Playing the Greek's Game

by Sharon Kendrick

  Emma was aware of him guiding her through to the grand ballroom where the party was being held. The room was decked out in the same pink and white roses they’d seen outside and there were matching balloons and sugared almonds at every place setting. It was a bit cheesy, but somehow it worked—especially when a slender, dark-haired girl in a pink voile dress came running up to Zak and flung her arms around him.

  ‘Thios Zakharias!’ she bubbled enthusiastically. ‘I’m so glad you came—and thank you for my earrings!’

  He smiled. ‘You like them?’

  ‘I love them! See? I’m wearing them now!’ She pushed back her heavy black hair to reveal two creamy pearl studs. ‘Come and have a drink. Grandfather is around somewhere and so is Mama. Oh, and there’s Loukas—I must go and say hello!’

  Emma felt suddenly a little shy to find herself in the middle of such a large and lively party. She could hear bursts of laughter and snatches of incomprehensible Greek and as she looked around she thought that she’d never been in a group of people who were quite so animated.

  ‘Everyone seems to be having a great time,’ she observed.

  ‘If there’s one thing a Greek knows how to do, it’s party.’

  At his words, Emma’s nerves fled and, despite the rather bizarre circumstances which had brought about this pairing, she began to enjoy herself. And so did Zak, playing the part of attentive partner perfectly. He introduced her to lots of people during the pre-dinner drinks and she struggled to remember all their names as they surveyed her with frankly curious eyes. He explained the history behind the food when they sat down to eat, because ‘everything in Greece has a story,’ and kept her entertained with stories about Sofia’s grandfather’s fabled exploits as a young man, when he had left his Greek island determined to make his fortune and had returned a millionaire.

  It was the first time that Emma had been subjected to the full force of his charm and it was powerful stuff.

  It was only when the band came on and started playing that she began to feel awkward. Couples got up to dance, so that they were left alone at their table, and suddenly she felt like an outsider, as if she didn’t really belong here. But then, she’d never really belonged anywhere, had she?

  Zak’s eyes narrowed. ‘You look as if you’ve just heard the world will be ending in the next five minutes.’

  She shrugged, trying to block out the lure of the music and her own sense of isolation. ‘It’s a bit noisy.’

  ‘Well, we could try shouting to make ourselves heard—or we could just slip away. We’ve done our duty, I think.’

  Which told her unequivocally just how he’d rated the evening. Emma looked at his rugged features and an unbearable temptation swept over her as she wondered what it would be like to dance with him—just once? Ignoring the warning bells which were screaming in her brain, she smiled—wondering if it was the wine or the music which made her words tumble out.

  ‘There’s another alternative,’ she said, gesturing towards the parquet dance floor. ‘We could always dance.’

  Zak felt himself tense. It had been bad enough having to steel himself against the visual feast she made in her white silk dress. To have had to keep averting his eyes from the swell of her magnificent breasts. But dancing with her would be insane. Completely insane. There were a million reasons why they shouldn’t do it and yet the thought of being able to hold her in his arms swept every single one of them away. What harm could one dance do?

  ‘Then let’s do it,’ he murmured, getting to his feet.

  She took the hand he offered her and followed him on to the dance floor, but it was only when she was standing in front of him that she became properly aware of his towering height. The feel of his hands on her waist made her feel tiny and her nose only just reached to the top of his shoulder. This close, his scent was more defined—a tantalising mixture of sandalwood combined with warm, male flesh, which crept over her senses.

  She could hear the hypnotic note of a single instrument above the rest of the music, an unfamiliar sound which tugged at her heartstrings. ‘I love that sound,’ she said.

  ‘The bouzouki? I love it, too. Some people think it’s corny—but it’s traditionally Greek.’

  And so was he, she thought, her palms spreading luxuriously over his shoulders as their bodies moved in perfect time. Like someone you’d see on the front of a coin—he was pure and unadulterated alpha male.

  Zak could feel the sway of her hips and the silken brush of her hair against his cheek. She danced like a dream, he thought. He closed his eyes. Of course she did. It was a particular skill and one which her mother had taught her. He’d forgotten that when he’d agreed to this.

  Suddenly he could understand why a man could be driven half mad with desire by watching her. Why some aging rock-star had been captivated by her. Her breasts were brushing against him and he could feel their diamond tips against his chest—or was that simply fevered fantasy on his part?

  Either way, he was getting so aroused that he could barely move without giving himself away. His mouth twisted as he registered the near-painful ache of his erection and he was suddenly filled with a feeling of disgust. What kind of man was so turned on by his brother’s woman that he could have pulled her into the nearest darkened alcove and ravished her while the sounds of the party went on in the background?

  He had to stop this and to stop it now. He must have been out of his mind to think that he could dance with her and not want her. Abruptly removing his hands from her waist, he dipped his head to her ear, so that his words could be heard above the hypnotic lull of the music.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he clipped out.

  ‘Go?’ She turned her face up to his. ‘But we’ve only just started dancing.’

