‘Bravo!’ His lips curved into a mocking line. ‘It’s one of them. Do you like it?’
What could she say? Start protesting that her views on his property portfolio were irrelevant? Or just take the question at face-value and hope that her presence here was some kind of ghastly coincidence? ‘It’s a very beautiful house,’ she said carefully.
‘I know it is.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I saw your reaction when you arrived.’
‘You did?’
‘Sure I did, angel moy. I was standing at my window when your minibus bumped its way up the drive. And I observed the look on your face as you jumped out.’ It was a look he knew well. That wide-eyed look of awe and wistfulness. The look of someone dazzled by his vast wealth; who coveted it for themselves. Some called it greed, others called it envy—all Nikolai knew was that money changed everything. It made people do extraordinary things. Debase themselves. Sell out. Betray even the strongest of bonds and shatter them beyond recognition. It took the very best of human qualities and it twisted them inside out until they were black and unrecognisable. Didn’t he know that—better than anyone?
Zara saw something dark and haunted pass over his shuttered features and a little shiver of dread began to whisper its way down her spine. ‘Why am I here?’ she whispered.
‘Oh, come on—there’s no need to make it sound like I’m preparing you for a human sacrifice.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s simple. You’re working for me. I specifically requested you. It’s my party. Didn’t anybody tell you?’
She shook her head. ‘We aren’t always told clients’ names in advance—we weren’t tonight.’
‘Well, my cover is blown, angel moy—and now you do. I’m your client and you’re working for me. You’ll be serving food. Handing out drinks. Making sure my guests have everything they need. That I have everything I need. You know the drill—you’re a waitress, aren’t you? That’s what you do. At least, that’s what you do some of the time. I have to say that I’m a little puzzled about your real identity, or indeed about your motives—but now is not the time to discuss it. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.’
His eyes glittered as they took in her trembling lips and he found that he wanted to crush them beneath his own in an angry kiss. And then? He pushed desire to the back of his mind. Desire could wait. His thick dark lashes lowered fractionally to reveal narrow shards of blue ice. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zara.’
And with that final silky whisper, which sounded more like a threat, he walked away to a group who were standing beneath a flowering tree—leaving Zara staring after him in disbelief. Why had he ‘specifically requested’ her, as he had put it—somehow managing to make her sound like some sort of commodity he’d purchased? In fact, why had he brought her here at all?
She realised that her tray needed replenishing, just as she realised that there was no means of escape—short of causing some kind of scene, which would heap dishonour not just on her, but on all the other staff. Nothing to do other than to carry on as she normally would and hope that he might give her some kind of reasonable explanation later. Yet even as she thought it she felt an overwhelming sense of unease, because Nikolai Komarov did not look like a man who did reasonable.
Trying to banish his image from her mind, she moved from guest to guest, wondering how she could endure a whole evening of having to stare into his impossibly handsome and mocking face. But as she continued to circulate she noticed that he barely glanced at her—and, ironically, Zara found this even worse.
Only once did she look up to meet his cold and imperious gaze and it felt like a lash of freezing rainwater flicked over her. She found herself swallowing down a growing sense of foreboding. Was he angry that she had pretended to be something she wasn’t—that the woman he had kissed so passionately in his car was nothing more than a common little waitress? And yet, if she stopped to think about it, could she blame him? Just one glance at the women here who were hanging onto his every word showed that he usually mixed with supermodels and glossy heiresses. How shocked he must have been to have discovered who she really was!
By nine, most of the guests had left and Zara helped carry the last of the dirty dishes down to the kitchen.
The catering tonight had been especially lavish and the clearing up seemed to take much longer than usual—and yet she willed for it never to end. Surely Nikolai Komarov had something better to do than to hang around waiting for her to finish work? She went outside for one last check that everything was tidy to find the garden deserted and she gave a sigh of relief.
