The Millionaires' Cinderellas: Playing the Greek's Game / The Forbidden Innocent / Too Proud to be Bought

‘He is not in the market for any kind of relationship,’ he repeated as if she hadn’t spoken—although the spark of fire in her eyes made him realise that she would not easily be deterred. And that maybe it was time to let her know the truth. Or rather that he knew the truth. And perhaps then she would start seeing things his way, the way that people inevitably did. ‘But especially not with a woman like you.’

Emma stilled, all her bravado crumbling as the fear she’d suppressed now started rising. Rising and rising and skittering over her skin. Making her feel all dark and icy as she read something dangerous in the depths of his steely eyes. And something told her that she had been rumbled. That you could try to run from the past but you could never completely escape from it. ‘A woman like me?’ she whispered.

He saw her guilt and a vice-like clamp of triumph gripped him. ‘I wonder why you don’t work under your married name. Is there a reason for that? A reason why you seem to have airbrushed your past from your CV?’ he questioned, looking down at one of the sheets of paper before him. ‘Because isn’t your real name Emma Patterson—and weren’t you once the wife of the rock-star Louis Patterson?’

Emma felt the blood drain from her face and the fingers which had been loosely clasped in her lap now dug painfully together. Yes, it was the past all right—come back to haunt her just as she’d always feared it would. Had she been naive to suppose that she could lose herself in the present—like everyone said you were supposed to—when the dark tentacles of an earlier life were always waiting to pull you back?

‘Aren’t you?’ he persisted.

She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I am.’

He lifted his gaze—only now it was cold and condemnatory as it sliced through her like a pewter sword. ‘Your ex-husband died through drug abuse,’ he said harshly. ‘So tell me this, Mrs Patterson. Are you a junkie, too?’

CHAPTER TWO

THE words of Zak Constantinides hit Emma like a hail of bullets. Words she thought she’d left behind a long time ago. Words like junkie and abuse—and all the terrible associated memories which came with them.

Fighting against a rising tide of nausea, she stared at her boss as the Greek angrily repeated his charge against her.

‘Do you take drugs, Miss Geary?’

‘No—no! I’ve never touched them—never! You’ve got no right to accuse me of something like that!’

‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got every right to protect my brother from women with dodgy pasts!’

With an effort, Emma sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to control her ragged breathing but she could do nothing about the wild acceleration of her heart. ‘I was married to a man who abused drugs and alcohol, Mr Constantinides,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I had no idea of that when we met. I was very young and I made a mistake. Have you never made a mistake?’

Grimly, Zak shook his head. Not with relationships he hadn’t, no—he made sure of that. And the occasional slip-up in business had been far too minor to ever qualify as a true mistake. But this was different. Very different. He was known for his old-fashioned and traditional values and he was proud of them. And a woman who had lived the life that Emma Geary had lived would certainly never be welcomed into the arms of his family.

He began to pull a series of photos from an envelope on his desk and Emma’s face blanched as she fixed her eyes on them. They were old photos. Very old photos—but she recognised them instantly.

‘Recognise these?’ drawled Zak Constantinides.

She forced herself to look at the image which was on top of the gleaming pile he had spread over the desk, like a croupier fanning out a pack of cards. It was of her and Louis on their wedding day.

The press had gone mad—but then, it had been a big story at the time. A nineteen-year-old nobody marrying a rock-star more than twice her age. Emma flinched as she looked at her face in the photo, marvelling at how young she’d been. She’d worn a garland of wildflowers in her hair and a floaty dress of silk chiffon. Her blond hair had hung almost to her waist and the overall effect had been that of some kind of flower fairy who had wandered into the city by mistake. Or at least, that was what Louis had said. He’d even written a song about it on their honeymoon, between slugs of the bourbon bottle, which was never far from his side.

‘Of course I recognise it,’ she said flatly, her fingers straying to the other pictures—forcing herself to confront them as if to demonstrate to Zak Constantinides that she wasn’t afraid.

