Читать книгу Modern Romance August 2018 Books 1-4 Collection - Мишель Смарт, Tara Pammi - Страница 16

CHAPTER SIX

STANDING HUDDLED IN a shop doorway opposite the now dark café, Xan waited for Tamsyn to emerge but it was already ten after seven and still she hadn’t shown.

The shop doorway remained defiantly closed and he wondered if perhaps she’d slipped away unseen from the back of the building. He wondered what lengths she would go to in order to avoid him.

He’d imagined...

What?

That she would be deliriously happy to see him, despite him having failed to contact her after their passionate night at the palace? Despite the fact that he’d hired a private jet to get away from Zahristan as quickly as possible the next morning, after leaving her only the briefest of notes, and then had disappeared for the best part of three months?

Yes. That’s exactly what he’d imagined because it had happened so often before. Women took whatever crumbs he was prepared to offer them. They were grateful for anything they got and even when they complained it wasn’t enough, they still came back for more. He’d meant it when he’d told Tamsyn he wasn’t deliberately cruel—despite the tearful accusations sometimes hurled at him in the past. He was just genuinely detached. He’d learnt detachment from the moment he’d left the womb—that was one of the inevitable legacies of having a mother who was so bogged down with self-pity that she barely deigned to notice her child. He never raised hopes unnecessarily, or proceeded with a relationship if the odds were stacked against it. And breaking the heart of his friend’s new sister-in-law was never going to be on the cards.

He shouldn’t have bedded her in the first place which was why he hadn’t hung around the day after the wedding. Why he’d deliberately avoided seeing her and instead gone riding with the Sheikh, who had seemed to have enough problems of his own without Xan adding to them.

He had waited for the dust to settle and his libido to cool and for a short period of time to elapse. Then he had flown out to his beautiful waterfront estate in Argolida on the Peloponnese Peninsula, to begin the future which had been mapped out for him so long ago. There had been several meetings with the young woman he’d once agreed to marry and he had gone through the motions of what was expected of him. It should have been simple, but it had turned out to be anything but. He had stumbled at the first hurdle—he who never stumbled. Failure wasn’t a word which featured in his vocabulary and for weeks he had attempted to cajole then scold himself into a state of acceptance—an acceptance which had stubbornly refused to materialise. He’d witnessed Sofia’s bewilderment as he struggled to find the right things to say. He had pictured his father’s distress when he explained that the marriage was a no-go he should never have agreed to. For the first time in his life he hadn’t known which way to turn. If he married Sofia he could not make her happy, but if he walked away—what then? Her pride would be wounded and his family’s reputation tarnished.

It had been at the beginning of a conference call with the Sheikh last week that a solution had suddenly occurred to Xan. It wasn’t perfect—but then, what in life could be regarded as perfect? But it would suffice. It would have to. And surely it was better than the alternative.

His throat dried as the café door swung open and Tamsyn stepped out into the rainy night and suddenly every thought drained from his mind. Yet why should his heart race like a train when she was dressed so unbecomingly? In her faded jeans and ugly padded jacket, she shouldn’t have merited a second glance. But something seemed to happen to his vision whenever Tamsyn Wilson was around and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. It had happened the first time he’d laid eyes on her but it was a whole lot worse now. Was it because, despite her sassiness and outspokenness, she had been an innocent virgin—thus defying all his jaded expectations? He kept replaying that moment when he’d first penetrated her sweet tightness and she’d made that choking little cry, her mouth open and moist as it had sucked helplessly against his shoulder.

Her hair was tied back, her ponytail flowing behind her like a curly red banner, but her face was pale. So pale. From here you couldn’t see the freckles which spattered her skin like gold. He found himself remembering the ones which reposed in the soft flesh of her inner thighs. How he had whispered his tongue over them...tantalising and teasing her, before bringing her to yet another jerking orgasm, which had left her shuddering against his mouth.

He began to walk towards her, aided by the red gleam of the traffic lights which was reflecting off the wet road like spilled blood. And then she saw him, her eyes first widening and then narrowing as she put her head down and increased her speed and Xan felt a flicker of excitement as he realised she was trying to get away from him, just like she’d done at the palace. Did she really think she would outpace him? Didn’t she realise he’d seen the yearning look of hunger in her eyes when he’d walked into that steamy café, and it had echoed the hunger in him?

‘Tamsyn!’

‘Can’t you take a hint?’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘Just go away, Xan!’

She didn’t slow down as he followed her along the wet pavement but he caught her up easily enough, his long strides easily outperforming her small, rapid steps. ‘We need to talk,’ he said, as he caught up with her.

She stopped then. Lifted up her chin to glare at him and the raindrops glistened like diamonds on her freckled skin as she stood beneath the golden flare of the streetlamp.

