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‘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.