‘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.
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?