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

Her second climax surprised her almost as much as the first—but then, she hadn’t been expecting either. And she suddenly realised that sexual fulfilment didn’t have to be something which hovered frustratingly just out of range. That if you were with the right man, it could happen as easily as breathing.

‘Zak,’ she whispered, wondering if it would be the wrong thing to do to fling her arms around his neck and to thank him. But he still didn’t seem in the mood for any kind of conversation because he didn’t even wait for the sweet spasms to subside before moving over her and thrusting deep inside her again.

Acutely aware of her own inexperience, she wondered if he was enjoying this as much as she was. But then the rhythm of his body changed and she felt him shudder. Heard the muffled exclamation he made in Greek and revelled in the way he kissed the top of her head afterwards, his hand snaking possessively around her waist, and he gave a deep sigh of contentment.

Silently, she clung to him—not wanting to break the warm spell which made it ridiculously easy for her to start wondering what this might be like on a full-time basis. Would it always be this amazing? Zak had been tender and considerate as a lover, even though she’d known he was angry at her deception. Just imagine what it might be like if he was in a good mood!

‘Zak?’ she questioned softly, when she realised from the sound of his steady breathing that he was fast asleep.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at his soft, parted lips and the starkness of his ebony hair against the snowy pillow. How completely relaxed he looked. His big body was sprawled out, all gleaming olive skin and honed muscle as he took up most of the bed. She thought he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and she could have lain there looking at him for hours. But even as she was revelling in the visual feast, dark thoughts began to eat away at her precarious self-esteem.

What had he said? I’m about to lick you where every woman likes best to be licked. Emma bit her lip and turned her gaze up to the ceiling. He had made her sound as if she was just the latest in a long line of lovers—and maybe that had been his intention.

Because that was exactly what she was. In fact, she probably only qualified for one-night-stand status.

She forced herself to confront the facts, no matter how painful they might be. His proud, Greek nature was appalled by her background, he’d told her that himself—and that much hadn’t changed. Why, he’d even gone to the trouble of shipping her across the Atlantic so that he could separate her from his brother.

So what did she think was going to happen now that she’d had sex with him? That he’d take her to that very expensive jewellery shop situated on the eighth floor of his hotel and purchase one of those whopping great diamond rings which glittered so enticingly in the window? She winced. Not all men made ridiculously over-the-top gestures, the way Louis had done. And hadn’t she learned the hard way that those gestures were empty ones? Zak had been fired up by lust and anger and they were no basis for anything solid, or lasting.

She had to get real. To look at the possibilities which lay open to her and then decide what to do. She thought about spending the night here, all wrapped up in his warm body, and temptation whispered over her skin. And then she imagined Zak waking up and thought about what they’d actually say to each other.

The most likely outcome was that he would open his eyes and regret everything that had happened last night. And wouldn’t walking out of his suite wearing a crumpled evening dress in the harsh light of morning only add to her own feelings of remorse? Why, she didn’t even have a toothbrush, let alone a hairbrush! Imagine if she bumped into that nice woman who made her bed each morning—or ran into Cindy. Emma flinched. If it was to be a one-off, then surely at least she could emerge with her pride intact. There’d be no need for any awkward farewells if she absented herself first.

Silently, she pushed aside the duvet and held her breath as she slipped from the bed. But, mercifully, Zak didn’t stir and Emma quietly scooped up her underwear, shoes and dress and carried them into the sitting room. Her fingers were trembling as she dressed, terrified that he would wake up. And she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him—afraid that he would look into her eyes and be able to read her thoughts. To realise that the whole experience had left her with more than the discovery that she was as normal as any other woman. And just as vulnerable. She felt bruised and raw—as if the protective skin she had grown around her heart had been stripped away. Nagging away at her was the growing fear that she could really start to care for Zak Constantinides.

Just before she opened the door, she caught sight of herself in the vast mirror which hung over the marble fireplace, freezing with horror as she saw the image reflected back at her. Her blond hair looked like the ‘before’ photo in a shampoo ad and her dress was so crumpled it could have been mistaken for a high-class duster. But it was her face which shocked her the most—all dark, smudged eyes and kiss-bruised lips.

She looked wanton. As if she’d been designed with no other purpose in life than to provide a man with pleasure. Unable to hold back her revulsion, Emma shuddered.

Because that was how her mother had liked to look—the way she’d lured in all those sleazy men. Hadn’t Emma seen her looking like that when she’d been getting her own breakfast cereal before school? And hadn’t she vowed that she would never, ever get like that herself?

Her fingers were trembling as she picked up her discarded clutch bag and quietly let herself out of Zak’s suite.

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_0d5f22cf-9474-5566-bfea-dbb91f673fe3)

‘IF I didn’t know better, I’d ask whether you always crept out of a man’s bed without even bothering to say goodbye.’

A feeling of foreboding whispered over her as Emma looked up into the glitter of Zak’s eyes. Was that anger she could read in them—or merely frustration that she’d been the one to make the decision by leaving his bed last night? That, for once, he had not been the one calling the shots.

Inside her thin gloves, her fingers were cold, and maybe the weather was too inclement to keep sitting outside and working on the terrace like this, but she’d felt closed in and restless after her night of passion with her Greek boss. She’d felt the need to escape—knowing that there was no real escape and that eventually he would come and find her.

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ she said weakly.

