‘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?
She swallowed. ‘She’d never married nor had children of her own and she put her own life on hold to bring me up when my parents were killed. I loved her, and I owed her—big time. Only, after she’d died …’ Her words tailed off as a wave of sadness hit her.
His eyes narrowed as he saw her face crumple. ‘What?’ he asked softly.
Zara shifted slightly on the sun-lounger. ‘I seemed to have been away from college for so long, and to have seen so much of a different side of life, that I wasn’t sure whether I could go back and start all over again. Waitressing was something I could do without any qualifications while I gave myself time to think about my future. That’s what happened.’
But Nikolai still felt as if she was leaving gaps in her account. What did they call it? Being economical with the truth. What wasn’t she telling him, and why? ‘And what will you do when you go back—do you have other jobs like this lined up?’
It was the best question he could have asked, because it reminded her of the great gulf which divided them. Two people from two different worlds. All that had happened was that those two worlds had briefly collided and after the weekend the universe would settle back into its normal order. So hold onto your dignity, she told herself fiercely. You may have barely a penny to your name—but he will never, ever take pity on you.
Hiding her fears behind a composed smile, she paused as if to give his question proper consideration. ‘I haven’t really decided what I’m going to do,’ she said blithely. ‘I’m waiting for inspiration.’
He saw the proud tilt to her chin and something stirred in his conscience. Had he misjudged her? Been too quick to spring to the conclusion that she was one of those women who wanted to get her hands on his money? She certainly hadn’t been acting that way since she’d been here. There had been none of that narrow-eyed assessment as she’d surveyed the priceless artefacts in his house. In fact, she’d been more interested in the flowers in his garden. And if she was a gold-digger, then she didn’t play by the traditional rules—because she certainly didn’t dress like one. He thought of the simple little sundress which had still managed to look like a million dollars. The cheap little sandals which showcased her wonderful legs. He thought about how hard she’d worked at lunch and dinner—carrying heavy trays in the warm Mediterranean air, while resolutely refusing to meet his gaze and flirt. Maybe he had misjudged her.
‘Well, if it’s inspiration you’re after, then maybe I can help with that.’ He rose from his sun-lounger, momentarily blocking out the sun with his statuesque form—all tight, hard muscle and gleaming golden flesh. ‘Ever swum naked before?’
She shook her head as she looked up at him. ‘Never.’
He took off his swim shorts, then bending over her, he smiled, wondering why her lack of sexual experience should please him so intensely. ‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘Then prepare to be inspired.’
He helped her off the sun-bed, then quickly divested her of her bikini top while she shimmed out of her bottoms. He lifted her up and slid her into water which felt like cool silk on her naked limbs. Zara could never recall feeling quite so weightless, or free before—and she kicked away from him instantly. She was a good swimmer and swam almost a length under water, emerging to blink away the shining droplets of water to find Nikolai leaning at the far end of the pool, watching her.
‘You swim like a mermaid,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘I seem to be missing a tail.’
He caught her by the waist as she passed, brushing his lips over her wet face. ‘I prefer legs,’ he said softly as he found the centre of her feminine warmth, erotically contrasted with the cool lick of the water. He moved a finger with light precision. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Without…question. Oh, Nikolai …’
His kisses were hot and hungry, his fingers practised and swift. The world became composed of nothing but intense sensation—and he brought her to orgasm so rapidly that Zara slumped helplessly against his shoulder, her eyes closed and her breath shuddering from her lips.
‘You liked that,’ he murmured eventually as her breathing slowed against his skin.
‘Mmm.’ Fractionally, she moved away from him—reaching down to capture the hard heat between his legs, her hand closing over his velvety shaft. ‘And do you like this?’
‘Yes, I like it,’ he ground out urgently as she slid her fingers over him with insistent, silky movements—until he, too, groaned his own release.
For a while they stayed locked in each other’s arms as the water lapped against them and then he lifted her from the water and carried her out to one of the loungers, where he wrapped her in a vast and fluffy towel.
He watched as her eyes drifted to a close and it occurred to him that maybe he could have offered her some more imaginative inspiration than mere sex. Couldn’t he have suggested a few of his wealthy colleagues who might be looking for permanent waiting staff—would that have helped? Maybe that was something he should bear in mind.
She was sleeping now, so he went and sat out of earshot and made a few more calls. And later, he took her out to dinner—after first reassuring her that the dress she’d brought from England was fine.
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly,’ he said quietly. ‘The way your skin is glowing and your hair is shining—I think you could probably get away with wearing sackcloth.’
‘That’s not the most reassuring answer you could have given me, Nikolai,’ she said gravely, and he laughed.