  And in that moment, all the pretence he’d been maintaining and the defences he’d erected came tumbling down and desire transmuted into a quiet and burning rage. ‘I don’t know if you’re being naïve or disingenuous, Emma—but we can’t keep doing this,’ he hissed. ‘All this crazy flirting and touching and denying ourselves what we both really want. Because it’s wrong. We both know it’s wrong. And sooner or later, we’re just not going to be able to stop ourselves. You might find it acceptable to have two men on the go—but I won’t do it. I may want you, but I can’t have you. If you want the truth, there’s part of me which despises your siren ways even as I’m sucked in by them. And the thought that you’ve woven your spell around my poor, unsuspecting brother makes me sick to my stomach.’

  She heard the venom in his voice as his accusation cut through her and she knew that she had to tell him. That maybe she should have told him a long time ago.

  ‘B-but I haven’t,’ she stumbled. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing between me and Nat and there never has been.’

  He froze. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘We’re just good friends,’ she explained, her words coming out in a babble in their eagerness to be spoken. ‘I played along with the idea of you separating us because he thought it would get you off his back for a while. He was fed up with you always playing the big, controlling brother—and he thought it’d do me good to come to New York. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ A pulse beat at Zak’s temple as what she’d just told him began to sink in. He’d endured days of guilt and long, sleepless nights of frustration—and she thought she could shrug it off with an insouciant ‘that’s all’? A bitter anger crept over him. ‘We’re going,’ he bit out as he caught hold of her wrist and led her off the dance floor.

  The expression on his face was dark and formidable and Emma was aware of people watching them. Grabbing her bag from her chair, she shot a glance at his stony profile as they made their way towards the exit. ‘Zak?’

  ‘Shut up,’ he gritted out, signalling for the doorman to have his car brought out to the front.

  And they stepped out of the hotel to the blue-white flash of the waiting paparazzi.

  CHAPTER EIGHT
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br />   ‘ZAK?’ Emma attempted for a second time as the car pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘Shut up,’ he gritted out again.

  Her shoulders miserably tense, Emma sat upright in the luxury car while he brooded beside her in stony silence. What choice did she have but to obey him? She guessed she could jump out of the limousine when they stopped at a light. She could run down the road and hail a cab—but wouldn’t that only add to the general melodrama of the evening and make it even worse? Clutching at her little gold clutch bag, she could feel mounting frustration at her own stupidity.

  Why the hell hadn’t she told him about Nat sooner—way back when? She’d known that there was some sort of chemistry between them right from the start. She’d known that they had both been fighting an unwanted and very physical attraction. So why had she just pretended that it wasn’t happening—until it had combusted in that steamy dance at the party and it had been impossible to hide from the truth any longer? And now he was angry with her—she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone so angry.

  The car stopped outside the Pembroke and she half expected Zak to storm off, but, still with that same grim look on his face, he led her through the lobby to the elevator, punching out her floor number with an angry finger. Within the closed confines of the empty lift, the atmosphere was unbearable and then suddenly he erupted, turning on her with pewter fire flashing from his eyes.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded, his voice low and fierce. ‘Why did you lie about your relationship with my brother, knowing as you must have known that the attraction between us was growing all the time? Or was that what turned you on? Is that what you always do with men, Emma—watch them getting eaten up with desire until they can’t help themselves? Did it amuse you to see me fighting the way I felt about you?’

  ‘Of course it didn’t!’

  ‘So why the subterfuge? Why not just come straight out and tell me?’

  She shook her head, not ready to tell him that she’d felt too vulnerable to tell him the truth. That she’d been afraid of the way she felt about him and the effect it’d had on her. In fact, she was still afraid. Hadn’t her mother been made a fool of by men who were out of her reach, time and time again? And hadn’t the debacle of her own disastrous marriage proved that Emma was formed from the same mould as the woman who had given birth to her?

  ‘Because there never seemed a right time,’ she hedged. ‘And because I’d promised Nat that I’d get you off his back.’

  ‘If Nat had wanted that, then he should have had the guts to tell me so himself!’ he flared. And then he shook his head, amazed at his own stupidity. If Nat had really loved Emma, then there was no way on earth he would have tolerated her being moved away to another city like that. Why hadn’t he seen that before?

  Because as usual he had been trying to fix things. To orchestrate events from the sidelines, the way he’d always done. A muscle worked in his cheek as he realised the full extent of his need to control. But he wasn’t going to beat himself up about it. That was the way he’d had to be. Hadn’t he needed every bit of that steely control, in order for his family to survive? When the Constantinides fortune had been bled away by his father’s vacuous new wife—and his mother’s consequent illness—hadn’t Zak been the one that everyone had relied on?

  He stared down at Emma, at the slanted green eyes and pale tumble of her hair. He’d been planning to leave her at her room and then to go back to his own, to maybe drink himself into oblivion and think about what a fool he’d been. But his eyes now focused on the soft white silk which clung to yet concealed the pale, curvy body beneath. And suddenly he thought, What the hell?

  The lift doors slid open at her floor but as she made to exit, he caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back inside, so that she was wedged right up close to his chest.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she whispered.

