Dear Reader,

I’ve known for a long time that I have the best job in the world—writing stories about powerful, complicated men and the women who love them—what’s not to like? Some of these stories have stayed especially close to my heart and I’m delighted to announce that you can now read them for yourself if they’re new to you—or maybe rediscover them if you loved them as much as I do.

I love them for different reasons. Sometimes because there’s a heroine I can particularly identify with—like Rose in Surrender to the Sheikh or Sabrina in The Unlikely Mistress. Sometimes because I am unable to forget the hero—and I confess that they all have an unforgettable hero. I think about Dominic Dashwood in Settling the Score and all the fuss that book caused at the time. I think of the proud Russian, Nikolai, in Too Proud to be Bought and Ross in One Husband Required, who was a very different kind of hero. I can feel as if they’re all in the room with me, urging you to read their stories, and I hope you will.

The collection runs from May through to October 2015, so please write or tweet me @Sharon_Kendrick and tell me which are your favourites.

Happy reading,

Love,

Sharon

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life …

The Millionaires’ Cinderellas

Playing the Greek’s Game

The Forbidden Innocent

Too Proud to be Bought

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Playing the Greek’s Game

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Forbidden Innocent

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Too Proud to be Bought

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Endpage

Copyright

Playing the Greek’s Game

Sharon Kendrick

CHAPTER ONE

EMMA’S heart thundered as she stepped into the minimalist penthouse office, but the man sitting at the desk didn’t even bother to lift his dark head.

Light streamed in from the enormous windows which overlooked one of London’s loveliest parks. It was a view for which the world-renowned Granchester was famous—and which helped make the prices of the landmark hotel so eye-wateringly high. But the magnificence of the view paled in comparison with the formidable man who sat working, his attention fixed on the pile of papers before him.

Zak Constantinides.

The watery November sunshine highlighted the coal-black tumble of his hair and emphasised the musculature of his body. His broad shoulders were hunched and tense. Raw masculinity seemed to pulsate from his powerful frame and the thunder of Emma’s heart now became an unsteady beat as she stared at him.

She was nervous. More nervous than she’d been in a long while—and maybe that wasn’t surprising. Her boss was making an unscheduled London appearance and she’d been summoned up to see him in his private lair, with no warning whatsoever. And someone as powerful as the Greek tycoon didn’t normally bother with people like her.

She’d been halfway up a ladder when the summons had come—and it showed. Beneath her faded jeans and loose T-shirt she was hot and sticky—and strands of hair were falling out of her ponytail. It wasn’t exactly the best way to present herself to the powerful billionaire—but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it, given that her comb was sitting in her handbag, tucked away in a staff locker somewhere in the bowels of the building.

He must have known she was standing there but he just carried on working as if the room were empty, leaving her feeling as if she were somehow invisible. Unless that was a deliberate ploy on his part. A way of showing her just who was in the driving seat. As if he needed to—when the sense of influence and privilege in the air was so heavy you could almost reach out and touch it. But hadn’t his brother told her that Zak was a total control freak who enjoyed the weight of his own power?

Feeling like a rookie politician about to make her maiden speech, she cleared her throat. ‘Mr Constantinides?’

At this, he lifted his ebony head to reveal hard, rugged features and gleaming olive skin. So far, so Greek. But Zak Constantinides broke the mould with eyes which were grey, instead of the more predictable brown. They surprised her and everyone else who saw them because they were as unsettling as a stormy sky. They flicked over her now and captured her in their strange, pewter light.

And something inside her tightened. Something she didn’t recognise but which filled her with a certain feeling of foreboding. Probably just nerves. Because what else could it be? She didn’t do men and she certainly didn’t do control-freak billionaires who were rumoured to have harem amounts of women dotted around the globe.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Ne? Ti thelis?’

Emma tried an uncertain smile. Had he spoken in his native tongue to distance himself even further, when she knew that his English was as fluent as hers? If so, it had worked, because now the palms of her hands were growing clammy. ‘I’m Emma Geary. I believe you wanted to see me?’

Zak leaned back in his chair, his slow scrutiny never faltering as he drifted his gaze over her. ‘Indeed I do,’ he said softly as he indicated the chair in front of him. ‘Please sit down, Miss Geary.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, horribly aware of the safety pins which were attached to the front of her T-shirt and a strand of hair which was now clinging to her sticky cheek. Was that why his expression was so unsettling—because she looked scruffy, as anyone would look if they’d been standing on a ladder hanging curtains for most of the morning?

As the Granchester hotel’s in-house interior designer, she’d been busy working on one of the smaller bedrooms on the seventh floor when she’d received the call from his assistant. ‘Get up to the boss’s penthouse office immediately,’ she’d been told. There had barely been time to draw breath before taking the elevator up here in response to his imperious command—and suddenly she wished she’d had time to put on a little make-up. Or substitute a less casual top. Or something. Something which would mean he wouldn’t look at her with those stormy eyes boring into her.

Rather self-consciously, she fixed him with an apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time to change—’

‘Don’t be. This isn’t a fashion show,’ he drawled, his gaze automatically taking in the way the faded denim clung to her slim legs, and the baggy T-shirt, which couldn’t disguise the provocative curve of her breasts. Only her hands looked groomed—and Zak liked his women to look groomed. Her nails were long and neatly painted in a bright coral, which made him think about the spectacular sunsets of his native Greece and the soft lap of the nearby sea. Had she known he was looking at them and was that why her hand suddenly fluttered to her chest, drawing attention to the lush jut of her breasts? Unexpectedly, he felt a kick of lust, followed by the slow simmer of fury, but he kept his face impassive. ‘What you wear won’t have any effect on what I’m about to say to you.’

‘Gosh.’ She attempted another smile. ‘That sounds ominous.’

‘Does it?’ came his unhelpful response.

Emma’s smile wavered as she slid onto the chair facing him and she could do nothing to prevent the whisper of awareness from creeping over her skin as she met that cool grey gaze. But she felt bewilderment, too— because she didn’t do the instant-attraction thing. Not any more. She was like one of those women who hadn’t eaten chocolate in so long that just the thought of it now made her feel sick. And so it was with her and men. Or rather, that was the way it usually was.

Just that right now her normal indifference seemed to have deserted her—leaving her feeling strangely vulnerable in front of the hard-faced man who was staring at her so intently. Maybe it was because she’d never been alone with him before. Or maybe because it seemed strangely intimate to find the Greek tycoon working diligently at his desk, casually dressed in shirtsleeves. Especially here.

Because Zak Constantinides usually stayed away from the London side of his worldwide operations—leaving the day-to-day running of his Granchester hotel to others. Happier in New York City, he was known to the staff of the hotel more by reputation than association.

Apart from one brief conversation, Emma had only ever really seen him in passing—for he was not known for engaging with his staff at a personal level. He left that to Xenon, his aide, and, to a lesser extent, to his younger brother, Nat. The last time she’d crossed paths with him had been at an official function here, at the opening of the refurbished Moonlight Room—an operation which she had overseen and been proud of.

She remembered being introduced to him—when his manner towards her had been decidedly lukewarm. His smile had been perfunctory as he’d thanked her for her creative input and she’d got the distinct impression that he’d simply been going through the motions of being polite. But Emma hadn’t cared. She hadn’t taken it personally because she knew what people said about him. She knew about his meteoric rise in the world of business, his cold heart and the legions of women who lusted after him.

Zak Constantinides was something of a legend—both in and out of the boardroom. He was the kind of man that any sensible woman would steer clear of if she wanted to avoid trouble. Particularly someone like her—who seemed to attract troublesome men, like a moth to the flame.

A long time ago, Emma had realised that she was useless when it came to the opposite sex—a trait which, sadly, she seemed to have inherited. Just like her mother, she’d made bad choices in the past, and had lived to regret the consequences. These days she kept men at a distance and protected her heart and her body from anyone who seemed as if they might be interested in one or either. It was easier that way.

Trying to deep breathe her way to a feeling of calmness, she studied the man sitting in front of her. On the night of the Moonlight’s opening, he’d been wearing a black tux—and the exquisite cut of the formal suit had made him look like the powerful tycoon he was.

But today he looked different.

His rough cream cambric shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up to his elbows to reveal a pair of hair-roughened forearms. His hands were large and strong and his shoulders broad and powerful. It occurred to her that she’d never seen anyone look so unashamedly masculine before. He didn’t look remotely like a tycoon—but as if he’d be more at home toiling the land. Or at least doing something more physical than attending to the pile of papers which were placed in front of him.

He put his pen down and leaned farther back in the chair and Emma was suddenly made acutely aware of the heavy material of the shirt straining across the muscular expanse of his chest.

‘Any idea why you’re here?’ he questioned idly.

She gave a little shrug, telling herself she had nothing to feel nervous about. ‘Not really. I’ve been racking my brains about it on the way here, but no.’ There was a pause as she met the pewter gleam of his eyes. ‘I hope you’re not dissatisfied with my work, Mr Constantinides?’

Zak noted the faint flush which had stained her cheeks and the pale blond lashes which framed her green eyes, interested to note that she wasn’t wearing make-up. Wouldn’t it be easier if he was dissatisfied? If he could just pay her off with the obligatory inflated fee and tell her to get the hell out of his brother’s life?

He’d inherited her when he had taken over the hotel two years earlier and had seen no reason to change. He’d bought the Granchester because it had been his life’s ambition to do so—not because he wanted to alter what was already a very successful concept. Not for him the expensive makeover, just for the sake of it. He’d learnt that fortunes could go just as quickly as they came—and, although he was generous, he rarely squandered money. Emma Geary was good at her job and had done a very successful job decorating the landmark hotel—and Zak was too much the consummate businessman to want to sacrifice talent, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Only now it seemed that maybe it was.

Because now it seemed that this woman with the pale hair and the coral nails had got her hooks into his baby brother.

The curious thing was that she wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He was aware that he’d met her before but could barely remember doing so. He ran across scores of women every day of the week and this one was most definitely not his type—even if he hadn’t been programmed to distrust curvy blondes with long legs and soft lips. The photos of her which had been sent to him by the private investigator had been old photos—of a vibrant and colourful creature who bore little resemblance to the woman who sat in front of him now in her old work-clothes.

She didn’t look a bit like his brother’s usual type, either. Not with that fragile, English appearance and skin so fine and delicate that it seemed it might bruise if you so much as breathed on her.

Maybe that was what had set the alarm bells ringing … along with reports of Nat’s increasingly documented appearances with her. Because hadn’t he been worried about how his brother was going to cope with the massive inheritance which was due to come his way any day now? And hadn’t his worst fears been confirmed when he’d had his new and serious-sounding girlfriend checked out and discovered what kind of woman Emma Geary really was?

On the top of his polished desk, his hands clenched into fists and then slowly unflexed again, so that his long fingers lay splayed across its shiny surface. ‘No, I am not dissatisfied with your work,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact, your work is excellent.’

‘Thank heavens for that!’ she replied. Be keen, she told herself. Make sure he knows how enthusiastic you are about his hotel. How much you value being an employee. ‘We got a pretty decent write-up in the press for the new bar—I don’t know if you saw all the clippings I sent out to your New York office? Oh, and I’ve got lots of plans for the refurbishment of the Garden Room. Big plans! I thought we could do a tie-in with the Chelsea Flower Show—that would be very prestigious. In fact …’ But her eager words died on her lips as he held up an imperious hand to silence her.

‘I haven’t brought you up here to discuss refurbishment, Miss Geary,’ he said coolly. ‘It’s a little more personal than that. You see, I’ve been speaking to my lawyers about your contract.’

‘Your lawyers?’ Emma stared at him in confusion, not caring that she sounded like a parrot as she repeated his words. ‘My contract?’

He frowned, as if to indicate that he didn’t welcome the interruption. ‘And they told me something rather interesting. You see, it’s highly unusual for an interior designer to be contracted exclusively to a hotel, rather than as a self-employed consultant.’

Still slightly concerned as to why he’d been talking to his lawyers about her, Emma guessed he was owed some sort of explanation. ‘It is a little unusual,’ she conceded. ‘But it was your predecessor who gave me the permanent contract.’

Zak frowned. ‘You mean Ciro D’Angelo?’

‘Yes.’ Emma remembered the handsome, thirty-something Italian hotelier who’d been so kind to her when she was at her lowest ebb. When she had arrived in London feeling as if her world had reached rockbottom and Ciro D’Angelo had stepped in and offered her what had seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity. And she had seized the unexpected security he had offered her, like the lifeline it had been. ‘Ciro really liked my work. Liked it enough to make me an in-house designer for the Granchester. He said it would give me security. He’s a very … a very kind man.’

