﻿‘You’ll get your money,’ Emma said.

‘We’ll see.’ Zarios smiled. ‘Till I do, you will be my fiancée. You will move in to my home so that I can take care of you—or rather deal with the press and the questions…’

‘We won’t…’ Emma flushed. ‘I mean, there’ll be no…’

‘I don’t understand what you are saying…’ He flashed her an innocent smile.

‘Oh, I think you do. I want to make it clear, very clear, that we won’t be sharing a bed.’

His mouth was mere inches from hers. Her mind was quailing, but her treacherous body flared in instant recall of their one dizzy time together.

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’

Yes.

She didn’t say it, but the word snapped like a twig between them.

She wanted to forget, to escape…for just one moment. To forget this living hell and taste the heaven she had once witnessed, to accept the temporary relief his mouth would surely provide.

To be held instead of holding up.

He kissed her then, his mouth crushing hers. And she was kissing him back with all her might, pressing her body into his as if she wanted to climb inside him, to escape, revelling in the freedom that his touch, his kiss, his being somehow brought her. Oh, she was lost, lost, lost—and it was wonderful. She was back in oblivion and it tasted divine.

Carol Marinelli recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and she was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked—‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But—given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open—I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Medical™ Romance!

BEDDED FOR PLEASURE, PURCHASED FOR PREGNANCY

BY

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BEDDED FOR PLEASURE, PURCHASED FOR PREGNANCY

CHAPTER ONE

‘GUESS who’s coming tonight!’

Emma smiled at the excitement in her mother’s voice as Lydia Hayes replaced the phone receiver.

‘Half of Melbourne are coming!’

The party was all her mother had spoken about for the past few weeks, Emma’s father’s sixtieth birthday, and the intimate dinner they had initially planned had swelled to marquee proportions! Every inch of their sweeping bay view home had been commandeered to maximum effect, with the marquee open to reveal Port Phillip Bay in all its glory, and even the weather had obliged, with a clear sky allowing for city views. The dance floor had been laid, the band was setting up, caterers were milling, and Lydia was rattling with nerves as the hour approached. But the telephone call had, momentarily at least, halted her nerves.

‘We’ve got an unexpected guest!’ Lydia clasped her hands in delight. ‘Go on, Emma, guess who.’

‘Mum…’ Emma wailed, wrapped in a towel and painting her toenails. Having spent the day helping her mother prepare, she was already racing against the clock to be ready.

‘Just tell me.’

‘Zarios!’

A smudge of red nail varnish streaked across Lydia’s little toe. Pulling out a cotton bud, she dabbed at the area, refusing to let on that it mattered a jot that Zarios was coming tonight.

Oh, but it did.

Zarios—the single word that sent a tingle up every woman’s spine. A man who didn’t need to use his high-profile surname to be instantly recognisable.

His scowling but effortlessly beautiful face often appeared in the gossip columns. His reputation with women was appalling—so much so that it was a wonder, after so many blistering articles written on the man, that any woman might even consider getting involved with him.

Oh, but they did—over and over they did. And without fail it always ended in tears—or, to be more exact, the woman’s tears.

‘Why?’ Curiosity got the better of Emma, and, screwing back the top on her nail varnish, she just couldn’t stop herself asking.

Their fathers might be best friends, but why would Zarios D’Amilo even entertain the thought of coming to her father’s celebration? Shouldn’t he be sleeping with some supermodel on a Saturday night? Or crossing the equator on the way to some exclusive star-studded function? Certainly not on his way to celebrate Eric Hayes’s sixtieth birthday.

Rocco D’Amilo had arrived in Australia nearly half a century ago, at eleven years of age. The son of Italian immigrants, he had been teased and goaded in his first hellish days at school. Unable to speak English, his lunchbox full of smelly meat, he had been an easy target, until Eric Hayes, who had suffered his own share of teasing in his time, had blackened the eye of the ringleader. The unlikely pair had been firm friends ever since.

Rocco had started out his working life as a builder, Eric as a real estate agent, and they had remained in touch even when Rocco had taken his young bride and new baby son back to Italy. They had been best man at each other’s weddings, godparents at christenings, and their friendship had been the support Rocco needed when his young wife had walked out on her husband and four-year-old child.

Eric had done well for himself over the years and a few wise property investments meant his family lived comfortably. He had followed the ‘worst house, best street’ rule, and had bought a rundown home on a rundown acre in an exclusive beachside suburb, refurbishing it slowly until it gleamed with the same majesty as its view. Rocco, too, had achieved success, both here and in Rome, yet it was his son Zarios who had turned the family business into the empire it was today. His father’s strong work ethic, combined with a private school education and a brilliant brain, had proved a dizzying recipe for success.

Zarios had emerged from university with big plans, which he had rapidly implemented, turning the modest but successful building company into a global property and finance company. D’Amilo Financiers had multiple branches throughout Europe and Australia and was stretching its golden fingers ever further across the globe. Now, with Rocco’s retirement imminent, Zarios was expected to officially take the helm.

If only he would behave!

‘He’s on a final warning!’ Even though there were only the two of them in the room, Lydia spoke in a loud whisper. ‘Your father was telling me that apparently the board are sick of Zarios’s caddish ways. They’re uncomfortable with the prospect of him being the majority shareholder…’

‘That’s up to Rocco, surely…?’ Emma frowned.

‘Rocco’s fed up with him, too. He’s given that boy everything, and look how Zarios repays him. If the rest of the directors band together…’ Lydia’s voice lowered another octave ‘…and it sounds as if they might now. If the rumours that Zarios has split up with Miranda are true—she was his one saving grace.’

‘They were only going out four months!’ Emma pointed out.

‘Which is a long time in dog years!’

Oh, how they laughed at that.

Emma’s parents infuriated her at times—most of the time, in fact. The blatant preference they had for Emma’s brother Jake, the way they repeatedly dismissed her career choice, as if by being an artist she didn’t have a real job, and yet she adored them. Her mother was, and always had been to Emma, the funniest woman she knew.

And wrapped in a towel, doubled over in laughter as her mother hooted with mirth and the early evening sun dipped lower over the bay, drenching the living room in gold, somehow, on some level, Emma knew that this moment was precious.

She could have had no idea how precious, rich and good life was that gorgeous summer evening. No idea how many times she’d find herself playing it over and over again.

‘Come on!’ Dabbing her eyes, Lydia hurried her daughter up. ‘Where on earth can I put him?’

