Too Proud to be Bought (6 page)

So why the hell did he feel an aching throb of frustration whenever he looked at her?

Crystal suddenly stood up, and gave a rather theatrical yawn. ‘Well, I’m off to sunbathe—anyone else fancy joining me? Sergei—are you coming?’

‘No, not now.’ Shaking his head, Sergei withdrew a phone from his pocket. ‘I have to talk business.’

Crystal turned her head to look at her host and her smile changed. ‘How about you, Nikolai? ‘

Nikolai realised that the blonde was gleaming him a hungry look. Now
this
was a textbook predator, he thought as he shook his head. Some glossy accessory of a woman who wore her rich lover’s jewels and then flirted with his younger and more virile associate. Not some pale-faced waitress who hadn’t put a foot wrong since she’d been here.

He watched as Zara piled another set of dishes on her loaded tray and another unexpected stab of conscience hit him. Had he misjudged her? Did he only want her because she had misled him—so that his resulting anger had provided an extra frisson to the sexual hunger he already felt for her? Surely that was the only
logical
explanation?

‘When you’ve finished clearing away you can go, Zara,’ he said abruptly. ‘Just be back to serve cocktails at seven—okay? But until then, you’re free.’

Zara thought how shuttered his face had suddenly become and that there were no traces of lazy sensuality being directed at her now. In fact, he was behaving exactly as an employer
should
behave—dismissing her in that slightly curt manner which seemed to emphasise the differences in their status. And if she was experiencing a sudden pang of disappointment because that brief intimacy between them had faded, then she should be ashamed of herself. She gave a little nod. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Back in her room, Zara pulled off her hot uniform and hung it in the wardrobe with a sigh of relief. She had come through her first test unscathed and now she
had a free afternoon ahead of her. How free was free? she wondered as she splashed cold water onto her face. Free enough to slip on a pair of shorts and to wander around this Mediterranean paradise of his?

But there were unspoken rules in her job. You merged into the background and became invisible. You certainly didn’t sunbathe in the grounds of a client’s mansion, no matter how extensive they might be. Imagine the embarrassment of being discovered sprawled out, half naked and covered in suncream! Instead, she opened up the guidebook she’d bought at the airport that morning and saw that there was a picturesque little village close enough for her to reach by foot. Her eyes scanned the tempting photos as she read up about St Jean Gardet—one of those tiny, magical places up in the mountains, which looked as if it hadn’t changed for decades.

No one except the man at the main security gates saw her as she slipped out of the grounds and felt the warm breeze on her face as she set off. She walked upwards through the scented hills, hearing nothing other than the occasional bleat of a goat or the whispery buzz of crickets—and was hot and thirsty by the time she reached the tiny village.

The place seemed to have gone to sleep for the afternoon because there didn’t seem to be a soul around. It was a beautiful ghost town of a place, with scarlet geraniums tumbling from window boxes. A dog slept beneath the shade of a tree and the clock chimed loudly in the baking square. Eventually she found a small
tabac
where a woman dressed in black looked at her with suspicious eyes and effected not to understand Zara’s schoolgirl attempts at French. But she bought herself a bottle of water and gulped it down thirstily before setting off to
explore the cool interior of the small church which was at the very heart of the village.

Afterwards, she felt refreshed by the experience and set off back towards the road leading to Nikolai’s villa—telling herself that she was lucky to be able to explore such a gorgeous place. All she had to do was to endure a few more meals before walking away with her more-than-generous pay-cheque. She could get rid of her debts and then she really
would
be free. Free to start thinking about what she was going to do with the rest of her life. And if a part of her heart was wistful at the thought that she would never see the sexy Russian again, common sense told her that it was by far the best thing.

Unfortunately, the journey back to the villa seemed much hotter and dustier. Sweat trickled down from her neck to lay in a clammy film on her back and she kept pushing heavy strands of hair away from her face and wondering when she would see Nikolai’s estate. She was so lost in her thoughts that at first she didn’t register the distant drone of an engine—not until the drone became a throaty roar and she realised that a car was speeding down the mountain road towards her.

Quickly, she stepped back onto a verge massed with tall grass and wild flowers as a powerful silver sports car streaked by, gleaming like a fish in the bright sunlight. Dust like golden smoke clouded up behind as it shot past.

With a skipped beat of her heart, she registered the hard profile of the driver. She saw the wind whipping through hair the colour of beaten gold. For a moment the vehicle slowed as the driver glanced in his rear mirror, before slamming on his brakes. The car came to a screaming halt a little way down the road, before
being reversed up with an arrogant skill to stop right beside her.

Zara thought that if he hadn’t been a billionaire entrepreneur, then Nikolai Komarov could easily have been a racing driver. Her heart was thudding so loudly that it seemed to deafen her as she stared down into eyes which were hidden by dark shades.

