympia announced while they shared breakfast on the balcony of his Athens apartment with its stunning views of the Acropolis.

Oh? he replied, surveying her over his tablet and drinking in the stunning bone structure that had made her the darling of Europe’s catwalks. Landed another job?

Yes. With— She gave the name of an internationally renowned fashion house. They’ve offered me a two-year contract. I will be doing some runway and— Her deep brown eyes burned with a hardness he’d never seen before. I will be the face of their new makeup line.

He put down his screen, a feeling of uncertainty curling around him as he forced a smile. "Congratulations, dorogoy. That is amazing news. So, you will be commuting between Athens and Paris?"

No, she returned coolly. I am leaving Greece. Paris and New York will now be where I am based.

Then I will be making frequent trips to Paris and New York to see you.

I’d rather you didn’t. She wiped her fingers on her napkin with quick movements. I want to concentrate on my career.

Something akin to a sucker punch smashed at his chest. Are you telling me that we are finished?

Yes. Pushing herself up, she made to leave the table.

"You decided you are leaving and we are finished, and that’s it? I do not have a say about it?"

She half-turned, her eyes wide. Yes! I don’t know why you’re making a fuss. I didn’t think you’d care what I did.

Of course I care!

Well, that’s a first, and news to me. The Russian Rake has feelings.

Her sarcasm stung, but he bit back a retort. Instead, he rose from his seat to step forward and reach out to her. But when she glared at him, he stopped and quickly withdrew his hand. This is not what I want, he murmured.

You can’t have everything your way all the time, Sergei.

What do you mean by that?

She shrugged. If you don’t know, then I can’t be bothered to explain. I’m going tomorrow whether you want it or not. She turned fully away, throwing a flippant, We’re done, over her shoulder as she swept inside the apartment.

Sergei thought about following her, but he knew there was no point. He’d seen the determination in her gaze. Heard the finality in her voice. He’d been dumped. That really was a first.

He turned and walked a few steps to place his palms on the rail of the balcony, staring out at the picturesque Plaka district, next to the Acropolis. Olympia had called him the Russian Rake, the name the tabloids had bestowed on him. They loved to spin fairytales about his apparently endless string of women, but they were only half right. He’d had some of the continent’s most gorgeous women grace his arm and his bed, although not nearly as many as the gossip mill made out.

But Olympia had also said some other things that struck a nerve deep inside. He pushed back from the rail, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. His reputation as a notorious playboy was warranted. By his twenty-fifth birthday, he’d made a few million Euros through writing and producing a series of musical dance hits. Awash with money, power, and fame, he’d pursued beautiful women, but was quick to end things if they got too attached. Which they inevitably had, despite being initially chosen for their willingness to play hard to get. Some had reacted badly to the breakups, running straight to the press to sell their stories.

Would Olympia do the same? If she decided to kiss and tell, the headlines would be different this time—not the usual revenge scoop, but the revelations of the supermodel who’d sent the Russian Rake packing. That might make a dent in his reputation, although he couldn’t care less. What worried him more was the dawning realization about why she’d chosen to leave. Until today, she’d always appeared casual about their relationship, playful rather than passionate. But now he understood she’d felt much more strongly than she’d let on. He sensed he’d hurt her, truly hurt her, even though he knew probably better than anybody how wanting someone’s love while being treated with indifference felt.

It was at that moment he decided something had to change.

Chapter One

"Bring them back to the office when you’re done looking!"

Frankie tossed the keys Sergei’s way. Moving from where he’d been leaning against a terrace wall, he reached out and caught them.

You trust me not to run after I remove the fixtures and fittings? I have a screwdriver right here. Grinning, he patted the pocket of his stylishly cut jacket.

Frankie waved an unconcerned hand. You don’t have the patience. Anyway, the Villa Lemoni will soon be yours, which means you’ll be stealing from yourself. She returned his grin. Well, gotta love and leave you. I have my next client booked in for midday. Look around again at your leisure. The alarm system isn’t wired yet, so you only have to make sure to turn both locks on the front door when you go.

