The Millionaires' Cinderellas. Sharon Kendrick
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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!
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