Playing the Greek's Game

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Okay.’ Filled with frustration and a sudden wariness about something she’d seen in his eyes, Emma lay back until the door had clicked shut behind him, but she was never going to get back to sleep after that. Instead, she showered and dressed and then painted her fingernails in a pearly white colour to reflect the wedding theme of the party. But despite the soothing strokes of the brush, her thoughts kept spinning off on to random tracks which always brought her back to the same place. Or, rather, the same person.

  Zak.

  She knew it was time to leave. She’d known that all along—and yet with each second that passed she realised how much it was going to hurt to say goodbye to him. Especially since now she had a catalogue of memories which felt stupidly and temptingly … happy.

  Hadn’t she prayed that Zak hadn’t really meant it when he’d told her about his views on permanence? That he’d make an exception for her. Was she mad? Just because they’d shared a few soft and tender moments after orgasm and could make each other laugh, didn’t mean it was any way permanent.

  She was doing what she had vowed not to. Trying to cling to something which had a natural end in sight, just as her mother had always done when she’d sensed that one of her lovers was cooling towards her. And she had to stop it. Right now. She had to stop acting as if this were some great love affair and instead just enjoy showcasing a project on which she’d worked so hard.

  Fired up by professional pride and a new determination, she spent the rest of the day finalising last-minute details with Cindy. With barely a break for lunch, they worked straight through until five—giving themselves just under an hour to get ready before meeting downstairs in the ballroom. Emma was wearing the dry-cleaned white dress she’d worn to Sofia’s party—and Cindy was resplendent in a sapphire-blue playsuit, which echoed her eyes.

  For a moment they gazed around the completed room in silence until Cindy spoke at last in a dreamy voice.

  ‘Oh, Emma—it looks fantastic! Like … like something out of a fairy tale.’

  Emma nodded, buoyed up by her young assistant’s enthusiasm. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ she questioned. ‘I think any woman would want to get married here.’

  Pale, buttery drapes framed the enormous windows and contemporary mirrors reflected back even more light. Tables were laid with settings of silver and crystal and fragrant, creamy candles. And dominating a far corner of the room stood a beautiful statue of Aphrodite, which added just the right quirky finish. Emma had found it by chance in a little antique shop on 60th St and she liked the fact that the Greek goddess of love should be represented in a room designed to celebrate weddings.

  The irony of her choice didn’t escape her, either. A Greek goddess erected in silent tribute to her own Greek god who was so damning about the concept of love. What had he said? That one person always loves too much and the other not enough …

  Forcing the memory from her mind, she looked around the room. ‘Right, I’m just going to tweak the flowers.’

  ‘And I’ll go and have a last-minute chat with the head of security,’ said Cindy, with a grin. ‘Tickets are like gold dust and I want to make sure that nobody gets in who isn’t supposed to.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that security would ever be a problem at the Pembroke.’

  ‘No. But you never know.’

  Once Cindy had gone, Emma busied herself with last-minute touches, wondering if Leda would be the first bride to marry here—and wondering whether Zak would feel any pang of regret for the woman he’d come pretty close to marrying himself. Just before seven, the first guests started to arrive and, soon after that, her Greek lover appeared.

  As soon as he walked into the ballroom, people began to cluster around him, like ants swarming on a spoonful of fallen jam—but he quickly detached himself and walked over to where she was standing, drinking a glass of mineral water.

  For a moment he didn’t speak, just gazed at her from between narrowed eyes, as if he was preserving her image for posterity. ‘You must be very pleased,’ he said softly.

  Emma gave a wry smile. Did he have no inkling that inside her heart was breaking—knowing that tomorrow she’d be on that air-bus over the Atlantic, jetting out of his life for good?

  ‘Very pleased,’ she answered coolly. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll have much trouble filling it with prospective brides and grooms. Oh …’ Emma’s voice momentarily trailed off as she saw a woman entering the ballroom—her dramatic black hair and eye-catching scarlet opera coat commanding instant attention from the other guests. ‘Isn’t that Leda?’