‘He’s staying the night?’ Emma’s eyes widened at the very thought of Zarios D’Amilo sleeping here in this house.

‘Yessss!’ Lydia hissed, the joking well and truly put aside now, as her already high stress levels rocketed. ‘I knew Rocco was—but Zarios! He’ll have to have your room!’

‘He jolly well won’t.’

‘We can hardly give him the trundle bed in the study—Jake’s squeezed into his old room, Rocco’s in the guestroom…Zarios will have to have yours. Come on, it’s time to get dressed,’ Lydia said, refusing to debate the point, buoyed at the prospect of having such a high-profile guest. ‘My friends are going to simply die with jealousy—can you imagine Cindy’s face when she finds out? You did buy something nice for tonight, I hope?’

‘Like a bridal gown?’ Emma said, firmly tongue in cheek.

‘Well, he has broken up with Miranda!’

Emma’s sarcasm was entirely wasted on her mother. Lydia Hayes had spent her married life clinging on to the middle rung of the social ladder, and was determined that her children would rise to the heights she had never achieved.

‘Australia’s most eligible bachelor is joining us to celebrate your father’s sixtieth birthday, Emma. Surely you’re just a little bit excited?’

‘Of course I’m excited.’ Emma smiled. ‘About Dad’s birthday…’

‘Get ready, then,’ Lydia chided, and then, wincing slightly, massaged her temples. ‘They’ll be arriving soon…’

‘Mum, calm down.’

‘What if they’re expecting something spectacular?’

‘Then we’ll wheel out Zarios!’ Emma smiled again, but her mother was past jokes. ‘They’re expecting a birthday celebration, which this is,’ Emma said, walking across the lounge and taking her mother’s hands from her temples and holding them. ‘They’re coming to see you and Dad. That’s all that matters.’

‘Jake’s not even here yet!’ Lydia trilled. ‘My own son can’t make it on time. Do you think he’ll have remembered to order the pastries for breakfast?’ Emma could hear panic once again creeping into her mother’s voice and moved quickly to avert it.

‘Of course he’ll have remembered. You go and sort out fresh sheets for my bed, and I’ll go and get ready. And,’ she added with a wry smile, ‘I’ll give my room a quick tidy!’

Her bedroom was exactly the same as it had been seven years ago, when she’d left home to go to university to study art. Emma loved coming back and staying in her old room, amongst her old familiar things, but this evening she eyed it somewhat critically, wondering what Zarios would make of the paintings that adorned the walls, the curtains she had tye-died herself when she was twelve, the tatty overfilled bookshelves and the dressing table laden with childhood photos.

Emma had always intended to wear something nice for her father’s special night. Her tiny broom cupboard of an art gallery was in Chapel Street in Melbourne, and as well as her gallery the street boasted an array of designer boutiques. Slipping on the cerulean blue dress, Emma wondered what on earth had possessed her. It had caught her eye in the window—the shade of blue almost a replica of the view of the bay from her parents’ balcony. The price had been an instant dissuader, yet the assistant had suggested Emma at least try it on. Staring at her reflection, Emma let her teeth worry away at her bottom lip as she wondered if it wasn’t just a bit too much.

Or too little!

An inch shorter than she would have preferred, it clung provocatively in all the wrong places. Her bottom surely appeared massive, and her breasts as if they had instantly gone up a size, where the feather-light wool caressed her figure, only loosening its grip at mid-thigh, then hanging innocently, yet flaring as smoothly as a trumpet bell as she walked.

It was, quite simply, divine.

Worthy, Emma told herself as she pulled a shoebox from her case, of the horribly expensive strappy sandals she’d bought to go with it. Worthy of the hours of buffing and polishing her body had endured—and her first visit to a tanning parlour.

Running her ceramic straighteners for the final time over her long blonde hair, she stopped worrying her bottom lip and applied a final layer of lipgloss instead, thanking the gods who had looked after her these past days, who must have known that Zarios D’Amilo would be coming tonight, and had, unbeknown to Emma, insisted that she look her best for the embarrassing task of facing him again after all these years.

Emma picked up one of the photos on her dressing table and stared at the wedding group. Even though it was ridiculous, even though it was only a photo, still she blushed as she looked into Zarios’s serious dark eyes.

She’d been nineteen…

A young and extremely naive nineteen-year-old, she had been dressed up like a vast pink blancmange, as bridesmaid at Jake’s wedding.

Zarios had been invited. He’d only been in Australia a few weeks back then, and his accent had been so heavy and rich Emma had struggled to understand his words—except she could have listened to him talk for ever. Put simply, he had been the most stunning man she had ever seen. The whole wedding had passed in a dizzy blur until finally, dutifully, he had danced with her. And because it had been Zarios D’Amilo holding her, and she’d had rather too much champagne, Emma had promptly fallen in lust.

Shoving the photo in a drawer, she turned it face-down and covered it with the drawer’s contents, then slammed it closed. The last thing she wanted was for Zarios to see it—for Zarios to recall her exquisitely embarrassing mistake. But even with the photo safely tucked away Emma was struggling to beat her blush, struggling to banish the image of the two of them dancing that night. Zarios had lowered his head to say something and stupidly, blindly, she’d misinterpreted the action, closed her eyes and, lips poised, waited expectantly for him to kiss her.

Even six years on she burnt with the shame of the memory.

Could still hear his deep, throaty laugh as he’d realised what she thought he had intended.

‘Come back when you’re all grown up…’ He’d smiled at her and patted her bottom as the music had ended, merrily sending her on her childish way. ‘Anyway, my father would never forgive me.’

He’d probably forgotten, Emma consoled herself.

With all the women he’d dated, as if he’d remember a teenager’s clumsy attempt at extracting a kiss. Anyway, she was six years older now and light years wiser—she could see a man like Zarios exactly for what he was: a player.

She certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake again; she’d be aloof and distant, Emma decided, practising an aloof and distant look in the mirror. Maybe she should wear her hair up? Emma thought, piling her long blonde hair on her head and seeing if it made a difference, then deciding against. Maybe she should just make a joke about it, laugh the whole thing off…

Maybe she should tidy her room!

Her mother joined her, and the embroidered quilt was hastily replaced with crisp white linen as Lydia ran around the room removing stray bras, mascara wands and tampon boxes. Folded towels and washcloths were placed at the end of the bed, along with a little bar of Lydia’s expensive soap, and a jug of water and a glass was put beside the bed, covered with a little linen cloth.