Frankie… Frankie, slow down! You cannot do it all.

Perhaps I won’t have to soon. I’m doing well enough to hire an assistant. In fact, there’s someone I used to work with back in England who’d be ideal, if she’s willing to move to Kathos. Her name is Hannah Oliver. I’ve invited her to the wedding next month.

"Fantastika! Sergei nodded at his soon-to-be sister-in-law, the current owner of Ionian Villas. I will look out for Hannah, introduce myself, and show her how nice we are on this island."

Hey, she’s a decent girl. Don’t frighten her off before I’ve had a chance to put the job proposition to her.

Only joking. I promise I will be on my best behavior. He held up the villa’s keys, rattling them. Thank you for letting me have these. I appreciate the chance to check things over.

You’re welcome. You know, I’m really glad you are the one purchasing the villa. She gazed up at the pale lemon-yellow house. I feel quite possessive of it since it was my first renovation for sale.

And it is very nicely done, too. I think I will be incredibly happy here.

When Frankie left, he’d took in his surroundings. The view from up here was lovely, soothing. A paved patio lay below the terrace, bordering a small swimming pool. Beyond, there was a peaceful, expansive garden where paths weaved between pebbled beds filled with shrubs, grasses, and fragrant bushes of lavender, rosemary, and thyme. In the distance, the Ionian Sea—calm, misty, and blue—stretched to the horizon where Italy lay beyond.

He breathed in the mild winter air. Soon, it would be a new year and a fresh start. He was moving here for a quieter, simpler existence. Although he’d miss Athens in some ways, he was mostly over his life there—and definitely over being the Russian Rake.

Sighing inwardly, he started heading toward the villa. He might have bantered with Frankie about this new English girl she was hoping to hire, but he was tired inside when it came to relationships. These last few months, he’d been feeling guilty about how he’d treated the women he’d dated. True, he had a deep-rooted need for affairs he could conduct at arm’s length. During his early years in a Moscow slum, he’d been well conditioned to shy away from getting close to anyone. In addition to that, he’d only been behaving the way most other men in the music business did toward women—badly. But neither was a decent defense, and the trail of broken hearts he’d left behind him had begun to weigh on his conscience. Heavily.

As he reached the glass that made up one wall of the villa’s spacious living area, he stopped and took one more look at the panorama beyond the terrace. His parting with Olympia a few months before sprang to mind, and not for the first time. He could still taste the abandonment that enveloped him when she turned her back on him…that same bad feeling he thought he’d left behind in Russia when he’d escaped all those years ago. With effort, he shut his memories of Moscow down, storing them away in the recesses of his mind. There was no place for them, no need. Had he loved Olympia? No. He’d liked her a lot, had been content with their arrangement, but that was all. It would have ended eventually. Nevertheless, their breakup haunted him still.

He stepped into the living area, his footsteps echoing in its emptiness, the bitter scene with Olympia looping around his brain. She’d made him realize the time had come to review how he lived his life. The Villa Lemoni, on a quiet Greek island hillside, was the perfect place for him to retreat. No more Russian Rake. He was going to avoid any involvement with women for the next few months. Instead, he’d focus on getting his head together. Withdrawing from the hustle of the dance scene and concentrating on composing had been the best decision. He’d been commissioned to write the music for Greece’s entry into the annual Euro Songfest, and he was determined to come up with the winning melody.

He couldn’t hold back a wry smile. What would the media say if they discovered the Russian Rake was about to become the Russian Recluse? If he did what he intended and kept his head down, they’d probably never find out. At least not until he’d come out the other side, hopefully a better man.

Chapter Two

The newlyweds were on the dance floor of Iris, Paragolis’s premier club, surrounded by their applauding guests. A tender love song played as the bride and groom gazed into one another’s eyes and glided around the room.