She had just retrieved a champagne glass from one of the flowerbeds and was heading back into the house when she saw Nikolai walking out onto the terrace and Zara’s footsteps faltered to a halt. Had he seen her? He had removed his jacket to reveal a soft shirt of snowy silk and the top two buttons of the shirt were unbuttoned, revealing an enticing V of bare flesh—but the casual look made him no less formidable.
She felt her mouth drying as she stared up at the sensual curve of his lips and the icy gleam of his eyes. Yes, he had seen her.
‘So who exactly are you?’ he questioned as his footsteps brought him to a halt in front of her.
‘You know who I am. I told you. Zara Evans.’
‘Net.’ Impatiently, he shook his head and gave an imperious wave of his hand, as if he were swatting away some imaginary fly. ‘Your name may or may not have changed—but you certainly have done.’ His gaze flicked to the sturdy black shoes she wore with her uniform. ‘You’ll agree that you represent a rather dramatic fall from grace—from riches to rags within days?’
‘No. There are no riches. The rags are the real me.’ She bit her lip—as if suddenly becoming aware of the huge disparity between their two lives and the risk she had taken in pretending that she was his equal. How stupid could she have been? ‘I’m really a waitress.’
‘As I was to discover for myself.’
‘How? How did you find out?’
Cynically, Nikolai’s mouth hardened. Didn’t she realise that there wasn’t any information in the world which was off-limits if you had the money to pay someone to play detective? Tracking down a waitress had been child’s play.
‘That part was easy—you can find anyone you want if you have the means,’ he drawled. ‘But what I really want to know is why you were masquerading as a guest at the ambassador’s party. Why you played that erotic hide-and-seek which had me following you like a puppy-dog.’ And he had fallen right into it, hadn’t he? Lids half hooding his eyes, he watched closely for her reaction. Was she a celebrity stalker? he wondered. One of those women who fixed a wealthy man in their sights and pursued him? What did she want from him? ‘Were you deliberately targeting me?’
Zara’s heart gave a guilty lurch. Would it sound stupid if she told him that, yes, she had been looking out for him, but that the motive had been nothing but an innocent bit of advertising? And then things had all got out of hand—when she had seen him and danced with him and that sizzling chemistry had combusted between them. Would he believe her or think that she was lying? Think that she put out like that all the time? Play for time, she told herself. Find out the kind of man you’re dealing with. ‘Why should I want to target you?’
‘Please don’t be disingenuous,’ he warned, and as he saw the rise in colour to her cheeks he knew she was hiding something. ‘Powerful men are subjected to all kinds of come-ons from women—some cleverer than others. Usually I can see through them, but your approach was novel.’ And sexy, he conceded. She had made him chase her. For once, he’d felt the thrill of the hunt, the blood pumping hotly through his veins as he’d followed the silken curves of her bottom.
His reaction had taken him aback. It had been a primitive, subliminal response and it had been inordinately compelling. Why, hadn’t the thought of finding her again filled him with a heady kind of anticipation—until he had discovered her true identity and suspected that he might be the victim of some kind of crude sca
m? ‘I want the truth,’ he snapped. ‘Or is that too big an ask?’
Zara saw the glitter of danger which was hardening his eyes and realised that she was doing herself no favours by being evasive.
‘Okay. I had no right to be at the party—at least, not as a guest,’ she admitted. ‘I gatecrashed it—though I knew most of the waitresses, obviously, since I work with them most of the time. I was modelling the dress for a friend of mine, Emma. Her mother owns the catering agency I work for. That’s how she knew who was going to be on the guest-list.’
His expression didn’t alter. ‘Go on.’
‘Emma’s a fashion student—and she’s very ambitious.’
He frowned. ‘A fashion student?’
‘That’s right. She’s good at designing evening gowns and she wanted a bit of exposure.’
‘Exposure being the operative word,’ he drawled. ‘You certainly left very little to the imagination.’
Something in his tone brought another rush of colour to Zara’s cheeks. ‘The dress I was wearing was no more revealing than plenty of others there.’
