‘No!’ Her word rang out, clear as a bell, and she hardened her heart to his narrow-eyed look of surprise. ‘These are all just words! You only think you want me because I had the temerity to walk away from you and no one’s ever done that before. It’s the thing which drives you, Zak—the need to acquire things which seem out of reach. It’s why you were able to start all over again when your family lost all their fortune. It’s why you’ve made such a success of your hotel business. But you’re forgetting one thing—that I am not a hotel!’
In normal circumstances, he might have made a joke about such a ludicrous statement, but Zak could see from the fierce look on her face that a joke would go down l
ike a lead balloon. And it was dawning on him that she meant it. Every word. That this was not a situation he’d ever faced before and, for the first time in his life, he realised that he was in danger of losing her. That was, if he hadn’t already lost her.
He felt a splinter of ice nudging at his heart—because wasn’t this what he had always feared? This strange feeling of being out of control—of his happiness being dependent on another person? Was this how his mother had felt, when she’d begged his father not to leave her? How he’d hated to see her wounded vulnerability—and now he wondered if he would be laying himself open to such pain and vulnerability if he dared to let himself get close to Emma.
He could play it safe. He could walk away from her now and after a while he would forget her—his ego and his body restored by the ministrations of one of the many beautiful women who could be his for the taking.
Except he wasn’t sure that he could forget her. Hadn’t he been fighting the way he felt about her since the moment she’d walked into his office with her faded jeans and messy hair? And hadn’t that fight been almost unendurable when he’d thought she was involved with his brother?
He had treated her badly; he knew that. He’d said some terrible things to her—things which couldn’t just be brushed over and forgotten about. But he had to take the risk of reaching out to her. Of laying himself open by opening up his heart.
Zak didn’t do apologies well—he rarely considered that he had anything to apologise for. But now he recognised that he needed to embrace a little humility—that such a thing was necessary for the sustenance of the human spirit—regardless of whether Emma would give him another chance.
‘And what if I told you I was sorry?’ he questioned quietly. ‘Deeply and desperately sorry. What then, Emma? Would that work?’
She looked at him, her heart beating very fast. ‘Work for what, precisely? Me continuing to design for your hotel group?’
‘Damn my hotel group!’ he exploded. ‘I’m talking about you—and me. About you being my woman!’
His unsophisticated declaration rang through the air and Emma thought how she would have responded if he’d made it a few days ago. How she would have flung herself in his arms and shouted yes, yes, yes! Wasn’t it strange how, in life, timing was everything?
She cared for Zak—cared for him deeply enough to call it love—and something told her he cared for her, too. Because deep down she wasn’t foolish enough to think that he’d followed her back to England just because his pride had been hurt. But she realised that they both had to be sure about their feelings. Surer than just a few passionate words tossed out in the wake of a blazing row. There was too much to lose—for both of them.
He’d been hurt, and she couldn’t bear to see him hurt again. And she was thinking about herself, too. Why would she lay herself open to unnecessary heartache if such a thing could be avoided?
‘I’m sorry, Zak.’ She looked at him, her gaze very steady. ‘You’ll have to try harder than that.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘HOW hard?’ questioned Zak.
Emma set her mouth into a firm line as the bus juddered its way up the busy London street, not quite believing that they were sitting side by side like this, their thighs almost touching. And that she was finding her determination to keep him at arm’s length, the biggest temptation of her life. But if she’d been that determined, then she wouldn’t have agreed to let him accompany her home after their spat in Xenon’s office, would she? ‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Now you sound like a dominatrix,’ he said softly.
‘In your dreams.’
He let that one go—mainly because he was aware that she was giving him a second chance and he didn’t want to blow it. They were sitting at the top of a red double-decker bus which was taking them to Emma’s flat, having left the Granchester. Her idea. But there had been a lot of her ideas floating around this morning—and Zak realised that, for once, he was letting someone else call the shots.
‘You know, I’ve never been on a London bus before,’ he observed.
‘Always chauffeur-driven cars, I suppose?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Then the experience will be good for you.’
He smiled as they passed the silver-encrusted gates of Hyde Park. He still hadn’t kissed her. He hadn’t even touched her. But then, she still hadn’t forgiven him and there remained the very bleak possibility that she might not.
‘So why are you taking me to your apartment?’ he questioned.
‘Because it suddenly occurred to me that you don’t even know where I live. You’ve never even seen my home. We’ve been living in some kind of bubble, Zak—with hardly any contact with the outside world.’
And Zak realised with an ache that he envied her that. Because he didn’t really have anywhere he thought of as home. There were the luxurious suites he kept in all his hotels, which he’d customised with the odd painting or piece of furniture. And there was the island he owned in the Myrtoan Sea, with the beautiful house not far from the beach—but when was the last time he’d been there? At least Emma had somewhere that she thought of as completely hers.
‘I suppose there’ll be loads of your ex-husband’s paraphernalia there?’ he growled.