Too Proud to be Bought (5 page)

‘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 scam? ‘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.’

He felt not one shred of remorse as he uttered the empty words and saw her nod in response, a misplaced look of trust settling on her features.

His mouth hardened as he turned away. Because promises were made to be broken. Hadn’t that been one of the very first lessons he’d learned in life when he was scarcely out of the cradle?

‘A
ND
this,’ said the housekeeper, opening the door with a flourish, ‘is your room.’

Blinking back her surprise, Zara followed the woman inside—because the small apartment wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Normally, waitresses were allocated rooms which would give a prison cell a run for its money—but not here. It seemed that even the staff accommodation in Nikolai Komarov’s south of France villa was luxurious. A big bed dazzled with snowy linen, there was a kitchen, an amazing bathroom—as well as shuttered windows which looked out onto a breathtaking view of the misty Provençal mountains in the distance.

‘This looks wonderful,’ she said slowly, her gaze drifting to a heap of black grapes which gleamed in a bowl as if they were waiting for an artist to paint them.

‘Yes, well—Mr Komarov always looks after his staff,’ said the housekeeper crisply. ‘He just expects hard work and discretion in return. Now I’ll leave you to get changed—you’ll be serving lunch within the hour. I hope the whistle-stop tour of the house didn’t confuse you? No? Good. Then come straight to the kitchens when you’re ready.’

Zara put her little overnight bag down on the floor and gave a bright smile. ‘Will do.’

At least the housekeeper’s words reminded her that she was here to work and, once the woman had gone, Zara stripped out of her travelling clothes and took a quick shower. The water on her skin felt delicious but the faint misgivings she’d felt since accepting this job simply wouldn’t go away.

She’d asked herself over and over again whether she’d been right to come here and put herself at the mercy of the powerful and sexy Russian. But there hadn’t really been any choice, had there? Not in the end.

Any second thoughts she might have had about agreeing to Nikolai’s offer had been swiftly quashed when a whole new raft of bills had arrived. Zara had opened up the brown envelopes, seen the bold red print screaming out at her—and there, sitting incongruously among all the final demands, had been a first-class air-ticket to Nice. She’d picked it up and studied it with a terrible sense of inevitability, knowing there was no way she could afford to turn down the kind of money he was proposing to pay her.

So she’d taken the plane from Heathrow and tried to quell her rising nerves, but it hadn’t been easy, especially when disturbing images of his cold face and hard body kept drifting into her mind. At Nice, a car had been waiting to drive her through the hairpin bends of the Corniche—with its stunning green mountains on one side, dropping dramatically down to sapphire sea on the other. And when she’d arrived at Nikolai’s villa it had been like stepping into something you saw between the glossy pages of lifestyle magazines.

The vast gardens were a picture of cascading fountains and curving paths, while flowers in every shade imaginable dazzled the eye. At the end of the long drive was the house itself, a building which dwarfed every other
she’d ever seen. Coloured a beautiful pale rose, it stood contrasted against the magnificence of the mountains behind, and offered breathtaking views of the glittering Côte d’Azure.

Turning off the shower, Zara towelled herself dry and pulled on a clean uniform, telling herself that the lavish beauty of Nikolai’s world was irrelevant. And so was the fact that she found him overwhelmingly attractive. She was here to work and walk away with a hefty pay-cheque, and she’d better not forget that.

Going straight to the kitchens, she checked timings with the chef and had just carried a bottle of vintage champagne up to the terrace when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Fingers tightening around the cold silver ice bucket, she felt her heart skip a beat, because instinct told her that Nikolai Komarov was right behind her.

Act like you normally would if he were any other employer. Smile politely and say hello.
But her legs felt wobbly as she slowly turned round, her heart now crashing against her ribcage as his cool gaze washed over her.

There was nothing of the billionaire about Nikolai Komarov today. He was wearing the kind of off-duty clothes worn by men the world over, be they billionaire or student, but Zara doubted whether anybody had ever looked as good in them as he did. Faded blue jeans skated over the narrow jut of his hips and skimmed down over the hard, muscular legs. A simple black T-shirt moulded his lean torso and the short sleeves showed off powerful forearms, his tanned skin looking as if it had been dusted with flecks of gold.

