Читать книгу The Millionaires' Cinderellas: Playing the Greek's Game / The Forbidden Innocent / Too Proud to be Bought - Шэрон Кендрик, Sharon Kendrick - Страница 14

‘SO have you decided which one you’re going with, Emma?’

Emma blinked, aware from the expression on her assistant’s face that Cindy must have just asked her a question, but not quite sure what that question had been. ‘Sorry?’ she questioned, hating her current butterfly grip on reality. ‘I was … I was miles away.’

‘So I can see!’ Cindy gestured towards the huge windows. ‘I was asking whether you’d decided on the silk or the voile drapes?’

Emma forced herself to concentrate on the medley of fabrics which were lying on the table in front of her. ‘Oh, definitely the off-white Belgian linen. It’ll let the light in and it’s suitably …’ she gave Cindy a weak smile ‘… bridal.’

She bent her head to consult her long to-do list, wondering what the hell was happening to her. Losing herself in her current project had been one of the things she most loved about her job. She liked the aspect of designing a room which took you out of yourself and into another world, one you’d created all on your own.

She’d seen her mother do it time and time again, transforming the windows of yet another grim rental property with filmy material she’d bought cheap at the market. It had been one of her more admirable traits—her refusal to be beaten down by poverty. Her mother had shown that you didn’t need to spend a fortune to improve your environment, and that sense of wonder and transformation had never left Emma. Immersing herself completely in her work was usually enough to make the minor problems of life seem fairly unimportant.

But not this time.

This time she felt like someone who’d suffered a bee-sting and been left with an allergic reaction which wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t stop thinking about Zak. About the physical aching he’d awoken in her—with nothing more than a fleeting touch accompanied by a dark and brooding stare. Was she really so lacking in judgment and experience that an innocuous touch like that would waken all kinds of longing?

She’d told him about Louis, too—more than she usually told anyone. Why had she done that? Because he’d asked all the right questions, or because—as her boss—he’d been holding most of the power? Either way, it had worked.

At least Cindy was sparky and energetic enough not to notice her occasional lapse into silence—which usually followed one of Zak’s rare visits to see how work on the wedding room was progressing.

In truth, it was progressing very well—but then, Emma was discovering that New York was a very efficient city and that this time around she was seeing a completely different side to it. The darkened hotel rooms from which Louis wouldn’t emerge until midday were firmly in the past. Waking up to the spill and smell of half-eaten food was a memory she was happy to leave behind.

Instead, she found herself up bright and early, traipsing around the sidewalks with Cindy, wrapped up warmly against the crisp autumn breeze. Together, they went scouting for antiques on Broadway and 10th and 11th, while for more contemporary pieces they ventured down to Soho and Chelsea. She learned to love the buzz of the city and the clean, wide streets, which were so easy to negotiate.

To her surprise, she’d heard nothing from Nat—apart from a couple of text messages soon after she’d first arrived. His phone went straight through to voicemail and he hadn’t answered her email. She wondered if that meant he’d met someone new …

One morning, she was sitting on the terrace making notes on table settings when a soft footfall disturbed her, and she looked up to see Zak standing there.

Be professional, she urged herself, hating the hammering of her heart as she curved her mouth into a polite smile.

‘Zak, this is a—’

‘Pleasant surprise?’ he finished sardonically.

She shrugged. Was she going to carry on pretending she hadn’t noticed he’d been avoiding her—or was she going to do the adult thing and try to clear the air? ‘Well, that’s up to you, surely? You can carry on playing the big boss-man who can’t bear to be in the same room as me—or you could try getting along with me.’

He stepped out onto the terrace to join her, where the breeze held in it the first faint chill of winter—despite the brightness of the sun. He looked down at her. She was sitting bundled up in jeans and a jacket, her hair piled high on her head—her face completely bare of make-up. He noticed that today her fingernails were painted pale lemon, which matched the filmy scarf she wore looped around her neck. He’d never seen a woman with yellow nails before.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down next to her. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘He said grudgingly.’ The glance she shot him was enough to establish that his shirt was fine—silk probably—and that she could see the faint outline of his torso through it. ‘You’ll get cold out here without a jacket.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘It might come as a surprise for you to learn that somehow, despite the lack of your intervention, I’ve managed to survive a whole thirty-six years without ever getting pneumonia.’

