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

Had she gone completely crazy last night—or had she just been suffering from the potency of jet lag and wine? Opening up the blinds, Emma stared out of the window at the green oasis of Central Park. Either way, she wouldn’t be making a fool of herself by repeating it.

Putting Zak’s note down on the dresser, she showered and dressed—and ordered breakfast from room service. She crunched her way through toast and jam, forcing the food down because she knew she needed it, rather than because she really wanted it. But at least the coffee was good and strong and afterwards she felt much better.

But she was nervous when she arrived in the lobby and more nervous still when she saw Zak with his back to her, standing talking into his cellphone. How she hated the fact that her nerve-endings prickled into life when she saw him—when all she wanted to feel towards him was a cool impartiality. He was wearing a steel-grey suit and she was suddenly glad that she’d pulled something smarter from her wardrobe. She got the feeling that, in this city, clothes meant business.

He turned and saw her, terminating his call in a couple of brief words. His grey eyes narrowing, they scanned her with unwilling assessment.

Emma wondered what he saw. Had she failed on the sartorial front again? she wondered. Were a new sweater and pale jeans—stretchy enough for any ladder-climbing—still a little on the casual side for the wealthy hotelier’s taste? He was coming towards her now and it was impossible to read his thoughts from his expression. The pewter eyes were shaded by thick black lashes and his rugged olive features were as hard as marble.

To Emma’s embarrassment, her own colour had started to rise—along with the realisation that the cold light of day had done nothing to lessen her desire for him. That last night had not been some erotic, one-off blip.

But now she had to act normally. As if she hadn’t poured out her life-story to him over dinner last night and let the daylight in on the shadowy world of her past.

‘Good morning,’ she said, summoning up the brightest smile from her repertoire.

Zak noted the dark shadows beneath her eyes, which were at odds with the studiedly cheerful note in her voice. ‘You look tired,’ he observed.

‘That’s because I am.’

‘Been emailing my brother all night, I suppose?’ he enquired caustically.

Emma thought he couldn’t have been further from the truth if he’d tried—why, she’d barely thought about Nat since the moment she’d arrived.

‘Actually, no. I wasn’t.’ Because what on earth would she have said? I’m sorry, Nat—I know I said that he was a tyrant and a control-freak, but last night I was longing for your brother to make love to me. I lay there waiting in my bed, imagining what I would do if he came to me, knowing that I would have opened the door and opened my arms to him. ‘I was too busy counting sheep to try to get to sleep,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But sadly, to no avail. So you’ll have to excuse any absent-mindedness and blame it on the jet lag.’

Some of the tension left his body, her words placating him in a way they shouldn’t have done. Had he been worried she’d tell Nat that his big brother had been coming on to her? And hadn’t an extra layer of guilt begun to gnaw away at him, knowing that it would have been the truth? ‘Have you eaten?’ he questioned.

‘Yes, thanks. I had breakfast in my room.’ She smiled again, determined to dispel this damned atmosphere with a little professional crispness. ‘It’s a beautiful autumn morning and I’m looking forward to my first working day in New York! And you still haven’t told me anything about which part of the hotel needs restyling.’

Her smile did strange things to him. Made that damned heaviness start throbbing at his groin again. He’d lain awake for a long time last night, going over what she’d told him about her growing up. About her flighty mother and the dancing which had angered the neighbours. He’d wanted to think less of her—but the stupid thing was that her story had produced the opposite effect. He’d thought about the reality of what her young life must have been like and had found himself experiencing a reluctant tug of sympathy. What Emma had experienced had been nothing short of neglect, he realised—some people might even have called it abuse. Somehow it made her early marriage to the dissolute rock-star almost understandable.

Until he told himself fiercely that this was how she operated. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her marriage to Patterson would have given her an inkling of her own power and taught her that such fragile beauty was rare. With that pale waterfall of hair and amazing body, she must have quickly learnt what effect that delicate vulnerability could have on a man. Especially a man with all the clout to protect her. Had she told Ciro her pathetic story the way she’d told him—and had that been what had prompted the ruthless Italian to give her such a cushy job? Was that what had made his own brother curtail his philandering ways after all these years of messing around with women—to devote himself to her so wholeheartedly?

Zak’s mouth hardened. Well, she could use her charm on some other poor sucker than Nat—because there was no way that some illegitimate junkie’s widow was going to end up marrying into the Constantinides family.

‘Come with me,’ he said abruptly, turning as he began to walk in the direction of the function rooms, obviously expecting her to follow him.