But she was afraid. She was afraid of the pain which the past could still provoke. She studied the familiar images of her and Louis leaving restaurants—with her supporting her husband and trying desperately not to let the waiting press see his lurching stagger. Some of the shots were of the interiors of once-iconic nightclubs, which had long since disappeared. The blonde girl in the thigh-skimming dress dancing wildly on the podium now seemed like a stranger to her. She had tried so hard to please Louis. To be what he’d wanted her to be. It was what her mother told her that men desired. It was only afterwards, at the sordid end to the marriage, that Emma realised that her mother was the worst possible role model she could have adopted.

‘You must have gone to a lot of trouble to get these,’ she said, praying that her voice wouldn’t betray her with a tremble. ‘It’s nearly ten years ago.’

‘Ten years is nothing—and information is always easy to find if you look in the right places.’ Slightly appalled at his own sudden jerk of lust, he pushed one of the photos out of sight—the one which showed the disturbingly distracting image of her shaking her bead-covered bottom in time to the music. He swallowed. ‘But you must admit that you aren’t my number-one choice as prospective sister-in-law.’

She saw the sudden tightening of his features and knew that she could not let him browbeat her like this. ‘Do you always assume that marriage is on the cards whenever your brother dates? Isn’t that what’s known as jumping the gun?’

‘I base my assumptions on experience,’ he responded acidly. ‘And I know women well enough to understand the lure of vast amounts of money. The Constantinides name is usually enough to guarantee instant devotion from the opposite sex.’

‘Even in your case?’ she flared.

‘Even in mine,’ he conceded.

She heard the sarcasm in his voice and was just about to leap to her own defence. To tell him that he’d got it completely wrong and that she and his brother were nothing more than good friends. But something stopped her and she recognised it as the desire to want to hurt him back. To attack him as he had just attacked her by delving into her painful past. It bothered him to think she was in a relationship with his brother, did it? Well, good! Let it bother him a bit more until she had the chance to speak to Nat herself.

‘It’s very difficult for me to tell you exactly what I think of your outrageous accusations since you happen to be my employer,’ she said quietly. ‘And you seem draconian enough to try to fire me if I speak my mind.’

‘On the contrary.’ He scowled. ‘Your English employment laws seem designed to protect the employee instead of the boss and therefore I can’t give myself the satisfaction of firing you unless you do something so outrageous that you really give me no choice.’

Briefly, she wondered whether hurling the pottery jar of pencils at his smug face would qualify as grounds for dismissal, but she kept her hands planted firmly in her lap.

‘Then, unfortunately, you seem stuck with me,’ she responded and saw his face darken in response to the studied sweetness in her voice.

‘Unfortunately, I do,’ he agreed, and leaned back in his chair. ‘Unless we could come to some mutually agreeable arrangement?’

‘Such as?’

He shrugged. ‘I could offer to buy out your contract?’

Emma made her eyes widen even though inside she was burning with rage. Did he think his money could buy him whatever he wanted? ‘Make it worth my while to leave, you mean?’

‘Of course.’ He wondered how much it would take to guarantee her departure and his voice dipped as he now found himself around the familiar territory of the negotiating table. ‘I can be very generous if I need to be.’

His quiet boast appalled her but what appalled her even more was her body’s instinctive response to the velvet caress of his voice. For a moment her breasts began to prickle in a way which was alien to her and, disbelievingly, she acknowledged it as the ache of sexual desire.

Self-recrimination flooded through her and Emma prayed that it would dull the hot, melting tightness in her stomach. How could she possibly find him sexy—him of all people? She didn’t find any men attractive—and especially not the kind of men who thought so little of women in general and her in particular that he thought he could just buy her out, like some sort of commodity.

For a moment she was tempted to play along with him. To name a sum outrageous enough to shock him and then to tell him that she had been testing him. But instinct told her to proceed carefully. Already, Zak Constantinides didn’t like or approve of her and, while she wasn’t looking for either of those things from him, she’d be unwise to make him an outright enemy, unless she had some sort of industrial death wish.

Instead she sat back in her chair and fixed him with a steady look—because she’d seen off worse things in her time than some bullying tycoon with a mistaken belief that he had the right to vet his brother’s friends. ‘I hate to disappoint you, Mr Constantinides, but I’m perfectly happy with my job—and as long as I continue to perform it to everyone’s satisfaction, then I’d prefer to carry on just as I am, if it’s all the same with you.’