‘But that’s where you’re wrong!’ she contradicted fervently. ‘We don’t need to do anything. Why would we when there’s nothing between us? Didn’t you make it plain that’s what you wanted when you slipped out of bed that morning, taking great care not to wake me?’

‘Why?’ he parried softly. ‘Did you want there to be something between us?’

‘In your dreams!’ she declared. ‘Even if I did want to get involved with a man—which I don’t—you’re the last person on the planet I’d ever choose! I already told you that.’

A low sigh of relief escaped from his lips and some of the tension left him. ‘That’s probably the best news I’ve heard all week,’ he said. ‘And yet another reason why we need to have a conversation.’

Tamsyn steeled herself against the sexy dip in his voice, brushing the rain away from her cheeks with an impatient fist. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she hissed. ‘I’m not interested in what you’ve got to say, Xan. I’ve just been sacked and it’s all your fault.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘My fault?’

‘Yes! If you hadn’t come into the cafe—swaggering around the place as if you owned it and demanding I take a break I wasn’t entitled to—then I’d still have a job. Your attitude made me so angry so that I answered you back, giving that witch of a manageress the ideal opportunity to tell me not to bother coming back tomorrow.’

‘So that’s the only reason you were fired?’ he questioned slowly.

Tamsyn told herself she didn’t have to answer. That she owed him nothing—and certainly not an explanation. Yet it was difficult to withstand the perceptive gleam in his eyes or not to be affected by the sudden understanding that since Hannah had gone away to live in the desert, she really was on her own. That once again she was jobless, with nobody to turn to—with outstanding rent to pay on her overpriced bedsit. Giving a suddenly deflated sigh, she shrugged, all the energy needed to maintain the fiction of her life suddenly draining away. ‘Not the only reason, no,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I guess I’m fundamentally unsuited to being a waitress.’

Beneath the streetlight, his eyes gleamed. ‘All the more reason for you to have dinner with me, since I have a proposition to put to you which you might find interesting.’

The suggestion was so unexpected that Tamsyn blinked. ‘What sort of proposition?’

Tiny droplets of rain flew like diamonds from the tangle of his ebony hair as he shook his head. ‘This isn’t a conversation to have in the rain. Let’s find a restaurant where we can talk.’

Her stomach chose that moment to make an angry little rumble and Tamsyn realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She told herself it was hunger which made her consider his suggestion—it definitely wasn’t because she was reluctant to see him walk out of her life for a second time. But then she looked at her damp jeans and realised what a mess she looked. ‘I can’t possibly go out looking like this.’

‘You could go home first and get changed.’ He gave a small inclination of his head. ‘I have a car here.’

Tamsyn stiffened as a black limousine began to drive slowly towards them. Was he out of his mind? Did he really think she’d let someone like him within a mile of her scrubby little bedsit? She could just imagine the shock on his over-privileged face if he caught sight of the damp walls and the electric kettle which was covered in lime-scale. ‘I live miles away.’

‘Then let’s just go to the Granchester.’

Tamsyn nearly choked as he casually mentioned the exclusive hotel where her sister used to work before being fired for sleeping with one of the guests. ‘The Granchester is just about the most expensive hotel in London,’ she objected. ‘We’ll never be able to get a table at this short notice, and even if we could there’s no way I could go somewhere like that for dinner, wearing this.’

‘Oh, we’ll a get a table,’ he said smoothly, as the limousine drew up beside them. ‘And my cousin’s wife Emma is staying there at the moment. You look about the same size as her. She’ll lend you something to wear.’

Tamsyn shook her head. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. I can’t possibly borrow a dress from a complete stranger!’

‘Of course you can.’ He spoke with the confidence of someone unused to being thwarted, as he opened the door of the car and gently pushed her inside. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.’

Afterwards Tamsyn would put her uncharacteristic compliance down to his distracting presence, or maybe it was just his sheer certainty. She’d never experienced the sensation of a man taking control of a situation in such an unflappable way. She wasn’t used to someone offering to fix things. She was used to drama and chaos. She wondered if there was some biological chink in her armour which made her yield to his superior strength, or whether she’d just had the stuffing knocked out of her by the loss of yet another job? Either way, she found herself climbing into the back of the taxi with Xan sliding next to her as they began to drive at speed through the rain, towards the Granchester.

The rain-blurred lights of the city passed in a streak while Xan made a phone call. She heard him say her name as he began speaking in rapid Greek, before laughing at something the person on the end of the line must have said. And it was the laugh which made Tamsyn’s heart clench with unexpected wistfulness. Imagine living the kind of life where you could just jump into the back of a limousine without worrying about the cost, and laugh so uninhibitedly as you chatted on the phone—as if you didn’t have a care in the world.

