Innocent in the Ivory Tower Read Free

further impression of fragility and femininity, despite the clothes that enveloped her.
    In that moment the French doors had exploded open in front of him and more personnel had come thundering down the stairs behind him. The woman had reacted like a loaded gun. They were protecting
him
, but she wasn’t to know that.
    The trigger for this overreaction had heaved her chair anddived under the table, rolling herself into a ball. Now, Alexei cursed and shoved the table over a few feet, hauled her up into his arms, registering her real terror as she began to kick and struggle against him. Better him than one of his security detail, who would be less inclined to go gently with her.
    His muttered imprecations and rough assurances of, ‘I am not going to hurt you,’ did little to stem her reaction—until he realised in his exhausted state he was using Russian. ‘Calm yourself,’ he said distinctly in English. ‘No one wishes you any harm.’
    Maisy jerked her head sideways and her eyes welded to his. They were deep blue, heavily lashed and stunning. His cheekbones were like scimitars, and she recognised that faint upsweep of his bone structure as Slavic.
    He clearly hadn’t shaved in many days, but otherwise he smelled good. Maisy’s body recognised this as her mind struggled to keep up. His cologne filled her nostrils, along with the subtler but more enticing smell of him—warm, male flesh. She could feel the fight slipping out of her body as her senses told her this man truly meant her no harm, even as those same senses began to be overloaded with other messages.
    Alexei sensed the change in her. She was no longer a victim fighting back but a woman in his arms, waiting for him to make a move. He reluctantly set her down, but kept one hand fastened over her shoulder, holding her in place. He didn’t want his security detail marching her off, possibly manhandling her. He didn’t question why other men touching her filled him with the primitive urge to protect her. He was tired, and he hadn’t had sex, and he was in the mood to tear down the house if he didn’t get that child.
    ‘Talk to her,’ he said, the weight of his hand lifting from her shoulder.
    Feeling suddenly adrift, Maisy looked up to face another man—shorter, slighter, perhaps a decade older and sharply dressed—who stepped forward and inclined his head rather formally.
    ‘Good evening,
signorina
. I apologise for the intrusion. I am Carlo. I work for Alexei Ranaevsky.’
    Maisy’s head swivelled back to the younger man. He wasn’t even listening. He had retrieved a phone from his jacket and was reading whatever messages it contained.
    This was talking to her?
    ‘Try Spanish,’ was all he said, in a deep, gravelly voice she hadn’t registered before when he had spoken in Russian.
    Maisy sat through Spanish, Italian and interestingly Polish renditions of the same introduction. As the Polish rolled musically on she tried to marshal her racing thoughts. Her gaze kept creeping back to the man who had restrained her. He seemed to be the focus in the room, and he reeked confidence and control. Except when she had been in his arms for a moment there she had sensed something else. Something very much uncontrolled.
    Maisy suppressed an involuntary shiver and his head came up, as if sensing her movement. His darkened eyes moved over her, settling on the pulse that was beating wildly at the base of her throat. It held his assessing gaze for a moment. Then he said abruptly, ‘She’s English.’
    He despatched the mobile and gave her a measured look.
    ‘I need to know where the boy is.’
    Maisy’s skittering pulse went still. Every hackle in her body rose.
    Alexei saw the moment she shut down, and cursed himself inwardly. He didn’t have time for this. When she didn’t answer he lost patience. ‘I’m taking Leonid Kulikov’s son out of here. I need you to take me to him.’
    ‘No,’ she said.
    No?
No?
Alexei made a soft sound of