She rested her pen on her notepad. ‘Are you always this defensive?’

Zak turned his head to look at the park. Not always, no. But then, his relationships with women were usually clearly demarcated. There were women he did business with and women who worked for him. There were women he had relationships with—admittedly rare. And then there were the women he slept with—which had always happened whenever he had wanted it to happen.

There had never been a woman he’d wanted that he couldn’t have.

Until now.

Behind the indifference of his smile, his teeth clamped together in frustration. Because wasn’t the truth that he wanted Emma Geary with a hunger which was eating away at him? That thoughts of her kept him awake at night—awake and hard and bathed in a sweat which cold showers seemed only momentarily to subdue. It didn’t seem to matter that her background appalled the fiercely proud side of his Greek nature—or that she was involved with his brother. His betraying body still jerked into instant life whenever he thought of that waterfall of pale hair and those strange green eyes. When he imagined her painted fingernails tiptoeing over the heated arousal of his flesh.

‘You seem to bring out the worst in me, Emma.’

‘And why’s that, I wonder? Because I’m not docile enough to accept everything you say as law?’

He turned his head to look at her and gave a reluctant shrug. ‘There’s definitely an element of that. Your defiance is a little … unusual,’ he conceded.

‘You mean women don’t usually answer you back?’

‘They don’t usually feel a need to, no.’

‘Because you’re always “right”, I suppose?’

‘It’s a little more complex than that.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Don’t you know that, deep down, all women crave a masterful man?’

She shook her head, glad that the wind was chilly enough to cool the sudden heat in her cheeks. When he looked at her that way, it was difficult not to agree with him even when he was spouting out such ridiculously old-fashioned sentiments. ‘You must mix in some very strange circles to think that way, Zak.’

‘Possibly.’ Leaning back in the chair, he saw that the trees in the park were almost bare. Soon it would be winter, and holiday time. The big Christmas tree would go up at the Rockefeller Center and tourists and New Yorkers would ice-skate side by side in the dazzle of its lights. Emma would complete her assignment here and she would go back to London—and to Nat. Zak’s mouth hardened as he forced himself to confront a scenario he had managed to suppress until now. Because what if his plan failed? What if, despite his intervention, she went back and married his brother. What then?

He had always looked out for Nat. Been there for him when nobody else was and his love for his brother burned fiercely in his heart. But sometimes events had a habit of running away with themselves. Didn’t matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t always determine the outcome. He remembered his mother lying sobbing on the marble floor and the sound of the door slamming as his father walked out of their lives. He hadn’t been able to prevent that, had he?

Suddenly, and with disturbing clarity, he could picture Emma as Nat’s new bride—her long blond hair blowing in the breeze. The image intensified and he could even imagine her dress—one of those long, filmy things which foreign girls always wore when they went to Greece, her feet bare with the blue of the Mediterranean dancing behind her. Maybe she would give Nat hordes of children who would, along with her, become part of his family and therefore linked to him for life. And if that happened, he would have to kill his desire for her stone-dead—or risk severing his relationship with his only brother.

And wouldn’t the way to do that be by engaging with her, no matter how uncomfortable he might initially find it? Couldn’t they form an uneasy truce in case the worst did happen? At the moment she symbolised the tantalising and the forbidden—and that only increased her desirability. Shouldn’t he give her the opportunity to spend the evening chattering idly about nothing, as women so often did? Wouldn’t the subsequent tedium of such an encounter assure him that she was nothing special after all?

Unexpectedly, he found himself asking, ‘Have you seen much of the city?’

Surprised by his question, Emma nodded. ‘Actually, I have.’ She’d decided that she wasn’t going to sit around moping—but to explore a place she’d seen remarkably little of last time around. So she’d taken a tour-bus and giggled at the native New Yorker’s rumbustious commentary as they passed all the iconic buildings. She’d worked her way through all the art galleries and walked daily in Central Park. And she’d taken the ferry to Staten Island, where she’d eaten a hot dog nearly as long as her arm. ‘I’ve done all the must-see touristy things.’