Hannah Oliver sat alone at her table. Her chin resting on her hand, she watched dreamily. She was thrilled for Frankie, who’d found the man of her dreams in Nik Kontarinis. But would Hannah ever manage to do the same? She quickly pushed away thoughts about what she’d been concealing from the world—secrets didn’t make friends or win dates. She’d had to build a barrier around her heart, but now she was stronger. If she were to be a blushing bride herself someday, the time had come to let someone in, to start trusting her body…

"Izvinte, may I join you on this day of celebration? She jumped, startled by warm breath caressing her cheek, along with the mix of rich-toned Russian and perfect English being murmured in her ear. The voice was familiar: Sergei Alkaev. She swiveled around to see him take two flutes of champagne from a passing tray-bearing waiter. He set one in front of her. May the happiness of today fill you."

Feeling surprised the infamous Russian Rake had even bothered to seek her out, she picked up the glass and marshaled a smile of thanks. When she caught the intensity of his almond-shaped eyes above high cheekbones, her tummy did a little summersault. Nik’s younger adoptive brother Sergei was a millionaire music mogul, and so attractively striking that he was almost beautiful. Hardly a month went by without a new story in one of the gossip mags about his latest affair with yet another of Europe’s most gorgeous women.

She’d first met him yesterday, when she’d joined Frankie, Nik, and their closest family and friends on a pre-wedding visit to the seaside village of Trapazakia to celebrate the feast of Saint Nikolaos. Before the age-old ritual of throwing flower garlands dedicated to the saint into the sea, the small party had assembled in Artemis TZ—Nik’s bar—and Hannah’s introduction to Sergei had come complete with the barmaid draped around him like a clinging vine.

Frankie’s friend, Alison Angelis, had made Hannah want to giggle when she’d whispered witheringly, Classic Sergei—a woman in every port, and a port in every woman. Although to be fair, it’d appeared as if he hadn’t exactly welcomed the female who was trying so hard to attach herself to him. He’d been aloof, and he’d discreetly disentangled himself after each attempt. In fact, he’d been quite unlike his reputation—as if he’d rather have been miles away.

At that moment, the DJ’s music faded out. A bouzouki band mounted the small stage to launch into a rousing folksong.

Time for the Bride’s Dance, Sergei announced, when the bride and groom’s families join them. He raised his glass. Clinking it against Hannah’s, he inclined his head toward the dance floor.

He was asking her to dance? But this man only dated supermodels! After taking a big gulp of champagne, she chided herself to take it slowly; she wasn’t used to alcohol. Gazing at him questioningly, she put the glass down and folded her hands beneath the table.

I am seeking a single lady to take part in the dance with me. It is a wedding custom of this island, he explained. "Aha! I see Dimitri has already found his partner—" He gestured toward the tall, good-looking Greek whom Hannah had already learned was Sergei and Nik’s middle brother. Dimitri was standing before a short elderly woman dressed in black. He offered his hand to her with an old-fashioned flourish. The plump lady simpered her acceptance, allowing herself to be led onto the floor.

An amused half-smile played around Sergei’s full-lipped mouth. Would you do me the honor of joining me?

She exhaled. Okay. She could stop panicking. He was asking her purely to indulge a local tradition. She wasn’t much of a dancer, but it was Frankie’s special day and Hannah had vowed to be a little more daring. She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her fifties-style pencil dress—which, surprisingly, her mother had approved of despite its cleavage-baring neckline—telling her it made her resemble Lana Turner, an old-time movie star. Yes, why not?

"Otlichno—excellent!" He was already on his feet. When she stood, he hooked an arm around her and swept her toward the dance floor. She couldn’t help being aware of a dozen female eyes fastening onto them, staring with curiosity and even blatant envy at her as they passed. When they reached the parquetted dance area, he surprised her by pulling her to him body to body. After he placed both her hands on his shoulders, he slid his own to her waist. She froze momentarily at the intimate contact, but then the bouzoukis struck up a lilting song with a slow, steady beat, not unlike the theme tune from that old film, Zorba the Greek. The revelers around her started stomping, whooping, putting arms across each other’s shoulders, or clapping.

