Читать книгу Playing the Greek's Game - Шэрон Кендрик, Sharon Kendrick - Страница 11

‘THE man is a complete and utter tyrant!’

‘I did warn you.’

‘Yes, I know you did but …’ Emma put her knife and fork down with a clatter and stared into Nathanael’s face. It was a face which bore an unmistakable resemblance to his brother—and yet if they had been statues, then the two men would have been carved from very different stone. ‘You didn’t tell me that he’d be so … so …’

‘So what, Em?’

Emma bit her lip as she stared down at the plate of mozzarella salad, which she’d barely touched because her normally healthy appetite seemed to have deserted her. There was nothing between her and Nat other than friendship, and yet she recognised that it wouldn’t be the most diplomatic thing in the world to tell him that she’d found his brother sexually intimidating. Actually, she suspected that the seesawing of her emotions had been as much about attraction as intimidation, but that was something she had no wish to examine.

‘So determined to get his own way!’ she said instead.

‘That is generally what tyrants tend to do,’ offered Nat drily.

Emma shook her head. For all her outward anger, she had been deeply unsettled by her encounter with Zak Constantinides. He had made her feel stuff she wasn’t used to feeling and that had been bad enough. But even worse was the fact that he had forced her to look at the past, a place which she’d hoped she’d left behind for ever.

And the trouble with looking back was that it made you start to pick away at the present—and to wonder if this was the way your life was meant to be. Since their meeting she’d felt … unsettled. As if the odd, quiet calm before a storm had suddenly descended on her. ‘You’ll never believe what he suggested.’

‘What?’

She stared into Nat’s more traditional inky-black eyes. ‘Only that I go and work in one of his other hotels!’

‘Which hotel?’

‘He didn’t say, but what he meant was any hotel that isn’t the Granchester—preferably somewhere in a different country. Anything to get me as far away from you as possible—because, apparently, I’ve got my gold-digging hooks into you.’

‘He can’t look at a woman without seeing dollar signs in her eyes,’ commented Nat wryly. ‘Though, to be fair, he’s seen enough examples of that particular breed in his time. What did you tell him?’

Expelling a slow breath, Emma sat back in her seat and looked around. She loved this little Italian restaurant.

It wasn’t far from the Granchester and was just about affordable as long as you stuck to one course, which she insisted was all they needed—as well as always splitting the bill fifty-fifty, much to Nat’s amusement.

They often ate here, depending on the current state of Nat’s love life. If it was full-on passion, then their meetings tended to be erratic—but if he’d discovered that his latest goddess had feet of clay, then they became more frequent. Nat hadn’t been ‘in love’ for quite some time—and so they’d seen quite a lot of each other. It was easy and it was comfortable and up until this afternoon’s meeting with Zak she had been more than happy with the arrangement. But now? Now she felt as if she had been woken from a bad dream and couldn’t quite remember what had frightened her so much.

‘I told him he could keep his job,’ she said, in reply to his question. ‘And I told him to go to hell.’

There was a pause while Nat looked at her with an expression on his face she’d never seen before. ‘You told Zak to go to hell?’

‘Actually, I implied that hell was too good for him.’

Nat started laughing. ‘I wish I could have seen his face.’

Emma took a quick sip of wine, because thinking about Zak’s face wasn’t remotely good for her blood pressure.

‘Well, I hope I never see him again,’ she said quietly, even though her heart leapt at the memory of those intense pewter eyes and hard lips. ‘He can keep his job and his outrageous attempts at manipulation. Who the hell does he think he is that he can move people around as if they’re pieces on a chequerboard? I’ll hand my notice in and go freelance again. There’s loads of work in London at the moment.’

Nat frowned. ‘But you don’t know where the job is, do you? Think about it. It could be great, Em. New York, maybe—you know that Zak has an amazing hotel on Madison, near Central Park? Or in Paris, maybe—he owns a sumptuous place on Av Georges V, right down from the Seine.’

‘I know all about your brother’s impressive property portfolio, Nat—and I’m not remotely tempted.’

There was a pause. ‘Not even as a favour to me?’