  Zak turned his head to see the tiny brunette making her way towards them. ‘So it is.’

  ‘Zakharias!’ The brunette embraced him in a flurry of smiles and scarlet silk. ‘This is more beautiful than I ever dared wish for! A triumph!’

  ‘Then it is Emma Geary you must thank, for it is all her work.’

  Leda’s dark eyes were turned towards Emma and a faint frown of recognition appeared on her brow. ‘Ah, yes—I thought I recognised you. You’re the woman who was in the restaurant that night in London, with Nat, aren’t you? How is Nat?’

  Emma felt a telltale flush of something which felt like guilt wash over her skin. What would Leda say if she knew the truth—that she had spurned Nat’s advances, only to jump straight into bed with Zak? Would she think that she had betrayed and compromised both brothers by her actions? ‘He was fine last time I heard from him,’ she said truthfully. ‘Though that was ages ago.’

  ‘He’s probably busy with work,’ said Zak, his eyes pewter cool as they met hers. ‘And speaking of work, will you excuse me? I think the mayor’s just arriving.’

  Emma could have killed him as he walked away, leaving her alone with his ex-girlfriend and a very uncomfortable feeling. He had cleverly made her sound like nothing but an employee to his ex and she wondered why she should find that so hurtful when it was nothing but the truth.

  ‘Have you known Zakharias for very long?’ Leda was asking.

  Emma shrugged as she reluctantly dragged her gaze away from his progress through the admiring hordes of women. ‘Only a matter of months—although it feels like years!’

  ‘Yes. He does tend to have that effect on people.’

  ‘Especially women,’ said Emma, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  ‘Indeed.’ Leda shot her a shrewd look before lowering her voice. ‘And are you in love with him by any chance?’

  Slowly, Emma met the other woman’s dark eyes. ‘That’s a very personal question,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘I know it is. I ask only because I was once in love with him myself. Me and the rest of the world, probably—though I think I got closer to getting him to commit than anyone else has ever managed.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I honestly thought my world would end when he walked out of my life, but it didn’t. I survived and met Scott and now we’re going to be married and I couldn’t be happier. Truly.’ Her features softened. ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you, Emma. That there is life after Zakharias Constantinides.’

  A waiter bearing canapés interrupted their talk but Emma felt that eating would have choked her—and by the time the waiter had left, Leda had drifted away to talk to someone else.

  Emma’s hands curled into two small fists, her thoughts in turmoil as all her forbidden fantasies crumbled to dust around her. Leda had told her nothing that Zak hadn’t already made clear—but she had told her in that woman-to-woman way, which made it impossible to ignore. She felt like a child whose playmate had just informed them there was no such thing as Santa. She didn’t want to spend her last night in New York facing up to the unpalatable truth! She didn’t want to be told that there was life after Zak when all she wanted was to spend her life with him. She’d wanted to hold on to her hopeless dream for one last night …

  ‘Why so melancholy, chrisi mou?’ Zak’s voice shattered her reverie and she looked up to see his glittering grey eyes fixed on her in question.

  ‘
Was I? I didn’t mean to be,’ she answered brightly.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What did Leda say?’

  ‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ responded Emma.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Just that, although you were obviously a very hard act to follow, that she really did find happiness with someone else.’

  ‘Did you tell her we were lovers?’

  ‘No, Zak. I told you that I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone and I haven’t. She probably guessed—I’d imagine that ex-lovers are probably very perceptive when it comes to such matters.’

  ‘Emma—’

  ‘But she seems to approve of the room,’ she rushed on, cutting through an interjection she had no desire to hear. ‘So at least I can leave New York with the satisfaction of knowing it’s a job well done.’

  Zak noticed the sudden acute pallor of her face and for the first time it occurred to him that he could have asked her to delay her departure for a day or two. Couldn’t he have taken her away for a long weekend and said goodbye to her in some sort of style, rather than allowing this somewhat rushed farewell to happen?