‘He is also,’ said Zak repressively, because ‘kind’ was not a word he had ever heard associated with the ruthless Neapolitan businessman who dated some of the world’s most beautiful women, ‘a very attractive and exceedingly rich man—as well as being an international playboy.’

Tempted to say, And so are you! Emma blinked at him in confusion. ‘I’m sorry. Am I missing something? I don’t see what Ciro’s status has to do with anything.’

‘Don’t you?’ Zak gazed at the tremble of her lips and wondered if that glimpse of very feminine fragility was contrived. Was it supposed to make him melt, as other men had undoubtedly melted? In which case, wouldn’t it be best that she realised it was completely wasted on him—and that maybe he should start being straight with her? ‘Then perhaps I ought to enlighten you. You see, I’ve been doing a little bit of research on you, Miss Geary.’ He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had grown steely. ‘And it seems that you have something of a reputation as a femme fatale.’

Emma stared at him, a whisper of fear beginning to shimmer over her skin as long-suppressed echoes of the past began to stir. ‘I don’t … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Really?’ He heard the lie in her voice and a steely determination entered his body as he noted that all the blood had drained from her face, leaving it almost translucent in its whiteness. He could see the fine blue tracery of veins at her temple and, for some bizarre reason, he found himself wondering whether the skin on the rest of her body was as delicate.

Furious with himself for his wayward thoughts, he hardened his voice. ‘You just happen to persuade one of the world’s sharpest businessmen to give you a permanent contract in his hotel? A lot of people might wonder why that had happened and then leap to the very obvious solution.’

Emma flinched at the insinuation. ‘Then a lot of people wouldn’t know what they were talking about!’

‘They say there’s no smoke without fire.’

‘“They” say a lot of things, Mr Constantinides—but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the right things.’

‘But now Ciro D’Angelo is off the scene. He sold me this hotel and has gone back to live in Naples,’ he continued, leaning forward by a fraction because he wanted to see just how she would react to his next charge. ‘And since then, you have grown increasingly close to my younger brother.’

Emma felt her body stiffen as the distance between them diminished and she caught a faint but intoxicating drift of sandalwood. Was he aware of the impact which his powerful proximity could have on people? she wondered. And did he use it like a weapon in order to intimidate them, as he was intimidating her now? She suspected he did. ‘You mean Nathanael?’

‘I have only one brother, Miss Geary.’

Her heart was beating very fast, but she was determined not to crumble. What had Nat told her? That his older brother was used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he didn’t care who he had to squash in order to accomplish that. ‘And what if I have? Surely getting close to someone isn’t a crime?’

‘Not a crime, no,’ he agreed evenly. ‘Although when a woman who makes it her business to cultivate relationships with rich men, starts hitting on Nat—it doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.’

She looked at him steadily. ‘I don’t intend to rise to your insulting inference that I’m some kind of gold-digger. Surely your lawyers didn’t advise you to take that line of questioning, Mr Constantinides?’

Her cool defiance made his hackles rise and he tightened his knuckles against the shiny surface of the desk. Had Nathanael been foolish enough to blurt out just how much money he was due to inherit? And wouldn’t a woman with a track record like hers have seen the green light beckoning and rushed straight in?

Zak felt his mouth tense, felt the painful thunder of his heart as he thought about the little brother he had protected all his life. Whom he had done his best to shield from the harsher aspects of existence after the heartbreaking start he’d had. Only now he was discovering that it was impossible to protect someone completely unless you locked them in a room and threw away the key … and nobody could ever do that to Nat. ‘You’re wasting your time, Miss Geary.’

‘Wasting my time?’ she repeated blankly.

‘That’s right.’ His voice lowered and he could feel the breath thicken in his throat, could feel it pushing the words out as if they were dry stones. ‘You see, it doesn’t matter how wide you open those big green eyes or shake your pale hair—Nathanael isn’t in the market for any kind of serious relationship.’

If his whole demeanour hadn’t been so deadly serious, Emma might have laughed at just how wrong he had got it. Yes, she’d grown close to Nat and, yes, she counted him as one of her dearest friends. Since his older brother had taken over the Granchester, they’d hit it off like peaches and cream and had always been there for each other. True, he had once made a pass at her—but she suspected that had been more out of habit than desire. Almost as if he’d thought it was expected of him. And once she’d batted him away and told him that she wasn’t interested—just as she’d once told Ciro she wasn’t interested—they had gone on to forge a friendship which was relaxed simply because there was no sexual tension.

Emma had found comfort and solace in their innocent companionship. So what right did this tyrant brother have to tell her to lay off?

She found herself wishing she’d been able to speak to Nat before she’d come up here—but he’d been in a meeting. And suddenly Emma found herself wondering whether her urgent summons had been timed to coincide with Nat’s temporary absence.

‘And is Nat aware of what you’re saying to me?’ she questioned slowly. ‘Does he know that you’re making decisions on his behalf? Because although he works for the family business—I really think he should be the one to decide on his fate and the people with whom he associates, not you.’

‘He is not in the market for any kind of relationship,’ he repeated as if she hadn’t spoken—although the spark of fire in her eyes made him realise that she would not easily be deterred. And that maybe it was time to let her know the truth. Or rather that he knew the truth. And perhaps then she would start seeing things his way, the way that people inevitably did. ‘But especially not with a woman like you.’

Emma stilled, all her bravado crumbling as the fear she’d suppressed now started rising. Rising and rising and skittering over her skin. Making her feel all dark and icy as she read something dangerous in the depths of his steely eyes. And something told her that she had been rumbled. That you could try to run from the past but you could never completely escape from it. ‘A woman like me?’ she whispered.

He saw her guilt and a vice-like clamp of triumph gripped him. ‘I wonder why you don’t work under your married name. Is there a reason for that? A reason why you seem to have airbrushed your past from your CV?’ he questioned, looking down at one of the sheets of paper before him. ‘Because isn’t your real name Emma Patterson—and weren’t you once the wife of the rock-star Louis Patterson?’

Emma felt the blood drain from her face and the fingers which had been loosely clasped in her lap now dug painfully together. Yes, it was the past all right—come back to haunt her just as she’d always feared it would. Had she been naive to suppose that she could lose herself in the present—like everyone said you were supposed to—when the dark tentacles of an earlier life were always waiting to pull you back?

‘Aren’t you?’ he persisted.

She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I am.’

He lifted his gaze—only now it was cold and condemnatory as it sliced through her like a pewter sword. ‘Your ex-husband died through drug abuse,’ he said harshly. ‘So tell me this, Mrs Patterson. Are you a junkie, too?’

CHAPTER TWO

THE words of Zak Constantinides hit Emma like a hail of bullets. Words she thought she’d left behind a long time ago. Words like junkie and abuse—and all the terrible associated memories which came with them.

Fighting against a rising tide of nausea, she stared at her boss as the Greek angrily repeated his charge against her.

‘Do you take drugs, Miss Geary?’

‘No—no! I’ve never touched them—never! You’ve got no right to accuse me of something like that!’

‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got every right to protect my brother from women with dodgy pasts!’

With an effort, Emma sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to control her ragged breathing but she could do nothing about the wild acceleration of her heart. ‘I was married to a man who abused drugs and alcohol, Mr Constantinides,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I had no idea of that when we met. I was very young and I made a mistake. Have you never made a mistake?’

Grimly, Zak shook his head. Not with relationships he hadn’t, no—he made sure of that. And the occasional slip-up in business had been far too minor to ever qualify as a true mistake. But this was different. Very different. He was known for his old-fashioned and traditional values and he was proud of them. And a woman who had lived the life that Emma Geary had lived would certainly never be welcomed into the arms of his family.

He began to pull a series of photos from an envelope on his desk and Emma’s face blanched as she fixed her eyes on them. They were old photos. Very old photos—but she recognised them instantly.

‘Recognise these?’ drawled Zak Constantinides.

She forced herself to look at the image which was on top of the gleaming pile he had spread over the desk, like a croupier fanning out a pack of cards. It was of her and Louis on their wedding day.

The press had gone mad—but then, it had been a big story at the time. A nineteen-year-old nobody marrying a rock-star more than twice her age. Emma flinched as she looked at her face in the photo, marvelling at how young she’d been. She’d worn a garland of wildflowers in her hair and a floaty dress of silk chiffon. Her blond hair had hung almost to her waist and the overall effect had been that of some kind of flower fairy who had wandered into the city by mistake. Or at least, that was what Louis had said. He’d even written a song about it on their honeymoon, between slugs of the bourbon bottle, which was never far from his side.

‘Of course I recognise it,’ she said flatly, her fingers straying to the other pictures—forcing herself to confront them as if to demonstrate to Zak Constantinides that she wasn’t afraid.

But she was afraid. She was afraid of the pain which the past could still provoke. She studied the familiar images of her and Louis leaving restaurants—with her supporting her husband and trying desperately not to let the waiting press see his lurching stagger. Some of the shots were of the interiors of once-iconic nightclubs, which had long since disappeared. The blonde girl in the thigh-skimming dress dancing wildly on the podium now seemed like a stranger to her. She had tried so hard to please Louis. To be what he’d wanted her to be. It was what her mother told her that men desired. It was only afterwards, at the sordid end to the marriage, that Emma realised that her mother was the worst possible role model she could have adopted.

‘You must have gone to a lot of trouble to get these,’ she said, praying that her voice wouldn’t betray her with a tremble. ‘It’s nearly ten years ago.’

‘Ten years is nothing—and information is always easy to find if you look in the right places.’ Slightly appalled at his own sudden jerk of lust, he pushed one of the photos out of sight—the one which showed the disturbingly distracting image of her shaking her bead-covered bottom in time to the music. He swallowed. ‘But you must admit that you aren’t my number-one choice as prospective sister-in-law.’

She saw the sudden tightening of his features and knew that she could not let him browbeat her like this. ‘Do you always assume that marriage is on the cards whenever your brother dates? Isn’t that what’s known as jumping the gun?’

‘I base my assumptions on experience,’ he responded acidly. ‘And I know women well enough to understand the lure of vast amounts of money. The Constantinides name is usually enough to guarantee instant devotion from the opposite sex.’

‘Even in your case?’ she flared.

‘Even in mine,’ he conceded.

She heard the sarcasm in his voice and was just about to leap to her own defence. To tell him that he’d got it completely wrong and that she and his brother were nothing more than good friends. But something stopped her and she recognised it as the desire to want to hurt him back. To attack him as he had just attacked her by delving into her painful past. It bothered him to think she was in a relationship with his brother, did it? Well, good! Let it bother him a bit more until she had the chance to speak to Nat herself.

‘It’s very difficult for me to tell you exactly what I think of your outrageous accusations since you happen to be my employer,’ she said quietly. ‘And you seem draconian enough to try to fire me if I speak my mind.’

‘On the contrary.’ He scowled. ‘Your English employment laws seem designed to protect the employee instead of the boss and therefore I can’t give myself the satisfaction of firing you unless you do something so outrageous that you really give me no choice.’

Briefly, she wondered whether hurling the pottery jar of pencils at his smug face would qualify as grounds for dismissal, but she kept her hands planted firmly in her lap.

‘Then, unfortunately, you seem stuck with me,’ she responded and saw his face darken in response to the studied sweetness in her voice.

‘Unfortunately, I do,’ he agreed, and leaned back in his chair. ‘Unless we could come to some mutually agreeable arrangement?’

‘Such as?’

He shrugged. ‘I could offer to buy out your contract?’

Emma made her eyes widen even though inside she was burning with rage. Did he think his money could buy him whatever he wanted? ‘Make it worth my while to leave, you mean?’

‘Of course.’ He wondered how much it would take to guarantee her departure and his voice dipped as he now found himself around the familiar territory of the negotiating table. ‘I can be very generous if I need to be.’

His quiet boast appalled her but what appalled her even more was her body’s instinctive response to the velvet caress of his voice. For a moment her breasts began to prickle in a way which was alien to her and, disbelievingly, she acknowledged it as the ache of sexual desire.

Self-recrimination flooded through her and Emma prayed that it would dull the hot, melting tightness in her stomach. How could she possibly find him sexy—him of all people? She didn’t find any men attractive—and especially not the kind of men who thought so little of women in general and her in particular that he thought he could just buy her out, like some sort of commodity.

For a moment she was tempted to play along with him. To name a sum outrageous enough to shock him and then to tell him that she had been testing him. But instinct told her to proceed carefully. Already, Zak Constantinides didn’t like or approve of her and, while she wasn’t looking for either of those things from him, she’d be unwise to make him an outright enemy, unless she had some sort of industrial death wish.

Instead she sat back in her chair and fixed him with a steady look—because she’d seen off worse things in her time than some bullying tycoon with a mistaken belief that he had the right to vet his brother’s friends. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Mr Constantinides, but I’m perfectly happy with my job—and as long as I continue to perform it to everyone’s satisfaction, then I’d prefer to carry on just as I am, if it’s all the same with you.’