‘It’s mineral water,’ Lydia assured a bemused Emma as she arranged the jug with precision. ‘Should I put out a little snack for him?’ she worried. ‘Is there anything else you can think of?’

‘A box of tissues?’ Emma nudged her mother, making Lydia giggle again. ‘Legend has it he can’t go twelve hours!’

But even if she could make her mother laugh and relax just a touch, as she stared out at the bay Emma felt her throat tighten when she heard a helicopter approach and knew it was him. As comfortably off as her parents and their friends might be, only the D’Amilos would arrive for a party in a helicopter. She watched it hover for a moment, could see the marquee flapping, the grass flattened by the whirring blades, and then…

She knew she was holding her breath, because the window had stopped misting over, and she knew as one well-shod foot appeared, followed by an impossibly long leg, that it was him.

The view only improved from that point.

Zarios helped his father down, then, having ducked under the blades, they strolled across the lawn, too used to their mode of travel to give the helicopter even a backward glance as it lifted off into the sunset.

He was wearing black dress pants and a fitted white shirt, and like a prize thoroughbred being paraded before the race he had a restless energy, a glossy, groomed appearance, that had Emma’s stomach fold in on itself as he tossed his head back and laughed at something his father said. For just a moment, an embarrassing twinge, Emma was sure he saw her. Those black eyes had glanced up as if he knew he was being watched, and Emma stepped quickly back, as if burnt.

‘Emma!’ She could hear her mother’s shrill summons and, taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. ‘They’re here! An hour early and they’re here!’

‘Questi sono i miei buoni amici.’ As they walked across the lawn, again his father reminded him how important these people were to him.

‘You believe too much of what you read!’ Zarios laughed. ‘I am capable of behaving occasionally. Anyway, I fear it will be slim pickings at a sixtieth birthday bash, Pa!’

‘Zarios…’ Rocco was serious. It had seemed like a good idea for him to bring Zarios. Fresh out of a relationship, Zarios had that gleam in his roving eye that spelt danger—and if Rocco could avert scandal at this precarious time, then he would. Ah, but had it been wise to bring him here? On the short flight over Rocco had remembered the wedding, the instant attraction that had flared between his son and Emma Hayes. He had warned Zarios off that night—and thankfully the warning had been heeded. But Zarios was six years older now, and way past taking his father’s advice. ‘You remember their daughter, Emma?’

‘The good-looking blonde?’ A smile flickered across his face in instant recall. Things were maybe looking up for tonight after all. ‘Actually, I do.’

‘She’s grown into a very attractive woman…’

‘Splendid!’

‘Attesa!’ Rocco called for his son to slow down, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his brow.

‘Are you okay, Pa?’

‘A little chest pain…’ Rocco took a pill from a little silver box and placed it under his tongue. ‘Nothing I am not used to.’ He did have chest pain—perhaps not enough to merit taking a pill, but if the sympathy card would help Rocco was only too willing to play it. ‘You know I think the world of Lydia, but you know how she loves to spend—and, well, it would seem that Emma has the same tendency…’

‘It is fortunate I am rich then, no?’ Zarios joked, but his father wasn’t smiling.

‘Eric is worried…’ It was only a small lie, Rocco consoled himself. In fact he hadn’t lied, he told himself, just implied… Surely it was better to put Zarios off now, than face Eric after his son had broken his daughter’s heart?

And he would, Rocco thought wearily, mopping his forehead again before folding his handkerchief and putting it back in his pocket. Zarios would break her heart.

‘Don’t get involved with her, Zarios.’ Rocco resumed his walking. ‘It would be far too messy.’

‘You’re early!’ Eric, as laid-back as his wife was neurotic, didn’t worry about things like guestrooms and final layers of lipgloss, instead he was simply delighted as Rocco came through the door, and hugged and embraced his lifelong friend in the effusive Italian way. Zarios stood slightly back.

‘We wanted some time with you before the other guests arrived.’ Rocco beamed, offering Eric a lavishly wrapped gift. ‘Hide that and open it tomorrow.’

‘The invitation said no gifts!’ Lydia scolded, but she was clearly delighted that he had. ‘Zarios—we’re thrilled that you came.’

‘It is good to be here.’

His accent was still rich, his voice low and deep, and Emma could feel the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand on end as she came down the stairs, attempting to maintain her distant and aloof look, watching as he kissed her mother on both cheeks and then did the same with her father. His black eyes met hers.

‘Emma. It’s been a long time.’ His smile was guarded, and in a split second his eyes took in the changes. The short cut she had once worn had long since grown out, and her hair now hung in a heavy blonde curtain over her shoulders. Her once skinny, overactive body had softened and filled out since then, too, and her feminine curves were enhanced by the soft drape of her dress—a dress that swished around her slender legs as she moved. Zarios was surprisingly grateful for his father’s warning, because without it the night might have taken a rather different direction.

She had always been pretty, but she was stunning now!

‘It has been a long time.’ She walked down the last two steps and hovered on the bottom one, but still he had to bend his head to kiss her on the cheeks. As he did so, he smelt her—again. His body flared in surprised recognition as his lips dusted her cheeks. How nice it would be, Zarios thought wildly, to give her the kiss he had denied her so many years ago.

Had denied himself.

The others moved forward, leaving them alone for just a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

‘You are looking well.’ He frowned slightly. ‘How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?’

‘A few years?’ Emma shrugged, refusing to acknowledge she knew the exact length of time, down to the month! ‘Four—maybe five?’

‘It’s not that long…’ Zarios shook his head as they headed through to the lounge. ‘It was at your brother’s wedding.’

‘That was five years ago…’ Emma smiled. ‘Actually, it was six!’

‘Come through,’ Lydia scolded. ‘Emma, get our guests a drink.’

At that moment one of the hired help arrived with a hastily filled tray of champagne. Emma grabbed one for herself before Lydia shooed her away.

‘A real drink!’ Lydia hissed to Emma out of the side of her mouth.

‘Whisky?’ Emma checked. That was what Rocco always had when he came over. ‘And a small dash of water?’

‘She has a good memory.’ Rocco beamed.

‘Zarios?’ Emma deliberately forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘What would you like?’ Black eyes held hers, and she could have sworn there was just a fraction of innuendo in the pause that went on for just a beat too long. The torch she had carried for him over the years flared brightly as his eyes held hers, no matter how she tried to douse it.