  The sound of chatter was swelling and the flow of laughter was indication enough that the party was a success—but suddenly he was filled with a sense of something unfinished. Without thinking, he brushed his fingertip along her bare forearm and saw her eyes darken at just that brief touch. And something in her instantaneous reaction awoke in him an answering need, which thundered through his blood like a fever. How did she do it? How the hell did she drive all sane thoughts clean out of his mind so that all he could think about was possessing her as urgently and as thoroughly as possible?

  Swallowing down the suddenly unbearable desire which was making his body tense, he looked at her—resenting her golden-haired magnetism and her power over him even as he revelled in its inevitable outcome.

  ‘Can I have a private word with you?’ he questioned softly.

  ‘Sure. When?’

  ‘How about now?’

  ‘But the party—’

  ‘Needs neither of us. And I need to talk to you, Emma.’

  ‘Need’ was a word which Zak didn’t do very often and Emma’s heart was racing as they made their way out of the ballroom. Some stupid little spark of hope kept flaring up inside her—though it wavered momentarily as she realised that he was taking her to his empty office on the first floor.

  ‘Zak?’ she questioned uncertainly as the door slammed shut behind them and he pulled her into his arms. And the little flare of hope grew into a great big flame as she saw the intense look in his eyes. Had he brought her here because it was nearer? Because he couldn’t wait a second longer to be alone with her? Was he maybe regretting her departure as much as she was?

  ‘Emma,’ he said as he looked down at her for one long, hard moment before lowering his mouth to hers.

  Her lips opened beneath his as he kissed her with a passion she was used to—but there was something else in it, too. Something which underpinned it and felt almost like … anger? And that something seemed to ignite an answering flame in her. Suddenly she was on fire for him. Her fingernails scrabbled hungrily at his chest as he pulled the pins from her hair, allowing it to spill over her shoulders before levering her up against his aroused body.

  ‘I want you,’ he ground out, his hand sliding beneath her dress and working its way up her thigh to the cool silk of her thigh. ‘Damn you, Emma Geary, but I want you. You’re like a fever in my blood—do you know that?’

  ‘Zak,’ she breathed, his name leaving her lips with soft urgency. ‘Oh, Zak. I want you, too. Always. Always.’

  The stressed word was like a bucket of ice-water thrown all over him and suddenly he released her, seeming to steady his breath with difficulty as he walked over to the huge windows so that he was silhouetted against them like a towering black statue.

  Emma’s heart lurched as she looked across the room at the inexplicably dark expression on his face. What on earth was the matter with him? What had she said that was so wrong?

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered as she met the daunting glitter in his eyes.

  For a moment Zak didn’t answer as he fought against his unbearable desire. He wanted her so much. He wanted her so much he couldn’t think straight. He’d wanted her even when he’d thought she was his own brother’s lover!

  A cold wave of guilt washed over him and so did the memory of that word. Always. Was Emma so certain of her hold over him that she thought she’d succeeded where so many others had failed? That she’d got her hooks into him for life? She was no different from any other woman and this was nothing but a powerful lust which would soon fade. Just the way all the others had faded …

  ‘Take off your panties,’ he said suddenly.

  Something in the way he said it made Emma’s blood run cold. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Take your panties off.’

  ‘Why?’ she whispered.

  His eyes met hers in a sizzling look which only yesterday might have had her melting. ‘Oh, come on, Emma—you were an innocent who has become the most alluring of lovers, the most avid student of sex I’ve ever known.’ His voice dipped. ‘And I want you to strip for me in my office. It’s a fantasy I’ve been nurturing for a while now. The memory of it will sustain me while I’m dealing with boring business calls. Instead of gazing out at skyscrapers, I can close my eyes and picture the magnificence of your soft thighs.’