Staring into her pale green eyes, Zak saw the light of determination and recognised that she had a streak of stubbornness which would not be swayed by the force of his will. She was an employee and she was a woman and she was daring to defy him! And yet his sense of outrage was pacified by the prospect of a looming battle—for he liked nothing more than a fight.

Because he liked to win. He enjoyed the sweet taste of victory. Wasn’t that what drove his ambition—what fired up his constant need to acquire new businesses? For a man in his position, there was little that could not be had for the asking—or the taking—yet it seemed that Miss Emma Geary was determined to hang on to her job, even though he wanted her to go.

For a brief moment he thought of sacking her and daring her to sue him—for he had never known anything but triumph in the courtroom. But Zak had neither the time nor the appetite for a courtroom drama—nor any of the attendant publicity. Wouldn’t it satisfy him more if he could drive her away by making her realise that it was pointless trying to oppose him?

‘I can see that you are a very obstinate woman, Miss Geary,’ he said slowly.

‘Obstinacy is probably something you’re well qualified to recognise, Mr Constantinides.’

He nodded, as if conceding the point. ‘You might be interested to know a little more about the chat I had with my lawyers.’

Emma stared at him suspiciously. ‘Should I be?’

‘I think you should. Because they informed me that there’s nothing in your contract which stipulates that you must work in my London hotel.’

It was the expression on his face as much as the sudden change in tone which warned Emma that there was trouble ahead. The granite-hard line of his lips suddenly became the smug little curve of a smile. She fixed him with a questioning look, determined not to show any weakness even though inside her heart was now pounding with fear.

‘But I’ve always worked here,’ she objected, her voice rising on a protest. ‘At the Granchester.’

‘I know you have—and that’s why I thought it might be considerate to offer you the chance to work at one of my other hotels. As you know, the Constantinides brand is represented on every continent. Wouldn’t it be fun to go abroad?’ He raised his eyebrows at her in arrogant question. ‘And I’m sure it would do your design career nothing but good to get a little experience elsewhere.’

Furiously, Emma realised exactly what he was doing. He was going to offer her a job as interior designer in one of his Caribbean hotels—or maybe one of the smart city ones. It would be the kind of job which most people in her profession would bite off his hand to be offered—and she would look a complete fool if she turned it down. But she knew what the truth behind such a supposedly generous offer really was.

‘You want to get me away from Nat,’ she said dully. ‘At any cost.’

‘Bravo, Miss Geary,’ he answered softly. ‘You’ve got it in one.’

‘Does Xenon know what you’re proposing?’

‘Why, have you got him in your pocket, too?’ he accused.

‘I’m not going to dignify that remark with an answer, Mr Constantinides.’

‘Xenon’s in charge of the day-to-day running of this hotel!’ he snapped. ‘But ultimately I’m the one who decides what happens. If I want changes made—then those changes will be made, without me having to run it past anyone else.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then I think you will find you’re in breach of contract. And in that case, I would be perfectly within my rights to ask you to leave.’

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drawn to the luscious thrust of her breasts, and for one brief moment he found himself wishing that Nat had found himself another girlfriend. Any girlfriend except this one. Because her spirited response had unexpectedly ignited his sexual appetite and he could feel its ache deep in his groin. Nobody was usually so spectacularly rude to him—nobody else would have dared to be. And if his brother weren’t involved—mightn’t he be tempted to ask her to go home and get ready to have dinner with him? To put on a pretty dress that skimmed her delicious bottom and to leave the pale tumble of her blond hair free enough for him to run his fingers through it? Because didn’t spirited women make the very best lovers, even if they weren’t the best choice of wife?

He looked at her face to see that her eyes were now glaring at him and something in their pistachio fire made his blood grow heated. ‘You have some objection perhaps?’ he questioned idly.

‘Why, you’re nothing but a great big bully!’ she breathed.

He shrugged. ‘Your insults are redundant. Take it or leave it. The pay-off still stands if you decide on the latter.’

‘Oh, no!’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t give in to blackmail. Or threats. I think you’ll discover that you can’t get rid of me quite so easily, Mr Constantinides.’

‘Really? We’ll see about that. In the meantime, why don’t you give it some thought? That’s all,’ he added dismissively. ‘You can go now.’

Her face scarlet with rage, Emma rose to her feet— tempted once again to hurl the contents of the pencil pot at his infuriating head. But she concentrated on exiting his office with as much dignity as possible.

She had just reached the door when his voice halted her.

‘Oh, and Emma?’

It was the first time he’d used her Christian name and to hear it spoken in that gravelly Greek voice sounded so sinfully irresistible that she found herself turning round to look at him, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

‘What?’

Zak’s eyes narrowed as he watched her and something about the way she held herself only increased the flicker of lust he’d felt earlier. She really did have the most amazing posture, he thought suddenly. Despite the worn and dishevelled clothes, she moved like a catwalk model. As if she were gliding across the room, rather than walking. ‘You could always look on this as a sort of test. To see whether your commitment to Nathanael survives an enforced absence. Who knows—it could even strengthen the relationship between you.’

For a moment she really thought he meant it. That he actually cared enough about his brother to test a relationship which didn’t really exist. Until she saw the cold glitter of his pewter eyes and realised that this was about nothing more than his legendary control. He didn’t care what Nat wanted. Or what she wanted. He just cared about Number One. What he wanted. All thoughts of dignity forgotten, Emma felt her blood boil as she turned her back on him.

‘You can keep your job offer and you can go to hell,’ she retorted, wrenching open the door to meet the eyes of his startled-looking assistant who was sitting in the outer office. ‘Except that the devil probably wouldn’t let you in on the grounds that he couldn’t stand the competition!’

And she slammed the door on his soft and mocking laughter.

CHAPTER THREE

‘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.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT was strange being back. Strange to hear the distinctive drawling accents and to watch people rushing everywhere with that particular sense of purpose which you only ever seemed to find in New York. Leaning back against the soft leather seat of the car, Emma watched the blur of skyscrapers appearing in the distance as the plush limousine headed towards the city.

Zak’s car had met her at JFK airport even though she would have been perfectly happy to find herself a yellow taxi. More than happy. It might have made her feel normal to have pulled her luggage through the busy terminal like all the other travellers. It might have reinforced an independence she was far from feeling.

Because the weirdest thing was that this trip seemed horribly similar to the first and only other she’d made to America—and that only increased her anxiety level. Because all those years ago, she’d been at the beck and call of a wealthy man who had called all the shots and now she was in exactly the same position. The main difference was that Louis had been weak—something her immaturity had failed to pick up on at the time. And Zak was the opposite. Zak was strong. Inside she knew that, though she wasn’t quite sure how. Just something bone-deep and certain assured her that the Greek tyrant had a core of steel.

What did he really want from her? The promise that she would leave his brother alone—was that all he wanted?

The car began travelling downtown and Emma looked out through the smoky windows at the brightly lit department stores. There was Sacs on Fifth—where Louis had once bought her a costly and rather traditional pearl necklace, then been delighted when she’d wrapped it around her blond hair like a coronet. That was one of the better memories—but there were bleak ones, too, piling in on her now like dark spectres.

The giant billboards and lights of Broadway reminded her of the Yankee Stadium where the Patterson band had been poised to make their big comeback—until it was cancelled at the last minute when a shocked promoter realised that the lead singer was barely able to stand. And there was St Patrick’s Cathedral, where she’d crept in to light a candle and to quietly weep for the death of her marriage and soon after that, for the death of her husband.

Shaking her head as if to clear some space, she became aware that Central Park was sliding past and that the car was now purring to a halt outside Zak’s Pembroke hotel.

She tried to take in all the beautiful details which she’d only ever seen on promotional literature. The art-deco exterior and the revolving door fashioned from rich, dark wood. The lamps made of wrought-iron and the carefully shaped box trees which added a splash of green to the urban environment. A doorman opened the door and she stepped into the gleaming marble lobby to see an enormous chandelier, its diamond shards glittering light down onto ornate displays of flowers.

In the confusion of a changed time zone and being in a foreign city, she felt a little disorientated. Should she go over to the main desk and ask whether Mr Constantinides had left a message for her? Or …

And then suddenly she was aware of a man towering over her. Of the olive-skinned hand which had reached out to pick up her suitcase as effortlessly as if it had been filled with butterflies rather than a rather large amount of shoes.

‘Welcome to New York,’ said a sexy and horribly familiar voice and she found herself staring up into the granite features of Zak Constantinides. Was that triumph she could read in his grey eyes? Very probably—since he’d got exactly what he wanted. He’d had her being shipped over to New York as if she were some kind of human parcel!

She wanted to react to him with nothing but cool indifference but somehow that wasn’t as easy as it should have been. She felt daunted by him, and she felt attracted to him, too, despite her determination not to be. It didn’t help that today he looked curiously accessible. He wore a soft cashmere sweater of the same hue as his eyes which hugged his muscular torso, along with jeans which emphasised the powerful thrust of his long legs. Once again she found herself acutely aware of his presence as a man and she didn’t want to be aware of him that way!

Beneath her own warm jacket—bought specially to withstand the potential cold of the November weather—Emma shivered.

‘You’re cold?’ he questioned.

‘A bit,’ she said airily, terrified that he’d guess her involuntary shudder had been more about desire than temperature. ‘I always find American hotels a bit heavy-handed with the air conditioning. And why on earth are you carrying my suitcase?’

‘Why not? You object to a little old-fashioned chivalry, do you?’

There hadn’t exactly been a lot of old-fashioned chivalry in Emma’s life and for a moment she was a little taken aback. ‘You greet all your guests in this way, do you?’

‘Not all of them, no. But for you, Emma—I’m prepared to make an exception.’ The words came out of his mouth before he realised that he meant them. Zak didn’t stop to ask himself why he had been watching the clock until he’d heard from his driver that her flight had touched down safely. Or why he’d felt the leap of his heart and the heat of his groin when he’d known that she was heading towards the city.

Yet wasn’t the truth of it that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her? That she had entered his night-time dreams like some pale and unwanted intruder, with her green eyes and the moon-pale spill of her hair. Hadn’t he found himself wanting her with an ache which had been intense and unfamiliar?

It was interesting that his fantasies weren’t matched by the reality of seeing her again—because she certainly hadn’t dressed up. Her face was completely bare of make-up, the stark ponytail was back and the clothes she wore beneath her functional jacket were distinctly unimpressive. Her muted appearance should have been a real anticlimax and yet she possessed an indefinable something which made him want to study the way the light fell on her chiselled cheekbones and the faint golden sprinkling of freckles over her nose. Just how did she do that air of vulnerability so beautifully? he wondered. Had she worked on her technique, just as a tennis player might work on her backhand?

‘You must be tired,’ he said softly as he became aware of the faint shadows beneath her eyes. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you where you’re staying—and then you can start thinking about dinner.’

His words penetrated Emma’s befuddled thoughts, shook her out of the somewhat dazed acknowledgement that his gaze was focused on her like a laser beam and that her body was glowing in response. ‘You mean, I’m going to be staying here? At the Pembroke?’

‘Of course you are. As you’re only here on secondment for a few weeks it makes much more sense. Where else did you think you’d be staying?’

She’d imagined some small studio apartment on the lower side of town. Somewhere where she’d be woken up by the early-morning sounds of street cleaning and kept awake by late-night revelry. The kind of place where it would be tough to find a taxi. Somewhere as far away from Zak as possible.

‘It was such a rush to get out here that I didn’t stop to think where I’d be staying,’ she said, her dismissive air not quite ringing true.

‘Well, you’re here now—so you can relax.’

She was aware of people staring at them as they crossed the lobby and headed for the elevator. Some of those were the staff, obviously—probably wondering why their boss was carrying the suitcase of this rather ordinary-looking guest. But some of the guests were giving them the once-over, too. Younger women wearing conspicuous signs of wealth had openly envious looks on their faces, while their older male partners glanced up briefly from where they were tapping addictively on their computers.

Zak didn’t speak until the elevator doors had shut out the rest of the world and he found himself alone with her. She was staring steadfastly at the red arrow which was indicating the floor count as the lift rode upwards and it was an odd sensation to be in the company of a woman who wasn’t focusing her attention entirely on him. ‘Not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever received from a member of staff who’s just been told she’s staying in one of the world’s finest hotels,’ he observed wryly.

Realising that she couldn’t keep avoiding his eye, she turned to look at him. ‘Are you surprised?’

‘I am—a little. I thought you’d revel in the opportunity to enjoy some of the Pembroke’s legendary hospitality.’

