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

It was a long time since she’d seen a photo of herself in a paper and she hated it as much now as she had done back then. The body language between them was telling. Zak looked dark-faced and furious while she hurried to keep up with him, looking like an anxious little mouse. She wondered if Nat would see the photo—and how he would interpret it.

Her mood now subdued, she chose a simple black dress worn with a long string of pearls. Pinning up her hair, she slipped on a warm jacket before going downstairs, where the doorman directed her to a waiting car.

A sense of unreality washed over her as she was driven across the city, and, when they drew up outside a nondescript building in the meat-packing area, she was sure the driver had the wrong address. Until Emma remembered that, in the world of the super-rich, less was definitely more. And that the pared-down and unexpected was currently considered far more chic than the overly ostentatious.

She gave Zak’s name but was informed that he hadn’t yet arrived and would she prefer to wait for him at the bar or go directly to their table?

She opted for the table. Her high-headed walk through the sumptuous room belied the nervous beating of her heart—her insecurities rising to taunt her. What was she doing here—agreeing to have dinner with a man who couldn’t even be bothered to turn up on time? She ordered water and tried to sip it without feeling self-conscious but she was aware that she was the only single woman in the room and that realisation frayed at her already frayed nerves.

After a seemingly endless wait, Zak arrived with the discreet flurry which greeted him everywhere. She watched his progress towards her in his dark suit and pristine shirt, her heart beating unwillingly fast in response to that first sight of him. In the soft light his olive skin gleamed like gold and her body shivered in recognition of the fact that last night he had been hers. He pulled out the chair opposite hers. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a fantastic time sitting here, judging all their design ideas and comparing them to mine!’

He studied her, his heart giving a sudden hard beat. ‘You look very beautiful tonight.’

‘Oh, this? It’s only—’

‘To which you reply, “Thank you, Zak!”’

‘Thank you, Zak,’ she echoed softly.

‘That’s better.’ He picked up a menu and handed it to her. ‘They have a wide vegetarian selection here.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘You remembered.’

‘I have a very good memory for detail,’ he said, but his tone was thoughtful. She was surprised by small kindnesses, he acknowledged suddenly. She certainly wasn’t as tough as he had initially thought, and maybe that meant he should play carefully with her. Maybe he shouldn’t even have invited her out to a dinner which might make her believe that this relationship was going anywhere.

Yet wasn’t last night’s loss of her virginity and her subsequent enjoyment of sex supposed to herald the liberation she obviously needed? Couldn’t this be the start of a whole new chapter for her? He’d shown her that sex could be good—and, after a little more instruction, she could go out into the world and start living her life all over.

‘Did you … did you see the photo in the paper?’ she questioned tentatively.

‘I did.’ His mouth flattened. ‘I had them pull it from the online addition.’

‘They let you do that?’

‘They’d do pretty much anything for an exclusive interview. Don’t worry about it—I’ll do the best I can to make sure they leave you alone.’

His words sounded protective—as if nothing could ever touch her or hurt her if Zak was looking out for her. And yet even she, with her laughable lack of experience, knew that thinking that way was dangerous. Really dangerous. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

Zak allowed himself to relax as he studied her. Tonight her nails were scarlet, contrasting vividly against her little black dress, and he imagined them scraping delicately over his heated flesh.

Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he’d just ordered in room service—except he recognised that he owed her more than that. He had little in the way of a conscience but he knew he needed to tread carefully with Emma. If this ended when she took that plane back to England—as he suspected it would—he didn’t want her feeling as if there had only been one thing on his mind. Even if it were true.

‘So what’s with the nails?’ he murmured.

She put the menu down and blinked at him. ‘The nails?’

He picked up her hand and caressed each scarlet-tipped finger. ‘I’ve noticed that you always paint your nails different colours—which is a little at odds with the fact that you don’t often wear make-up.’

Emma was surprised. He really did have a keen eye for detail. She looked down at her fingers, which were currently being dwarfed by his. ‘Because my job is all about presentation, and when you’re an interior designer, people always look at your hands—especially when you’re showing them fabrics or pointing at a book. Jeans and T-shirts can easily be overlooked as part of a working uniform, but if your hands look unkempt—well, you’ll be judged negatively.’

‘I see. And is the subliminal message you’re sending out tonight—that you’re a scarlet woman?’

Emma swallowed, loving the sensation of his hand holding hers but also feeling a little daunted by the sensual look he was slanting at her across the table. Intimacy in the bedroom was one thing, but here—in the middle of some chic restaurant? How on earth was she supposed to react? She felt like a learner driver who’d just been told she was about to compete in a Grand Prix event. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that red goes very well with black.’