‘Whisky.’ He added no please or thank you to his order. ‘No water.’

And as easily as if he’d flicked a switch she was lost.

Pouring the golden liquid, she could see her hand was shaking. She hadn’t exaggerated the memory of him. He was as lethal and as potently sexy as he had been all those years ago—and as arrogant and rude, Emma reminded herself. Handing him his glass, trying and failing not to notice the brush of his fingers against hers, she crossed the room and sat on the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

The cat soon found the mouse.

He sat beside her, just a tiny bit too close for her liking. There was no contact, none at all, but she could feel the heat from his body, feel the weight of him, the ancient springs in the leather couch tilting her just a fraction towards him.

He invaded her space—but perhaps that was his trick. No one watching could testify to intrusion; you had to be beside him, or looking at him, to feel it. Taking a sip of her champagne, she wished she had chosen whisky, too—wished for something, anything, strong enough to douse the nerves that were leaping like salmon in her chest.

‘I take it Jake and his wife will be coming tonight?’

‘Just Jake.’ Emma gave a tight smile.

‘They have twins now, don’t they?’ Zarios checked, watching her closely, seeing the brittle smile on her face slip into a more relaxed one as she described her niece and nephew.

‘Harriet and Connor—they’ll be three in a few weeks’ time.’ On cue her brother arrived, bustling into the room.

‘Darling!’ Lydia practically fell on to her son’s neck, the lateness of his arrival immediately forgiven. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘Sorry, sorry…’ Jake beamed. ‘The traffic was an absolute nightmare.’

‘On a Saturday?’ Emma couldn’t help herself.

‘The football’s on!’ Lydia beamed. ‘The city’s hell around this time—it’s just wonderful you made it, darling. You did remember the pastries for tomorrow…?’

There was a tiny, appalling pause as Jake’s fixed smile slipped just a fraction, his frantic eyes darting to his sister. Lydia’s mouth opened in horror mid-sentence. Emma was almost tempted not to intervene, to refuse to save the day yet again for her brother and let them see that the one thing, the one thing he had been asked to contribute, had proved too much for him. But, as Jake well knew, she couldn’t do that to her parents.

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mum—the bakers rang to confirm Jake’s order. They’ll be here first thing.’

‘Oh, Emma!’ her mother snapped. ‘You could have let me know!’

‘Where is Beth?’ Rocco frowned, voicing the question Lydia had clearly hoped he wouldn’t. ‘And where are the twins? I was looking forward to seeing them again.’

‘Tonight’s for adults only.’ Lydia beamed again, but there was a rigid set to her lips.

‘Why?’ Rocco had been single too long, and missed the warning signs flashing from Lydia’s eyes to simply drop it. ‘Children are part of the family…they should be here…’

Surprisingly, it was Zarios who saved the day.

‘Oh, come on, Pa…’ Zarios gave a thin smile, and Emma was sure there was just a flash of contempt as he halted his father—could hear the slight drip of sarcasm in his expansive deep voice. ‘Surely you remember how hard it is settling little ones to bed at a family function—and all those things you have to remember to bring?’

‘Absolutely!’ Lydia nodded furiously. ‘We’ll see the twins next weekend—oh, and Beth, of course…’

‘Don’t worry.’ Zarios gave Emma a tight smile as the conversation drifted on. ‘My father is a master of the “don’t do as I do, do as I say” school of thought.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Nothing.’ He took a slug of his whisky before concluding, ‘It does not matter.’

Oh, but clearly it did!

He dismissed her frown with a shrug. ‘It is strange seeing my father in this setting—looking forward to seeing little children and catching up with friends. Usually the only time I socialise with my father is at work events…’

‘And family—’

‘No.’ He cut her off, and she winced at her own insensitivity—her parents were Rocco’s family. ‘It is strange to see him amongst a family.’

She had always known that once his mother had left Zarios had been raised at a boarding school; her mother had told her how hard poor Rocco had had to work, jetting between the two countries to keep up with the fees, and how devastated poor Rocco had been when sometimes he couldn’t get back to see Zarios.

Only then did it dawn on Emma—really dawn on her—that, as difficult as it might have been for poor Rocco, how much harder it must have been on his son.

CHAPTER TWO

STILL, Zarios didn’t appear to be dwelling on it.

If he was here under sufferance he didn’t show it—laughing at Eric’s jokes, and making Lydia blush at every turn with his smouldering smile.

Suddenly the hour had arrived, and the small party moved into the marquee as the band started playing and the guest numbers began rapidly multiplying. Zarios was quickly cornered by Cindy, a good-looking blonde who was a good friend of her mother’s. Emma knew she had to be nudging fifty, but years of botox and bulimia were serving her well tonight. Well, good luck, Emma thought, actually glad of the reprieve.

Zarios unsettled her.

Unsettled each fibre of her being.

Every flicker of his five-star reputation was merited. The question as to how any woman could dismiss such a heartbreak reputation had, for Emma, been well and truly answered—up close he was intoxicating.

Emma suppressed a smile as Cindy laughed a little too loudly at something he said, her hand resting on his arm as she spoke intently—she was welcome to him.

‘Can I talk to you later, Emma?’ Jake came over, waving to a couple of geriatric aunts and smiling as if for cameras—just as he always did.

‘Sure!’

‘Away from everyone…’ he added, and Emma’s heart sank.

‘Why?’

‘Don’t be like that.’ Jake sighed.

‘Are you going to pay me for the pastries?’ If she sounded petty, it was with good reason. If Jake paid her maybe there would be nothing to worry about—maybe she was being surly for no reason.

She truly hoped that was the case.

‘Look, I’m sorry about that.’

‘Jake, it was the one thing Mum asked you to organise. What if I hadn’t ordered them?’

‘But you did!’ Emma could have sworn there was a belligerent tone to his voice, but he quickly checked it. ‘Here…’ He pulled out his wallet and thrust her some notes. ‘Thanks for organising them. I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Can I ask what it’s about?’

‘Not here, okay?’

Not here, where everyone might find out that you’re less than perfect, Emma thought savagely. But of course she didn’t say it, just gave him a nod and bit hard on her lip, close to tears all of a sudden as Jake walked off.