Emma tried to take in the general mood and feel of the hotel as she scurried to keep up with him. She’d done her homework on the plane over by studying all the literature—but seeing the Pembroke’s interior for herself was much more impressive than in the glossy pages of a brochure.

The Granchester was massive—but this hotel was like its small and perfectly formed little sister. Its understated elegance only reinforced the amount of money which must have been spent on it—and she found herself wondering if all this had been inherited from his wealthy father. Hadn’t Nat told her some complicated story about the family money, which had gone in one ear and then out the other? And hadn’t that been one of the things which had been so obvious to Nat—that she truly wasn’t interested in the might of the Constantinides fortune? She sighed. Not that Zak would ever believe that, of course.

‘This is the room you will be restyling,’ he said, stopping at last in front of some art-deco double doors, which were decorated with exquisite stained glass. He pushed them open and Emma stepped into a room that was almost completely empty—but who needed furniture when a room looked as amazing as this? The proportions were generous, the high ceiling a shimmer of silver mosaic which looked as if it were composed of moving water—and best of all was the terrace, with its stunning views of Central Park and the quiet gleam of the lake beyond.

‘Oh, Zak—it’s lovely,’ she said, looking up to find his eyes fixed on her. And something in that hard and searching gaze made her quickly amend her words—as if suddenly she wanted to encourage him to revise his poor opinion of her. ‘I’m sorry, that’s right up there as the most unoriginal observation I could have made. Of course it’s lovely. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘No, I don’t—though it’s always gratifying when a professional approves.’ For a moment, he relaxed a little. ‘This is the room you’ll be working on.’

‘And do I get help?’

‘You do. You’ll get an assistant and an office you can use, as well as a charge card.’

‘And I run my costs past …?’

‘No need to run them past anyone.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve seen your Granchester budgets.

Since I note that you have an admirably frugal outlook, I’ll give you a free hand.’

Stupidly pleased by this small sign of trust, Emma smiled. ‘And hadn’t you better tell me what you’re planning to do with it—what kind of vision you have for it?’

His answer was the last thing Emma was expecting to hear.

‘I want to turn it into a wedding venue.’

‘A wedding venue,’ she repeated slowly.

‘You sound surprised.’

‘That’s because I am.’

He slanted her a glance. ‘And why is that, I wonder?’

She looked at him, tempted to be honest and yet, why shouldn’t she be honest? What was the worst thing that could happen—that he wouldn’t like plain speaking and send her home? She shrugged. ‘You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’s particularly interested in weddings.’

‘Show me any man who really is,’ he said acidly. ‘But there’s a huge market for them—particularly here. Guests who stay here want to tie the knot here—they want the view and the glamour. Up until now I’ve always resisted—because, frankly, the attendant publicity is always a bore. And weddings seem to breed a hysteria in the female of the species which I can do without.’

She saw the cynical twist of his lips. ‘But something’s happened to change your mind?’

‘Not something. Someone.’

‘Someone?’ she echoed, her heart pounding. ‘Wh-who?’

He didn’t appear to notice the stumbling of her voice. ‘Her name is Leda.’

Emma screwed up her eyes, wondering why the name sounded familiar until she remembered where she’d heard it before. Leda was the name of the woman she’d seen him dining with, back in England. The woman with the dark, dramatic hair and amazing cheekbones.

‘That’s the woman you were with in London? The one in the miniskirt with the thigh-high boots?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘She’s getting … married?’ she questioned faintly and suddenly she wondered if she’d read it all wrong. Was Zak about to marry the stunning woman who’d been his date? And if that was the case, then why no huge sense of relief that the tricky billionaire would soon be settling down and might therefore stop interfering in the life of his brother? Why was her instinctive feeling one of jealousy—a terrible, debilitating jealousy, which made her fingers curl into two tight little fists by her sides? Why did she suddenly want to open her mouth and scream? ‘Who … who’s she marrying?’

‘Some banker from out of town.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s a good guy, if a little on the unexciting side. But he’ll make her happy.’

Emma looked into his pewter eyes and remembered something else. What had Nat said to him? Everyone thought you two would get married. Did Zak regret letting Leda go? Was he bitter about the fact that she was now about to marry the ‘good guy’?

She turned her face up to his. ‘This is a pretty wonderful thing you’re doing for her,’ she said quietly, her eyes searching for some kind of reaction.

‘It’s a commercial decision, not an emotional one,’ he snapped.

Emma heard the hard note of finality in his voice and forced her attention back to the project, reminding herself that it was no business of hers even if he was still lusting after his ex-girlfriend. ‘Did you have any particular ideas about what you wanted for the refurb?’ she asked. ‘Traditional or contemporary?’