Like a glittering citadel, the Granchester Hotel rose up before them and as the car slid to a halt, a doorman sprang forward to greet Xan like an old friend. The flower-filled foyer was busy as expensively dressed guests milled around, looking as if they had somewhere important to go. A woman was walking purposefully towards them, one of the most beautiful women Tamsyn had ever seen. Slim and smiling, her hair was as pale as moonlight and she was wearing a short blue dress which hugged her hips and a tiny cardigan just a shade darker.

‘Xan!’ she said fondly, rising up on the toes of her ballet pumps to kiss the Greek tycoon on both cheeks, before turning to Tamsyn with a wide smile. ‘And you must be Tamsyn,’ she said. ‘I’m Emma and I’m married to Xan’s cousin. I gather you need something to wear for dinner tonight and time is tight—so why don’t you come with me and I can sort you something out?’

It was weird—maybe because Emma was so polite and so...gracious—that Tamsyn didn’t find herself frozen by her usual air of suspicion. Instead, she smiled back and the three of them walked over to an elevator which nobody else seemed to be using. And of course, the presence of Emma in the enclosed space meant that Tamsyn’s conversation with Xan was temporarily interrupted, although she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his presence and the mocking light in his eyes. What on earth have I got myself into? she wondered as the elevator slid to a silent halt and they stepped directly into an enormous room whose wall to ceiling windows gave a stunning view over the glittering skyscrapers of London.

‘Xan, why don’t you help yourself to a drink?’ Emma gave another soft smile. ‘Tamsyn, come with me.’

In a dream-like state, Tamsyn followed the elegant blonde down a long corridor and into a dressing room which led off from an huge bedroom. Maybe if she hadn’t just lost her job for the umpteenth time and maybe if the image of her tiny bedsit hadn’t just flashed into her mind, then she might have told Emma she’d changed her mind, thanked her for her kind offer and just left. Xan might be keen to put some mysterious ‘proposition’ to her, but despite what she suspected was his tendency to always get his own way—she doubted whether he would actually try to keep her here by force.

But she didn’t do any of those things. Perhaps it was the blonde’s serene presence or just the fact that Tamsyn was tired. Bone tired. As if she could sleep for a hundred years and then maybe a hundred more. So she nodded politely as Emma ran her perfectly manicured fingernails—a deep shade of blue which matched her cardigan—along a line of colour-co-ordinated clothes hanging in the biggest closet Tamsyn had ever seen.

‘I’m not going to stand over you and influence your choice,’ she told Tamsyn softly. ‘Just wear whatever takes your fancy—and that includes shoes, if they fit. I’ll go and entertain your man and see you back in the sitting room.’

Mutely, Tamsyn nodded. She wanted to tell Emma that Xan wasn’t her anything but surely that was an over-complicating factor and things were complicated enough already. Her heart was racing as she quickly washed in the en-suite bathroom before slithering into a long-sleeved dress in green cashmere which she cinched in at the waist with a belt. Her tiny feet swam like boats in tall Emma’s sleek footwear so she packed the toes of some green suede shoes with wads of tissue paper. Liberating her curls from their elastic band, she raked a comb through them in a vain attempt to tame them and, tucking her own damp clothes under her arm, walked back towards the sitting room.

She was surprised to hear Emma speaking in Greek to Xan, but the conversation died away as she walked into the massive room. She couldn’t deny the inordinate amount of pleasure she took from the look of disbelief on Xan’s face as slowly he looked her up and down. It reminded her that she really could scrub up well—even if she had to rely on the charity of other people in order to do so.

The tycoon was rising to his feet, dominating the room with his powerful presence, a faint smile curving his lips. ‘I’ve told Emma we have a table booked downstairs.’

It seemed almost rude to just use the kind blonde’s apartment like some kind of upmarket changing room, but Emma was also getting to her feet, giving Tamsyn another genuine smile which made her feel momentarily disconcerted.

‘And Zac is just flying in from Zurich,’ she said, her cheeks growing pink with pleasure. ‘Where it appears that my husband has bought yet another hotel.’

It was only then that Tamsyn made the connection and she wondered how she could have been so dense. Emma was married to Zac Constantinides—the billionaire owner of the Granchester group of luxury hotels and Zac was Xan’s cousin? Why hadn’t Hannah reminded her of that? As the lift zoomed them back down to the hotel foyer, she wondered why she hadn’t made the link herself, when it wasn’t exactly the most common surname in the world. Probably because her mind and her body had been so full of new and conflicting emotions. And they still were. Surreptitiously, she touched her tongue to lips which were as dry as washing hung out in the sun, achingly aware that she was far from immune to the statuesque man who walked beside her.