‘Jake.’ Zarios raised his eyebrows in greeting as Jake brushed past, he’d seen the exchange and Jake must know it. The polite thing to do would be to ignore it, but Zarios couldn’t be bothered with being polite. Shrugging off Cindy, he offered a friendly enquiry as Jake approached. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘All good!’ Jake grinned, but his cheeks were red, his eyes following Zarios’s gaze to his sister. ‘Just family stuff. You know…’

‘Not really,’ Zarios answered.

‘Just…’ Both men stood watching as Emma slipped the money into her purse. ‘Well, it’s difficult for Emma. You help out when you can, you know?’

Yes, Zarios knew—and he knew now he should leave well alone. But his curiosity was well and truly piqued, and when a coo of delighted glee swept around the party as waiters and waitresses walked through with silver trays laden with finger food Zarios found himself making his way back to Emma.

‘You’re looking worried.’

Emma forced a rapid smile. ‘I’ve no idea what my mother’s cooked up for tonight.’

‘Well, she’s surpassed herself.’

Knowing how important keeping up appearances was for her mother, Emma was relieved to hear it. Glancing at the tray a waitress offered, she expected the usual variation on a theme. But a real smile formed on her full lips as she realised that for the first time, where the politics of entertaining were concerned, had listened to her own heart.

‘Oh!’ Emma blinked at the tray laden with tiny little sandwiches. The bread as thin and as light as butterfly wings, yet it was crammed with the strangest of filling choices for such an important function.

Jam.

Vegemite.

Salami.

Prosciutto.

All beautifully presented, of course, but as she bit into them the familiar flavours brought a gurgle of laughter to Emma’s lips. She got the joke.

‘Your father and mine used to swap their school lunches.’ Zarios grinned, too. ‘I can remember my father telling me the first time he tasted your father’s sandwiches. He thought they were the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted—and your father thought the same of his. Within two weeks they were trading lunches.’

‘My dad insists he was the first Australian to really appreciate a sundried tomato—he was eating them daily long before they were popular.’

‘He was,’ Zarios agreed. ‘He was also a friend to my father when no one else was. He’s a good man.’

‘He is.’ Emma smiled. ‘Which is why you’ll have to excuse me. I ought to socialise…’

‘You are.’

‘I mean…’ Emma was flustered ‘…with aunts and things…’

‘I’m sure your father would rather you looked after a guest who doesn’t know anyone…’

How dangerous was that smile, just curving on the edge of his full mouth?

‘It’s not fair to leave me on my own.’

‘I’m sure Cindy would be delighted to keep you company!’ Ouch! Emma could have kicked herself for letting him know that she’d noticed.

‘Cindy only wants me for my body!’ He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. Cool and confident Emma was not. Her face burned at the near contact, her toes curling in her sandals at the feel of his breath on her ear. ‘And I will not let myself be used!’

‘As if.’ Emma laughed, jerking her head back, but the laugh came out too shrill. The effect of him so close was devastating.

‘Anyway, I am under strict instructions to behave tonight…’ Again he lowered his head—just as he had a moment ago, just as he had six years ago—and again her body demanded a kiss. ‘I think Cindy has an issue with her age…’ His Italian accent was thick, his words curious rather than mocking. ‘Which puts me off.’

‘Her age?’ Emma checked, struggling to sound normal as he pulled her ever closer into his personal space.

‘No, the fact that she has issues…’ Zarios smiled. ‘I am too much of a bastard to remember to be reassuring.’

God, he was gorgeous. Wicked and bad, but funny, too! Pulling her head back, holding out her glass for a waiter to top it up, Emma was sorely tempted to ask for the ice bucket to douse herself in.

He was thoroughly good company, and if his conversation was laced with innuendo, not once was he sleazy. And, Emma noticed with a shiver of nervous excitement, despite his arrogance it was with great skill and surprising kindness that he deflected the numerous attempts from women to garner his attention.

For tonight at least his sole focus was on her.

Her mother had excelled herself—and for Emma it really was a wonderful party. The mixture and the number of guests was perfect, the food delicious and the drinks plenty. Zarios continued to be good company, and had it not been for Jake, following her into the house and colliding with her as she came out of the toilet, it would have been perfect.

It wasn’t good news—but then it never was with Jake. As he led her to the study to talk, and as Emma listened to all he had to say, the sense of foreboding that had been her companion for a long time where Jake was concerned gave way to sheer incredulity at what he was asking of her. There was no way she could help him.

‘Jake, I don’t have that sort of money…’

‘You could get it, though!’

‘How?’ Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You’re talking about a six-figure sum.’

‘Your flat’s worth way more than you paid for it, Emma.’

‘Why would I pay off your debts…again?’ she couldn’t help but add. She’d helped him out in the past and had never been paid back. She had chosen not to pursue it, but this was a ridiculous amount Jake was now asking for. ‘Why would I take out yet another loan to help you?’

‘Because if I don’t get this sorted Beth will leave. Listen, Emma…’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘She hasn’t worked in years, she moans about money all the time, and yet she does nothing to help out…’

‘She’s got two-year-old twins!’ Emma pointed out angrily. ‘Surely that’s work enough?’

‘Emma.’ He dropped his voice so low she had to strain to catch it. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad—I don’t want to worry them—but we’re having problems with the twins…’ As Emma bit on her lip, he continued. ‘Behavioural problems. That’s one of the reasons we didn’t bring them tonight. Beth has no control—she can’t even manage to get them dressed before lunch. You don’t know what it’s like, living with her. She doesn’t lift a plate, she’s at home all day and I’m still having to pay for a cleaner… Emma, if you don’t help me and I lose the house, you can guarantee I’ll lose the twins, too. Can you imagine Mum and Dad…?’

‘You have to tell them, Jake,’ Emma pleaded. ‘You say it isn’t gambling this time?’

‘It isn’t!’ Jake promised. ‘Just a lousy call on the stockmarket. Emma, it would kill Mum and Dad. They’re so…’

‘Proud?’ Emma spat, because at this very moment she hated him—and hated, too, how easily her parents were fooled by him. Jake the golden boy. Jake the one with the real job. Jake who had given them the twins. Poor, responsible Jake, with his moody, depressed wife.

If only they knew.

‘I’m due for a massive bonus at the end of June. If I don’t tell Beth about it, I can pay you back then.’

‘Lie to her again, you mean?’

‘Help me, Emma.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Emma, please.’

‘I’ll think about it!’ she said again, and it was the best she could offer.