Meeting the mockery in his ice-blue eyes, she swallowed and tried to control breathing which had suddenly
become shallow and erratic. Why had she stupidly discounted how gorgeous he was? As if a few days’ distance might have given her some kind of magical immunity to him.
Well, she was going to have to acquire some—and quickly!
Somehow she found her voice. ‘Good morning, Mr Komarov.’

‘Oh, please.’ His eyes gleamed sardonically as he took in the tremble of her lips. ‘I think we know each other well enough to dispense with unnecessary formality, don’t you? It’s quite acceptable for you to call me Nikolai when we are alone.’

Zara’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘If that’s what you want.’

He thought that now wasn’t the moment to tell her exactly what he wanted—even if she
did
sound deli-ciously compliant. How huge her green eyes looked as they studied him, he mused. All startled and bright, yet somehow managing to be both wary and yearning all at the same time. ‘You know, I half expected you not to show up,’ he observed. ‘To have decided that this job might be a little more than you can handle.’

‘But we came to a professional agreement,’ she defended.

‘And the money was too good to turn your back on?’

‘There is that, of course.’ Her eyes were very steady as she looked at him because she was damned if she would let him make her feel bad about needing the money. What would
he
know about pinching and scraping and trying to get creditors off your back? ‘And I’m not in the habit of letting people down.’

‘I’m impressed,’ he murmured, noticing the almost imperceptible elevation of her chin and hearing the sudden note of pride which had entered her voice.

‘That wasn’t my intention.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I’m simply here to do a job and to do it to the best of my ability.’

And judging by her appearance, it occurred to him that she might be speaking the truth—because she didn’t look as he had been expecting her to look. Hadn’t he thought she might play the vamp? For her hair to be tumbling in provocative tendrils around her face and her skirt suddenly to have shrunk by a couple of sizes? Something more befitting her status as the kind of woman who was out for everything she could get than a lowly little waitress. But she looked nothing like that. He frowned. Her face was almost bare of make up, her hair was tugged back into a functional ponytail—and surely an off-duty nun would have found no fault in the respectable length of her dull black skirt.

And wasn’t it ironic that her very lack of adornment was only increasing his desire for her instead of diminishing it? So that for a moment he felt irritated that he couldn’t just pull her into his arms and kiss her and have done with it. That he was going to have to endure this charade of her waiting at his table in order to bed her. Reluctantly, he elevated his gaze to her face.

‘You look very…professional—although your uniform isn’t the most alluring I’ve ever seen,’ he remarked as, with another kick of surprise, he noted her soft rise of colour. ‘And now I’ve made you blush.’

His comment made her colour deepen even more. ‘I blush at the drop of a hat,’ she admitted.

‘Really?’ He slanted her a mocking glance. ‘And yet I didn’t really have you down as the shy, retiring type.’

Zara remembered the way she’d responded to him in the back of his car—like some kind of insatiable maneater,
devouring his lips and letting him suckle on her breasts when they’d only just met. Could she blame him if he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion about her? Feeling wrong-footed and with no way of defending herself, Zara heard the sound of approaching footsteps with a sigh of relief.

‘No time to stand around chatting,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I think your guests are about to make an appearance. I’d better go and start opening the champagne.’

His gaze held hers and in that moment he silently cursed his guests. ‘I suppose you must,’ he said reluctantly.

Zara reached for the champagne bottle as if it were a lifeline. Why the hell was he giving her that sexy sizzle of a stare? Hadn’t he heard her when she’d told him in London that this was going to be a purely professional engagement—or did men like him simply ride roughshod over someone else’s wishes if they didn’t happen to coincide with their own? And if that was the case, how the hell was she going to deal with it when she found him so completely irresistible? When part of her
wanted
him to tease her and mock her like that, while sexual tension fizzed in the air around them.

Tearing gold foil from the bottle and easing out the cork with a quiet pop, she saw a couple walk out onto the terrace and began to study them with covert interest. She’d wondered what Nikolai’s house guests might be like—but this mismatched pair weren’t at all what she’d been expecting.