He stopped looking at the park and gave in to the temptation of studying her face. ‘So I can’t persuade you to have dinner with me tonight?’

Emma’s fingers tightened around the pen she was still holding. ‘And why would I want to do that? More to the point, why would you?’

He smiled at her frankness. ‘Maybe I’ve decided I should get to know you a little better if my evil plan doesn’t work and you do end up becoming my sister-in-law.’

Emma shoved the pen deep into the pocket of her jacket, acknowledging that his careless smile was potent. Very potent. It humanised him and made him seem gloriously accessible—so that she stupidly found herself wanting to reach up and trace the sensual curve of his lips with her finger.

Eaten up with a terrible feeling of remorse, she knew this was the moment to come clean. To tell him that this was all a game—and that there was nothing romantic between her and his brother. But something stopped her and she wasn’t sure if it was fear of his reaction—or because she’d convinced herself that she needed to warn Nat first.

And if she didn’t tell him, then how could she possibly refuse an invitation which sounded like an attempt at reconciliation?

‘What kind of dinner?’ she questioned suspiciously.

‘You can lose the look of horror—I’m not suggesting a cosy meal for two in some candlelit restaurant. I have a duty dinner on the other side of the city. You can be my partner for the evening, if you like.’

What could she say? That she was scared of accompanying him anywhere because he made her feel so … so vulnerable? She shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said cautiously.

‘Okay?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that it? I’ve had more enthusiastic responses from a water-cooler.’

‘You’re in the habit of inviting water-coolers out to dinner?’

He gave the glimmer of a smile. ‘Very funny.’

‘I do my best.’ She tried to tell her stupid heart to stop slamming so wildly against her ribcage, but it didn’t work because Emma recognised that a brief moment of humour was as intoxicating as strong liquor. ‘Will it be dressy?’

‘It will. Black tie and long dresses. I’ll order a car—so meet me in the lobby at eight.’

‘Eight it is.’

Emma’s heart was still racing as she searched her wardrobe for something suitable to wear, finding fault in every single item she pulled out. Within half an hour she was outside on the busy sidewalk, knowing that she wanted to buy something new and not daring to question why she didn’t just make do with something she already had.

But it was a long time since Emma had shopped for clothes and she felt an unfamiliar excitement as she scoured the fancy shops on Madison Avenue. The stores were packed with gorgeous garments, but something made her steer away from the rails of safe and staple black. Instead, she was drawn to a white silk dress which was draped and pleated in all the right places and fell in soft folds to the ground. She didn’t need any pressure from the cooing saleswoman to buy it, though when she put it on in her hotel room a couple of hours later she started to have second thoughts about her purchase.

Was she showing too much flesh? Was it sending out the wrong kind of message?

The expression in Zak’s eyes when she walked into the crowded lobby only intensified her feeling of nervousness.

‘It isn’t suitable?’ she questioned, a note of vulnerability creeping into her voice as she saw the sudden narrowing of his eyes.

Suitable? Zak’s mouth dried as his gaze drifted over her. Her arms were bare and the dress was cut low, the soft white silk moulding her breasts and skimming the curve of her hips as it fell to the floor. The long tumble of her pale hair flowed down over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. She looked, he thought suddenly, like a Greek goddess. A perfect statue who had come to life for one night only. He must have been out of his mind to propose taking her to dinner.

‘Oh, it’s suitable all right,’ he said, in an odd kind of voice as he led the way to the waiting car. ‘But I’m probably going to spend the entire evening playing bodyguard.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Though maybe from your boasts of earlier and all the things I’ve heard about your legendary success with women—perhaps it’s me who’ll have to play bodyguard to you?’

‘You really think you could fight them off, do you, Emma?’

She met the challenge in his eyes. ‘I could try.’

He shifted his weight, distracted by the way she had crossed her leg, so that the white silk was now clinging to one shapely thigh like rich cream. ‘Then I’d better put out a general alert that all women should tonight keep their distance.’

The lazy note in his voice made Emma’s breasts tighten and she wanted to tell him to stop being so nice to her. Or, more to the point, to stop flirting with her. This was crazy. How was she going to endure the rest of the evening when he had the power to make her feel like this?