Upset, worried, she marched out of the study, trying to get her head together before she faced the party that was still going on.

‘Hey!’ Zarios stepped back as she practically collided with him.

‘Sorry…’ Emma gave a quick shake of her head. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

‘I’m trying to find where they put our cases. My father needs one of his tablets.’

‘Of course.’

Flustered, Emma led him to the guestroom, her mind reeling too much from Jake’s confession for her to be embarrassed at being alone upstairs with Zarios.

‘They’re not here.’ She scanned the bedroom. ‘They must be in my room…where you’re sleeping,’ Emma added as he followed behind.

‘How very open-minded of your parents!’

‘Daughter not included!’ Emma gave a tight, distracted smile as she flung her bedroom door open. ‘There they are. I’d better go down—the cake should be coming out soon.’

‘Are you okay?’

No, she wanted to scream, but knew she couldn’t. She just gave him a worried, confused nod.

‘I’m fine.’

‘If you want to talk…’

‘Why would I talk to you?’ Emma challenged. ‘I hardly know you!’

‘That can be sorted.’ He gestured to the bedroom, but on turning back to her immediately Zarios shook his head at her stunned expression. ‘I meant we could talk in private here…’

Only a fool would walk into a bedroom with Zarios and expect conversation! But for a second she was tempted.

Tempted to push his arrogant, testosterone-loaded body into the dark space. Tempted to be daring and wicked and reckless and…her rabid mind flailed as it tried to come up with the word—bad.

To for once be irresponsible—and, yes, very, very bad.

Only it wasn’t Emma.

‘As I said.’ Ever the dutiful daughter, she gave him a brittle smile, then turned on her new and starting to rub high heels. ‘They’ll be bringing out the cake soon.’

* * *

She wished they would bring out the cake.

There was the most appalling lull—but only Emma seemed to notice.

The dance floor was still heaving with couples, the tables filled with chatting and laughing groups, but despite her best efforts to join in with a couple of conversations it was hard going.

Dutiful Jake was chatting up the old aunties and making them laugh, and Cindy’s eyes had shot knives when Emma had attempted to join a group of women. All in all she’d left it too late to suddenly join in with the others. Everyone was settled in to their little cliques, making her feel like a wallflower. Then Zarios returned.

‘Looks like you’re stuck with me.’

He took her by the wrist, then led her to the dance floor without asking.

Which was a wise move on his part. Because had he asked, she would have declined—not because she didn’t want to dance, but because of how much she did.

He held her loosely at first, swaying to the heavy beat as she willed her heart and breathing to slow down. The second they did, he pulled her closer.

Was it his looks or his status that made him so appealing? Emma begged to know as his arms snaked around her back. And was it just his reputation that held her back? All she knew was that it was a dizzying combination—want and trepidation, curiosity and nervousness, all there fizzing in each cell of the body he was holding.

‘I don’t like cake…’ Zarios smiled down at her ‘…which gives us more time for dancing.’

‘Oh, but my mother thinks of everything,’ Emma quipped. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a fruit platter.’

‘Forbidden fruit, perhaps?’

‘I’m far from forbidden.’ Emma gave a wry smile as her mother danced past them and practically fractured her father’s rib as, none too subtly, she pointed out the lovely couple dancing, clearly delighted at to how well they were getting on. ‘My mother lives for the day we might get together.’

‘While my father shudders at the thought.’

All the ingrained insecurities of her childhood, all her mother’s deepest fears seemed to seep into her pores. But as his hands spread around her waist and he pulled her just a fraction closer, Emma realised she’d misinterpreted him.

‘He has told me many times that, though he would love nothing more than for us to be together… Well, he knows my reputation. He says he would not be able to look at your father if I were to hurt you.’

Her blue eyes jerked to his, her mind screaming for her to be quiet. But the words were out before she could stop them.

‘Then don’t.’ It was the most blatant flirt—the most blatant acknowledgement of their attraction—but she recovered quickly. ‘Anyway—given you’re seeing Miranda…’

‘We broke up.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not.’ He didn’t miss a beat, either in dancing or flirting, his repertoire as sleek and practised as the body that moved with hers. ‘Maybe we could have coffee or dinner when you are back in the city—somewhere away from our families’ eyes…’

‘Perhaps…’ Emma nodded, trying to shrug, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

Oh, but it did.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes…’

‘I will ring.’

‘Sure.’ Somehow she managed a casual smile, but her heart was soaring as he pulled her in closer.

‘I like your scent.’

‘It’s just…’ She shrugged, tried to be casual, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the perfume’s name. ‘I got it for my birthday.’

‘I meant your scent,’ he corrected her, which made her cheeks burn.

She’d never been held like this. He was barely touching her, and they were barely moving, yet it was positively indecent the sensations he evoked. Her internal barometer had shattered, common sense scattering like tiny balls of mercury, irrecoverable as he pulled her right into the circle of his arms. His breath was hot on her ear and suddenly she wanted him to lick it—he didn’t. Lowering his head just a bit further, till she could feel his mouth just inches from her neck, she fought the urge to repeat her mistake of yesteryear. She wanted to turn her face to his like a flower to the sun, to receive the sweet reward of his mouth on hers.

It was a relief when the music ended—a relief to stand apart from him in the darkness as the room broke into song.

Eric smiled broadly as a vast cake was wheeled in, blazing with sixty candles. Still Zarios held Emma’s wrist, his hot fingers wrapped tightly around her flesh as she sang along. Then the candles were blown out and the tent was plunged into full darkness. Tonight she finally received what she’d longed for all those years ago and for way too many moments in between. Finally Emma was rewarded with the prize of his mouth on hers.

Even a vivid imagination couldn’t adequately prepare her for the thoroughness of his kiss, the shocking feel of his tongue sliding into hers, the way his body enveloped hers. He tasted like manna, his scent potently male. It was a thrilling, decadent kiss that she absorbed—a kiss during which he pressed himself so hard into her she could feel the dangerous thick length of him. It was a kiss so consuming that it triggered a dangerous chain reaction—one that made her forget to breathe, forget to think, forget even herself.

If the entire embrace lasted only ten or maybe fifteen seconds it was just as well. Because any more and she’d have come there and then. His timing was impeccable, though, and by the time the last cheer had faded, before the cameras had stopped flashing, his mouth had released hers. She had to peel herself off him and stand in lights that were suddenly blazing. No one had seen them, all eyes were still on her father, yet she felt as if the spotlight was suddenly on her—that surely everyone knew what had just taken place. She felt as embarrassed, almost, as if they’d been caught making love—hell, she felt as if they had been making love. Her panties were damp with arousal, her nipples erect and throbbing beneath her soft dress; so exposed was her want, surely everyone could see it?

