Because he did exactly as he pleased. He snapped his fingers and people came running. Staff came and went at his behest. He was the ringmaster who ran the whole show.
And right now—even as his lips were coming down to kiss her and transport her back to pleasure-land—she felt like one of Nikolai Komarov’s obedient puppets.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU’VE been remarkably quiet, angel moy.’
Behind the protective shield of her sunglasses, Zara studied the powerful body of her Russian lover, which gleamed like a golden statue beneath the Mediterranean sun. They were sprawled on loungers beside the vast turquoise glitter of an infinity pool, where they’d spent the day drifting in and out of sleep.
Occasionally, they’d sipped at iced drinks which Nikolai had carried from the well-stocked fridge in the pool-house—in what seemed like a neat little bit of role-reversal. In air scented by roses and jasmine, they’d eaten the bread he’d brought back that morning—spread thickly with home-made fig jam—the most delicious meal she could ever remember eating. And if she had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t dreaming, then who could blame her when this bore not even a passing resemblance to her real life?
‘Mmm?’ he prompted as he turned onto his side to look at her—at the shiny caramel-coloured hair, which was loose and spilling down all over the bright red triangles of her bikini top. Most women you couldn’t shut up once you’d made love to them. But not Zara. She’d said very little which wasn’t a breathless variation on his name. And, ironically, it made him curious about her in a way he was rarely curious about a lover. ‘So why the sudden silence?’
Zara tried to concentrate on what he was saying to her, but it wasn’t easy when he was within touching reach and wearing nothing but a pair of sleek swim-shorts. Of course she hadn’t said much—she had been too dazed by what had been happening to her, and forcing herself not to question where it was all heading. And they had none of the equipment necessary for small talk, she realised. No mutual friends or acquaintances. They didn’t even have the shared experience of being the same nationality. In fact, when it boiled down to it, they had absolutely nothing in common except for this urgent sexual hunger which seemed to have taken both of them by surprise.
She shrugged. ‘Well, you’ve taken about five phone calls since we’ve been out here—and when you haven’t been doing that, you’ve—’
‘Been having wild and amazing sex with you?’ he finished silkily, enjoying the corresponding rush of colour which flooded into her face.
She laid a cool palm over her warm cheek. ‘You just struck me as the kind of man who wouldn’t be particularly interested in chit-chat,’ she added truthfully.
A smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘How very perceptive of you,’ he murmured. ‘Or maybe you’re much cleverer than I thought. Perhaps you’ve learnt the power of withholding information.’
‘You make it sound like some s
ort of secret war,’ she observed, with a sudden beat of misgiving.
‘Don’t they call it the battle of the sexes?’
She brushed an insect away from her arm. ‘That’s a little too complex for me, Nikolai. Deep down, I’m a simple soul.’
Intrigued now, he shifted his body slightly, so that the curve of her hips and breasts were fully in his line of vision. ‘And apart from being a simple soul—what else are you, Zara? How come a woman like you ends up being a waitress?’
She watched the little ladybird spread its shiny, spotty wings and fly away before she looked up at him. ‘That’s a pretty insulting question to ask. There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress, you know.’
‘I’m not saying there is. You just struck me as someone capable of a job that’s a little more imaginative. Don’t you ever aspire to something other than offering plates of food to people whose palates are already jaded?’
Zara smiled—because in a way his deprecating comment was cleverly directed at himself. He was a man whose own palate was jaded, she recognised—and that might be one of the reasons she was here with him. Was she his ‘bit of rough', she wondered—someone different enough from his usual partners to awaken a bored appetite? ‘Of course I want to do something else with my life,’ she said. ‘But it’s not always as easy as that, and I don’t ever want to knock waitressing. It’s a fantastic job—it’s flexible and it’s varied.’
Folding his arms behind him, he pillowed his head on them and surveyed her from between narrowed eyes. ‘And that’s what you’ve always done? ‘
‘Not always, no. In a previous existence, I was an agricultural student,’ she said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual choice,’ he commented. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘Oh, the usual one. I just fell in love with the land.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I grew up in the city and that’s all I ever really knew—and then one day we went on a school trip to a farm. There were only cows and sheep and a rather mangy old goat, but I was hooked. And that’s when I realised that grass and mud held a certain kind of appeal. I worked hard at school and got all my grades and was accepted at college.’
‘So what happened to make you jettison something you loved?’
She slid her shades up onto her head and looked at him. ‘You’re assuming something happened?’
‘Keen students don’t drop out unless they’re forced to.’
‘You’re right, of course. They don’t.’ There was a pause. ‘My godmother became sick—and I took some time out to care for her.’
‘How very admirable,’ he observed.
‘I didn’t do it to be admirable,’ she said sharply—because wasn’t there a wry undertone to his remark, as if she were making up some kind of sob story in order to tug at his heartstrings? Did people do that as well? she wondered suddenly. Try to engage his sympathy and hope that he’d put a big wodge of money their way?