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Lynne Graham - Ruthless Magnate, Convenient Wife

Lynne Graham - Ruthless Magnate, Convenient Wife

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Published by Laura Galore

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Published by: Laura Galore on Mar 19, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Table of Contents
 Cover Page Excerpt Title Page Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Preview Copyright 
‘I expected to see you again before the wedding.’
 ‘I’m sorry—I’d like to spend some time at home before I go to Russia.’ Pale and taut, Alissacollided head-on with smouldering dark golden eyes heavily fringed with lush black lashes.‘You make it sound so reasonable,
’ Sergei reached out and closed a hand round hers asshe brushed a skein of gold silky hair back from her brow. He eased her inexorably closer. ‘Butyou know that’s not what I want.’‘Surely there’s some part of the day when I can have my own free time?’ Alissa queried,throwing her blonde head high, a gleam of challenge in her bright eyes.‘Your own free time?’ Sergei countered, his lean dark features tensing.‘Isn’t this a job? I can’t be on duty twenty-four-seven.’Sergei froze, all warmth ebbing from his gaze, leaving it winter-dark and cold. ‘I don’t think youcan have read the small print on your contract,’ he breathed, in an icy, cutting tone of distaste.‘From the moment you wear my wedding ring, you
be on duty twenty-four-seven.’
Ruthless Magnate, Convenient Wife
Lynne Graham
Chapter One
 OIL billionaire, Sergei Antonovich, travelled behind tinted windows in a big black glossy four-wheel drive. Two car-loads of bodyguards flanked him, in front and behind. Such a sight wasworthy of note en route to a remote Russian village like Tsokhrai. But everyone who saw thecavalcade pass knew exactly who it was, for Sergei’s grandmother was well known locally, andher grandson always visited her on Easter Day.Sergei was looking at the road that he had turned from a dirt track into a broad highway tofacilitate the transportation needs of the coach-building factory he had set up to provideemployment in this rural area. In the winters, when once he had lived here, the road had beenthick with mud and often impassable by anything more sophisticated than a farm cart. When ithad snowed, the village had been cut off for weeks on end. Sometimes even Sergei still found ithard to believe that he had spent several years of his adolescence in Tsokhrai, where he hadsuffered the pure culture shock of an urban tearaway plunged into a rustic nightmare of cleancountry living. At the age of thirteen, he had been six feet tall, a gang member and embryo thug,accustomed to breaking the law just to survive. His grandmother, Yelena, had been barely fivefeet tall, functionally illiterate and desperately poor. Yet Sergei knew that everything he hadbecome and everything he had achieved in the years since then was down to the indefatigableefforts of that little woman to civilise him.The convoy came to a halt outside a humble building clad in faded clapboards andsheltering behind an overgrown hedge. The bodyguards, big tough men who wore sunglasseseven on dull days and never smiled, leapt out first to check out the area. Sergei finally emerged,a sartorial vision of elegant grooming in a silk and mohair blend suit that was superbly tailored tohis broad-shouldered powerful physique. His ex-wife, Rozalina, had called this his ‘annual guiltpilgrimage’ and had refused to accompany him. But his visit was enough reward for the elderlywoman who would not even let him build her a new house. Yelena, Sergei reflected grimly, wasthe only female he had ever met who wasn’t eager to take him for every ruble she could get. Hehad long since decided that extreme greed and an overriding need to lionise over others wereessentially feminine failings.As Sergei strode down the front path towards the dwelling, villagers fell back from wherethey were gathered in its doorway and an awe-inspired silence fell. Yelena was a small plumpwoman in her seventies with bright eyes and a no-nonsense manner. She greeted him withoutfuss, only the huskiness of her voice and her use of the diminutive name ‘Seryozh’ for himhinting at how much her only grandchild meant to her.‘As always you are alone,’ Yelena lamented, guiding him over to the table, which wasspread with a feast of food to satisfy those who had just finished practising a forty-day fast inhonour of the season. ‘Eat up.’

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