What did this man do to her?

She could see Rocco’s eyes narrowing in disapproval, and her mother’s questioning frown as she saw the glow in her daughter’s cheeks.

Zarios was dangerous.

Bad and dangerous—yet irresistible.

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. by the time they all got to bed, and Emma was exhausted.

Peeling off her dress, only in reverence to its price tag did she bother to hang it over a chair in the study. And apart from a lethargic brush of her teeth, the rest of her nighttime routine went to pot. Climbing into the trundle bed in the study, Emma listened to the familiar sounds of the family home—her father coughing, the stairs creaking as her parents went to bed, the bark of a possum in a tree outside. It should have been soothing and familiar, and she was so tired she should have been asleep in a matter of seconds, but she was too aware that Zarios was in situ—that tonight he lay in her bed.

How she wished she were there!

Every creak of the floorboards, every turn of a tap, had her staring into the darkness at the door, terrified that he’d come in.

And she was shamefully, bitterly disappointed when he didn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

EMMA didn’t know what to do.

The sun wasn’t up yet, and the silence of dawn was attempting to soothe her as Emma strode along the beach, her head racing at a thousand miles an hour after an angst-riddled sleepless night.

Damn Zarios for being so irresistible.

And damn her for being so willing.

Anyone might have seen him kissing her and pressing himself into her last night. If the lights had come on even a second earlier… Emma simultaneously cringed and soared at the memory, viewing it as if through parted fingers, wanting to see it, yet horribly embarrassed all the same.

He was a playboy, Emma told herself, walking quickly now. A bored playboy, stuck at a party he probably hadn’t wanted to attend. A restless, oversexed male who’d been looking for diversion, for amusement—and she’d provided it.

Well, no more.

He’d be gone after breakfast and that would be the last she’d see of him.

Unless he called her!

Still, it wasn’t just Zarios and his potent sex appeal that had her head spinning as she strode angrily through the still dawn. Damn Jake, too, for ruining her father’s birthday for her.

If only her parents knew.

If only they knew the thin ice he perpetually skated on. Oh, their parents had helped Jake out a couple of times—when the stockmarket had supposedly taken a tumble, and when the twins were first born and Beth had been hospitalised with depression—but unbeknown to them she, too, had helped. Emma swallowed down the flutter of unease at the thought of the credit card account she had opened to bail him out, the personal loan she had taken… Each time Jake had promised he’d pay her back; each time he had sworn it would be the last…

…and each time he had lied.

Emma stared out at the grey morning, willing the sun to come up and shed some light on what she should do.

She didn’t have the sort of money Jake needed.

Possibly she could get an extension on her mortgage. She’d always been so careful. She had lived frugally throughout her student years, even managing to set some money aside from casual jobs, and her father had found her a modest flat near where she rented the gallery—a flat that had increased in value. But her paintings weren’t doing so well. She was still too new, too little known. Because of helping Jake she’d had to cut back on advertising, had had to forgo the promotional nights at her gallery that might draw in the customers.

Emma gulped. Why should she help him? If she gave him this money Emma knew that she’d never see it again—which should make saying no incredibly simple. Only… She could almost feel the sting of her mother slapping her cheek all those years ago when, after another of Jake’s so-called cries for help, Emma had voiced the same question. Why couldn’t he cope?

‘He’s ill, Emma!’

Closing her eyes, she could see her mother’s lips—pale, furious lips that had been spitting at the edges as she spoke. The slap had been less shocking than the fury that had accompanied it—her mother had been appalled at the question her seventeen-year-old daughter had raised.

‘You should try and be more understanding!’

That had been their sole conversation regarding Jake’s illness—no discussion, no acknowledgement. The memories of those black days had been filed and tucked away, by unspoken rule never to be opened.

But, try as her mother might, the lid was peeping open.

And, try as Emma might, this time she might not be able to stop it.

To swim alone on a deserted beach that was still draped in darkness broke every safety rule that had been ingrained into Emma from the moment she could walk and had toddled on little fat legs to the water she adored. Only Emma truly wasn’t thinking—her mind was solely consumed with her brother and his problems. As Emma stripped down to her bra and panties all she sought in that moment was a clear head—a break from her frantic thoughts.

The water was delicious—refreshingly cold as she plunged in. There was nothing better than swimming in the ocean—the weightlessness, the pull of the waves, the invigorating feel of salt water on her skin and the bliss of escape. Here, Emma knew, she was just a speck in the scheme of things, and the vastness of the ocean soothed her mind, her panic abating as her body tired.

She had swum a long way out.

The first fingers of fear tightened around her heart as Emma stared back at the grey beach, her legs moving as she attempted to tread water, and at that moment terror seized her. She could see rocks moving alongside her even though she was trying to stay still, and felt the very real force of a seemingly benign ocean as it rapidly pulled away her from the shore.

She was caught in a rip. A fast-moving channel of current that ran perpendicular to the beach. She knew not to fight it—knew she could never swim against it—but the foolhardiness of her actions caught up with her. The vastness of the ocean that had moments ago soothed her scared her now.

He didn’t want to go back.

Even though he had spent only twelve hours away from the city, Zarios actually felt as if he had had a break. Walking along the beach, the sun just starting to appear on the horizon—it was bliss to have the place to himself.

Last night had been nice, watching his father and Eric talking, and for once he had been able to relax and enjoy a pleasant evening without worrying about Miranda, about work, or the board’s decision.

He was almost tempted to accept Lydia’s offer to stay the entire weekend—to cancel his other engagements and to just get off the treadmill for a little while.

Except he couldn’t.

It seemed everyone wanted a piece of him these days—everyone demanded their pound of flesh. It wouldn’t even enter their heads that he really needed a weekend off—naturally they’d assume the worst.

That Zarios D’Amilo was boiling towards yet another scandal.

Oh, his father was upset—furious, in fact, that things hadn’t worked out with Miranda, that another teary story would no doubt hit the magazines in a week or so, at a time when the D’Amilo name could least afford it. Zarios knew he had tried to make it work with her, but her behaviour had been becoming more and more bizarre. With each passing week she became more possessive, more demanding, till nothing bar a proposal of marriage would convince Miranda that he wasn’t cheating on her. And though it might have soothed Miranda and might have appeased his father and their fellow directors, Zarios had refused to be pushed.

