But there were unspoken rules in her job. You merged into the background and became invisible. You certainly didn’t sunbathe in the grounds of a client’s mansion, no matter how extensive they might be. Imagine the embarrassment of being discovered sprawled out, half naked and covered in suncream! Instead, she opened up the guidebook she’d bought at the airport that morning and saw that there was a picturesque little village close enough for her to reach by foot. Her eyes scanned the tempting photos as she read up about St Jean Gardet—one of those tiny, magical places up in the mountains, which looked as if it hadn’t changed for decades.
No one except the man at the main security gates saw her as she slipped out of the grounds and felt the warm breeze on her face as she set off. She walked upwards through the scented hills, hearing nothing other than the occasional bleat of a goat or the whispery buzz of crickets—and was hot and thirsty by the time she reached the tiny village.
The place seemed to have gone to sleep for the afternoon because there didn’t seem to be a soul around. It was a beautiful ghost town of a place, with scarlet geraniums tumbling from window boxes. A dog slept beneath the shade of a tree and the clock chimed loudly in the baking square. Eventually she found a small tabac where a woman dressed in black looked at her with suspicious eyes and effected not to understand Zara’s schoolgirl attempts at French. But she bought herself a bottle of water and gulped it down thirstily before setting off to explore the cool interior of the small church which was at the very heart of the village.
Afterwards, she felt refreshed by the experience and set off back towards the road leading to Nikolai’s villa—telling herself that she was lucky to be able to explore such a gorgeous place. All she had to do was to endure a few more meals before walking away with her more-than-generous pay-cheque. She could get rid of her debts and then she really would be free. Free to start thinking about what she was going to do with the rest of her life. And if a part of her heart was wistful at the thought that she would never see the sexy Russian again, common sense told her that it was by far the best thing.
Unfortunately, the journey back to the villa seemed much hotter and dustier. Sweat trickled down from her neck to lay in a clammy film on her back and she kept pushing heavy strands of hair away from her face and wondering when she would see Nikolai’s estate. She was so lost in her thoughts that at first she didn’t register the distant drone of an engine—not until the drone became a throaty roar and she realised that a car was speeding down the mountain road towards her.
Quickly, she stepped back onto a verge massed with tall grass and wild flowers as a powerful silver sports car streaked by, gleaming like a fish in the bright sunlight. Dust like golden smoke clouded up behind as it shot past.
With a skipped beat of her heart, she registered the hard profile of the driver. She saw the wind whipping through hair the colour of beaten gold. For a moment the vehicle slowed as the driver glanced in his rear mirror, before slamming on his brakes. The car came to a screaming halt a little way down the road, before being reversed up with an arrogant skill to stop right beside her.
Zara thought that if he hadn’t been a billionaire entrepreneur, then Nikolai Komarov could easily have been a racing driver. Her heart was thudding so loudly that it seemed to deafen her as she stared down into eyes which were hidden by dark shades.
His mouth gave the hint of a hard smile as he leaned over and pushed open the door.
‘Get in,’ he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZARA stared down into Nikolai’s sculpted features, but he was wearing wrap-around shades and so it was impossible to see his eyes or properly see his expression.
‘Get in the car,’ he repeated impatiently.
‘I’m enjoying the walk.’
‘Maybe you were—but not any more, I think. You’re hot. Or at least you look it,’ he added.
She could feel the heat in her cheeks and the stickiness of her skin beneath her sundress and as he spoke she could feel another slow trickle of sweat as it meandered down her back. He was right—she was absolutely baking—but surely getting into a car with him was the worst possible solution. Yet wouldn’t it look slightly pathetic if she refused his offer of a lift—especially when they were both heading for the same place? And what about all those little pep talks she’d been giving herself about managing to resist him? ‘Okay.’ She gave a little shrug and a small smile. ‘Why not? Thanks.’
Sliding into the low leather seat, she attempted to swing her legs into the car without showing too much flesh, but it wasn’t easy—especially when she was feeling this self-conscious and knowing that he was watching her. He waited until she’d snapped her seat belt on and then started the engine.
‘So where have you been?’ he questioned as the car pulled away.
‘Exploring. My guidebook said St Jean Gardet was especially beautiful.’
‘And did you agree with your guidebook?’
Zara shrugged. ‘Well, it was certainly very pretty—but the woman in the shop wasn’t particularly friendly towards me.’
‘The locals are very protective, that’s all. We get a lot of strange visitors to the area—journalists looking for a scoop or thieves doing a little prep-work.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Zara risked a glance at his profile, at the golden gleam of his skin and the soft shadows which fell beneath his high cheekbones. She supposed that when you were as wealthy as he was, you must necessarily view every new acquaintance with suspicion. A pang of guilt ran through her as she remembered her own behaviour the night of the party. Perhaps she couldn’t blame him for being so wary. ‘Otherwise, it was very quiet—there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.’
‘Well, what do you expect? It’s four-thirty in the afternoon, when the day is at its hottest.’ He shot her a glance. ‘Anyone with any sense would be sheltered inside, in the cool.’
‘Having a siesta?’ she said, keen to show him that she did know something about a southern European lifestyle.
‘Maybe.’ His mouth quirked into the flicker of a smile. ‘Though I can think of far better alternatives for whiling away an afternoon than merely sleeping, can’t you, Zara?’
Zara kept her eyes fixed steadily ahead. She had walked straight into that one, hadn’t she? ‘Yet strangely, you’re out in the sun yourself,’ she said.
‘Maybe that’s because I don’t have anyone offering me a little afternoon delight, milaya moya. Something which might tempt me into staying home.’
Zara’s cheeks grew even hotter. Afternoon delight meant…well, everyone knew what it meant. He was trying to embarrass her, that was for sure—and she was not going to give him the pleasure of succeeding. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true, Nikolai. Someone like you must be besieged with offers from women all the time.’
‘Oh, I am,’ he agreed gravely. ‘But you know …’ there was a pause as he negotiated a hairpin bend ‘… if something is offered to you on a plate, then it sometimes deadens the appetite.’