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’ She hesitated for a moment before the words came spilling out—because what was the point of playing games? Hadn’t she pretty much bared her soul after he’d made love to her last night? Didn’t Zak Constantinides know more about her than any other person—her ex-husband and mother included? ‘Because I thought that you might wake up this morning, regretting what had happened.’

For a moment there was silence and, like someone who couldn’t resist scratching at a scab, Emma couldn’t stop herself from probing further. ‘Did you?’

Zak studied her pale face and furrowed brow. Her hair was piled up haphazardly on her head and, in her jeans and warm jacket, she couldn’t have looked more different from the white silken goddess who’d danced in his arms last night. And maybe that had been her intention. He considered her question and the very fact she’d asked it spoke volumes about her lack of experience. A sophisticated woman wouldn’t have dreamed of being so upfront, so early in an affair—of laying herself open to the possibility of rejection. But one thing he didn’t do was dishonesty. He’d never given a woman hope where hope there was none.

He thought about the paparazzi who had captured their angry exit from the party and his mouth hardened. By now, every newsdesk in the western world would have it on their files. Its placement would depend on whether or not it was a light day for news—but inevitably it would be accompanied by the speculative splash about the ‘mystery blonde’ in his life. ‘It probably wasn’t the best idea in the world,’ he said heavily.

Emma felt the sudden sinking of her heart. ‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

His mouth hardened. If it had been any other woman than Emma asking him that particular question he would have told them not to be so damned disingenuous. But the anxiety in her eyes looked genuine and, given her particular history, wasn’t it essential that he reassured her without filling her with false hope? ‘I enjoyed it very much,’ he said carefully. ‘As, I think, you did?’

As if he needed to ask that! She wondered what it must be like to be Zak. To know that you were the most amazing lover and never have to suffer from any doubts or worry on that score. Did every woman he slept with feel the way he’d made her feel last night—as if she’d flown up to the sky and scooped up an armful of stars?

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Let’s just hope that Nat doesn’t see any paparazzi photos of us together.’

Her mouth flew open. ‘But I told you—there was never anything between me and Nat.’

For a moment he said nothing. Didn’t she understand the basic rivalry between brothers; between men themselves? No, of course she didn’t—it was easy to forget how limited her experience was. ‘I just think it’s better if you say nothing—unless the subject arises.’

She tried not to flinch but it wasn’t easy. Not when he was making her feel like a clump of dust which needed to be kicked underneath the carpet, out of sight.

‘I wouldn’t dream of saying anything. Don’t worry, Zak—I won’t breathe a word to a living soul. And I can leave right now if it’s easier,’ she added quietly. ‘It’ll be simple enough for me to leave instructions for Cindy—she’s a bright girl and she knows what to do. Most of the stuff has been ordered—it’s just a question of installing it within the next few days. The whole project can be wrapped up within the week and you won’t actually need me for the opening.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Usually when I go to bed with a woman, it doesn’t result in her wanting to put as much distance between us as possible,’ he offered drily.

There was a pause. ‘I didn’t say I wanted to.’ She stared down at her gloved hands as she drew in a deep breath, terrified he would see the vulnerability and the sheer wanting written all over her face. And wasn’t it something of a shock to discover that deep down she was needier than she’d thought? Needier than she wanted to be. She found herself wanting to fling her arms around Zak’s neck and cling to him—to pull his mouth to hers and have him kiss her again. And wouldn’t that be a complete turn-off for a man like him? ‘I just think it’s probably for the best if I did go.’

Zak looked at the pale gleam of her blond head, thinking that maybe she was cleverer than he’d given her credit for. Maybe she was doing this untouchable thing this morning, knowing how tantalising he would find it. Because there was nothing that appealed to him more than something he thought he couldn’t have. Was she clever enough to instinctively understand that?

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said softly, seeing the startled expression in her pale eyes as she looked up at him. ‘You’re going to work today as usual, and then, at eight o’clock tonight, I’m taking you out for dinner.’

‘Dinner?’

‘Is that such an extravagant suggestion in the circumstances?

You do need to eat dinner.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Unless you have other plans.’

She pursed her lips against a smile which was threatening to split her face in two, because surely such overwhelming enthusiasm was completely uncool? ‘Oh, I think I can manage dinner.’

‘Good. I have meetings in another part of town, so I’ll send a car to pick you up and meet you at the restaurant. How does that sound?’

‘Sounds fine,’ she answered as he stood up, and she waited in vain for him to kiss her, or squeeze her arm—or something. Some affectionate touch to indicate that last night she’d been gasping out her orgasm in his arms and that afterwards she’d had to bite back her trembling tears of gratitude. But he gave her nothing but a quick smile before walking out of the ballroom.

She realised that she still didn’t know whether he regretted what had happened, but she also knew that analysis was dangerous—that it could drive you crazy if you let it. She put him out of her mind while she and Cindy deliberated over candles for the table settings and then spent almost an hour positioning a new painting on the wall until she was completely satisfied with it.

‘You’re such a perfectionist, Emma!’ teased Cindy.

Emma smiled back. ‘I call it attention to detail—the secret of success for an interior designer.’

But her nerves were back in force as she got ready for dinner—especially when she picked up the newspaper which had been shoved underneath the door of her hotel room. Flicking through it, she stilled when she reached the social pages and found a photo of her emerging from the party, with Zak.