Through the darkening mountains, they drove to St Jean Gardet—where the village had sprung to life. Zara looked around as the powerful car bumped to a halt in the main square, finding it hard to imagine that this was the same sleepy place she’d stumbled upon yesterday. Shops were open and people were strolling around in holiday mood. Lights gleamed from trees and restaurant tables spilled out onto the cobbled stones, so that laughter and chatter carried on the still night air.
Beneath the stars, they ate steak-frites and drank red wine and Zara wished she could have hung onto that moment for ever. Is this what it feels like when you start to fall in love? she wondered as she stared across the table at Nikolai’s angled face. As if everything is perfect and exactly as it should be. As if you have everything you ever wanted, right there at your fingertips.
‘It’s so gorgeous here,’ she said, looking around and trying to fix the moment in her mind. ‘And the woman who was so surly to me in the tabac has just said “bon appétit”.’
‘That’s because you’re with me.’
She bit back a smile. ‘I’d sort of worked that one out for myself.’
He thought how huge her eyes looked tonight and how dark and kiss-bruised her lips. She had piled her hair up high on her head so that only a few loose tendrils were dangling down around her face—and it occurred to him that by now he should be growing a little bit bored. Too much unbroken time in one woman’s company was usually enough to make him want to make his excuses, and leave.
Usually.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her. Was it her lack of sophistication which was responsible for the unfamiliar sense of ease he was experiencing in her company? Or because he had known from the outset that there could be no future in it? And there i
s no future in it, he reminded himself as his pager went off in his pocket.
He took the call with the news that the New York merger was finally going ahead—and in a way it made his decision for him. He would have to bring his schedule forward and cut short this weekend. He saw Zara’s tentative little smile at him over the rim of her glass and thought that maybe it was for the best—because he suspected she was starting to care for him, and that was certainly not what he had intended.
She was no virgin. In fact, she was one of the most exciting and inventive lovers he had ever known—and yet in a funny sort of way she seemed terribly innocent. She was also very sweet and he didn’t want her to get hurt. And didn’t he always hurt women—no matter how unintentionally—because he could never give them what they wanted?
‘Did I mention that I have to go to New York tomorrow?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Which means that I’ll have to fly out first thing.’
Painfully, Zara’s heart slammed beneath her breast and the previous peace of the evening disintegrated. So this was it. The goodbye she had been expecting—only not quite so soon, nor quite so brutally executed. And she was going to have to take it on the chin.
‘No, no, you didn’t mention it.’ In the candlelight, she forced a bright smile. ‘But I was supposed to be leaving tomorrow anyway and I guess I am a little redundant—now that your guests have gone.’
For some reason he felt bad. ‘Perhaps we can meet up in London some time?’ he suggested.
But Zara was certain she heard evasion in his voice and she forced herself to heed it. Because she knew that their paths would never cross in London—not unless she happened to be working, and how awkward would it be if she tried to follow it up? To try to make their brief fling into something it wasn’t—and destroy her good memories of it in the process. This place had been like an oasis, she thought. She should look on it as a beautiful interlude after a tough year and put it down to experience.
‘Perhaps,’ she answered politely.
‘Shall I get the bill?’
Zara nodded and picked up her handbag. ‘Yes, please.’
He drove back to the villa and took her to his bedroom—a place of restrained and very masculine luxury—where he proceeded to make love to her. But even as her body splintered with pleasure as he wrapped her in his powerful arms Zara felt curiously distanced by the whole experience. As if some self-protective instinct were already encasing her emotions in ice—to stop her from getting hurt.
In the morning, she awoke to find him getting dressed and she watched from between slitted eyes as he pulled on a silk shirt and tucked it into his dark, tapered trousers. She thought how shuttered his features appeared—as if he was lost in thought and had already moved on.
‘You’re awake,’ he said softly.
She blinked in surprise. ‘You noticed.’
Walking over to the bed, he saw the tumble of her hair spread over his pillows and the rise and fall of her luscious breasts. ‘I notice everything about you. I noticed the way your breathing changed and the way your body stirred. And I’d much rather be here,’ he said thickly, his hand moving down over the sheet to rest in the fork between her thighs, ‘than on a damned plane.’ He leaned over to plant a lingering kiss on her lips. ‘A car will come and collect you later and take you to the airport. In the meantime help yourself to anything you want. Have a swim. Use the hot tub. I want you to enjoy your last few hours here. And safe journey home, Zara.’
Quickly, she sat up, the sheet falling to her waist as she heard what essentially amounted to a dismissal. The party was over—and it was time to get back to being who she really was. ‘And you.’
He went over to the bureau, where he picked up a long white envelope, which he waggled at her. ‘Oh, and by the way—your cheque is here.’
She blinked. ‘M-my cheque?’
‘Your wages.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Remember? The reason you came here? Big money.’