But no other woman in the room had possessed her firm and slinky young body, Nikolai remembered with a sudden ache. Whatever it was she had, it had appealed to him on a very fundamental level. It still did. Even the drab knee-length skirt and innocuous white blouse she was wearing tonight were doing dangerous things to his blood pressure. Remember that she’s nothing but a fraud, he told himself. And that all women are frauds.
‘So what exactly was your brief?’ he demanded.
‘I was supposed to give you one of her business cards.’
‘Hoping that I’d play fairy godfather and give her the big break she deserved?’ he questioned sarcastically.
‘Something like that.’
‘But you didn’t, did you?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So what happened, Zara? Did you decide to jettison that idea when something better came along? Did you think that by capitalising on the undoubted chemistry between us you could aim even higher than a mere marketing opportunity?’ He raised his eyebrows in a mocking question. ‘Maybe you thought that if you could get your claws into me, then you might benefit far more than just getting a cut from the sale of your friend’s clothes?’
‘What a cynic you are,’ she breathed.
‘It comes with the territory,’ he snapped.
Zara stared at him in distress. ‘You seem to forget that I was the one who terminated the evening.’
‘Ah, but not before you’d given me a taste of your spectacular love-making,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Was that to set my blood on fire, my beauty? To tantalise me and leave me wanting more? Because I have to tell you that you succeeded.’
She shook her head. ‘If that had been the case then why would I just disappear from your car?’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you were biding your time, knowing that a man who has everything will be tantalised by the thrill of the chase?’ He gave a short and cynical laugh. ‘I know how devious women can be.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ Zara said, wondering if he had had his heart badly broken by someone and if that was the reason for the bitterness which had distorted his voice. ‘Completely wrong. I found events running away with me in a way I hadn’t planned and I knew I needed to get away from there. From you.’
There was silence for a moment until the sweet notes of a nightingale pierced the air and Zara suddenly realised that it was dark.
‘I’m not sure whether or not I believe you,’ he said at last.
There was a pause. ‘Well, that’s your prerogative,’ she answered, hiding the hurt which rushed through her and feeling like a child who had been wrongly accused of stealing. ‘But it’s irrelevant now surely—and all in the past. I wasn’t out to try to extract some of your precious fortune from you—so can I please go now? ‘
But as Nikolai’s gaze rested on her parted lips he suddenly realised that he didn’t care what her motives were. Did it matter if she was a liar or a cheat? The bottom line was that he still wanted her—it was nothing more complicated than that. Inexplicably, he really wanted her. To lose himself in her kiss again and to feel that incredible body wrapped close against his. In fact, he was tempted to start making love to her right now and rid himself of the fever which burned so hotly in his veins. To find some quiet and private corner where he could thrust deep inside her, while the warm and scented summer air surrounded them and she cried her pleasure against his neck.
Yet Nikolai knew that timing was everything. And now was not the right time. Not when she was convincing herself that she’d been hard done by and her face had adopted that proud and stubborn little look which made him think that he might have to kiss her into submission. Or maybe she might even just turn him down again. Was she feisty enough to try? He suspected she was.
His heart give a sudden urgent beat of expectation. Why opt for a clandestine coupling at the end of an evening? Why not enjoy her at his leisure—and satisfy himself in the process that, like all women, she was driven by nothing more complicated than greed, no matter how strong the attraction which burned between them?
‘No, don’t go yet,’ he said softly. ‘You see, I have a proposition to put to you.’
Zara eyed him warily. ‘A p-proposition?’
‘That’s right. How would you like to come and work for me in my villa in the South of France?’
Uncomprehendingly, she stared at him. ‘You mean as a waitress?’
He bit back a cynical laugh. What did she imagine—that he was asking her to act as his hostess? His partner for the weekend? ‘Of course. I always need staff and I’m having a very small, very casual house-party. Often I just use people from the nearby village—but you speak English. Any other languages?’ He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. ‘No? Well, that’s precisely what I want. You could be useful.’
Useful? ‘Why?’ she questioned slowly.
‘I have a Russian colleague who likes to do business when nobody around can understand what he’s saying.’
