There’d been no sense of him hiding her away. And just because he’d introduced her as his interior designer, on secondment from his London hotel—well, she wasn’t really in a position to be disappointed by his not-quite-accurate assessment of their relationship, was she? If sometimes she felt as if she were holding a handful of sand which was slowly slipping through her fingers—well, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Emma knew that none of this was supposed to last—she was just trying to enjoy it while it did.
But the clock was inexorably ticking away and she felt as Cinderella must have done as the hands edged towards midnight. The opening of the wedding room was scheduled for the end of the week and her ticket home was booked. She would be flying out of JFK and leaving Zak behind. And she didn’t dare confront what that might feel like.
On the night before the opening, he took her to a fabulous skyscraper restaurant, where outside the sky was like a black velvet canopy, filled with stars. A fingernail moon gleamed through the windows and the dazzle of crystal and flicker of candles all contributed to a heady overload of her senses.
‘I ought to be working,’ she said weakly as she ran her finger around the edge of her champagne glass.
‘You’ve been working all day.’
‘I know. But it’s—’
‘It’s going to be perfect. Of that, I have no doubt, chrisi mou.’
Her hand not quite steady, Emma put her glass down because she couldn’t help thrilling when he spoke to her in Greek. Usually, it was something profound or muffled at the height of his orgasm—but he never usually used endearments in the public arena of a restaurant. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means my “golden one”.’
‘That’s … nice.’
‘Mmm.’ He heard the unmistakable note of hope in her voice and knew that she wanted more, because that was what women were programmed to want. But he could not give her more—other than the very obvious. His hooded eyes flicked to her plate. ‘You’re not eating very much.’
‘Neither are you.’
‘Maybe that’s because I’m wondering why we’re spending our last night here, when we could be doing something much more enjoyable back at the hotel.’
‘But you’ve just ordered a bottle of champagne which cost as much as I take home in a week.’
‘Who cares about that?’ he questioned roughly. ‘Let’s get the check.’
They left the restaurant and kissed like a couple of teenagers in the back of a cab—hailed because he’d told his driver to return at eleven. Emma felt an unstoppable sense of suppressed excitement until the moment when they were alone in his suite and she began to tug impatiently at his jacket.
‘Shouldn’t I have taught you a little more finesse?’ He laughed as he shrugged it from his shoulders and dextrously tossed it onto one of the sofas.
‘Is it finesse you want?’ she breathed, her fingers moving to the buckle of his belt and sliding down his aroused length.
‘God, no. No. Just keep doing what you’re doing.’
It was fast and it was passionate—and afterwards they went to bed and did it again. And again. So that by the time Emma stirred, it was against a heavy tide of sleepiness and the sense that the space on the bed beside her was empty. In the murky dimness of the morning light, she could just make out Zak’s tall silhouette moving quietly around the suite. ‘What time is it?’
‘Ten after six.’
She stifled a yawn. ‘That’s early.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You’ve got meetings?’ she questioned as she leaned over to switch on the bedside lamp.
Zak watched as the soft apricot light transformed her pale and curvy body into that of a golden goddess. How could she look so damned good in the morning? he wondered. And how come she always felt so good in the night, too? And tonight would be the very last night, he realised. Tomorrow she would fly back to England and the distance between them would inevitably rupture their relationship. ‘I’m afraid I do,’ he murmured. ‘Wall-to-wall meetings all day long.’
‘Oh.’
‘There’s no point pouting, Emma.’
‘Was I pouting?’
‘Yes, you were.’ He walked towards the bed and bent down to drop a kiss on her sleep-ruffled hair, inhaling the scent of roses and shampoo. ‘Being provocative without even realising it. Anyway, you have far too much to do than to mess around in bed with me. Tonight’s your big night, isn’t it?’
Emma’s smile didn’t slip. Yes, tonight was her big night—the opening of the wedding room, with all the accompanying fanfare. For her, it was the moment of job completion and, hopefully, one of triumph, too. Her work would be laid bare for others to judge and how it was seen tonight would largely determine its popularity.