Staring into her pale green eyes, Zak saw the light of determination and recognised that she had a streak of stubbornness which would not be swayed by the force of his will. She was an employee and she was a woman and she was daring to defy him! And yet his sense of outrage was pacified by the prospect of a looming battle—for he liked nothing more than a fight.

Because he liked to win. He enjoyed the sweet taste of victory. Wasn’t that what drove his ambition—what fired up his constant need to acquire new businesses? For a man in his position, there was little that could not be had for the asking—or the taking—yet it seemed that Miss Emma Geary was determined to hang on to her job, even though he wanted her to go.

For a brief moment he thought of sacking her and daring her to sue him—for he had never known anything but triumph in the courtroom. But Zak had neither the time nor the appetite for a courtroom drama—nor any of the attendant publicity. Wouldn’t it satisfy him more if he could drive her away by making her realise that it was pointless trying to oppose him?

‘I can see that you are a very obstinate woman, Miss Geary,’ he said slowly.

‘Obstinacy is probably something you’re well qualified to recognise, Mr Constantinides.’

He nodded, as if conceding the point. ‘You might be interested to know a little more about the chat I had with my lawyers.’

Emma stared at him suspiciously. ‘Should I be?’

‘I think you should. Because they informed me that there’s nothing in your contract which stipulates that you must work in my London hotel.’

It was the expression on his face as much as the sudden change in tone which warned Emma that there was trouble ahead. The granite-hard line of his lips suddenly became the smug little curve of a smile. She fixed him with a questioning look, determined not to show any weakness even though inside her heart was now pounding with fear.

‘But I’ve always worked here,’ she objected, her voice rising on a protest. ‘At the Granchester.’

‘I know you have—and that’s why I thought it might be considerate to offer you the chance to work at one of my other hotels. As you know, the Constantinides brand is represented on every continent. Wouldn’t it be fun to go abroad?’ He raised his eyebrows at her in arrogant question. ‘And I’m sure it would do your design career nothing but good to get a little experience elsewhere.’

Furiously, Emma realised exactly what he was doing. He was going to offer her a job as interior designer in one of his Caribbean hotels—or maybe one of the smart city ones. It would be the kind of job which most people in her profession would bite off his hand to be offered—and she would look a complete fool if she turned it down. But she knew what the truth behind such a supposedly generous offer really was.

‘You want to get me away from Nat,’ she said dully. ‘At any cost.’

‘Bravo, Miss Geary,’ he answered softly. ‘You’ve got it in one.’

‘Does Xenon know what you’re proposing?’

‘Why, have you got him in your pocket, too?’ he accused.

‘I’m not going to dignify that remark with an answer, Mr Constantinides.’

‘Xenon’s in charge of the day-to-day running of this hotel!’ he snapped. ‘But ultimately I’m the one who decides what happens. If I want changes made—then those changes will be made, without me having to run it past anyone else.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then I think you will find you’re in breach of contract. And in that case, I would be perfectly within my rights to ask you to leave.’

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drawn to the luscious thrust of her breasts, and for one brief moment he found himself wishing that Nat had found himself another girlfriend. Any girlfriend except this one. Because her spirited response had unexpectedly ignited his sexual appetite and he could feel its ache deep in his groin. Nobody was usually so spectacularly rude to him—nobody else would have dared to be. And if his brother weren’t involved—mightn’t he be tempted to ask her to go home and get ready to have dinner with him? To put on a pretty dress that skimmed her delicious bottom and to leave the pale tumble of her blond hair free enough for him to run his fingers through it? Because didn’t spirited women make the very best lovers, even if they weren’t the best choice of wife?

He looked at her face to see that her eyes were now glaring at him and something in their pistachio fire made his blood grow heated. ‘You have some objection perhaps?’ he questioned idly.

‘Why, you’re nothing but a great big bully!’ she breathed.

He shrugged. ‘Your insults are redundant. Take it or leave it. The pay-off still stands if you decide on the latter.’