Emma gave a short laugh because, ironically, he couldn’t be more wrong if he tried. Money didn’t ‘do’

it for her. Not any more. She’d learnt that the simple things in life meant more than all the glitz and glamour in the world. She’d seen only too well that wealth could bring with it nothing but emptiness and a great dark void. Until she remembered that she was supposed to be a gold-digger of the first order and so she widened her eyes in the most gold-diggery way she could manage.

‘I suppose when you put it like that.’ Deciding that licking her lips would be a little over the top, she injected a longing note into her voice instead. ‘Will I be staying in a very big suite?’ she questioned.

‘Not as big as mine,’ Zak murmured as the greedy look in her eyes demanded—and got—a predictably mocking response from him. But he hadn’t counted on his body’s interpretation of this as some kind of basic flirting. So that hot on the heels of his sardonic retort came an inexplicable need to see her blond hair spread all over the pillow of his vast bed. To see those pale green eyes slitted with desire as she welcomed him into her arms.

Silently he cursed himself as the jerk of an erection made his groin grow heavy. What the hell was he thinking of? She was everything he despised in the opposite sex and—even if she hadn’t been—she was dating his brother.

‘We’re here,’ he said abruptly.

They had reached the thirty-second floor and Emma stepped out, noting the general air of luxury which immediately surrounded her—the gleaming hardwood floors on which lay priceless silk rugs. The walls were hung with original art and most of it was very impressive and she found herself wondering what the Pembroke’s nightly rate was.

‘Is my room on this floor?’ she asked.

‘It is. It’s right here.’ He pushed open the door to her suite. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll come by and pick you up for dinner.’

Emma forced a smile. ‘I think I’d rather order from room service, if it’s all the same with you.’

‘I disagree—that’s the worst way of coping with jet lag. You’ll fall asleep and be wide awake in the middle of the night,’ he demurred with an emphatic shake of his head. ‘And besides, there are things we need to discuss.’

‘Things?’ She stared at him. ‘What kind of things?’

He met the startled greenness of her eyes and once again felt the unwanted punch of desire. ‘It’s no great mystery. You’re here to work, Emma—and so far I haven’t told you what you’ll be doing. We’ll eat downstairs in the restaurant and I’ll brief you. I’ll pick you up in an hour.’

‘An hour and a half,’ she amended stubbornly.

‘Done.’

He turned and walked away, leaving Emma resisting the desire to watch him. Instead, she went into her room and closed the door behind her, her attention immediately caught by the enormous glass windows.

The view was distracting—a jumble of light-spangled skyscrapers, which together formed the instantly recognisable skyline of New York. It was beautiful, she thought—even if it did bring back some uncomfortable memories and even if she was slightly too tired to appreciate it.

She forced herself to unpack, knowing that if she did it now, it would mean she wouldn’t awake to an even bigger chore of badly crumpled clothes. She put her shoes in the wardrobe and her underwear in the walnut drawers and went through to the bathroom to shower, feeling all the travel grime being washed away beneath the warm jets. Afterwards, she brushed her wet hair and pulled on an irresistibly fluffy white bathrobe, thinking that she’d just have a cup of coffee to wake herself up before getting dressed.

She clicked on the machine, turned down the air conditioning and then sat down on the huge bed where giant, squashy pillows were jostling for space. What was the collective term for pillows? she wondered dreamily. A pile of pillows, or a heap of pillows? Laying her head down on one of them, she heard the hypnotic gurgle of the coffee machine as her eyelashes drifted to an irresistible close.

Odd sounds began to penetrate her dream. She heard the rattle of a trolley, which made her think she was still on the aircraft, and then some sort of muffled thumping. And the next thing she knew was a hand on her arms, pushing against the fluffy towelling robe, and she fluttered open her eyes to see Zak standing over her, his face dark with an odd kind of tension.

For a moment neither of them spoke—their gazes locking and holding as if time and place had been suspended, leaving them shut in their own private universe. Her heart thundering, she stared up at him with a sudden longing—aware of his proximity and the mesmerising tang of sandalwood. Aware too that she was completely naked beneath the robe and that her breasts had started to tingle in response to his narrow-eyed scrutiny.

‘What is it?’ she mumbled from between dry lips.

Zak watched as a tiny pink tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. God, she was beautiful, he thought. Unbelievably beautiful. ‘I couldn’t wake you,’ he accused thickly.

It occurred to her that he could have phoned her—but she didn’t say so because his hand was still on her arm and, shamefully, she didn’t want him to remove it. Was that because she was still half asleep and therefore disorientated—or was the real reason that she liked him touching her? That she was enjoying the sensation of his fingers pressing through the robe and into her skin.

‘Well, you’ve woken me now,’ she said, stifling a yawn.

Reluctantly pulling his hand away, he walked over to the window. Staring hard at a view he usually took for granted, he tried to focus on the brilliant gleam of the skyscrapers’ lights instead of the soft accessibility of her body beneath the voluminous robe. But it was damned near impossible. All he could think of was the translucent quality of her skin and the vulnerability she’d exuded when she’d been asleep. And then she had woken and those pale green eyes had slitted open at him in lazy question, just like in his forbidden fantasy—and he cursed himself for forgetting two vital facts.

She was not his kind of woman!

More important still, she was his brother’s woman!

There was no way he could deny the powerful sexual chemistry which had sizzled between them right from the start—and Zak was far too experienced to pretend it hadn’t happened. That it wasn’t happening how. And didn’t that justify what he was doing by bringing her here to New York? If she could put out like this for her lover’s brother—then wasn’t Nat better off without her?

‘I’ll be waiting downstairs in the restaurant,’ he gritted out. ‘Be there in fifteen minutes.’

Emma sat up as he walked straight past the bed without another look in her direction but she could feel the sudden disapproval radiating from his powerful body. What was his problem? Was he angry because he’d just been looking at her as if he’d like to eat her?

And wasn’t her problem that she’d wanted him to?

Getting off a bed which now felt contaminated, Emma scrambled to find some underwear, guilt washing over her as she clipped on a lacy black bra—acknowledging the heavy aching in her tender breasts. Because wasn’t the pitiful truth of it that she had wanted Zak Constantinides in a way she’d never wanted anyone else? She bit her lip in horrified remorse. Not even her own husband!

He must have felt the powerful vibes which had shimmered between them—because you’d need to be made of stone to ignore them. He already thought that she was a sexually voracious gold-digger—so wouldn’t her behaviour only reinforce his poor opinion of her?

She needed to pull herself together and she needed to grow a little backbone. She wasn’t just some puppet which he could manipulate at will. Hadn’t she worked hard at the Granchester—hard enough to establish herself as an interior designer who was respected by others in the business? She’d done all that with determination, hard work and very little in the way of formal training. So was she prepared to let all that crumble away, simply because her body was reacting in a way she didn’t want towards a man she didn’t like?

No, she was not.

And she would start by sending out the subliminal but very clear message that she was not out to entice him.

She had the kind of looks which she could dress up or down—and tonight was definitely a night for fading into the background. She picked out a pair of black velvet trousers and teamed them with a floaty white shirt. Her hair had acquired a slight kink from where she’d slept on it while it was still damp—so she brushed it and then wove it into a loose bun, which sat on the back of her neck. Make-up she deliberately resisted and a dangly pair of shell earrings was her only adornment. After all—wasn’t ‘casual’ the new black?

But the moment she walked into the restaurant she realised that she was woefully underdressed. Or rather, overdressed. She’d never seen so much flesh on show and every other woman in the room was all buffed and honed and highlighted with the sparkle of jewels.

Emma kept her head high as she gave Zak’s name to a rather bemused-looking waiter and as he led her towards the Greek’s table she was acutely aware of being watched. She’d forgotten what it was like to be judged by your companion. To have people look you up and down and form an opinion about you when they didn’t even know you.

Her stomach was in knots as Zak rose to greet her and she saw that his gaze was hooded. She thought she sensed disapproval as he looked at her—and, although she’d chosen her outfit with just that result in mind, there was a very feminine part of her which cringed beneath his critical scrutiny.

‘You look like you’re just off to a rock festival,’ he commented acidly.

She surveyed the pristine elegance of his dark suit. ‘And you look like you’re about to perform some hostile boardroom bid.’

For a moment his lips almost curved into a smile, until he reminded himself that he was not here to be amused by her. Maybe it was a good thing that she looked as if she was about to start lighting incense, or sit cross-legged on the floor before starting to meditate. He sat back as the waiter handed her a glossy menu. ‘How about I order to save time? The steak here is very good.’

Emma gave a polite smile. ‘I’m sure it is, but I don’t eat meat.’

‘You don’t eat meat?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Which part of my original statement needed clarification, Mr Constantinides?’

He stared at her critically. ‘No wonder you’re so damned pale.’

‘You should try it some time—less meat in the diet is supposed to mean less aggression.’

At this he did laugh. ‘A real man eats meat, Emma.’

There was something about his primitive boast which made her feel quite peculiar and Emma quickly looked down at the very limited vegetarian section of the menu. Did he really think he could come out with all that macho ‘real men eat meat’ stuff and get away with it? Yes, he did—and the horrifying reality was that he could. She suspected he could do pretty well anything he put his mind to, especially where women were concerned. She remembered the way she’d found him looking at her when he’d shaken her awake. That compelling hunger she’d surprised in his eyes. And hadn’t that look made her feel a corresponding rush of desire, which had made her feel as if she were melting beneath his gaze?

Suddenly, Emma felt a trickle of fear sliding down her spine because she suspected that Zak Constantinides knew perfectly well the extent of his power over women. And the very last thing she needed was for him to discover that he had awoken a strange and nebulous need in her.

‘And you’re really going to have to lose the “Mr Constantinides” tag,’ he mused.

‘I would have thought that my constant reinforcement of your superior status would have bolstered your ego.’

‘I don’t need anything to bolster my ego,’ he said softly. ‘So do you think you could try saying “Zak”?’

She snapped the menu shut and looked up. ‘I’ll have the aubergine lasagne and side salad, please…. Zak.’

‘And I’ll have the rib-eye.’ He handed the menus to the waiter, thinking that her soft English accent managed to do erotic things with the single syllable of his name. He fixed her with a questioning look. ‘Wine?’

She thought she probably shouldn’t. In fact, she definitely shouldn’t. Wine might make the meal seem like a pleasure, rather than the necessity it clearly was. But Emma was strung out—and the idea of having to endure an evening facing Zak Constantinides without something to help relax her was more than she was prepared to tolerate.

‘A glass would be lovely.’

He nodded and the sommelier was dispatched, returning with two glasses of red wine so rich that Emma could smell it from five paces away. She took an eager sip and put the glass down with a little sigh, looking up to meet the curiosity lancing through his grey eyes. ‘The wine’s very good,’ she said politely.

‘Of course it’s good—do you really think I’d drink anything but the best?’

‘Silly of me not to realise that everything you do is a testimony to how wonderful you are.’

‘Very silly. But I haven’t brought you here to talk about the wine, Emma. Or about me.’

‘I didn’t think you had,’ she said, her heart suddenly beginning to race, because suddenly she suspected what was coming next.

‘I want to know what it’s like being back in New York,’ he questioned—and now his voice took on a harsh tone. ‘You lived here when you were married, didn’t you?’

So he hadn’t forgotten that she’d lived here—and he hadn’t cared that she might be upset by that fact. Of course he hadn’t—for he had made his hostility towards her very clear, right from the start. He didn’t care how much she hurt—because he saw her simply as an obstacle to be removed from his brother’s life.

She wanted to tell him that her past was none of his business and yet a feeling of resignation made the words die in her throat. Because in a way, hadn’t this conversation been inevitable from the moment she’d first walked into his office? He was determined to know more about her and she couldn’t keep stonewalling questions which were bound to keep coming, could she? It all boiled down to whether she was ashamed of her past. Maybe a little—but she was proud of the way she’d risen from the ashes of it to start all over again.

‘What is it you want to know?’ she questioned.

‘I want to know how a small-town English girl managed to meet and marry someone like Louis Patterson. And whether the price you paid for your ten minutes of fame was worth it.’

CHAPTER FIVE

EMMA’S fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass as she met the accusation which glittered from Zak’s grey eyes. ‘I’m surprised you need to ask me anything about my past—I thought you’d already had me investigated thoroughly by some sleuth you’d hired.’

He took a sip of his own wine. ‘I know the facts. What I’m interested in are the reasons behind those facts. And let’s face it, Emma—if your relationship with my brother does survive this separation …’ He paused, not wanting to acknowledge the dark thoughts which flashed into his mind as he tried to envisage this particular scenario. ‘If you really were to become my sister-in-law—then surely you owe it to me to tell me more about your background.’

‘I don’t owe you anything!’

‘No? Then what’s the big mystery? Are you ashamed of what you’ve done? Maybe dabbled in a few things which aren’t strictly legal?’ he speculated.

