The Millionaires' Cinderellas. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