‘Oh, no!’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t give in to blackmail. Or threats. I think you’ll discover that you can’t get rid of me quite so easily, Mr Constantinides.’

‘Really? We’ll see about that. In the meantime, why don’t you give it some thought? That’s all,’ he added dismissively. ‘You can go now.’

Her face scarlet with rage, Emma rose to her feet— tempted once again to hurl the contents of the pencil pot at his infuriating head. But she concentrated on exiting his office with as much dignity as possible.

She had just reached the door when his voice halted her.

‘Oh, and Emma?’

It was the first time he’d used her Christian name and to hear it spoken in that gravelly Greek voice sounded so sinfully irresistible that she found herself turning round to look at him, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

‘What?’

Zak’s eyes narrowed as he watched her and something about the way she held herself only increased the flicker of lust he’d felt earlier. She really did have the most amazing posture, he thought suddenly. Despite the worn and dishevelled clothes, she moved like a catwalk model. As if she were gliding across the room, rather than walking. ‘You could always look on this as a sort of test. To see whether your commitment to Nathanael survives an enforced absence. Who knows—it could even strengthen the relationship between you.’

For a moment she really thought he meant it. That he actually cared enough about his brother to test a relationship which didn’t really exist. Until she saw the cold glitter of his pewter eyes and realised that this was about nothing more than his legendary control. He didn’t care what Nat wanted. Or what she wanted. He just cared about Number One. What he wanted. All thoughts of dignity forgotten, Emma felt her blood boil as she turned her back on him.

‘You can keep your job offer and you can go to hell,’ she retorted, wrenching open the door to meet the eyes of his startled-looking assistant who was sitting in the outer office. ‘Except that the devil probably wouldn’t let you in on the grounds that he couldn’t stand the competition!’

And she slammed the door on his soft and mocking laughter.

CHAPTER THREE

‘THE man is a complete and utter tyrant!’

‘I did warn you.’

‘Yes, I know you did but …’ Emma put her knife and fork down with a clatter and stared into Nathanael’s face. It was a face which bore an unmistakable resemblance to his brother—and yet if they had been statues, then the two men would have been carved from very different stone. ‘You didn’t tell me that he’d be so … so …’

‘So what, Em?’

Emma bit her lip as she stared down at the plate of mozzarella salad, which she’d barely touched because her normally healthy appetite seemed to have deserted her. There was nothing between her and Nat other than friendship, and yet she recognised that it wouldn’t be the most diplomatic thing in the world to tell him that she’d found his brother sexually intimidating. Actually, she suspected that the seesawing of her emotions had been as much about attraction as intimidation, but that was something she had no wish to examine.

‘So determined to get his own way!’ she said instead.

‘That is generally what tyrants tend to do,’ offered Nat drily.

Emma shook her head. For all her outward anger, she had been deeply unsettled by her encounter with Zak Constantinides. He had made her feel stuff she wasn’t used to feeling and that had been bad enough. But even worse was the fact that he had forced her to look at the past, a place which she’d hoped she’d left behind for ever.

And the trouble with looking back was that it made you start to pick away at the present—and to wonder if this was the way your life was meant to be. Since their meeting she’d felt … unsettled. As if the odd, quiet calm before a storm had suddenly descended on her. ‘You’ll never believe what he suggested.’

‘What?’

She stared into Nat’s more traditional inky-black eyes. ‘Only that I go and work in one of his other hotels!’

‘Which hotel?’

‘He didn’t say, but what he meant was any hotel that isn’t the Granchester—preferably somewhere in a different country. Anything to get me as far away from you as possible—because, apparently, I’ve got my gold-digging hooks into you.’

‘He can’t look at a woman without seeing dollar signs in her eyes,’ commented Nat wryly. ‘Though, to be fair, he’s seen enough examples of that particular breed in his time. What did you tell him?’

Expelling a slow breath, Emma sat back in her seat and looked around. She loved this little Italian restaurant.

It wasn’t far from the Granchester and was just about affordable as long as you stuck to one course, which she insisted was all they needed—as well as always splitting the bill fifty-fifty, much to Nat’s amusement.