‘A favour to you?’ Putting her glass back down on the table, Emma narrowed her eyes. ‘How does that work?’

He shrugged. ‘Think about it. Zak’s a control freak who likes to keep an obsessive brotherly eye on me.’

‘I know. Why is that?’

‘Because he’s terrified that some scheming beauty is going to get her hands on the Constantinides fortune and bleed it dry. It’s happened before. My theory is that he hates women. Actually, scrub that—he does hate women.’ He saw the question in her eyes and gave a grimace. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’m not interested in Zak’s story,’ she said quickly because she didn’t want to ‘understand’ the man. What was there to understand, other than that he was a tyrant? ‘It can’t be that different from yours, surely?’

‘Oh, I think it was worse. He was older, you see—and he bore the brunt of my parents’ divorce.’ Nat shrugged. ‘And he thinks the women I meet are only after me because of my wallet. Not realising that my abundant charm and prowess in bed are what keep them flocking into my arms! He thinks that one day I should go back home and marry a suitable and beautiful Greek woman.’

‘And what do you think, Nat? Is that what you want? Or aren’t you allowed an opinion?’

‘Actually, I haven’t ruled anything out,’ said Nat unexpectedly. ‘All I want is the freedom to live my life as I see fit until the time comes when I want to settle down. And that’s where you come in, Em. Or, rather, where you could come in.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

He leaned across the table and, with his finger, drew a circle on top of her hand. ‘If Zak thinks we’re in a serious relationship and he’s managed to separate us—then, for once, he won’t bother checking up on me, will he? He’ll think I’m pining for you and he’ll want to placate me. Why, he might even actively push other women in my direction to help me forget you! For once I can date women without feeling as if a dragon is breathing over my shoulder. I’ll get the freedom I desire—’

‘And what will I get, Nat?’ she put in quietly. ‘Huh?’

He shrugged, his smile gentle. ‘The chance to spread your wings? To put something new and wonderful on your portfolio? Why not, Em? What’s stopping you?’

Emma paused to consider his question. What was stopping her? Anger that his billionaire brother could be so outrageously manipulative? Or was it something more fundamental than that … a deep-rooted fear of change itself?

Yet surely no one could blame her for wanting a little stability for the first time in her life. She opened her lips, about to reject his suggestion outright—but something in Nat’s words had struck an uncomfortable chord. And once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t stop.

The Granchester had provided a place of refuge when she’d most needed it. It had helped her recover from her disastrous marriage and to hone her interior-designing skills. She’d forged a quiet and uneventful life for herself, which had been something she’d always wanted—but hadn’t it all become a little too easy?

She knew that her craving for peace had come as a reaction to the past—to avoid repeating those highs and lows she’d found so exhausting. But now she could see that maybe she had allowed herself to fall into a rut and that maybe it was time to clamber out of it. Wouldn’t it be good for her to grab this amazing opportunity, even if it had arrived by rather unconventional and unwanted means?

What was the worst thing that could happen? That the arrogant Zak would see her agreement as confirmation that he’d won this little battle? Would that really be so bad? Why not let him have his pathetic few moments of gloating triumph—after all, he was nothing to her.

And the best thing that could happen? Emma stared down at Nat’s olive finger which was still drawing little circles over her hand. She’d get a little more breadth on her CV—the extra dimension she needed. Because she was good at her job, she knew she was—and mightn’t this be the little push she needed to fulfil her true potential?

‘Maybe I’ll ring Zak up and tell him I’ll take it after all,’ she said uncertainly.

‘No need to do that,’ said Nat, in an odd sort of voice. ‘You can tell him yourself, right now.’

Emma stiffened, her horrified gaze travelling to the door to see Zak Constantinides walking into the restaurant as if he owned it. Come to think of it, he probably did. Other heads had also turned to watch him and Emma suddenly realised that he must always have that effect on people. The sense that someone special had just walked in. The noise of the room had diminished and a pin-drop silence ensued, before the roar of chatter resumed to a great crescendo.

