Heyo Lovelies!!! Welcome to the first chapter of this lovely book and be sure to leave a vote and a wonderful comment...it makes me smile✨♥️✨♥️✨
Dedicated to Pauloluchi
*****
"You look amazing," Elizabeth, the beautician, chattered as she fanned out Claire's unruly mane of flame-coloured curls over her slim shoulders. "You're going to be the star tonight."
Claire seriously doubted that forecast and reckoned that only a woman confident of her face and body would actually want to take part in a fashion show. She was only there by default, stepping in last minute for the amateur model who had twisted her knee in a fall during the dress rehearsal. Claire had never liked either her face or her body. When she was a child the mirror had been her enemy, destroying her every dream of being a fairy princess in disguise.
One of her earliest memories had been of hearing her father complain that she was an ugly duckling. Sadly for her, however, the swan phase had failed to transpire, Claire reflected wryly. Her hair had stayed defiantly red, her freckles had increased and her elongated gawky legs had continued to ensure that she towered over most people at a comfortable five feet nine inches in her bare feet. In her opinion, her unfashionably large breasts and hips only increased her oddness. Only once in her life had Claire considered blessed by any claim to attraction. That had been the miraculous day when Damian Schone had asked her out. During the months that had run up to their wedding day the world had truly seemed to be a joyous place sprinkled with stardust and happiness. But even Damian had once suggested that she might look better as a blonde.
"Catherine is incredible," Elizabeth commented as a fair-haired woman in a wheelchair sped busily past. "I really do admire her. To have lost so much and still be so Keen to help others."
"That's Catherine all over," Claire agreed as she admired her brother's wife equally. Catherine might have lost the power of her legs five years earlier, but she still cared for her husband and two children, met the demands of a full-time job and made room for fund-raising activities to support Futures, the spinal injuries charity that had helped her in her hour of need. The fashion show that Claire had helped to organize was being held in aid of Futures.
"Someone told me that she got hurt in a car crash on her brother's wedding day..."
"Yes." Claire confirmed, her freckles standing out against her sudden pallor. "A drunk driver."
"I'm sure I read about it in the newspaper at the time."
"There was a lot of pressure coverage." Claire did not want to think back to what had happened to the wedding party that dark, wet November day. One moment she'd had everything to live for, the next morning, but she knew how lucky she was to have emerged virtually unscathed from the wreckage. Her brothers love from had been torn apart and, although the pessimistic had forecast otherwise, his marriage had survived the cruel blow that Catherine had suffered.
"Love the make-up, Elizabeth," Catherine remarked, wheeling to a halt beside them. "You've done Claire proud."
"It wasn't difficult. She's got great bones and eyes."
"You look wonderful," Catherine told her sister-in-law warmly.
Claire studied her reflection. She thought she looked outrageous with her violet-coloured eyes smothered in exotic plum shades and glitter and diamante shimmering in an artistic arc across her cheekbones, but she supposed that the spectacular heavy make-up was all part and parcel of the illusion of glamour. "Is Andrew here yet?" she enquired.
Catherine's face shadoweud. "No. He was still at the office when I called."
Claire felt Catherine's disappointment and wondered what her brother was playing at. Nobody had worked harder than Catherine to get this show on the road and she deserved for her husband to take respectful notice of her achievement. But, then, the family concierge business, Support Systems, had recently moved to upmarket premises in Downingtown and hired more staff, substantially increasing overheads. As a result, all of them were working long hours and dealing with more clients. Claire adored the business and variety of her job. Customers hired them to take care of everything they could not find the time to do for themselves -- wide-ranging task that ran from walking the dog and picking up dry cleanings to booking holidays, shopping for present and finding domestic staff and repairmen.
It was all a far cry from the life her snobbish sexiest father would have chosen for her. He had refused to allow her to go to the university or to train for a profession. Claire remained painfully aware that, next to her brother she had been a nobody in her father's eyes. The older man had often treated his only daughter as an irritation and a disappointment. In fact only on the day Claire married Jeremy had her father looked at her with approval and pride as if marriage to a successful man was her biggest achievement.
"You look like the Queen in Snow White," her niece, Angel, whispered, big eyes fixed in fascination to her aunt's face.
"The baddie who thought she was gorgeous and cracked the magic mirror she was always talking to?" Claire groaned.
"She may have been bad but she was really beautiful," Angel lisped.
"Watch your face," Elizabeth warned when Claire bent down to hug the seven-year-old with easy affection. Across the room, Angel's twin brother, Junior, was as usual fully engrossed in a book. Claire was very close to her brother's children. After the car accident she had moved in with the family to help out while Catherine was undergoing an intensive physiotherapy programme. She had soon discovered that the children's needs and her own unrelenting grief bad been met by keeping busy for as many hours of the day as possible.
Nerves were making Claire as tense as an overstretched piece of plastic. Elizabeth removed the protective cape she wore and Claire got up to go and peer out at the audience from behind the curtains that shielded the catwalk from the dressing area. "I don't know why I agreed to do this," she muttered.