The man was short, rotund and aged about fifty and, despite his loose linen clothes, kept dabbing at his damp neck with a linen handkerchief. But it was his girlfriend who was the eye-catcher. She was about three decades younger than him, and wore red patent shoes which made
her tower over her companion. A waterfall of blonde hair fell to her tiny waist and sawn-off denim hot-pants emphasised her long, tanned legs. She looked as if he’d picked her out of a catalogue, thought Zara. And in her plain A-line black skirt and flat shoes, she suddenly felt like a complete frump in comparison.

Nikolai lifted his hand in greeting. ‘Sergei—I can’t believe that I’ve prised you away from the attractions of Paris! Aren’t you already having withdrawal symptoms?’

‘Invitations to Paradis are too rare to ever be refused,’ laughed the man. ‘Though I guess you must be eager for a fellow Muscovite to confide in! Nobody sees the world in quite the same way as a Russian.’

‘Ah, but you must know by now that I confide in no one.’

‘No, I’ve heard you play your cards very close to your chest,’ gushed the blonde, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’ he said.

‘No, we haven’t. I’m Crystal,’ said the blonde. ‘And you’re Nikolai. Mmm. Suddenly I can understand why all my girlfriends went green when I told them where I was staying!’ Her glossy lips sparkled in the sunlight. ‘God, we got stuck in a pig of a traffic jam outside Monte Carlo and I’m absolutely parched—can I have a drink before I pass out?’

Nikolai gave a cool smile. Perhaps her skills in the bedroom compensated for her apparent lack of social graces, he thought caustically as he gestured towards Zara. ‘Of course you can. Champagne okay for you? ‘

‘Mmm! I love champagne!’

‘I rather thought you might,’ observed Nikolai drily.

‘Well, why don’t we sit over here and enjoy the gardens—lunch won’t be long, will it, Zara?’

‘No, sir,’ she answered, her cheeks even redder now as she listened to Crystal’s shameless flirting. No wonder Nikolai thought all women had some kind of agenda.

With a dexterity borne of countless jobs, Zara kept their glasses topped up and soon began serving the deceptively simple lunch which had been prepared. She busied around with the seafood salad, making sure that Sergei’s glass was topped up with copious amounts of bourbon, which was the only thing he drank, but all the time she was listening to their conversation—at least, what she could understand of it.

Nikolai and Sergei kept breaking into bursts of Russian—while Crystal said, or ate, very little. In fact, the blonde spent most of the meal holding out her champagne glass to be filled up and moodily staring out at the distant glitter of the Mediterranean.

What must it be like for a woman to be ignored like that? Zara wondered as she served the dessert, a pale yellow
tarte au citron.
Didn’t Crystal mind that she was being treated like an ornament—or was that the price she paid for being brought to exquisite places like this? She was so lost in her thoughts that for a moment she didn’t notice the mocking blue gaze which was being angled in her direction, until she looked up and was caught in the cool crossfire of Nikolai’s gaze.
Please don’t let me blush again,
she thought.
Don’t let him realise that he’s getting under my skin.
For a split second his eyes were thoughtful as they skimmed over her and, beneath her thin white cotton shirt, she could feel the heated prickle of her skin.

‘We’ll have coffee now, Zara,’ he instructed softly.

She nodded, her throat feeling thick and dry. ‘Certainly, sir. Shall I serve it out here?’

‘If you would.’

It was an exchange she’d had countless times in her working life but for once Zara found it hard not to resent her subservient status as she hurried off to the kitchen. Having to wear a too-hot skirt and apron and to sweat slightly beneath the too-heavy weight of the coffee tray as she made her way back to the terrace. Having to fade into the background as if she were a ghost rather than a real person.

Was that because she’d had a brief taste of what Nikolai’s life was like—tasted it and liked it—and wasn’t that dangerous?
So stop thinking about it, she told herself fiercely as she slid a chilled plate of truffles onto the table.

Nikolai watched as she bent to pour him coffee and noticed the tiny pinpoints of sweat which were beading her pale brow. Through the cheap white blouse she wore, he could make out the outline of a bra which looked more functional than decorative. His eyes drifted to the appalling, heavy-soled black shoes. And suddenly, he felt bemused. There were a million women who could be his at the snap of a finger—so what was it about this little creature which had so captured his imagination? Surely now that he had seen her for what she really was—a waitress and not a goddess—then his hunger for her would wane and he could forget all about her.