Playing the Greek's Game

‘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.