Her heart began crashing out a crazy rhythm as she registered his powerful frame, kitted out in a dark suit of such impeccable cut that it made every other man in the place look bland. And then she noticed that he wasn’t alone. That he had a woman with him. She gave a wry smile. Of course he did. A man like him would have his pick of any number of dates.

The woman looked Greek and was model-slim, her short hair framing sharp cheekbones and elfin features. Few women would have looked so beautiful with such an unforgiving haircut, but this one did. In fact, she looked absolutely stunning. With her retro sixties mini and white over-the-knee boots, Zak’s companion looked as if she’d fallen straight from the pages of Vogue.

Telling herself to look away but finding it impossible to do so, Emma felt her breath catch in her throat as Zak put a protective hand in the small of the woman’s back. She watched as they followed the maître d’ to a secluded table in the corner and the woman was just sitting down when Zak glanced up and saw her, his pewter eyes boring into her with a look of disbelief and something else, too. Something she’d never seen in a man’s eyes before and which she couldn’t even begin to interpret.

Her fingers began trembling and her heart renewed its painful crash against her ribs. Just what was it about him which made her have such a physical reaction to him? Which made her mind dance with such disturbing images?

Forcing herself to look away, she glanced down at her untouched plate. ‘Did you know he was coming here?’ she hissed.

‘Of course I didn’t!’

‘Can’t we get the bill and leave?’

‘Too late,’ said Nat. ‘He’s coming over.’

To Emma it felt as if she were waiting for her own execution. She could feel her cheeks burning and that strange tingling in her breasts again. And maybe sitting still was her only option because her legs suddenly felt as if they were made of jelly and she didn’t think she could have moved anywhere.

He reached them at last, his substantial shadow falling over the crisp white tablecloth like a dark omen and she had no option but to look up from the blur of food still on her plate and into the rugged beauty of his face.

‘Well, well, well—if it isn’t Miss Emma Geary,’ he said softly. ‘Dining with my brother. And looking like love’s young dream.’

What was it which made Emma curve her lips into a knowing smile and place her hand directly over Nat’s in a gesture which spoke of pure possession? Did it have something to do with the cynicism which glittered from Zak’s eyes—or was she just trying to shield herself against his undoubted charisma?

‘We can’t help how we look, can we, Nat?’ she questioned softly, and saw the briefest look of surprise in her date’s eyes before he shook his head.

‘We certainly can’t, Em,’ he purred obediently.

Looking down at their entwined fingers, Zak flinched at the contrast between Nat’s deep olive skin and the pale translucence of hers. Some primeval hostility began to heat his blood—and reasons other than brotherly regard made him wish that he could ship his brother straight back to Greece and into the arms of a woman with a past less chequered than this one.

He turned his attention to his brother. ‘Why don’t you go over and say hello to Leda?’ he questioned, glancing across at the waiting brunette and giving her an affectionate smile. ‘You remember her, don’t you?’

‘I should do—you went out with her for long enough—though I’d never have recognised her with her hair all cut off like that. She looks amazing.’ Nat smiled at the woman across the restaurant as he rose to his feet. ‘You know, everyone thought you two would get married, Zak.’

Zak didn’t answer that, just waited until his brother had reached his dinner date before turning to look down at Emma, and his heart gave an unsteady beat as he did so. Wasn’t it strange what a shower and a hair wash and a little make-up could do? Because suddenly her status as a femme fatale became a whole lot more believable than it had been this afternoon. The ponytailed, flustered woman in faded jeans who’d walked into his office was now nothing but a distant memory—banished by the undeniably chic image she presented tonight.

Her dress was simple—a linen shift of pale dove-grey colour—and it was very slightly creased. But the creases didn’t matter because the natural fabric showcased her pure, pale skin and the musculature of her fit young body. And Zak realised that anything she wore would simply be a backdrop for that magnificent blond hair—which tonight fell in a moon-pale tumble over her shoulders. It wasn’t as long as it had been in that rather hippy-looking wedding photo—but it still waved silkily over her breasts and reminded him of their lush pertness.