Zara frowned as she tried to make sense of his offer. ‘I didn’t mean that—I mean, why me? Why offer me the job?’
His icy eyes mocked her. He was finding a way to see her again, surely she realised that—or was she playing another game by pretending she didn’t? ‘Are you in the habit of quizzing prospective employers about their objectives?’
‘Obviously, it’s slightly different in your case.’
‘Obviously,’ he echoed sardonically. ‘You’re one of the best waitresses around, aren’t you? At least, that’s what I was told when I booked through your company for this party. That’s reason enough. And of course, I pay well. Very well.’ Softly, he mentioned a sum and saw her eyes widen, saw the pink tip of her tongue snake out to run its way over her lips, and he felt a powerful mix of disdain and desire. How exquisitely avaricious she was, he thought—and that realisation was curiously liberating. He need not be troubled by his conscience, he thought—for she clearly wasn’t. ‘So what do you think, Zara—do you think I could persuade you to take the job?’
Zara hesitated, unbearably tempted by the amount of money he was offering. Why, a sum like that would write off most of her debts. Would allow her to shake off the burden of responsibility which weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Would mean that she could start living like a normal twenty-something instead of someone who was worried sick about the future and all it entailed. Wouldn’t she be out of her mind to turn down an opportunity like that? Even if it meant working for a man who made her skin shiver with desire?
‘When is it?’ she questioned.
‘Next weekend.’
‘But that’s the weekend I’m …’ Her voice trailed off as she thought about the date with a sweet but unexciting man which Emma had lined up for her.
‘The weekend you’re what?’ he prompted.
‘I was supposed to be…seeing someone.’
‘Ah.’ Idly, he wondered who the poor fool was. ‘Then take a rain check.
Work comes first.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Happens to me all the time.’
Temptation washed over her in a renewed wave, yet still Zara hesitated. She might be naïve about certain aspects of the world, but she certainly wasn’t stupid and she knew perfectly well that Nikolai Komarov’s offer wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed.
Because he wanted her. She knew that, too. She could sense the sexual hunger which shimmered off his powerful frame—matching a need which burned deep inside her. Could she really go and work for him, knowing all that?
She lifted her eyes to his, remembering all the women he was reputed to have dated and cast aside, and she felt the stir of challenge. Couldn’t she be strong enough to resist him if he came onto her? As strong as she’d been for her godmother—though in a different way? Surely it couldn’t be difficult to keep at arm’s length a man who treated women with such little regard as he did. Especially when he was presenting her with the opportunity to ease all her financial woes.
‘Okay. I’ll do the job,’ she said slowly.
Nikolai nodded and felt the slow beat of inevitability. Of course she would. Of course she would cancel whatever it was she was supposed to be doing. She’d probably let down some poor idiot who was slavering to see her. Because whoever she was supposed to be seeing wouldn’t stand a chance when measured next to what he could offer. His mouth twisted. Nikolai was used to people falling in with his wishes, but that didn’t stop him sometimes praying that they wouldn’t. That for once the lure of his money would fail to procure the prize. And that, he knew, was like wishing for the stars which glittered so coldly in the night sky above them. ‘Excellent,’ he breathed.
‘Just …’ She met his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air as he raised his eyebrows in arrogant question. ‘Just as long as you understand that…well, what happened the night of the party was a mistake. A big mistake—and one I have no intention of repeating. You do know that? That this is simply a professional arrangement.’
With difficulty, Nikolai bit back a laugh at the outrageousness of this little chit of a waitress laying down her conditions to a man like him. As if she meant a single word of it! Didn’t she realise that he could see the points of her nipples as they pushed against her white shirt, in flagrant and silent invitation? Why were women so fundamentally dishonest about their needs and their desires? he wondered bitterly. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her—and surely she must realise that chemistry like this was too potent to squander? ‘If that is what you want,’ he murmured, ‘then I give you my word that is what you shall get, angel moy.’
Too Proud to be Bought Page 4