‘No, I have not!’

‘And does Nat know about your past?’

‘Of course he does.’

‘So why not tell me, too?’

Emma drank down an angry mouthful of wine. Because Nat hadn’t judged her as she suspected this man would judge her. Because she didn’t fancy being dissected by those cold grey eyes and made to feel like some animal in a laboratory, which was vulnerable to the cruel scalpel of the scientist.

Yet she wasn’t supposed to be ashamed of her upbringing, was she? Not any more. Not when she had coped with it as well as she could. Was it her fault that she’d been given a vacuous and man-hungry mother who had always put her little girl second? Who had taught her daughter all the wrong lessons in life, which had taken a while to unlearn.

‘You know I’m illegitimate?’ she questioned bluntly.

Her candour took him by surprise and, to his astonishment, something in the darkening of her eyes made him want to offer an unlikely chunk of reassurance. ‘That’s no longer the stigma it was.’

‘In theory it isn’t,’ she contradicted. ‘In practice it isn’t so good if everyone knows that you’ve never even seen your father—or that you don’t have a clue who he is. Or that your mother seeks the comfort of strangers to warm her bed at night.’

Zak’s mouth tightened, all sympathy now fled. ‘Your mother was a—’

Emma shook her head. ‘Oh, she wasn’t a prostitute—if that’s what you’re thinking. She was just very …’ she swallowed ‘… fond of men. And not very good at choosing men. Something she seems to have passed on to me.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Really?’

‘Oh, I’m not talking about Nat,’ she amended hastily, remembering a little too late that she was supposed to be masquerading as the lovelorn girlfriend of his brother. ‘Nat has been the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘I’m not here to talk about my brother,’ he bit back, his blood growing heated with what he suspected was more than a feeling of sibling protectiveness. ‘I asked you about Patterson. How did you meet him?’

For a moment Emma said nothing, because it was still painful to relive it. To remember her naivety—a naivety which had been almost laughable in view of the bizarre nature of her upbringing.

‘How did I meet Louis?’ she repeated. ‘Circumstance, I guess.’

‘Circumstance?’ he echoed.

‘That’s right. You could never have planned for what happened.’

‘Oh?’

There was a moment of silence. ‘My mother was a brilliant dancer,’ she said at last. ‘In another life, she might have done it professionally, but that was almost impossible as a single mother with very little in the way of regular income. Her life was one of constant frustration. Domesticity bored her—she saw it as drudgery—and so did motherhood. So she didn’t play board games or read me any bedtime stories, or any of the normal stuff that children get—but she did have a great sense of style, and colour, which I did inherit. And, as I say—she was a great dancer.’

Zak nodded as her incredible posture suddenly made sense. The way she had seemed almost to float out of his office. ‘She taught you to dance?’ he guessed.

‘Yes,’ said Emma simply, leaning back as the waiter deposited elegant layers of aubergine and pasta before her and trying not to shudder at the sight of Zak’s bloody rib-eye steak. ‘They were the best times I ever had with her. She’d put the music on really high—sometimes the neighbours would bang on the ceiling with a broom—and we’d wrap ourselves up in floaty shawls, and just dance.’

‘And Patterson saw you dancing?’ he guessed.

Unwillingly, she gave a nod to his perception. ‘Yes, he did. I was exactly eighteen when I met him and had gone to the most fashionable nightclub in London. It was my birthday present from Mum—she’d been saving up for it for ages. She said that every girl on the brink of womanhood should get a glimpse of what the world could offer—that there was glamour out there if only you looked for it. I’d never been anywhere like it before.’

‘Never?’

She shook her head. ‘It was dark with flashing lights, and the music was thumping out. I didn’t really like it. It felt false … unreal. There was a big podium at the front—all silver and sparkling—and my favourite song came on. I was feeling a bit out of my depth but that was something familiar. One of my friends egged me on, so I got up and danced my heart out and Louis was sitting in a corner, watching. He said afterwards that—’

‘Don’t tell me. It was love at first sight?’ he questioned cynically, imagining the tawdry chat-up lines which must have ensued.

She shrugged. ‘That’s what he said.’

Hearing the defensiveness in her voice, Zak pushed his plate away. He could imagine just what an arresting sight she must have been. Young. Blonde. Presumably virginal. He felt the jerk of some dark emotion he didn’t want to analyse. ‘You inspired him?’ he asked slowly.

‘I guess so. He wrote “Fairy Dancer” that same night. When it hit the top of the charts, he decided that I was his number-one muse and he couldn’t live without me. That kind of thing can easily go to a young girl’s head.’ Especially when your mother was egging you on and telling you that you’d never get another chance quite like this one.

Louis had showered her with gifts and attention—and, more importantly, he hadn’t leapt on her. He told her he respected her virginal status and that he would gladly wait until after they were married. And Emma had agreed, carried along on that unreal wave she was riding—as well as her mother’s excitement. By the time her doubts had set in on the night before the wedding, it was too late. Her mother told her it was nothing but ‘nerves’ and to pull herself together.

‘So I married him. And the rest of the story is well documented. I found him dead a year later from a combination of drink and drugs. It’s not something I care to dwell on. Anything else you want to know, Mr Constantinides?’

Unexpectedly, he said, ‘I thought I told you to call me Zak.’

She stared at him, shaken by the emotional catharsis of recounting a story which she’d buried deeply, wanting to tell him that calling him by his first name seemed ridiculously intimate. That she wanted to keep as much distance between them as possible. Because something about him was making her feel stuff. The sort of stuff she was scared to feel because it was what had made her mother’s life such a mess. Desire and lust and a yearning to be kissed. A longing to be loved and cherished and made to feel the centre of someone’s world. And yet, if she told him that—wouldn’t she look hopelessly vulnerable as well as a hopeless judge of men?

‘I’m very tired, Zak. How’s that?’

‘Better.’

‘And I think I want to go to bed now.’

‘But you haven’t touched your meal.’

‘Neither have you.’

‘No.’ Once again, Zak stared at his plate. Never had a steak seemed more unappetizing, but then he’d never found himself in a situation such as this. Parts of her story had aroused in him an unwilling empathy and yet that didn’t change the fundamental problem. It didn’t matter that she had turned her life around—she had done that mainly because she aroused fierce passions in very rich men. Bottom line was that she was still the wrong kind of woman for Nat and she always would be.

‘I’ll see you up to your room,’ he said abruptly.

‘There’s no need.’

‘There’s every need,’ he argued. ‘You’re jet-lagged and probably feeling disorientated.’

She certainly was—but her disorientation wasn’t being helped by the fact that he was there. That the closeness of his powerful body was taunting her with the elusive promise of pleasure. And it was wrong for all kinds of reasons. Wrong because of Nat and wrong because it was Zak.

Weariness swept over her—a potent combination of not enough sleep or food, with a glass of rich red wine thrown in to further complicate it. Her body felt drained and her legs were shaky as they walked to the elevator, which was fortunately busy enough to preclude any kind of conversation. The lift doors opened on to the thirty-second floor and Zak followed her out, but as she reached her room and began to fumble in her bag for her key-card she felt herself stumble slightly. Felt Zak’s hand automatically reach out to steady her and Emma stiffened as he gripped her.

His fingers seemed to sizzle through the thin material of her floaty top—almost as if they were scorching the skin which lay beneath. She could feel the thready patter of her heart and her breathing suddenly became as laboured as if she’d been running.

For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes as time and place merged, the background of his fancy hotel blurring into insignificance so that all she could see was the darkened pewter of his burning gaze. And in that moment she wanted him. Wanted him in a way which wiped all reason from her sleep-deprived brain.

‘Zak,’ she whispered, although she didn’t know why she said it—and, in view of her reluctance to say it earlier, it now seemed like an intimacy too far.

Zak heard the soft temptation of her voice and a powerful desire washed over him. Let her go, he urged himself savagely—but his body stubbornly refused to obey. Still his hand gripped the slim column of her arm and he was loath to pull his fingers away from the softness of her flesh.

He looked down at her, mesmerised by her closeness and the way she was looking at him. Her green eyes had grown smoky and her lips had parted in unconscious invitation and he knew that if he were to dip his head, he could claim them in a kiss which would combust. He imagined pulling her hungrily into his arms. The jut of his hips against hers and the silent circling of his heavy erection against her feminine softness. The urgent journey to her room and then the discarding of clothes until he felt her naked against him.

He could hear the powerful beat of his heart as the idea became a tantalising possibility and he could almost taste the desire which hovered in the air around them. She would let him do it. He knew she would. She would part her thighs and urge him into her sweet, molten tightness. Sweet heaven. Should he take her? Should he?

The vivid images playing in his head were almost his undoing until he forced himself to picture the sordid aftermath of such a coupling. Of confessing to his brother what he had done. Of having to look into her cheating face the next morning. He let his hand fall to his side, self-disgust hardening his lips into a savage line of contempt, appalled at his own weakness.

Was this how she had lured Louis Patterson? And then Ciro D’Angelo? And after that his brother? Like an earth-bound siren who could captivate men with her pale eyes and hair and the promise of her soft, curvy body?

He took a step back. ‘You said you were tired,’ he said harshly. ‘In which case, I’ve always found it better to go to bed on your own.’

And with that, he turned on his heel—leaving Emma staring after him, her lips trembling as she registered his withering contempt. Aware that she had been chastised for something she hadn’t even realised she’d been doing.

CHAPTER SIX

THE next morning Emma found an envelope shoved underneath her door and knew who it was from, even before she’d opened it. The stark black words seemed to leap off the expensive cream paper as her trembling fingers ripped it open.

“We neglected to talk about your work last night. Meet me in the lobby at ten. Zak.”

And that was it. No endearment. No polite wishes expressed that he hoped she’d had a comfortable night. Which of course, she hadn’t. The long hours of travel hadn’t helped at all, and she’d woken at four thirty absolutely buzzing and unable to get back to sleep. She’d lain staring at the unfamiliar room and remembering those strange and provocative moments in the corridor, when she could have sworn that Zak was about to kiss her. When she’d wanted him to kiss her. And that had only been the beginning of what she’d wanted—she who had sworn off men and all the bitter fall-out of emotional attachment.

Had she gone completely crazy last night—or had she just been suffering from the potency of jet lag and wine? Opening up the blinds, Emma stared out of the window at the green oasis of Central Park. Either way, she wouldn’t be making a fool of herself by repeating it.

Putting Zak’s note down on the dresser, she showered and dressed—and ordered breakfast from room service. She crunched her way through toast and jam, forcing the food down because she knew she needed it, rather than because she really wanted it. But at least the coffee was good and strong and afterwards she felt much better.

But she was nervous when she arrived in the lobby and more nervous still when she saw Zak with his back to her, standing talking into his cellphone. How she hated the fact that her nerve-endings prickled into life when she saw him—when all she wanted to feel towards him was a cool impartiality. He was wearing a steel-grey suit and she was suddenly glad that she’d pulled something smarter from her wardrobe. She got the feeling that, in this city, clothes meant business.

He turned and saw her, terminating his call in a couple of brief words. His grey eyes narrowing, they scanned her with unwilling assessment.

Emma wondered what he saw. Had she failed on the sartorial front again? she wondered. Were a new sweater and pale jeans—stretchy enough for any ladder-climbing—still a little on the casual side for the wealthy hotelier’s taste? He was coming towards her now and it was impossible to read his thoughts from his expression. The pewter eyes were shaded by thick black lashes and his rugged olive features were as hard as marble.

To Emma’s embarrassment, her own colour had started to rise—along with the realisation that the cold light of day had done nothing to lessen her desire for him. That last night had not been some erotic, one-off blip.

But now she had to act normally. As if she hadn’t poured out her life-story to him over dinner last night and let the daylight in on the shadowy world of her past.

‘Good morning,’ she said, summoning up the brightest smile from her repertoire.

Zak noted the dark shadows beneath her eyes, which were at odds with the studiedly cheerful note in her voice. ‘You look tired,’ he observed.

‘That’s because I am.’

‘Been emailing my brother all night, I suppose?’ he enquired caustically.

Emma thought he couldn’t have been further from the truth if he’d tried—why, she’d barely thought about Nat since the moment she’d arrived.

‘Actually, no. I wasn’t.’ Because what on earth would she have said? I’m sorry, Nat—I know I said that he was a tyrant and a control-freak, but last night I was longing for your brother to make love to me. I lay there waiting in my bed, imagining what I would do if he came to me, knowing that I would have opened the door and opened my arms to him. ‘I was too busy counting sheep to try to get to sleep,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But sadly, to no avail. So you’ll have to excuse any absent-mindedness and blame it on the jet lag.’