"Because it's for a good cause," Catherine piped up cheerfully at her elbow. "And all our lucky stars came out tonight. Guess who's out there?"
"One of the A-list celebrities you invited?" Claire guessed.
"Nikolai Smolov Cheryshev."
"Who?"
"For goodness'sake, Claire. You've got to know who he is! Only a Russian billionaire --"
"The one whose vigorous sex life is always giving the tabloids headlines and centre spreads?" As Catherine gave a reluctant nod of confirmation Claire grimaced. "The guys only one step removed from a barnyard animal. He's sleaze personified."
"His donation will still be welcomed. Don't be so judgemental, Claire," her brother's wife scolded. "Rich single men always have loads of girlfriends --"
"He always pick sluts willing to spill all their bedroom secrets in print for a hefty payment. It tells you all you need to know about him --"
"That poor guy is a target for the greediest and most unscrupulous gold-diggers in town?"
"Are you talking about Nikolai Smolov?" Elizabeth chimed in. "He's been on his mobile phone ever since he arrived. He is absolutely gorgeous. If I got the chance to sleep with him I'd want to kiss and tell as well!"
Catherine giggled. "Are you serious?"
"I'd be so proud to tell the world that I had caught his eye," the beautician insisted. "And according to what I've read about his generosity, it would be well worth my while to be one of his harem."
"Men like that are just users," Claire pointed out in disgust.
"What would you know about men like that?" her sister-in-law queried drily. "When were you last on a date?"
"You know when," Claire reminded her.
"Was it the guy who spent the whole evening talking about his ex-wife and confiding that he still loved her?" Catherine groaned.
"He had tears in his eyes when he told me," Claire completed and peered out at the audience. "Where is the billionaire seated?"
"You can't miss him. He's right at the end of the runway with a sizable entourage -- three beauties ministering to his every need and two massive minders hovering over him." Elizabeth shared that extraneous information with enthusiasm.
"The paparazzi are waiting outside for him. Just having Nikolai Smolov in the building is a major coup." Catherine declared with satisfaction. "Thanks to him, Futures will get valuable free publicity."
"At least he's useful for something other than selling tacky tabloids," Claire declared as the avant-garde designer of the fashion collection moved to the podium and the music switched to the intro and the opening speech. She peered down the runway but it was no good: her long-distance eyesight wasn't good enough. All she could see was a big dark man with two dazzling young women hanging over him like attentive waitresses. The first model sashayed down the runway to a chorus of appreciative applause. Pale at the prospect of her approaching debut, Claire moved out of the way of the models lining up to await their turn.
Many models he had featured in Nikolai's bed, but that did not mean he had garnered any interest in fashion. Business calls were a welcome release from boredom while he waited for the show to begin. But the very leggy redhead who appeared half an hour into the show was so sensationally beautiful that Nikolai actually forgot what he was talking about on the phone. He didn't know what it was about her, but he took one look and he wanted her with an immediacy and an urgency he hadn't experienced in years. Her mesmerizing smoky eyes reflected the dense purple-blue of the amethyst pendant someone had cleverly fixed around her neck. Her bone structure was striking, unforgettable. She was all woman from her head of fabulous Titian curls to the swell of her voluptuous breasts and generous hips. A shimmering dark blue evening gown showcased her luscious curves and lent her the theatrical allure of a thirties movie star.
"I want to meet her after the show," he told Anastasia without hesitation. "Find out who she is."
Claire simply thought Nikolai was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had stunning eyes, cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds and a gorgeous wide, shapely mouth. Whatever, one glance and she felt utterly overwhelmed by that amazing combination of purely superficial attributes, her heart thumping inside her like a road drill and her mouth as dry as a bone. She was shocked rigid by her response, for she had always believed she was more cerebral than physical. She didn't know what drew her to him beyond the obvious. It was as though his precise arrangement of features executed some sort of spellbinding effect on her and her wits took a hike, for when she looked once at his bold bronzed features she found she had to look again and again and again and again length yo satisfy her indecent craving to see him.
Anastasia murmured, "She's married. She's wearing a ring."
Nikolai never slept with other men's wives. It was one of the very few embargos he respected: he gave married women a very wide berth. "Check it out," he urged, unwilling to credit that she might be out of reach, as it was rare for anything to be unconquerable for Nikolai; there were always ways and means of acquiring what he wanted. And his senses were already humming at the prospect of entertaining the redhead in his bed that night, unveiling those magnificent breasts and endless long legs for his private enjoyment. He remembered the way her glittering gaze had lingered on him and had no doubt that his interest was returned. If she was a wife she was an unfaithful one.
One of the dressers began to strip the evening gown from Claire and assist her at speed into her next outfit. Another removed her jewellery. Her skin felt clammy and she felt dizzy. What had happened to her out there? Men didn't have that big an effect on Claire. Her nature was cool rather than passionate. Christian was the only man she had ever wanted and she had fallen for him in her teens, moving from an explosive adolescent infatuation to deep joyous love with continued exposure to his company. There had never been anyone else for her and only loneliness and the fear that she might be acting a little obsessively had persuaded her, with Catherine's encouragement, to try dating other men over the past year. All those dates had been non-starters, for none of those men had had an ounce of Christian's intelligence or natural charm.