Once again, he hated how he had been judged.

Despite the scathing words that were written about him, despite his heartbreak reputation, he actually loved women—loved the rush that came at the beginning of a romance, that moment when he actually believed she might be the one who was different. Zarios went into every breathtaking relationship wishing over and over that this time he’d found her—that this time he’d met the one.

Picking up a stone, Zarios skimmed it out to the water.

The one!

‘Hah!’ He shouted out the word as he skimmed another stone.

There was no such thing as the one! He picked up a handful, skimming them angrily now. Take Emma, for example. Had his father not warned him about her problem with money? Had he not seen it with his own eyes and heard it directly from Jake?

Well, she might have had him convinced for a while, but not for long, Zarios thought savagely. Never for long. Over and over he was proved right: women wanted only one thing—well, two if he was being accurate. And the second he was happy to provide for free!

He refused to be as blind as his father—a man who still loved the woman who had shamed him, who had walked out on her husband and child without a backward glance.

A woman who wanted to creep her way back now that his father was ill and about to retire… Well, she’d have to get past Zarios first. From his shorts he pulled out a letter, read again the needy words he had intercepted, then wrapped it in a stone and tossed it out to the ocean.

She was too late!

Thirty years too late. And if his father couldn’t see that, then he was a fool.

For a moment he thought he was seeing things. Squinting out into the grey pre-dawn ocean, he saw a flash of something white. His heart stilled in his mouth as he saw it was a hand, and realised with dread that someone out there was in trouble.

His first instinct was to dive in, but Zarios fought it. The person was a long way out, and a clear head was what was needed here. Behind him was the lifeguard’s shed, but he found it was locked. Soon he knew the first surfers would be coming, but for now it was down to him alone.

He was running before his plan had actually formulated in his mind. Already he was acting on it, running the length of the beach, scanning the slippery low rocks ahead, while whipping his head around every few seconds to the water, making sure he didn’t lose sight of the swimmer.

The panic that had gripped him when he had realised it was a person out there in trouble had abated now. Zarios was running on pure adrenaline, focussing just as he did at work, only on the task in hand and not upon the stakes. It was a formula that had served him well.

Don’t slip.

He told himself that as he reached the rocks. Just get to the mid-section.

She was still treading water.

She.

He pushed that thought aside as he navigated the sludge and seaweed, dragging in two large lungfuls of air as he calculated the distance and realised he was as close on land as he could get. Aware of the rocks, he lowered himself rather than dived in, kicking off with a powerful front crawl, looking up every now and then, keeping his eye on his target, feeling the power of the water beneath the relatively calm surface as he neared her.

Just like that she was gone.

A glimmer of fear crept in then—a first glimpse that he was too late. A frantic, urgent second of negotiation cluttered his mind. If he’d just run faster, swum quicker…if he dived under now… And then she resurfaced, blue eyes frantic, mouth open, arms flailing. For the first time in his life Zarios tasted pure, unadulterated fear. It seized him as if someone had touched his insides: this fury, this panic at what had nearly been lost.

What still could be lost.

He grabbed her, pulled her into the crook of his arm and lay on his back. Then with every ounce of strength he could muster he kicked and propelled his body back towards the rocks, swimming across the rip. Someone must have been really looking out for her, because just when his body was tiring a surfer, who must have seen the action from the beach, was there, helping her onto his board. The two men worked in silent unison to bring her to the shore, where she knelt in the shallows, coughing and retching and just so very, very lucky.

‘Stupido!’ He was beyond furious. Between dragging in lungfuls of air and coughing out half the ocean, still he managed to loudly point out first in rapid Italian and then in English what a fool she had been. Whatever language he spoke, the message was blatantly clear. ‘Voi idiota stupido! Swimming alone…’

Emma was kneeling in damp sand, coughing, shivering, too terrified to be grateful—too shaken to yet relish being alive. Instead of filling her hungry lungs she could only manage tiny shallow breaths. The panic that had gripped her in the ocean was nothing compared to her realisation of the fragility of existence. Of the thoughtless action that had nearly cost her life.

‘Okay, mate…’ Surfer boy must have seen it all before, because, though breathless himself, he was incredibly calm. ‘She knows she made a mistake. You did the right thing, letting the rip carry you,’ the boy reassured her as Zarios stood there silently fuming. ‘You can’t swim against it.’

Her breathing was slowing down now, delicious oxygen creeping into every exhausted cell. Each and every breath was like a refreshing glass of lemonade, and she relished each one.

A little posse had formed—mainly lean, bronzed surfer-types, and an elderly woman who was walking her dog, all standing around her as she shivered in her bra and panties and in her own misery. A blanket was produced from the surf shed, and Emma was grateful for its heavy, musty warmth as it was wrapped around her shoulders.

‘Did you take in a lot of water?’ the surfer asked.

‘No! I was just tiring. I’m fine now…’

‘Maybe we should get you looked at?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I just want to go home.’

She remembered to thank him, although Zarios actually remembered first, shaking his hand and then wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulders before leading her up the stony path to her parents’ house. He even smiled and thanked the elderly lady when she rushed up, having retrieved Emma’s clothes.

‘Don’t tell Mum…’ Her teeth were chattering so violently she could hardly get the words out. ‘I don’t want to ruin the weekend.’

‘You nearly took care of that…’ He stopped himself from ramming home the inevitable point. ‘Let’s just hope they’re not up yet…’ His voice faded again.

Despite the early hour the marquee was already being taken down. Lydia was trilling her orders, anxious to get the place in shape before the champagne breakfast.

‘What about in here…?’ He pushed open the doors of the summerhouse, a pretty white room where her mother read and her father escaped. Leading her to a daybed, he sat her down, then set about locating a towel, taking the musty blanket from her shoulders and wrapping her in its soft warmth. ‘We’ll get you dry, and then you can get dressed and back to the house…she won’t know.’

‘You won’t tell her?’

‘On one condition.’ He gripped her upper arms, his face stern and serious. ‘You have to promise me that you will never do anything like that again.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Christo, Emma…’ His eyes burnt into hers, anger creeping back in. ‘What possessed you?’ He was drenched, his black hair almost blue, droplets of water still on his wide shoulders.

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