Some of the tension left his body, her words placating him in a way they shouldn’t have done. Had he been worried she’d tell Nat that his big brother had been coming on to her? And hadn’t an extra layer of guilt begun to gnaw away at him, knowing that it would have been the truth? ‘Have you eaten?’ he questioned.

‘Yes, thanks. I had breakfast in my room.’ She smiled again, determined to dispel this damned atmosphere with a little professional crispness. ‘It’s a beautiful autumn morning and I’m looking forward to my first working day in New York! And you still haven’t told me anything about which part of the hotel needs restyling.’

Her smile did strange things to him. Made that damned heaviness start throbbing at his groin again. He’d lain awake for a long time last night, going over what she’d told him about her growing up. About her flighty mother and the dancing which had angered the neighbours. He’d wanted to think less of her—but the stupid thing was that her story had produced the opposite effect. He’d thought about the reality of what her young life must have been like and had found himself experiencing a reluctant tug of sympathy. What Emma had experienced had been nothing short of neglect, he realised—some people might even have called it abuse. Somehow it made her early marriage to the dissolute rock-star almost understandable.

Until he told himself fiercely that this was how she operated. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her marriage to Patterson would have given her an inkling of her own power and taught her that such fragile beauty was rare. With that pale waterfall of hair and amazing body, she must have quickly learnt what effect that delicate vulnerability could have on a man. Especially a man with all the clout to protect her. Had she told Ciro her pathetic story the way she’d told him—and had that been what had prompted the ruthless Italian to give her such a cushy job? Was that what had made his own brother curtail his philandering ways after all these years of messing around with women—to devote himself to her so wholeheartedly?

Zak’s mouth hardened. Well, she could use her charm on some other poor sucker than Nat—because there was no way that some illegitimate junkie’s widow was going to end up marrying into the Constantinides family.

‘Come with me,’ he said abruptly, turning as he began to walk in the direction of the function rooms, obviously expecting her to follow him.

Emma tried to take in the general mood and feel of the hotel as she scurried to keep up with him. She’d done her homework on the plane over by studying all the literature—but seeing the Pembroke’s interior for herself was much more impressive than in the glossy pages of a brochure.

The Granchester was massive—but this hotel was like its small and perfectly formed little sister. Its understated elegance only reinforced the amount of money which must have been spent on it—and she found herself wondering if all this had been inherited from his wealthy father. Hadn’t Nat told her some complicated story about the family money, which had gone in one ear and then out the other? And hadn’t that been one of the things which had been so obvious to Nat—that she truly wasn’t interested in the might of the Constantinides fortune? She sighed. Not that Zak would ever believe that, of course.

‘This is the room you will be restyling,’ he said, stopping at last in front of some art-deco double doors, which were decorated with exquisite stained glass. He pushed them open and Emma stepped into a room that was almost completely empty—but who needed furniture when a room looked as amazing as this? The proportions were generous, the high ceiling a shimmer of silver mosaic which looked as if it were composed of moving water—and best of all was the terrace, with its stunning views of Central Park and the quiet gleam of the lake beyond.

‘Oh, Zak—it’s lovely,’ she said, looking up to find his eyes fixed on her. And something in that hard and searching gaze made her quickly amend her words—as if suddenly she wanted to encourage him to revise his poor opinion of her. ‘I’m sorry, that’s right up there as the most unoriginal observation I could have made. Of course it’s lovely. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘No, I don’t—though it’s always gratifying when a professional approves.’ For a moment, he relaxed a little. ‘This is the room you’ll be working on.’

‘And do I get help?’

‘You do. You’ll get an assistant and an office you can use, as well as a charge card.’

‘And I run my costs past …?’

‘No need to run them past anyone.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve seen your Granchester budgets.

Since I note that you have an admirably frugal outlook, I’ll give you a free hand.’

Stupidly pleased by this small sign of trust, Emma smiled. ‘And hadn’t you better tell me what you’re planning to do with it—what kind of vision you have for it?’

His answer was the last thing Emma was expecting to hear.

‘I want to turn it into a wedding venue.’

‘A wedding venue,’ she repeated slowly.

‘You sound surprised.’

‘That’s because I am.’

He slanted her a glance. ‘And why is that, I wonder?’

She looked at him, tempted to be honest and yet, why shouldn’t she be honest? What was the worst thing that could happen—that he wouldn’t like plain speaking and send her home? She shrugged. ‘You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’s particularly interested in weddings.’

‘Show me any man who really is,’ he said acidly. ‘But there’s a huge market for them—particularly here. Guests who stay here want to tie the knot here—they want the view and the glamour. Up until now I’ve always resisted—because, frankly, the attendant publicity is always a bore. And weddings seem to breed a hysteria in the female of the species which I can do without.’

She saw the cynical twist of his lips. ‘But something’s happened to change your mind?’

‘Not something. Someone.’

‘Someone?’ she echoed, her heart pounding. ‘Wh-who?’

He didn’t appear to notice the stumbling of her voice. ‘Her name is Leda.’

Emma screwed up her eyes, wondering why the name sounded familiar until she remembered where she’d heard it before. Leda was the name of the woman she’d seen him dining with, back in England. The woman with the dark, dramatic hair and amazing cheekbones.

‘That’s the woman you were with in London? The one in the miniskirt with the thigh-high boots?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘She’s getting … married?’ she questioned faintly and suddenly she wondered if she’d read it all wrong. Was Zak about to marry the stunning woman who’d been his date? And if that was the case, then why no huge sense of relief that the tricky billionaire would soon be settling down and might therefore stop interfering in the life of his brother? Why was her instinctive feeling one of jealousy—a terrible, debilitating jealousy, which made her fingers curl into two tight little fists by her sides? Why did she suddenly want to open her mouth and scream? ‘Who … who’s she marrying?’

‘Some banker from out of town.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s a good guy, if a little on the unexciting side. But he’ll make her happy.’

Emma looked into his pewter eyes and remembered something else. What had Nat said to him? Everyone thought you two would get married. Did Zak regret letting Leda go? Was he bitter about the fact that she was now about to marry the ‘good guy’?

She turned her face up to his. ‘This is a pretty wonderful thing you’re doing for her,’ she said quietly, her eyes searching for some kind of reaction.

‘It’s a commercial decision, not an emotional one,’ he snapped.

Emma heard the hard note of finality in his voice and forced her attention back to the project, reminding herself that it was no business of hers even if he was still lusting after his ex-girlfriend. ‘Did you have any particular ideas about what you wanted for the refurb?’ she asked. ‘Traditional or contemporary?’

He shook his head. ‘Not my province,’ he said as he glanced at his watch. ‘I’m no expert and I’m not particularly interested. I assume you’ll know the kind of things which prospective brides want and I’m giving you a free hand.’

Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘It didn’t occur to you that since I’ve been brought here under duress—I could completely sabotage your wedding room by making it all bubblegum pink and girly? Can you imagine how that would go down at the Pembroke? Why, the taste gurus would have a fit!’

He leaned forward and the musky tang of sandalwood once again invaded her senses.

‘So they would. But that would be a very bad idea,’ he warned softly. ‘You see, people who cross me always live to regret it.’

She suspected he was referring to his brother and not bubblegum-pink walls, but his closeness was distracting.

‘That sounds awfully like a threat,’ she said quietly.

His lips curved into a smile. ‘Not really. Just a quiet warning to let you know exactly where you stand.’

‘I’d have to be pretty dense not to have realised that already. Tell me, do you always try to intimidate your staff?’

‘Only the ones who give me trouble—but they are few and far between and I don’t generally tolerate them for very long.’

‘So if I told you that I found your attitude insufferable and that I didn’t want to work for you?’

‘I’d be delighted.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘So delighted that I’d be tempted to give you a year’s salary in lieu of notice.’

And he would have won, Emma realised. He would have achieved what he’d wanted to do all along. He would have managed to get rid of her without having to sack her—and she would have let Nat down.

‘You really are a brute,’ she accused crossly.

‘I’ve never denied that. But most women seem to enjoy the way I treat them.’

‘Are you so sure of that?’

‘Put it this way—I’ve never had any complaints.’

Emma saw his eyes darken as their gazes clashed. Saw the tiny muscle flickering at the olive skin of his temple and the subsequent hardening of his mouth, as if he regretted his undeniably flirtatious words. But he couldn’t take them back, could he? Nor could he dispel the darkly erotic images they had provoked.

And suddenly she wanted to lash out. She wanted to tell him to stop making her feel this way. As if she would do anything to have him take her in his arms and have him kiss away the unbearable tension which was building and building inside her. She could see the tension in his own big body and she wondered what might have happened next had not a bouncy little brunette entered the room.

‘Hey, Zak!’ said the brunette breezily, stopping dead when she saw their frozen pose and looking uncertainly from one to the other. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

Quickly, Zak stepped away from Emma, his heart pounding as he forced himself to acknowledge just how close he’d been to taking her in his arms. Would he have kissed her? Would he? Even though she was his brother’s woman—would he have been disloyal enough to lick his way into her soft, trembling mouth?

Swallowing down the unbearable combination of guilt and frustration, he forced himself to smile at the new arrival, even though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing. ‘No, Cindy—you’re not interrupting anything. This is Emma Geary, the interior designer from the Granchester we’ve been expecting. Emma and I were just establishing something fundamental, weren’t we, Emma?’ And that something was that his brother had fallen for a woman who it seemed would put out for just about anyone with a Y chromosome and a bulging wallet!

Emma heard the unmistakable edge of contempt in his voice and thought how unjust it was. He made her feel cheap. As if she’d done something wrong. Yet the sizzling attraction which had flowed between them had happened because he’d been flirting with her, boasting about his success with women. She hadn’t provoked it—so why the hell should she be blamed for it? Realising that Cindy was still looking bemused, she reached out to shake the girl’s hand, aware of the faint tremble of her own fingers.

‘Yes, we were just establishing what an exacting man Mr Constantinides can be to work for, but no doubt I’ll learn to cope with all his idiosyncrasies! Any tips on how best to deal with him will be gratefully received.’ She smiled. ‘In the meantime, I’m very pleased to meet you, Cindy. We’re going to make this the most sought-after place in the city for marriages—and I’m relying on you to introduce me to New York’s best-kept design secrets.’

‘Happy to do that,’ beamed Cindy.

‘I’ll leave you in Cindy’s capable hands,’ said Zak, his cool voice completely at odds with the frustration eating him up inside. How dared she slant him that supercilious and dismissive look? ‘I’ll look in from time to time for an update. Anything you want, or need—just speak to one of my assistants.’

Emma should have been glad that he was leaving. Relieved that her body would be free of the tantalising distraction he represented. So why the sudden heart-sink? Aware of Cindy’s curious eyes on her, she nodded and tried to match his careless tone. ‘Right. I’ll see you around.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ he murmured.

His sarcastic aside was so soft that Emma realised it had floated right over Cindy’s head—but then, Cindy hadn’t seen the unsettling look which was glittering from his cold grey eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Zak, this is a—’

‘Pleasant surprise?’ he finished sardonically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What kind of dinner?’ she questioned suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Eight it is.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thanks,’ he said tersely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

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

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

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

He smiled. ‘You like them?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Let’s go,’ he clipped out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘ZAK?’ Emma attempted for a second time as the car pulled away from the kerb.

‘Shut up,’ he gritted out again.

Her shoulders miserably tense, Emma sat upright in the luxury car while he brooded beside her in stony silence. What choice did she have but to obey him? She guessed she could jump out of the limousine when they stopped at a light. She could run down the road and hail a cab—but wouldn’t that only add to the general melodrama of the evening and make it even worse? Clutching at her little gold clutch bag, she could feel mounting frustration at her own stupidity.

Why the hell hadn’t she told him about Nat sooner—way back when? She’d known that there was some sort of chemistry between them right from the start. She’d known that they had both been fighting an unwanted and very physical attraction. So why had she just pretended that it wasn’t happening—until it had combusted in that steamy dance at the party and it had been impossible to hide from the truth any longer? And now he was angry with her—she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone so angry.

The car stopped outside the Pembroke and she half expected Zak to storm off, but, still with that same grim look on his face, he led her through the lobby to the elevator, punching out her floor number with an angry finger. Within the closed confines of the empty lift, the atmosphere was unbearable and then suddenly he erupted, turning on her with pewter fire flashing from his eyes.

‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded, his voice low and fierce. ‘Why did you lie about your relationship with my brother, knowing as you must have known that the attraction between us was growing all the time? Or was that what turned you on? Is that what you always do with men, Emma—watch them getting eaten up with desire until they can’t help themselves? Did it amuse you to see me fighting the way I felt about you?’

‘Of course it didn’t!’

‘So why the subterfuge? Why not just come straight out and tell me?’