He shook his head. ‘Not my province,’ he said as he glanced at his watch. ‘I’m no expert and I’m not particularly interested. I assume you’ll know the kind of things which prospective brides want and I’m giving you a free hand.’

Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘It didn’t occur to you that since I’ve been brought here under duress—I could completely sabotage your wedding room by making it all bubblegum pink and girly? Can you imagine how that would go down at the Pembroke? Why, the taste gurus would have a fit!’

He leaned forward and the musky tang of sandalwood once 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.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘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.

Instead, she found herself up bright and early, traipsing around the sidewalks with Cindy, wrapped up warmly against the crisp autumn breeze. Together, they went scouting for antiques on Broadway and 10th and 11th, while for more contemporary pieces they ventured down to Soho and Chelsea. She learned to love the buzz of the city and the clean, wide streets, which were so easy to negotiate.

To her surprise, she’d heard nothing from Nat—apart from a couple of text messages soon after she’d first arrived. His phone went straight through to voicemail and he hadn’t answered her email. She wondered if that meant he’d met someone new …

One morning, she was sitting on the terrace making notes on table settings when a soft footfall disturbed her, and she looked up to see Zak standing there.

Be professional, she urged herself, hating the hammering of her heart as she curved her mouth into a polite smile.

‘Zak, this is a—’

‘Pleasant surprise?’ he finished sardonically.

She shrugged. Was she going to carry on pretending she hadn’t noticed he’d been avoiding her—or was she going to do the adult thing and try to clear the air? ‘Well, that’s up to you, surely? You can carry on playing the big boss-man who can’t bear to be in the same room as me—or you could try getting along with me.’

He stepped out onto the terrace to join her, where the breeze held in it the first faint chill of winter—despite the brightness of the sun. He looked down at her. She was sitting bundled up in jeans and a jacket, her hair piled high on her head—her face completely bare of make-up. He noticed that today her fingernails were painted pale lemon, which matched the filmy scarf she wore looped around her neck. He’d never seen a woman with yellow nails before.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down next to her. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘He said grudgingly.’ The glance she shot him was enough to establish that his shirt was fine—silk probably—and that she could see the faint outline of his torso through it. ‘You’ll get cold out here without a jacket.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘It might come as a surprise for you to learn that somehow, despite the lack of your intervention, I’ve managed to survive a whole thirty-six years without ever getting pneumonia.’

She rested her pen on her notepad. ‘Are you always this defensive?’

Zak turned his head to look at the park. Not always, no. But then, his relationships with women were usually clearly demarcated. There were women he did business with and women who worked for him. There were women he had relationships with—admittedly rare. And then there were the women he slept with—which had always happened whenever he had wanted it to happen.

There had never been a woman he’d wanted that he couldn’t have.

Until now.

Behind the indifference of his smile, his teeth clamped together in frustration. Because wasn’t the truth that he wanted Emma Geary with a hunger which was eating away at him? That thoughts of her kept him awake at night—awake and hard and bathed in a sweat which cold showers seemed only momentarily to subdue. It didn’t seem to matter that her background appalled the fiercely proud side of his Greek nature—or that she was involved with his brother. His betraying body still jerked into instant life whenever he thought of that waterfall of pale hair and those strange green eyes. When he imagined her painted fingernails tiptoeing over the heated arousal of his flesh.

‘You seem to bring out the worst in me, Emma.’

‘And why’s that, I wonder? Because I’m not docile enough to accept everything you say as law?’

He turned his head to look at her and gave a reluctant shrug. ‘There’s definitely an element of that. Your defiance is a little … unusual,’ he conceded.

‘You mean women don’t usually answer you back?’

‘They don’t usually feel a need to, no.’

‘Because you’re always “right”, I suppose?’

‘It’s a little more complex than that.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Don’t you know that, deep down, all women crave a masterful man?’

She shook her head, glad that the wind was chilly enough to cool the sudden heat in her cheeks. When he looked at her that way, it was difficult not to agree with him even when he was spouting out such ridiculously old-fashioned sentiments. ‘You must mix in some very strange circles to think that way, Zak.’

‘Possibly.’ Leaning back in the chair, he saw that the trees in the park were almost bare. Soon it would be winter, and holiday time. The big Christmas tree would go up at the Rockefeller Center and tourists and New Yorkers would ice-skate side by side in the dazzle of its lights. Emma would complete her assignment here and she would go back to London—and to Nat. Zak’s mouth hardened as he forced himself to confront a scenario he had managed to suppress until now. Because what if his plan failed? What if, despite his intervention, she went back and married his brother. What then?