‘So whose party is it?’ she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

With difficulty, he averted his gaze from the pinpointing of her nipples against the white silk. ‘An old friend of my father’s. His granddaughter, Sofia, is twenty-one—and he’s giving her a coming-of-age party.’

Emma nodded, remembering something Nat had said. ‘Nat told me that your father had died last year. I’m … well, I’m sorry, Zak.’

For a moment he said nothing, realising that his brother must have told her about all kinds of things—resenting the fact that he couldn’t control the flow of information. That this woman probably knew more about him than most people. More than he wanted her to know. How much had he told her?

‘Thanks,’ he said tersely.

‘I understand he was ill for a long time.’

Which answered his question. She knew plenty. ‘Thanks again,’ he said, just as tersely.

Hearing his abrupt sense of closure, Emma looked out of the window and watched the night-time city slide past. The big car weaved its way through the busy streets, before coming to a halt at the front of a glittering hotel, whose arching entrance was garlanded with pink and white blooms.

Emma became aware of the press standing waiting outside and of Zak’s terse exclamation when he saw them—but this was something she was an old hand at dealing with. Dipping her head so that her hair fell like a mantle to obscure her face, she was inside the building before any of the intrusive flashes could capture her face for posterity, with Zak close behind her, and when she turned round she saw that he was laughing.

‘That’s the first time a woman’s ever avoided being photographed with me!’

‘You think I want to be seen with you?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

But her modesty and rejection of publicity pleased him inordinately, and forced him to confront his initial prejudices. Would she really be such a bad choice of woman for his brother, if she made him happy? Once he got to know her a little better, wouldn’t this inconvenient lust for her simply melt away?

Emma was aware of him guiding her through to the grand ballroom where the party was being held. The room was decked out in the same pink and white roses they’d seen outside and there were matching balloons and sugared almonds at every place setting. It was a bit cheesy, but somehow it worked—especially when a slender, dark-haired girl in a pink voile dress came running up to Zak and flung her arms around him.

‘Thios Zakharias!’ she bubbled enthusiastically. ‘I’m so glad you came—and thank you for my earrings!’

He smiled. ‘You like them?’

‘I love them! See? I’m wearing them now!’ She pushed back her heavy black hair to reveal two creamy pearl studs. ‘Come and have a drink. Grandfather is around somewhere and so is Mama. Oh, and there’s Loukas—I must go and say hello!’

Emma felt suddenly a little shy to find herself in the middle of such a large and lively party. She could hear bursts of laughter and snatches of incomprehensible Greek and as she looked around she thought that she’d never been in a group of people who were quite so animated.

‘Everyone seems to be having a great time,’ she observed.

‘If there’s one thing a Greek knows how to do, it’s party.’

At his words, Emma’s nerves fled and, despite the rather bizarre circumstances which had brought about this pairing, she began to enjoy herself. And so did Zak, playing the part of attentive partner perfectly. He introduced her to lots of people during the pre-dinner drinks and she struggled to remember all their names as they surveyed her with frankly curious eyes. He explained the history behind the food when they sat down to eat, because ‘everything in Greece has a story,’ and kept her entertained with stories about Sofia’s grandfather’s fabled exploits as a young man, when he had left his Greek island determined to make his fortune and had returned a millionaire.

It was the first time that Emma had been subjected to the full force of his charm and it was powerful stuff.

It was only when the band came on and started playing that she began to feel awkward. Couples got up to dance, so that they were left alone at their table, and suddenly she felt like an outsider, as if she didn’t really belong here. But then, she’d never really belonged anywhere, had she?

Zak’s eyes narrowed. ‘You look as if you’ve just heard the world will be ending in the next five minutes.’

She shrugged, trying to block out the lure of the music and her own sense of isolation. ‘It’s a bit noisy.’

‘Well, we could try shouting to make ourselves heard—or we could just slip away. We’ve done our duty, I think.’

Which told her unequivocally just how he’d rated the evening. Emma looked at his rugged features and an unbearable temptation swept over her as she wondered what it would be like to dance with him—just once? Ignoring the warning bells which were screaming in her brain, she smiled—wondering if it was the wine or the music which made her words tumble out.

