Reluctantly pulling his hand away, he walked over to the window. Staring hard at a view he usually took for granted, he tried to focus on the brilliant gleam of the skyscrapers’ lights instead of the soft accessibility of her body beneath the voluminous robe. But it was damned near impossible. All he could think of was the translucent quality of her skin and the vulnerability she’d exuded when she’d been asleep. And then she had woken and those pale green eyes had slitted open at him in lazy question, just like in his forbidden fantasy—and he cursed himself for forgetting two vital facts.
She was not his kind of woman!
More important still, she was his brother’s woman!
There was no way he could deny the powerful sexual chemistry which had sizzled between them right from the start—and Zak was far too experienced to pretend it hadn’t happened. That it wasn’t happening how. And didn’t that justify what he was doing by bringing her here to New York? If she could put out like this for her lover’s brother—then wasn’t Nat better off without her?
‘I’ll be waiting downstairs in the restaurant,’ he gritted out. ‘Be there in fifteen minutes.’
Emma sat up as he walked straight past the bed without another look in her direction but she could feel the sudden disapproval radiating from his powerful body. What was his problem? Was he angry because he’d just been looking at her as if he’d like to eat her?
And wasn’t her problem that she’d wanted him to?
Getting off a bed which now felt contaminated, Emma scrambled to find some underwear, guilt washing over her as she clipped on a lacy black bra—acknowledging the heavy aching in her tender breasts. Because wasn’t the pitiful truth of it that she had wanted Zak Constantinides in a way she’d never wanted anyone else? She bit her lip in horrified remorse. Not even her own husband!
He must have felt the powerful vibes which had shimmered between them—because you’d need to be made of stone to ignore them. He already thought that she was a sexually voracious gold-digger—so wouldn’t her behaviour only reinforce his poor opinion of her?
She needed to pull herself together and she needed to grow a little backbone. She wasn’t just some puppet which he could manipulate at will. Hadn’t she worked hard at the Granchester—hard enough to establish herself as an interior designer who was respected by others in the business? She’d done all that with determination, hard work and very little in the way of formal training. So was she prepared to let all that crumble away, simply because her body was reacting in a way she didn’t want towards a man she didn’t like?
No, she was not.
And she would start by sending out the subliminal but very clear message that she was not out to entice him.
She had the kind of looks which she could dress up or down—and tonight was definitely a night for fading into the background. She picked out a pair of black velvet trousers and teamed them with a floaty white shirt. Her hair had acquired a slight kink from where she’d slept on it while it was still damp—so she brushed it and then wove it into a loose bun, which sat on the back of her neck. Make-up she deliberately resisted and a dangly pair of shell earrings was her only adornment. After all—wasn’t ‘casual’ the new black?
But the moment she walked into the restaurant she realised that she was woefully underdressed. Or rather, overdressed. She’d never seen so much flesh on show and every other woman in the room was all buffed and honed and highlighted with the sparkle of jewels.
Emma kept her head high as she gave Zak’s name to a rather bemused-looking waiter and as he led her towards the Greek’s table she was acutely aware of being watched. She’d forgotten what it was like to be judged by your companion. To have people look you up and down and form an opinion about you when they didn’t even know you.
Her stomach was in knots as Zak rose to greet her and she saw that his gaze was hooded. She thought she sensed disapproval as he looked at her—and, although she’d chosen her outfit with just that result in mind, there was a very feminine part of her which cringed beneath his critical scrutiny.
‘You look like you’re just off to a rock festival,’ he commented acidly.
She surveyed the pristine elegance of his dark suit. ‘And you look like you’re about to perform some hostile boardroom bid.’
For a moment his lips almost curved into a smile, until he reminded himself that he was not here to be amused by her. Maybe it was a good thing that she looked as if she was about to start lighting incense, or sit cross-legged on the floor before starting to meditate. He sat back as the waiter handed her a glossy menu. ‘How about I order to save time? The steak here is very good.’
Emma gave a polite smile. ‘I’m sure it is, but I don’t eat meat.’
‘You don’t eat meat?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Which part of my original statement needed clarification, Mr Constantinides?’
He stared at her critically. ‘No wonder you’re so damned pale.’
‘You should try it some time—less meat in the diet is supposed to mean less aggression.’
At this he did laugh. ‘A real man eats meat, Emma.’
There was something about his primitive boast which made her feel quite peculiar and Emma quickly looked down at the very limited vegetarian section of the menu. Did he really think he could come out with all that macho ‘real men eat meat’ stuff and get away with it? Yes, he did—and the horrifying reality was that he could. She suspected he could do pretty well anything he put his mind to, especially where women were concerned. She remembered the way she’d found him looking at her when he’d shaken her awake. That compelling hunger she’d surprised in his eyes. And hadn’t that look made her feel a corresponding rush of desire, which had made her feel as if she were melting beneath his gaze?
Suddenly, Emma felt a trickle of fear sliding down her spine because she suspected that Zak Constantinides knew perfectly well the extent of his power over women. And the very last thing she needed was for him to discover that he had awoken a strange and nebulous need in her.
‘And you’re really going to have to lose the “Mr Constantinides” tag,’ he mused.
‘I would have thought that my constant reinforcement of your superior status would have bolstered your ego.’
‘I don’t need anything to bolster my ego,’ he said softly. ‘So do you think you could try saying “Zak”?’