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Hearing his abrupt sense of closure, Emma looked out of the window and watched the night-time city slide past. The big car weaved its way through the busy streets, before coming to a halt at the front of a glittering hotel, whose arching entrance was garlanded with pink and white blooms.
Emma became aware of the press standing waiting outside and of Zak’s terse exclamation when he saw them—but this was something she was an old hand at dealing with. Dipping her head so that her hair fell like a mantle to obscure her face, she was inside the building before any of the intrusive flashes could capture her face for posterity, with Zak close behind her, and when she turned round she saw that he was laughing.
‘That’s the first time a woman’s ever avoided being photographed with me!’
‘You think I want to be seen with you?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
But her modesty and rejection of publicity pleased him inordinately, and forced him to confront his initial prejudices. Would she really be such a bad choice of woman for his brother, if she made him happy? Once he got to know her a little better, wouldn’t this inconvenient lust for her simply melt away?
Emma was aware of him guiding her through to the grand ballroom where the party was being held. The room was decked out in the same pink and white roses they’d seen outside and there were matching balloons and sugared almonds at every place setting. It was a bit cheesy, but somehow it worked—especially when a slender, dark-haired girl in a pink voile dress came running up to Zak and flung her arms around him.
‘Thios Zakharias!’ she bubbled enthusiastically. ‘I’m so glad you came—and thank you for my earrings!’
He smiled. ‘You like them?’
‘I love them! See? I’m wearing them now!’ She pushed back her heavy black hair to reveal two creamy pearl studs. ‘Come and have a drink. Grandfather is around somewhere and so is Mama. Oh, and there’s Loukas—I must go and say hello!’
Emma felt suddenly a little shy to find herself in the middle of such a large and lively party. She could hear bursts of laughter and snatches of incomprehensible Greek and as she looked around she thought that she’d never been in a group of people who were quite so animated.
‘Everyone seems to be having a great time,’ she observed.
‘If there’s one thing a Greek knows how to do, it’s party.’
At his words, Emma’s nerves fled and, despite the rather bizarre circumstances which had brought about this pairing, she began to enjoy herself. And so did Zak, playing the part of attentive partner perfectly. He introduced her to lots of people during the pre-dinner drinks and she struggled to remember all their names as they surveyed her with frankly curious eyes. He explained the history behind the food when they sat down to eat, because ‘everything in Greece has a story,’ and kept her entertained with stories about Sofia’s grandfather’s fabled exploits as a young man, when he had left his Greek island determined to make his fortune and had returned a millionaire.
It was the first time that Emma had been subjected to the full force of his charm and it was powerful stuff.
It was only when the band came on and started playing that she began to feel awkward. Couples got up to dance, so that they were left alone at their table, and suddenly she felt like an outsider, as if she didn’t really belong here. But then, she’d never really belonged anywhere, had she?
Zak’s eyes narrowed. ‘You look as if you’ve just heard the world will be ending in the next five minutes.’
She shrugged, trying to block out the lure of the music and her own sense of isolation. ‘It’s a bit noisy.’
‘Well, we could try shouting to make ourselves heard—or we could just slip away. We’ve done our duty, I think.’
Which told her unequivocally just how he’d rated the evening. Emma looked at his rugged features and an unbearable temptation swept over her as she wondered what it would be like to dance with him—just once? Ignoring the warning bells which were screaming in her brain, she smiled—wondering if it was the wine or the music which made her words tumble out.
‘There’s another alternative,’ she said, gesturing towards the parquet dance floor. ‘We could always dance.’
Zak felt himself tense. It had been bad enough having to steel himself against the visual feast she made in her white silk dress. To have had to keep averting his eyes from the swell of her magnificent breasts. But dancing with her would be insane. Completely insane. There were a million reasons why they shouldn’t do it and yet the thought of being able to hold her in his arms swept every single one of them away. What harm could one dance do?
‘Then let’s do it,’ he murmured, getting to his feet.
She took the hand he offered her and followed him on to the dance floor, but it was only when she was standing in front of him that she became properly aware of his towering height. The feel of his hands on her waist made her feel tiny and her nose only just reached to the top of his shoulder. This close, his scent was more defined—a tantalising mixture of sandalwood combined with warm, male flesh, which crept over her senses.
She could hear the hypnotic note of a single instrument above the rest of the music, an unfamiliar sound which tugged at her heartstrings. ‘I love that sound,’ she said.
‘The bouzouki? I love it, too. Some people think it’s corny—but it’s traditionally Greek.’
And so was he, she thought, her palms spreading luxuriously over his shoulders as their bodies moved in perfect time. Like someone you’d see on the front of a coin—he was pure and unadulterated alpha male.
Zak could feel the sway of her hips and the silken brush of her hair against his cheek. She danced like a dream, he thought. He closed his eyes. Of course she did. It was a particular skill and one which her mother had taught her. He’d forgotten that when he’d agreed to this.
Suddenly he could understand why a man could be driven half mad with desire by watching her. Why some aging rock-star had been captivated by her. Her breasts were brushing against him and he could feel their diamond tips against his chest—or was that simply fevered fantasy on his part?
Either way, he was getting so aroused that he could barely move without giving himself away. His mouth twisted as he registered the near-painful ache of his erection and he was suddenly filled with a feeling of disgust. What kind of man was so turned on by his brother’s woman that he could have pulled her into the nearest darkened alcove and ravished her while the sounds of the party went on in the background?