"Are you ready, milaya? Do not be afraid. Let me guide you, and you’ll be fine."

She darted a glance at her high-heeled pumps, so pleasingly pink and pointy-toed, chosen to match the Lana Turner dress and to take her first steps toward being the brave new her. She’d not shown them to her mum, who would have condemned them as too tarty. Taking a deep breath, she followed Sergei’s lead, first stepping sideways, then backward, and forward and sideways again. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined. Beginning to relax, she started moving in time with the music. She could see Dimitri maneuvering his elderly partner—whose head came only to his mid-chest—around the floor at a snail’s pace.

Hey, that is it, Sergei encouraged, his gaze recapturing hers as they swayed and stepped. You have got it. It is fun, is it not?

We don’t have to break glasses or plates or anything, do we?

He chuckled. That does not happen at modern Greek weddings.

She laughed. The champagne she’d consumed was buzzing pleasantly through her veins. It also floated through her mind that his eyes were grey-green like Artic ice, kind of light and pepperminty, yet silvery. When he pulled her closer still, she leaned right into him, her eyelids shutting, and inhaled his musky pine-and-amber scent.

Suddenly, the music morphed into something faster and more frenetic that had people stamping and whooping even more loudly. Her eyelids jerked open. Over Sergei’s shoulder, she could see loads of guests converging into the center of the dancing area, diving to pin money on Frankie’s skirts as she and Nik glided around. What’s happening?

The pinning of money is another Greek wedding custom that offers good fortune and prosperity to the happy couple, Sergei explained, twisting to survey the expanding group. Raising his eyebrows, he turned back to Hannah. Of course, everyone wants to do it. Here— He let go of her hand, then reached into his trouser pocket to fish out a fifty-Euro note with a pin threaded into it. I came prepared. Would you like to attach this to the bride’s dress to wish her well for me?

She paused, her mouth curving up. How unexpectedly sweet and funny! All right. She studied the congregation around the bride and groom. If she edged around the outside of the dance floor and then cut through that gap between bodies… She took the money. Okay, I’m going in.

He smiled as well, the skin around his eyes crinkling. If you are not back in a couple of minutes, I will send out a search party.

She set off, carefully picking her way around the perimeter. High heels weren’t her normal footwear of choice, and these were beginning to pinch like crazy. She briefly glanced back at Sergei. Amongst the milling guests, he stood out, cutting a handsome figure in his perfectly tailored suit, and she experienced a weird sensation as it hit her that, just a few minutes ago, they’d been dancing so closely together she’d felt the rippling of his muscles against her and the rhythm of his hips…

Two young men shoved against her in their enthusiasm to give money to the bride and groom, bouncing her back to the task in hand. She resumed her journey, weaving and dodging to where Frankie and Nik stood flushed and laughing after their energetic dancing. Without trying to catch Frankie’s attention, Hannah bent and set about securing the fifty Euro note to the bride’s skirts.

Hey, Han! Frankie swung around as Hannah completed her mission. "Wow, I love your dress! You’re looking amazing, like one of those vintage movie starlets. And what about those shoes? They are soo, soo sexy."

Hannah beamed at the compliment. Sexy, but hurting like hell, she confided. I need some more practice walking in them. You look simply beautiful—and talk about loaded! She surveyed Frankie’s gown. What a fantastic way to start married life.

Frankie glanced down at the small fortune she’d accumulated. We’re going to donate it to KATS, the island’s animal shelter that Alison runs. Turning to Nik, she reached for his hand. Without KATS, we’d never have met or got together, and there are always abandoned or feral cats and dogs needing to be rescued and cared for here.

"What a