They often ate here, depending on the current state of Nat’s love life. If it was full-on passion, then their meetings tended to be erratic—but if he’d discovered that his latest goddess had feet of clay, then they became more frequent. Nat hadn’t been ‘in love’ for quite some time—and so they’d seen quite a lot of each other. It was easy and it was comfortable and up until this afternoon’s meeting with Zak she had been more than happy with the arrangement. But now? Now she felt as if she had been woken from a bad dream and couldn’t quite remember what had frightened her so much.

‘I told him he could keep his job,’ she said, in reply to his question. ‘And I told him to go to hell.’

There was a pause while Nat looked at her with an expression on his face she’d never seen before. ‘You told Zak to go to hell?’

‘Actually, I implied that hell was too good for him.’

Nat started laughing. ‘I wish I could have seen his face.’

Emma took a quick sip of wine, because thinking about Zak’s face wasn’t remotely good for her blood pressure.

‘Well, I hope I never see him again,’ she said quietly, even though her heart leapt at the memory of those intense pewter eyes and hard lips. ‘He can keep his job and his outrageous attempts at manipulation. Who the hell does he think he is that he can move people around as if they’re pieces on a chequerboard? I’ll hand my notice in and go freelance again. There’s loads of work in London at the moment.’

Nat frowned. ‘But you don’t know where the job is, do you? Think about it. It could be great, Em. New York, maybe—you know that Zak has an amazing hotel on Madison, near Central Park? Or in Paris, maybe—he owns a sumptuous place on Av Georges V, right down from the Seine.’

‘I know all about your brother’s impressive property portfolio, Nat—and I’m not remotely tempted.’

There was a pause. ‘Not even as a favour to me?’

‘A favour to you?’ Putting her glass back down on the table, Emma narrowed her eyes. ‘How does that work?’

He shrugged. ‘Think about it. Zak’s a control freak who likes to keep an obsessive brotherly eye on me.’

‘I know. Why is that?’

‘Because he’s terrified that some scheming beauty is going to get her hands on the Constantinides fortune and bleed it dry. It’s happened before. My theory is that he hates women. Actually, scrub that—he does hate women.’ He saw the question in her eyes and gave a grimace. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’m not interested in Zak’s story,’ she said quickly because she didn’t want to ‘understand’ the man. What was there to understand, other than that he was a tyrant? ‘It can’t be that different from yours, surely?’

‘Oh, I think it was worse. He was older, you see—and he bore the brunt of my parents’ divorce.’ Nat shrugged. ‘And he thinks the women I meet are only after me because of my wallet. Not realising that my abundant charm and prowess in bed are what keep them flocking into my arms! He thinks that one day I should go back home and marry a suitable and beautiful Greek woman.’

‘And what do you think, Nat? Is that what you want? Or aren’t you allowed an opinion?’

‘Actually, I haven’t ruled anything out,’ said Nat unexpectedly. ‘All I want is the freedom to live my life as I see fit until the time comes when I want to settle down. And that’s where you come in, Em. Or, rather, where you could come in.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

He leaned across the table and, with his finger, drew a circle on top of her hand. ‘If Zak thinks we’re in a serious relationship and he’s managed to separate us—then, for once, he won’t bother checking up on me, will he? He’ll think I’m pining for you and he’ll want to placate me. Why, he might even actively push other women in my direction to help me forget you! For once I can date women without feeling as if a dragon is breathing over my shoulder. I’ll get the freedom I desire—’

‘And what will I get, Nat?’ she put in quietly. ‘Huh?’

He shrugged, his smile gentle. ‘The chance to spread your wings? To put something new and wonderful on your portfolio? Why not, Em? What’s stopping you?’

Emma paused to consider his question. What was stopping her? Anger that his billionaire brother could be so outrageously manipulative? Or was it something more fundamental than that … a deep-rooted fear of change itself?

Yet surely no one could blame her for wanting a little stability for the first time in her life. She opened her lips, about to reject his suggestion outright—but something in Nat’s words had struck an uncomfortable chord. And once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t stop.