She shook her head, not ready to tell him that she’d felt too vulnerable to tell him the truth. That she’d been afraid of the way she felt about him and the effect it’d had on her. In fact, she was still afraid. Hadn’t her mother been made a fool of by men who were out of her reach, time and time again? And hadn’t the debacle of her own disastrous marriage proved that Emma was formed from the same mould as the woman who had given birth to her?

‘Because there never seemed a right time,’ she hedged. ‘And because I’d promised Nat that I’d get you off his back.’

‘If Nat had wanted that, then he should have had the guts to tell me so himself!’ he flared. And then he shook his head, amazed at his own stupidity. If Nat had really loved Emma, then there was no way on earth he would have tolerated her being moved away to another city like that. Why hadn’t he seen that before?

Because as usual he had been trying to fix things. To orchestrate events from the sidelines, the way he’d always done. A muscle worked in his cheek as he realised the full extent of his need to control. But he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it. That was the way he’d had to be. Hadn’t he needed every bit of that steely control, in order for his family to survive? When the Constantinides fortune had been bled away by his father’s vacuous new wife—and his mother’s consequent illness—hadn’t Zak been the one that everyone had relied on?

He stared down at Emma, at the slanted green eyes and pale tumble of her hair. He’d been planning to leave her at her room and then to go back to his own, to maybe drink himself into oblivion and think about what a fool he’d been. But his eyes now focused on the soft white silk which clung to yet concealed the pale, curvy body beneath. And suddenly he thought, What the hell?

The lift doors slid open at her floor but as she made to exit, he caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back inside, so that she was wedged right up close to his chest.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she whispered.

‘Let’s lose the innocent act, shall we? I’m going to do what you’ve been wanting me to do all night. I’m going to kiss you, Emma. To kiss you until you don’t know where your mouth ends and mine begins—and after that I’m going to make love to you. Unless, of course, you don’t want me to?’ He read the darkened hunger in her eyes and saw the helpless tremble of her lips. ‘No, I thought not,’ he said grimly as he hit the button for the 34th floor. ‘Because you want this just as much as me. You’ve wanted this from the first moment you ever set eyes on me. We both have. And now we’re damned well going to do it and maybe then it’ll stop eating away at me.’

He was all out of words and all out of excuses and, even though a part of him despised his own weakness, he drove his mouth onto hers in a kiss which had been a long time in coming.

Emma swayed as his mouth came down hard on hers and she found her lips opening greedily. Was this right or was this wrong? She didn’t know—and right now she didn’t care. Because there was no alternative. None. The thought of going through the rest of her life and not kissing him, of never experiencing this—would surely make it an empty life.

Her eyes fluttered to a helpless close as his hands splayed possessively over her bare back. It felt as if her body were melting and this wretched dress was burning her skin and she could barely wait for him to touch her properly. The sensation of it was so powerful that, for a moment, her knees buckled.

Yet even as her body felt on fire with need a part of her found it hard to believe that this was really happening. Because she’d never had this feeling before. Not with Louis. Not with anyone. She’d thought it was her—that it was all down to her own inadequacy. Because that was the accusation which men hurled at women when they couldn’t … couldn’t … arouse them.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a couple in full evening dress who were blinking at them in surprise.

‘Good evening,’ said Zak pleasantly as he caught Emma’s hand and walked straight past them.

But Emma heard the woman’s voice as it floated after them down the corridor.

‘Did you see what they were doing, Earl?’

‘I sure did,’ answered Earl, an unmistakable trace of envy in his voice.

Emma’s cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding by the time they reached Zak’s suite—but she was too nervous with excitement to give the vast penthouse more than a cursory look.

‘I’m not going to offer you a drink,’ he said. ‘Because we both know we’re not here for cocktails. There has been too much deception, Emma, and there’s not going to be any more. Not tonight. Do you understand?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Tonight we’re going to be very honest with each other. You’re going to tell me exactly what it is you want, and I’m going to give it to you.’

His words both thrilled her and scared her because how was she supposed to know what she wanted? How on earth could she tell him that she didn’t know? Nerves momentarily threatened to overwhelm her, but then he had pulled her into his arms and was grazing his lips over hers and she began to shiver in helpless response.

‘Zak,’ she breathed as he flicked her lips open with the arrogant lick of his tongue and she could feel the warm mingling of their breath.

‘Tell me, what is it you want, Emma?’

‘I want …’ Her words trailed away. How could she articulate what had only ever been a fantasy?

‘This, perhaps?’ His hand cupped her breast, luxuriantly circling the rocky nipple so that she moaned.

Against his shoulder, she squirmed with excitement, swallowing down the paper dryness in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘I thought so. Now let’s try this …’ His hand skated over her belly, his fingers drifting over the delicate silk-satin of her white dress until, with blatant possession, they rested at her crotch. Briefly, his fingers whispered over her sensitive mound, and he ignored her little gasp of protest as he drifted them further down to splay over her thigh.

‘Zak,’ she murmured brokenly, her eyes tightly shut, scared she was going to crumple to the carpet and give away just how useless she was at all this.

Assessingly, he ran his gaze over her as she clung to him, his heart beating with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She was certainly very turned on. Enough for him to just push her down onto the carpet and do it to her right there—and part of him was angry enough at her deceit to want to do just that. To take her in as swift and as perfunctory a way as possible and then to get rid of her as fast as he could.

But even though it had been less than a month since he’d met her, he could never remember feeling quite like this before—as if he would die if he didn’t possess her. Was that the power of the forbidden? Because for so long he’d thought he couldn’t have her? What was it they said—that forbidden fruit was the sweetest? Yet through the dying waves of his anger he realised something else—something which was far more dangerous than acknowledging the allure of the forbidden. He didn’t want it fast and furious, with him just unzipping his fly and thrusting into her eager flesh. If it was only going to be once, then it was going to last all night. One unforgettable night.

He picked her up with the minimum of effort, enjoying the way her eyes snapped open and registering her delighted gasp with a grim satisfaction. So she, who had expressed disbelief that women liked masterful men, was discovering that she’d been wrong all along, was she?

He carried her into the bedroom, where he set her down on her high heels and sucked in a deep breath while she steadied herself, her hands holding on to his shoulders.

‘Take off your shoes,’ he said.

He was so … so in control, she thought as, shakily, she bent down to slip each foot free. Without the added inches of the gold stilettos, she was suddenly much shorter, and once again a feeling of vulnerability swept over her—particularly when she heard his next comment.

‘Is this dress new?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you bought it especially for me,’ he mused, his lips hardening. ‘That’s interesting. Was it expensive?’

She shrugged. Did she look foolish, buying a new dress for what was supposed to have been an innocent date all along? Did it seem as if she’d been expecting this to happen all along? ‘It was enough.’

‘Then bill me for another,’ he said savagely as he peeled it unceremoniously from her body and threw it to the floor, where it pooled in a silken white puddle. He shrugged off his dinner jacket, and it joined the dress on the floor, black against white—as stark as the contrast between his dark skin and her pale flesh. ‘Now unzip me,’ he commanded unsteadily.

The dark eroticism in his voice filled Emma with an urgency she’d never felt before. And once again the dizzy realisation hit her that this was how it was supposed to feel. As if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment other than what was taking place between this man and this woman.

Tremblingly, her fingers struggled with the zipper, which was straining against his hardness. She was terrified that she would ruin it. But he gave a groan of what sounded like satisfaction as his erection sprang free—though he clamped his fingers around hers when she attempted to stroke his steely length through the black silk of his boxer shorts.

‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘Not this time. Just unbutton my shirt. Leave the rest to me.’

This time? What was he talking about? But there wasn’t time to think—not to do anything—because now Zak was removing his shoes and socks and kicking off his trousers and she was busy sliding free the buttons of the fancy dress shirt.

His hand skimmed its way down the side of her body as if he was learning her through touch alone and Emma was suddenly aware that they were both wearing nothing but their underwear. That she was standing in front of him in her bra and pants and that soon they would reach the part where it might go as hopelessly and as disastrously wrong as it had in the past. Would it? Would Zak Constantinides turn to her and snarl his frustration and his rage at her? Hotness flooded into her cheeks and he lifted her chin to meet the blaze of his eyes.

‘Blushing?’ he questioned in a thoughtful voice, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.

‘It’s all been a bit … sudden,’ she prevaricated. ‘It feels … fast.’

‘If you want me to be slow, I’m not sure that I can.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What is it you want from me, Emma?’

‘I just …’

Her words tailed off because she was unsure of how to express herself. Even she knew that it would be madness to warn him that it might all go terribly wrong. Because what if that made him stop? So instead, she just spoke the words which came straight from her heart. The ones which were inspired by the desire she felt for this daunting and powerful man. ‘I just want you to be you,’ she breathed.

There was a brief pause. ‘Oh, do you now?’ His soft words to her were at odds with the hardening of his mouth. How like a woman, he thought bitterly. Couldn’t she see the irony in what she’d said? That all this time she’d been deceiving him and now she had the temerity to make a breathless little request like that!

Through the beat of desire he felt another flicker of fury, but he sublimated it by concentrating on undressing her, recognising that rage would get in the way of his enjoyment. And one thing he was certain of was that he was going to enjoy this. Theos, but he had waited for it long enough!

He unclipped her strapless bra—a skimpy little thing, which was having to fight against gravity to contain her luscious breasts, and he was unable to stem his instinctive murmur of appreciation when they sprang free. Urgently, he turned his attention to a tiny white thong, which skimmed the pale curve of her hips and which he slid down over her thighs before kicking off his own shorts so that they were both naked. For a moment he sucked in a deep and unsteady breath, because this was happening—something he had never envisaged happening, other than in his tortured dreams.

Her pale green eyes looked blurred and he wondered if he imagined the faint wariness which lurked at their depths. And he knew that he didn’t want her to have any doubts. That nothing was going to stop this. Not her. Not him. Nothing. He put his arms around her and dipped his face so that it was close to hers.

‘You want this?’ he questioned urgently.

‘I do,’ she whispered back.

With a small groan he tumbled them down on the bed as skin met skin, their bodies sinking into the deep mattress as his fingers threaded through the pale spill of her hair.

‘Oh, Emma,’ he groaned. ‘Emma. I’ve dreamt of doing this. Every night, this has been my forbidden fantasy and now it’s finally coming true.’

He kissed her lips. Her neck. The lobes of her ears. He kissed her until she made sweet little sounds in the back of her throat. Dragging his lips downwards to her breast, he weaved his tongue over the puckering pink of her nipple, his hand drifting irresistibly down over her belly towards the soft fuzz of hair at the juncture of her thighs.

‘Zak!’ she moaned as his hand moved to cup her intimately and all her shyness and fear was banished by the expert way he was strumming his fingers against her moist heat. Pleasure rushed through her in a warm, unstoppable stream. She could feel the powerful beat of his heart and smell the scent of her own arousal as her body thrilled to his touch. And something made her fingernails dig into his back—some urgent need to have more than this. To have Zak as close as it was possible for him to be. To see whether this time …

‘Please …’ she breathed.

Briefly, he released her—reaching out to the drawer in the antique locker next to the bed, until he had found what he was looking for.

He couldn’t remember ever having quite so much difficulty slipping on a condom and it wasn’t helped by Emma planting urgent little butterfly kisses all over his shoulders. But when he had sheathed himself he moved over her, savouring that last brief moment against her moist heat before he entered her long and hard and deep.

Her gasp was unlike any other he’d ever heard because wasn’t it tinged with a note of what sounded like … surprise? He stilled as, briefly, he felt her stiffen.

‘Emma?’ Confusedly, he stared down at her, but she had now closed her eyes tight shut, her chin lifted upward—like a flower reaching for the sun. ‘Emma?’ he questioned again.

‘Just make love to me, Zak,’ she urged fervently against his warm damp skin. ‘Please.’

His bewilderment was dissolved by that throaty little plea, his conscience appeased by the dig of her fingernails into his shoulders. With a moan, he began to move again, thrusting deep into her molten heat—his body so dark against the paleness of hers. Her mouth was on his and he held her close as their bodies rocked together in perfect rhythm. She was so tight, he thought as he deepened the kiss. Tighter than any woman he’d ever known.

He wanted to come. He’d wanted it from the moment he had entered her and never had it seemed so difficult to hold back. He felt as if he were a teenager. As if it were his first time. As if there had never been any other woman but her. He wanted to come like never before! But somehow he clung on until he heard the shudder of her breathing and felt the change in her body as it began to arch and then to splinter around his. And only then did he let go, spilling his seed in an orgasm which went on like no other, sending him orbiting into some crazy new dimension.

He clutched her still-shuddering body and buried his mouth in her silken hair. For a moment there was no sound in the room other than their ragged breathing and Zak wished he could just hold on to this feeling and turn over and go to sleep.

