The Millionaires' Cinderellas. Sharon Kendrick
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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.
‘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