They were shown into Garden Room, which overlooked an outdoor space which was surprisingly big, given its central London location. A discreet notice on the wall informed customers that the gardens had recently won a top horticultural award and although it was dark outside, cleverly placed lighting illuminated the tall shrubs and rare trees. As the maître d’ showed them to what was obviously the best table—tucked away in a corner but with a birds-eye view of the floodlit gardens—Tamsyn became aware of people watching them. Or rather, they were watching Xan. Did he realise that, or was his sense of self-worth so strong that he didn’t notice?

‘So why have you brought me here?’ she questioned as she sat down to face a gleam of silver and crystal, tightening her hands as she laid them down on the snowy linen tablecloth. ‘And more importantly, why have I let you?’

He paused for a moment while the waiter handed them menus, a wry smile touching the edges of his lips. ‘Because we have been lovers and because you’re curious.’

She gave a defiant tilt of her chin. ‘I don’t usually let people move me around like I’m a chip on the gaming table.’

‘I get that. Just as I don’t usually rush in and mastermind a transformation scene for my dinner dates,’ he added drily, flicking her a cool cobalt gaze. ‘You look absolutely sensational in that dress, by the way.’

Stupidly, the compliment made her want to squirm with pleasure until Tamsyn reminded herself that she still didn’t know why she was here. But he was right. She was curious.

‘So what do you want to talk about?’

‘Why don’t we choose what we want to eat first, otherwise the waiter will keep hovering over us.’ He glanced at the menu before fixing her with his dark blue gaze. ‘Would you like me to order for you?’

Tamsyn glared. Did he think she was so poor and humble that she’d couldn’t interpret the French menu? Didn’t he realise she’d worked in more fancy restaurants than he’d probably had hot dinners? She was sorely tempted to tell him she’d changed her mind, when she spotted something being lit with blue flames on a nearby table. Something delicious enough to make her mouth water and once again she was reminded that it was ages since she’d eaten.

‘I’ll have the lobster thermidor and the green salad with vinaigrette on the side,’ she said carelessly. ‘And no wine—just sparkling water.’

She enjoyed his faint look of surprise as he slapped his own menu shut and handed it to the waiter. ‘I’ll have the same,’ he said, leaning back in his chair to study her.

‘So,’ she said, when he appeared in no hurry to break the silence. ‘I’m still waiting for some sort of explanation. I mean, you’ve been content to ignore me for weeks and then you just turn up out of the blue and bring me here with the offer of some mystery proposition. What is it, Xan? Do you happen to own a café with an opening for a waitress who urgently needs a job?’

Xan realised that he was going to have to exercise great care in his choice of words because Tamsyn Wilson was both volatile and unpredictable. In a way she was the worst possible candidate for what he had in mind, but ironically it was her very unsuitability which made her the ideal candidate.

‘You’re in a bit of a fix right now aren’t you, Tamsyn?’ he questioned softly.

Her emerald eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘How do you know that?’

He shrugged. ‘Call it intuition or call it observation. You seem to switch jobs quite frequently and being fired doesn’t seem to freak you out as much as it would some people.’ His gaze stayed fixed on her face. ‘And I noticed you had a hole in your coat.’

She blushed and seemed to hesitate. As if wondering whether or not to brazen things out and keep pretending that, apart from urgently needing a job—everything else was okay. But the strain around her eyes told him that her plight was chronic and maybe she realised that, because some of her defiance seemed to ebb away as she lifted her shoulders in a shrug which didn’t quite come off.

‘I’ve known better times,’ she admitted.

‘But your sister has just married one of the wealthiest men in the world,’ he probed. ‘Surely she can come to your rescue if you’re in need of money.’

For the first time he saw emotion on her face. Real emotion. Was it pride or distress which made her lips tremble like that? ‘I’m not going to ask Hannah for help,’ she said fiercely. ‘She’s helped me too often in the past and it’s about time I stood on my own two feet.’

Xan nodded, realising that her misplaced pride was playing right into his hands. ‘Then I think I can help you,’ he said quietly. ‘Or rather, I think we can help each other.’

She had recovered from her brief spell of vulnerability and that familiar challenge was back in her eyes. ‘Me, help the powerful Xan Constantinides? Gosh. I can’t imagine how I would do that.’

Xan paused for a moment because even though they meant nothing, the words he was about to say still had the power to make him tense. He’d had a blueprint for his life and up until now it had all gone according to plan, for he had micro-managed and controlled every part of it. It was how he had won a straight scholarship to Harvard from a humble village school and made a fortune in the property market, soon after graduating. He’d thought of matrimony to Sofia as just another stage in his game plan, but suddenly all that had changed. Suddenly he could understand why they called it wedlock. His eyes didn’t leave Tamsyn’s face.

‘By marrying me,’ he said.