  Still she said nothing and, arrogantly, he let his hand slide along the straining ridge at his fly, seeing the instinctive parting of her lips as he did so. ‘So why the hesitation? You don’t usually hesitate over my suggestions.’

  ‘Suggestion?’ she repeated, her breath coming very hot and fast in her rapidly drying throat as the reality of the situation came slamming home to her. And suddenly she realised that he was treating her the way that men used to treat her mother—like some sort of cheap hooker. ‘Is that what you call it? You bring me up here while the party’s still going on. And, for what? You want a striptease, no doubt followed by a quick bonk—’

  ‘“A quick bonk”?’ he echoed disbelievingly. ‘I don’t do quick bonks!’

  ‘Whatever!’ she flared back. ‘The terminology isn’t the point! What do you suppose all those guests at the party would think if I suddenly reappeared downstairs looking thoroughly ravished?’

  ‘It isn’t the role of my guests to have opinions about my private life,’ he snapped.

  ‘Except it isn’t very private, is it, Zak? You bring me here and make me feel like a cheap tart—was that your intention?’

  ‘You’ve stripped for me before.’

  ‘That was in the bedroom!’

  ‘We’ve only been lovers for a few weeks—surely that’s a little early for conventionality to rear its head?’ His mouth gave a wry twist. ‘But if you’re insisting on the proximity of a bed then we can go upstairs to my suite right now and do it there.’

  To Emma’s fury, she could feel the prick of tears at her eyes. ‘Why are you behaving like this, Zak?’ she whispered.

  He stared at her, her question striking at a conscience he had no desire to feel. Why indeed? Because it felt safer to push her away than to acknowledge the way she was making him feel inside? Because she needed to know where she stood? More importantly, so did he.

  ‘Because I can,’ he answered simply and gave a shrug as he saw the sudden tremble of her lips. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Emma stared at him, his words wiping away all the pretence she had allowed to fester and grow. All those stupid hopes and dreams that Zak might one day care.

  Now she was forced to confront the truth—as she had been forced to confront it many times before. But this time she wasn’t a helpless child who was dependent on an erratic mother. And neither was she an inexperienced young woman who’d been blinded by a man’s fame and her mother’s ambition for her to make a ‘good’ marriage.

  Now she was Emma. Grown-up Emma who wouldn’t do what she knew to be the wron
g thing. And the wrong thing would be to entertain any hope of a future with Zak. She’d known that right from the beginning—but she had been too blown away by her sexual awakening to listen to her very real doubts.

  But she couldn’t let the desires of her body influence her into making another dumb mistake with a man. And she couldn’t let her foolish belief that she had fallen in love with him sway her either. She had to be strong. That didn’t mean she had to be bitter. Just strong. To accept Zak for the man he was, not the man she wanted him to be.

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘I haven’t?’ he questioned, his eyes narrowing because he had expected a whole heap of accusations to come piling down on top of him.

  ‘Not really. You’re just being yourself.’

  ‘Now why does that make me feel some kind of heel?’

  ‘That wasn’t my intention, I can assure you.’

  And he nodded in comprehension, because he knew that. Emma didn’t play mind games. In fact, she didn’t do the stuff which women usually did. She didn’t angle to have him buy her expensive gifts or to fill up his diary for the next year. All she’d ever done since that first time he’d taken her to his bed had been to become his perfect lover—except for now, when he had pushed her further than she had been willing to be pushed.

  Yet wasn’t it ironic that her refusal to play the role he had wanted her to play was making him respect her—so that instead of the frustration he should have been feeling, he now felt an overwhelming need to appease her?

  ‘Look, just forget I ever asked,’ he said easily. ‘We’ll go back down to the party and, after it’s over, I’ll take you for dinner here in the hotel—how does that sound?’

  Ten minutes ago it would have sounded like heaven on earth, but not any more. Now it sounded exactly what it was—a sweetener for her anger and no doubt a way of ensuring that she would perform to his satisfaction in the bedroom, later.