Catherine joined her sister-in-law while the younger woman's make-up was being touched up. "Nikolai Smolov has asked for your phone number!" she announced.
"He can't have it," Claire replied without hesitation as her arms were guided into a shirt and her legs into wide-legged trousers. A fashionable tan raincoat was fed into place over both garments and the belt cinched to accentuate her narrow waist. What did she have to say to a Russian billionaire with a notorious reputation with her sex? Absolutely nothing.
"But you will at least speak to him?" Catherine pressed anxiously. "We can't afford to offend the guy. Think of Futures' fund, Claire."
Claire could not help resenting that piece of advice, for she could see no reason why she should be forced to speak to a man she didn't want to speak to. And then all of a sudden she remembered how she had looked at him minutes earlier and felt guilty that her behavior might well have prompted him to make an approach.
"Okay. Andrew here yet?"
"Not yet," the blondie woman responded ruefully.
"He's obsessed with work right now," Claire proffered as an excuse.
"As long as that's all that's keeping him out late so many nights," Catherine quipped, startling Claire.
"For goodness sake, Andrew adores you!" Claire countered.
"He's been rather evasive and quiet on the adoration front recently. But, no, I don't think there's another woman," Catherine confirmed, meeting Claire's anxious gaze in the mirror. "I don't think he's got the time or the energy to neglect two of us!"
Claire relaxed again, but she hadn't missed the thread of annoyance and worry in her sister-in-laws voice and she resolved to have a word with her brother for this thoughtlessness. What on earth was Andrew playing at? Did he really work this late often? Didn't her appreciate that Catherine needed his support and company at home? Claire refused to work after eight in the evening unless there was a crisis; she usually went into the office very early in the morning and it was impossible to burn the candle at both ends and stay healthy. At night she liked to go home via the gym where she exercised, and then cook a light supper and chill out before bedtime.
"A billionaire wants to ask you out and you're not even shaking!" Elizabeth censured. "Aren't you excited?"
"Why would I be? He's extremely handsome but what would we have in common?" Claire asked.
"I want you to go out with him just so that you can tell me what it's like," the beautician confided. "Are you going to speak with him after the show?"
"Seems like I don't have much of a choice." But when Claire thought about Nikolai Smolov's wonderfully dark deep-set eyes her stomach contracted. She questioned her susceptibility, disturbed by the nervous tension licking through her like a forest fire. She felt as though she didn't know herself any more. And when she sashayed down the catwalk again, his intense gaze didn't stray from her for a single second. She avoided looking in his direction to the best of her ability but, in an odd way that she didn't want to think about, she liked his unwavering attention.
"You should borrow something to wear for the supper afterwards. After all the glamour outfits you've paraded in front of him it won't do to appear in the jeans and T-shirt you arrived in," Catherine opined.
"My own clothes will do fine."
Her sister-in-law caught her narrow wrist between her fingers before she turned away. "Don't blow Smolov away. You can't mourn my brother for ever."
Why not? Claire almost demanded. Jeremy was dead and that would last for ever. In the same way she knew she would miss her husband for ever and never forget him. She didn't think she would ever get over losing the love of her life and she wasn't ashamed of that fact. Love like that was precious, a great deal more precious than anything she had been offered since her husband's death had left her a widow. She was not stupid. She was all too well aware that most men only thought of one thing when they looked at her large breasts and long legs. Ironically that one thing had been the very last thing on Jeremy's mind, she conceded wryly.
Nikolai was not surprised to find Claire waiting for him at the buffet held after the show. But he was taken aback by her make-up bare face and casual apparel, since women usually went to a great deal more effort in tye glamour stakes when he was around. In actuality she could get away with the scrubbed natural look because her creamy freckled skin had the warmed glow of a peach and she simply looked younger and more fragile with her glorious fiery hair tumbling casually round her narrow shoulders.
Catherine and Futures' charity director greeted the Russian tycoon and began to talk to him. Claire sipped her glass of wine and studied the tall black haired Russian, wondering why his obvious boredom should set her teeth on edge. No doubt he performed miracles with his money, but he didn't necessarily have to have a personal interest in the charities that benefited from his generosity. She was conscious that his attention was on her, not on his companions. Her bra felt right when she breathed and her breasts tingled with awareness inside the lace cups. Minutes later, Claire was beckoned over and introduced.
"Claire Allison... Nikolai Smolov Cheryshev..."
*****
A/N: Hey loves!!! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter!!! Happy new weekend btw✨♥️✨
Don't forget to
VOTE 💓💓💓
COMMENT 💓💓💓
AND WISH Pauloluchi A HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
HENRY LOVES YA✨♥️✨
See you in the next chapter!!!