The Millionaires' Cinderellas: Playing the Greek's Game / The Forbidden Innocent / Too Proud to be Bought. Sharon Kendrick
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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.
‘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.