‘There’s another alternative,’ she said, gesturing towards the parquet dance floor. ‘We could always dance.’

Zak felt himself tense. It had been bad enough having to steel himself against the visual feast she made in her white silk dress. To have had to keep averting his eyes from the swell of her magnificent breasts. But dancing with her would be insane. Completely insane. There were a million reasons why they shouldn’t do it and yet the thought of being able to hold her in his arms swept every single one of them away. What harm could one dance do?

‘Then let’s do it,’ he murmured, getting to his feet.

She took the hand he offered her and followed him on to the dance floor, but it was only when she was standing in front of him that she became properly aware of his towering height. The feel of his hands on her waist made her feel tiny and her nose only just reached to the top of his shoulder. This close, his scent was more defined—a tantalising mixture of sandalwood combined with warm, male flesh, which crept over her senses.

She could hear the hypnotic note of a single instrument above the rest of the music, an unfamiliar sound which tugged at her heartstrings. ‘I love that sound,’ she said.

‘The bouzouki? I love it, too. Some people think it’s corny—but it’s traditionally Greek.’

And so was he, she thought, her palms spreading luxuriously over his shoulders as their bodies moved in perfect time. Like someone you’d see on the front of a coin—he was pure and unadulterated alpha male.

Zak could feel the sway of her hips and the silken brush of her hair against his cheek. She danced like a dream, he thought. He closed his eyes. Of course she did. It was a particular skill and one which her mother had taught her. He’d forgotten that when he’d agreed to this.

Suddenly he could understand why a man could be driven half mad with desire by watching her. Why some aging rock-star had been captivated by her. Her breasts were brushing against him and he could feel their diamond tips against his chest—or was that simply fevered fantasy on his part?

Either way, he was getting so aroused that he could barely move without giving himself away. His mouth twisted as he registered the near-painful ache of his erection and he was suddenly filled with a feeling of disgust. What kind of man was so turned on by his brother’s woman that he could have pulled her into the nearest darkened alcove and ravished her while the sounds of the party went on in the background?

He had to stop this and to stop it now. He must have been out of his mind to think that he could dance with her and not want her. Abruptly removing his hands from her waist, he dipped his head to her ear, so that his words could be heard above the hypnotic lull of the music.

‘Let’s go,’ he clipped out.

‘Go?’ She turned her face up to his. ‘But we’ve only just started dancing.’

And in that moment, all the pretence he’d been maintaining and the defences he’d erected came tumbling down and desire transmuted into a quiet and burning rage. ‘I don’t know if you’re being naïve or disingenuous, Emma—but we can’t keep doing this,’ he hissed. ‘All this crazy flirting and touching and denying ourselves what we both really want. Because it’s wrong. We both know it’s wrong. And sooner or later, we’re just not going to be able to stop ourselves. You might find it acceptable to have two men on the go—but I won’t do it. I may want you, but I can’t have you. If you want the truth, there’s part of me which despises your siren ways even as I’m sucked in by them. And the thought that you’ve woven your spell around my poor, unsuspecting brother makes me sick to my stomach.’

She heard the venom in his voice as his accusation cut through her and she knew that she had to tell him. That maybe she should have told him a long time ago.

‘B-but I haven’t,’ she stumbled. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing between me and Nat and there never has been.’

He froze. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘We’re just good friends,’ she explained, her words coming out in a babble in their eagerness to be spoken. ‘I played along with the idea of you separating us because he thought it would get you off his back for a while. He was fed up with you always playing the big, controlling brother—and he thought it’d do me good to come to New York. That’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ A pulse beat at Zak’s temple as what she’d just told him began to sink in. He’d endured days of guilt and long, sleepless nights of frustration—and she thought she could shrug it off with an insouciant ‘that’s all’? A bitter anger crept over him. ‘We’re going,’ he bit out as he caught hold of her wrist and led her off the dance floor.

The expression on his face was dark and formidable and Emma was aware of people watching them. Grabbing her bag from her chair, she shot a glance at his stony profile as they made their way towards the exit. ‘Zak?’

‘Shut up,’ he gritted out, signalling for the doorman to have his car brought out to the front.

And they stepped out of the hotel to the blue-white flash of the waiting paparazzi.