  ‘Let’s lose the innocent act, shall we? I’m going to do what you’ve been wanting me to do all night. I’m going to kiss you, Emma. To kiss you until you don’t know where your mouth ends and mine begins—and after that I’m going to make love to you. Unless, of course, you don’t want me to?’ He read the darkened hunger in her eyes and saw the helpless tremble of her lips. ‘No, I thought not,’ he said grimly as he hit the button for the 34th floor. ‘Because you want this just as much as me. You’ve wanted this from the first moment you ever set eyes on me. We both have. And now we’re damned well going to do it and maybe then it’ll stop eating away at me.’

  He was all out of words and all out of excuses and, even though a part of him despised his own weakness, he drove his mouth onto hers in a kiss which had been a long time in coming.

  Emma swayed as his mouth came down hard on hers and she found her lips opening greedily. Was this right or was this wrong? She didn’t know—and right now she didn’t care. Because there was no alternative. None. The thought of going through the rest of her life and not kissing him, of never experiencing this—would surely make it an empty life.

  Her eyes fluttered to a helpless close as his hands splayed possessively over her bare back. It felt as if her body were melting and this wretched dress was burning her skin and she could barely wait for him to touch her properly. The sensation of it was so powerful that, for a moment, her knees buckled.

  Yet even as her body felt on fire with need a part of her found it hard to believe that this was really happening. Because she’d never had this feeling before. Not with Louis. Not with anyone. She’d thought it was her—that it was all down to her own inadequacy. Because that was the accusation which men hurled at women when they couldn’t … couldn’t … arouse them.

  The lift stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a couple in full evening dress who were blinking at them in surprise.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Zak pleasantly as he caught Emma’s hand and walked straight past them.

  But Emma heard the woman’s voice as it floated after them down the corridor.

  ‘Did you see what they were doing, Earl?’

  ‘I sure did,’ answered Earl, an unmistakable trace of envy in his voice.

  Emma’s cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding by the time they reached Zak’s suite—but she was too nervous with excitement to give the vast penthouse more than a cursory look.

  ‘I’m not going to offer you a drink,’ he said. ‘Because we both know we’re not here for cocktails. There has been too much deception, Emma, and there’s not going to be any more. Not tonight. Do you understand?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tonight we’re going to be very honest with each other. You’re going to tell me exactly what it is you want, and I’m going to give it to you.’

  His words both thrilled her and scared her because how was she supposed to know what she wanted? How on earth could she tell him that she didn’t know? Nerves momentarily threatened to overwhelm her, but then he had pulled her into his arms and was grazing his lips over hers and she began to shiver in helpless response.

  ‘Zak,’ she breathed as he flicked her lips open with the arrogant lick of his tongue and she could feel the warm mingling of their breath.

  ‘Tell me, what is it you want, Emma?’

  ‘I want …’ Her words trailed away. How could she articulate what had only ever been a fantasy?

  ‘This, perhaps?’ His hand cupped her breast, luxuriantly circling the rocky nipple so that she moaned.

  Against his shoulder, she squirmed with excitement, swallowing down the paper dryness in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘I thought so. Now let’s try this …’ His hand skated over her belly, his fingers drifting over the delicate silk-satin of her white dress until, with blatant possession, they rested at her crotch. Briefly, his fingers whispered over her sensitive mound, and he ignored her little gasp of protest as he drifted them further down to splay over her thigh.

  ‘Zak,’ she murmured brokenly, her eyes tightly shut, scared she was going to
crumple to the carpet and give away just how useless she was at all this.

  Assessingly, he ran his gaze over her as she clung to him, his heart beating with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She was certainly very turned on. Enough for him to just push her down onto the carpet and do it to her right there—and part of him was angry enough at her deceit to want to do just that. To take her in as swift and as perfunctory a way as possible and then to get rid of her as fast as he could.

  But even though it had been less than a month since he’d met her, he could never remember feeling quite like this before—as if he would die if he didn’t possess her. Was that the power of the forbidden? Because for so long he’d thought he couldn’t have her? What was it they said—that forbidden fruit was the sweetest? Yet through the dying waves of his anger he realised something else—something which was far more dangerous than acknowledging the allure of the forbidden. He didn’t want it fast and furious, with him just unzipping his fly and thrusting into her eager flesh. If it was only going to be once, then it was going to last all night. One unforgettable night.

  He picked her up with the minimum of effort, enjoying the way her eyes snapped open and registering her delighted gasp with a grim satisfaction. So she, who had expressed disbelief that women liked masterful men, was discovering that she’d been wrong all along, was she?

  He carried her into the bedroom, where he set her down on her high heels and sucked in a deep breath while she steadied herself, her hands holding on to his shoulders.

  ‘Take off your shoes,’ he said.

  He was so … so in control, she thought as, shakily, she bent down to slip each foot free. Without the added inches of the gold stilettos, she was suddenly much shorter, and once again a feeling of vulnerability swept over her—particularly when she heard his next comment.

  ‘Is this dress new?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you bought it especially for me,’ he mused, his lips hardening. ‘That’s interesting. Was it expensive?’