But he hadn’t got this far in life by ignoring the screamingly obvious and he rolled off her and lay on his side, his eyes watchful as he stared at her flushed face and wary eyes.

‘So, Emma,’ he questioned unsteadily, ‘was that some kind of erotic game-play done to heighten your enjoyment?’ His grey eyes bored into her. ‘Or could you really have been a virgin?’

CHAPTER NINE

‘TECHNICALLY,’ said Emma, ‘I suppose I was.’

‘What the hell are you talking about—technically?’ Zak demanded as he stared at her flushed face. ‘Either you’re a virgin, or you’re not.’

Trying not to recoil from the accusation blazing from his eyes, Emma felt her pleasure evaporate. Their love-making had been so incredible—like she’d never dared dream it could be. She wanted to just lie there and relive it—second by glorious second—only now Zak was about to ruin it with some intrusive Q and A session. Uncomfortably, she wriggled. ‘Do we have to talk about this now?’

‘Damned right we do!’ he exploded, because he felt as if she’d somehow tricked him. Again! As if she had revealed one secret when she’d told him the truth about Nat—only for him to discover that there was another one lurking, just below the surface. How many secrets did this woman have? he wondered furiously. ‘When would you like us to discuss it? When you’re hanging drapes with Cindy listening on the sidelines?’

‘Of course not!’

‘So start talking!’

‘What is there to say?’ she questioned tiredly. ‘Except that my marriage was never properly consummated.’

‘But Louis Patterson was known as a sex god!’

‘He was also a heavy user of drugs and alcohol!’ She met his eyes, the hurt and the pain spiralling up inside her and threatening to spill out in angry tears. But she swallowed them down, damned if she would come over as any more vulnerable than she already did. ‘Can’t you work it out for yourself, Zak—or do I have to spell it out for you?’

There was silence for a moment. ‘He was impotent?’

Emma nodded, her throat thick with emotion—because even though at the time she’d pored over medical books, which had told her that such a side effect was normal for addicts, that hadn’t stopped her from feeling a failure, had it? As if it was somehow all her fault. If she’d been stronger, she’d have been able to get him clean and sober. If she’d been more attractive, he would have been able to consummate their brief marriage. And Louis had only compounded those feelings of guilt—telling her that he’d never had problems with any woman before her.

‘Yes,’ she answered bluntly. ‘He was.’

For a moment Zak didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He felt like a man who’d just opened his early-morning shutters and seen the night-time sky outside. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ he said.

‘Is it such a crime to be a virgin then, Zak?’

‘That’s a naïve question and you know it.’ He stared at her golden fingernails, which gleamed against the pristine white of the duvet. What a mass of contradictions she was, with her tumble of pale hair and her siren’s body—yet beneath all that she’d been concealing an innocence which had shocked him profoundly.

‘It wasn’t an assumption I would ever have made about you,’ he continued. ‘And part of you must have realised that. But either you didn’t think to tell me, or you decided deliberately not to tell me. And I would have liked to have known, Emma—to have been given some kind of choice in the matter about whether I wanted to take your virginity. Why me? And why now?’

Any trace of post-orgasmic euphoria had now completely vanished and Emma shivered, reaching for the rumpled duvet and pulling it around her. Maybe she had been wrong not to tell him—but hadn’t one of the reasons been fear that he would have walked away? That some misplaced sense of ‘honour’ would have stopped him from making love to her? And hadn’t she felt as if she’d die if he didn’t?

‘Why you? I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. You’re a very attractive and charismatic man, Zak, and I couldn’t stop myself, if you must know,’ she said in a low voice. ‘How’s that for honesty?’

He mulled this over in silence for a moment. ‘And there’s never been anyone else?’

She could hear the incredulity in his voice. ‘Never.’ Because hadn’t her experience with Louis reinforced all her jaded views about men—views which had been formed by watching her mother operate? Louis had left her feeling inadequate and a failure and yet, in a way, it had been a relief to believe that she was frigid. To reassure herself that men were nothing but trouble and that she no longer had to venture down that particular road. Shunning the opposite sex hadn’t been a problem at all—at least, not until the day she’d walked into Zak’s office. And from that moment on, her feelings had given her nothing but trouble. ‘I thought there might be something wrong with me. That maybe I was frigid.’

‘Only now you’ve discovered that you most definitely aren’t?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I must say this is the first time in my life I’ve ever felt like a stud. Like I’ve been used to prove a point—and I’m not sure I like it very much.’

Emma realised that he’d added yet another accusation to the fast-growing list of complaints against her. And yet, why was he acting so hard done by? It wasn’t as if it had been some long and slow candlelit seduction, was it? It had been fast and furious, almost angry sex—and surely for a man like Zak that must be something of a relief. It wasn’t as though she was going to start reading too much into it—not when it had been motivated by anger and lust.

‘Okay, it was a big mistake and we should never have done it,’ she said, wriggling over to the side of the bed. ‘So I’ll get out of your hair and out of your bed and we can both try to forget it ever happened.’

The supple movement of her pale body made him harden. ‘I don’t want you to get out of my bed,’ he said savagely. ‘I don’t want you going anywhere!’

‘Don’t feel you have to sugar-coat your disgust to try to spare my feelings!’

He leaned across and caught hold of her, and as the duvet fell away to reveal the lush spill of her breasts he sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m not sugar-coating anything,’ he said unevenly. ‘And I can assure you that disgust is the very last thing on my mind right now.’

Hating herself for her compliance but unable to resist him when he looked at her like that, she allowed him to pull her into his arms. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I’m just a little dazed by my discovery and hoping that …’ His words faded as he turned his lips and began to kiss the soft skin of her upper arm.

Fighting to prevent her eyelids from fluttering to a close, Emma stared at the tangled black gleam of his hair. ‘Hoping that wh-what?’

He heard the waver of uncertainty in her voice and suddenly he felt anger for all she had endured. A mother who had been an appalling role model and who, it seemed, had pushed her into an unsuitable marriage when she was still heartbreakingly young. And then some thoughtless junkie of a husband who’d made her believe she was frigid. His voice softened. He didn’t have to add to that list by being such a brute, did he? ‘That you enjoyed what just happened, after what has been a very long wait.’

Now Emma was wide awake. Was that sympathy she heard in his voice—or was it the dreaded pity, which she’d always gone out of her way to avoid? Maybe he looked on her as some kind of freak because she happened to have reached the age of twenty-nine before losing her virginity. She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you asking me to mark you out of ten?’

‘No.’ He laughed as he pulled her right back against him. ‘I’ve never felt it necessary to request a scorecard.’

Probably because he’d get a gold star after every performance, she thought. She tried to hold on to what she felt was righteous indignation, but it wasn’t easy. Not when he had drifted his lips to the curve of her jaw, an area she wouldn’t have ever dreamt could be erogenous. But how wrong could she be? Because when Zak gave that tiny, barely there flick of his tongue, she was unable to stop the helpless tremble of her body. And suddenly she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and putting her face very close to his.

‘Zak.’

‘Shh.’ He lifted his head so that his lips were soft against hers and he teased them open with his tongue. Shouldn’t he delight her again—to reinforce that she was a deliciously healthy and normal young woman? Couldn’t he give her the gift of physical enlightenment, even if he wasn’t emotionally equipped to offer her any more than that? ‘The second time can be even better.’

‘B-better?’

‘Mmm. Slower. More …’

‘Zak!’

‘Mmm?’

‘What … what are you doing?’

He raised his head from its current location just south of her belly, his eyes gleaming in a way which made Emma’s heart give a powerful kick. ‘I’m about to lick you where every woman likes best to be licked and which might make conversation a little difficult. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t answer any more of your questions for a while.’

She wanted to protest that mentioning what other women liked wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to say in the circumstances. She opened her mouth to tell him so but by then his dark head was buried between her thighs and his tongue was darting into her … Oh, God! He was actually kissing her … there—and the only sound she made was a gasp of disbelief that something could feel this good.

Softly, she moaned as his mouth worked some kind of sensual magic—her inhibitions melting away as she squirmed beneath the precision of his questing tongue. For a moment, she couldn’t believe that this was really her—uptight Emma Geary writhing as her boss kissed her in the most intimate place imaginable and made her feel as if he was feasting on her.

Her second climax surprised her almost as much as the first—but then, she hadn’t been expecting either. And she suddenly realised that sexual fulfilment didn’t have to be something which hovered frustratingly just out of range. That if you were with the right man, it could happen as easily as breathing.

‘Zak,’ she whispered, wondering if it would be the wrong thing to do to fling her arms around his neck and to thank him. But he still didn’t seem in the mood for any kind of conversation because he didn’t even wait for the sweet spasms to subside before moving over her and thrusting deep inside her again.

Acutely aware of her own inexperience, she wondered if he was enjoying this as much as she was. But then the rhythm of his body changed and she felt him shudder. Heard the muffled exclamation he made in Greek and revelled in the way he kissed the top of her head afterwards, his hand snaking possessively around her waist, and he gave a deep sigh of contentment.

Silently, she clung to him—not wanting to break the warm spell which made it ridiculously easy for her to start wondering what this might be like on a full-time basis. Would it always be this amazing? Zak had been tender and considerate as a lover, even though she’d known he was angry at her deception. Just imagine what it might be like if he was in a good mood!

‘Zak?’ she questioned softly, when she realised from the sound of his steady breathing that he was fast asleep.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at his soft, parted lips and the starkness of his ebony hair against the snowy pillow. How completely relaxed he looked. His big body was sprawled out, all gleaming olive skin and honed muscle as he took up most of the bed. She thought he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and she could have lain there looking at him for hours. But even as she was revelling in the visual feast, dark thoughts began to eat away at her precarious self-esteem.

What had he said? I’m about to lick you where every woman likes best to be licked. Emma bit her lip and turned her gaze up to the ceiling. He had made her sound as if she was just the latest in a long line of lovers—and maybe that had been his intention.

Because that was exactly what she was. In fact, she probably only qualified for one-night-stand status.

She forced herself to confront the facts, no matter how painful they might be. His proud, Greek nature was appalled by her background, he’d told her that himself—and that much hadn’t changed. Why, he’d even gone to the trouble of shipping her across the Atlantic so that he could separate her from his brother.

So what did she think was going to happen now that she’d had sex with him? That he’d take her to that very expensive jewellery shop situated on the eighth floor of his hotel and purchase one of those whopping great diamond rings which glittered so enticingly in the window? She winced. Not all men made ridiculously over-the-top gestures, the way Louis had done. And hadn’t she learned the hard way that those gestures were empty ones? Zak had been fired up by lust and anger and they were no basis for anything solid, or lasting.

She had to get real. To look at the possibilities which lay open to her and then decide what to do. She thought about spending the night here, all wrapped up in his warm body, and temptation whispered over her skin. And then she imagined Zak waking up and thought about what they’d actually say to each other.

The most likely outcome was that he would open his eyes and regret everything that had happened last night. And wouldn’t walking out of his suite wearing a crumpled evening dress in the harsh light of morning only add to her own feelings of remorse? Why, she didn’t even have a toothbrush, let alone a hairbrush! Imagine if she bumped into that nice woman who made her bed each morning—or ran into Cindy. Emma flinched. If it was to be a one-off, then surely at least she could emerge with her pride intact. There’d be no need for any awkward farewells if she absented herself first.

Silently, she pushed aside the duvet and held her breath as she slipped from the bed. But, mercifully, Zak didn’t stir and Emma quietly scooped up her underwear, shoes and dress and carried them into the sitting room. Her fingers were trembling as she dressed, terrified that he would wake up. And she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him—afraid that he would look into her eyes and be able to read her thoughts. To realise that the whole experience had left her with more than the discovery that she was as normal as any other woman. And just as vulnerable. She felt bruised and raw—as if the protective skin she had grown around her heart had been stripped away. Nagging away at her was the growing fear that she could really start to care for Zak Constantinides.

Just before she opened the door, she caught sight of herself in the vast mirror which hung over the marble fireplace, freezing with horror as she saw the image reflected back at her. Her blond hair looked like the ‘before’ photo in a shampoo ad and her dress was so crumpled it could have been mistaken for a high-class duster. But it was her face which shocked her the most—all dark, smudged eyes and kiss-bruised lips.

She looked wanton. As if she’d been designed with no other purpose in life than to provide a man with pleasure. Unable to hold back her revulsion, Emma shuddered.

Because that was how her mother had liked to look—the way she’d lured in all those sleazy men. Hadn’t Emma seen her looking like that when she’d been getting her own breakfast cereal before school? And hadn’t she vowed that she would never, ever get like that herself?

Her fingers were trembling as she picked up her discarded clutch bag and quietly let herself out of Zak’s suite.

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