‘Of course.’ Big money? The reason you came here? Zara only just stopped herself flinching at his crass references and the sudden mention of money in the bedroom made her want to curl up and die. Awkwardly, she grabbed at the sheet and held it up against her chin.
‘Don’t cover yourself up,’ he said softly.
‘I feel naked.’
‘That’s because you are naked and someone with a body like yours should never sully it with clothes.’ For a moment he just stared at her long and hard—as if committing her to memory—before glittering her a last, brief smile. ‘Goodbye, angel moy.’
‘Goodbye, Nikolai.’
The words tore at her as she waited until she heard the sound of his car leaving, then she slipped over to the window to see his silver sports car snaking its way over the mountain road towards the airport. Her heart was hammering furiously and some dread feeling at the pit of her stomach made her go to the bureau and pick up the envelope, her fingers trembling as she pulled out the cheque which lay inside.
She stared down at it in disbelief. It was not the amount they had agreed on back in London—it was more than double that, and a huge payment for the meagre amount of work she’d done, by anyone’s estimation.
Zara felt physically sick. Why had he done this? Made such an expansive gesture after what had happened. Had he actually paid her for the sex? Was that what this ridiculous sum was all about?
For a moment she had to sit down until she had recovered herself, telling herself that now was not the time to go to pieces. Her mind raced with possibilities about how she should react, but she knew that only one thing would give her any degree of satisfaction—no matter how foolish it might be in the long run. Her hands were still shaking as she ripped the cheque into tiny shreds, threw them into one of the bureau drawers before closing it shut with a bang. A cleaner wouldn’t dare touch anything in his drawers, she thought grimly—so let him find it.
Running down to her staff accommodation at the back of the vast estate, she threw her clothes into the small case—not caring that she was crumpling and creasing them in the process. And then with hot tears spilling down her cheeks she sat huddled on the bed, looking out at the misty Provençal mountains as she waited for the car to take her to the airport.
CHAPTER NINE
FOR the third time in a row, the phone went dead in his ear and Nikolai stared at it with a growing feeling of disbelief. Had she hung up on him—again? He shook his head. No. It was inconceivable. How could the sexy little waitress who should have been grateful for all he’d given her have possibly slammed the phone down on him?
He paced the floor of his penthouse office which gave a picture postcard view of London—and which he had once vowed never to take for granted—but for once the soaring skyline made no impression on him. What the hell was she playing at?
He clicked his intercom and one of his aides came on the line immediately. ‘That woman, Zara Evans?’ he said crisply. ‘You remember—the one I asked you to find for me?’
‘Da, Nikolai.’
‘Do we have an address for her?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then send someone round there. Now. I want to know when she’s there and I want to know who she’s with.’
His fury growing as the minutes ticked away, he had to wait until past midnight before word came through that she’d arrived home—alone—presumably after she’d finished one of her shifts. Nikolai knew it would be sensible to leave what he had to say until the next morning—the trouble was that he wasn’t feeling in a particularly sensible mood. He was feeling impatient, angry and mystified—and none of this was helped by remembering the way she’d kissed him when he had been deep inside her body …
At half-past midnight his limousine came to a halt in front of a tiny mid-terrace house in a run-down part of town he was unfamiliar with. Dustbins stood at the front of each property—presumably because there was nowhere else to store them—and further down the road graffiti had been scrawled on a wall. It was the kind of place where shops wer
e boarded up after dark—or where a car might find its tyres missing in the morning.
The driver turned round with a frown on his face. ‘You sure this is the right place, boss?’ he questioned, in Russian.
For a moment, Nikolai was quiet. It certainly wasn’t the worst place he’d seen in his life—far from it—and every city in the world had areas where the less fortunate lived. But these days he rarely encountered poverty and it took him back to a time and place which he usually kept locked away. Funny how vividly it all came back, if he let it. Memories vivid enough to make the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end now came into sharp focus. A Moscow tenement, an apartment shared with three other families. The cold eyes and suspicious glances of his hungry neighbours. And a boy who did whatever he could to get a ruble to put food in his mouth.
His mouth hardened as he got out of the car and rang the bell on a fading door. It took a moment or two before a hall light went on and she must have peered out through the spy-hole because he heard her voice and the note of disbelief in it.
‘Nikolai? Is that you?’
‘Expecting someone else?’
‘What…what are you doing here?’
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, I don’t …’ From behind the protection of the closed door, Zara sucked in a deep breath and willed him to go away. But you don’t want him to go away, do you? Not really. Haven’t you been lying sleepless, night after night—just remembering the way he kissed you? And regretting an impetuous gesture that you could ill afford to make. ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she finished. ‘And it’s late.’
‘I know it’s late—and if you don’t open the damned door then I’ll keep knocking until all your neighbours wake up.’
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