To his fury, he experienced a fierce kick of some emotion—a potent mix of jealousy and lust which manifested itself in an urgent desire to drag her to her feet and to kiss her. To crush those petal-soft lips beneath his own. To thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth, and then …

Appalled and very turned on, he swallowed down the acrid taste in his mouth and silently banished his wayward thoughts. Surely he wasn’t jealous of his little brother? Or so sexually frustrated that he’d start to desire a woman who couldn’t be more unsuitable—and on so many levels?

He looked directly at her. ‘Have you thought any more about my job offer?’

‘I have.’

‘And?’

Emma’s thoughts whirled as the moment of truth loomed. It was all very well Nat telling her that she should take the job but there was one very good reason why she shouldn’t, and he was standing right in front of her. She didn’t know what it was about Zak Constantinides which made her react so … so violently towards him, but some bone-deep instinct told her to heed it. Yet alongside her misgivings came a powerful urge to teach this arch manipulator a lesson. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could play the part that Nat wanted her to play and give her dear friend some much-wanted freedom? Wouldn’t it give her immense satisfaction to trick this arrogant billionaire and make a mockery of his manoeuvring?

She curved her lips into what she hoped was a suitable smile. ‘And I’ll accept.’

He frowned. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that. On one condition.’

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m the one who lays down conditions, Miss Geary, not you.’

She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘That I’m back in London in time for Christmas.’

He had been expecting a demand for some over-inflated bonus and her request took him slightly by surprise. Would almost two months be long enough to have the desired effect? He glanced over to where Nat was chatting animatedly to his date and Zak’s lips curved into a smile. Of course it would! His brother would soon forget about Emma Geary. What was it they said? Out of sight, out of mind …

‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ he said, glancing down at her barely touched plate of food. ‘Enjoy your last supper before you take up your assignment.’

‘Well, hopefully I’ll have time for a few more suppers before I leave.’

‘I’d like you to come out this weekend.’

‘You’re joking?’

His grey eyes bored into her. ‘No, Emma, I’m deadly serious.’

It was the way he said her name which made her words stumble. As if it were a big dollop of honey he was slowly licking from a spoon. ‘What’s the r-rush?’

Enjoying the familiar rush of power and the sudden tremble of her lips, he shrugged. ‘Why delay? Protracted farewells are so painful. Far better to make a clean break of it and get used to living without Nat.’

‘Where have you got planned for me—Outer Mongolia, I suppose?’

‘The Constantinides brand hasn’t reached quite that far, but give me time,’ answered Zak smoothly. ‘No, I’m sending you somewhere far more cosmopolitan than that.’

‘And am I allowed to know where—or is it a magical mystery tour?’

He felt a muscle begin to beat at his temple. It was anger but it was something else too—because her insubordination was turning him on. When you reached the position that he’d reached a long time ago, you never got a member of staff speaking to you with quite the same degree of insolence as Miss Emma Geary did to him. Nor anyone else, for that matter. And it was making him want to subdue her in the most fundamental way possible …

‘How does New York sound?’ he questioned silkily.

For a moment, Emma stilled. Was he some sort of sadist, as well as being a control freak? Didn’t he realise that New York was the city she’d lived in during her ill-fated marriage and it was packed full of bad memories? Meeting the obdurate set of his rugged features, she bit back the protest which had sprung to her lips. Because if she showed any weakness, then wouldn’t he leap on it like the bully he was?

She set her face into the most vacuous expression she could manage. ‘New York?’ she questioned, forcing a delight into her voice—a delight she was far from feeling. ‘How wonderful! The city that never sleeps!’

He winced at the cliché. ‘So they say. I’ve booked you a ticket for Saturday. A car will pick you up and take you to the airport—my secretary will be in touch with all the details. See you in the “Big Apple”, Emma.’

He had walked away before she could say another word but Emma could hardly chase him across the restaurant, demanding to know what he had meant. Surely he didn’t mean that he was going to be in New York at the same time?

Was that to keep an eye on her? To make sure she did exactly as he wanted?

She didn’t know and, right now, she wasn’t in a fit state to care. All she was aware of was a feeling of trepidation, which had somehow become all mixed up with a heart-racing excitement she didn’t dare analyse.