His mouth gave the hint of a hard smile as he leaned over and pushed open the door.

‘Get in,’ he said.

Z
ARA
stared down into Nikolai’s sculpted features, but he was wearing wrap-around shades and so it was impossible to see his eyes or properly see his expression.

‘Get in the car,’ he repeated impatiently.

‘I’m enjoying the walk.’

‘Maybe you were—but not any more, I think. You’re hot. Or at least you look it,’ he added.

She could feel the heat in her cheeks and the stickiness of her skin beneath her sundress and as he spoke she could feel another slow trickle of sweat as it meandered down her back. He was right—she was absolutely baking—but surely getting into a car with him was the worst possible solution. Yet wouldn’t it look slightly pathetic if she refused his offer of a lift—especially when they were both heading for the same place? And what about all those little pep talks she’d been giving herself about managing to resist him? ‘Okay.’ She gave a little shrug and a small smile. ‘Why not? Thanks.’

Sliding into the low leather seat, she attempted to swing her legs into the car without showing too much flesh, but it wasn’t easy—especially when she was feeling this self-conscious and knowing that he was watching her. He waited until she’d snapped her seat belt on and then started the engine.

‘So where have you been?’ he questioned as the car pulled away.

‘Exploring. My guidebook said St Jean Gardet was especially beautiful.’

‘And did you agree with your guidebook?’

Zara shrugged. ‘Well, it was certainly very pretty—but the woman in the shop wasn’t particularly friendly towards me.’

‘The locals are very protective, that’s all. We get a lot of strange visitors to the area—journalists looking for a scoop or thieves doing a little prep-work.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Zara risked a glance at his profile, at the golden gleam of his skin and the soft shadows which fell beneath his high cheekbones. She supposed that when you were as wealthy as he was, you must necessarily view every new acquaintance with suspicion. A pang of guilt ran through her as she remembered her own behaviour the night of the party. Perhaps she couldn’t blame him for being so wary. ‘Otherwise, it was very quiet—there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.’

‘Well, what do you expect? It’s four-thirty in the afternoon, when the day is at its hottest.’ He shot her a glance. ‘Anyone with any sense would be sheltered inside, in the cool.’

‘Having a siesta?’ she said, keen to show him that she did know
something
about a southern European lifestyle.

‘Maybe.’ His mouth quirked into the flicker of a smile. ‘Though I can think of far better alternatives for whiling away an afternoon than merely sleeping, can’t you, Zara?’

Zara kept her eyes fixed steadily ahead. She had
walked straight into
that
one, hadn’t she? ‘Yet strangely, you’re out in the sun yourself,’ she said.

‘Maybe that’s because I don’t have anyone offering me a little afternoon delight,
milaya moya.
Something which might tempt me into staying home.’

Zara’s cheeks grew even hotter. Afternoon delight meant…well, everyone knew what it meant. He was trying to embarrass her, that was for sure—and she was not going to give him the pleasure of succeeding. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true, Nikolai. Someone like you must be besieged with offers from women all the time.’

‘Oh, I am,’ he agreed gravely. ‘But you know …’ there was a pause as he negotiated a hairpin bend ‘… if something is offered to you on a plate, then it sometimes deadens the appetite.’

‘Yet you ate most of your lunch, I noticed,’ she observed innocently.

At this, he gave an unexpected laugh and behind the concealment of his shades his eyes narrowed. She was brighter than he had thought. Much brighter. Not that it mattered, of course. Her intelligence was not the reason he wanted her. ‘So I did,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘Perhaps I found the meal irresistible because it had been served by your own fair hand.’

‘Or perhaps because you employ a world-class chef to cook it for you?’

He felt the sudden beat of his heart, because her sparring was turning him on almost as much as the silky-pale knees exposed by her cheap little dress. ‘Perhaps.’

‘And where have
you
been driving to?’ she questioned curiously.

Nikolai’s mouth hardened into a grim smile. He’d popped out to his wine merchant in a nearby town. When he’d seen her as he drove back, the closest thing he had
to a conscience had told him that maybe he should just leave her alone. That she had worked hard during lunch and made no attempt whatsoever to flirt with him. In fact, she had a strange kind of innocence about her and he suspected it would be wrong to make love to her.

But her ripe young body and the tremulous parting of her fleshy lips were fast drawing a veil over his reluctant reservations. He wanted to kiss her and he wanted it badly. And she, he suspected, wanted it just as much.

‘I’ve just been to see my friend who delivers my wine for me. And giving the car a run in the process. I’m away so much that it sits idling in the garage for much of the time.’

‘Oh.’ In the distance, she caught a glimpse of his pale rose mansion and knew they couldn’t be that far from his estate. And suddenly, she felt a sense of disappointment that this sunlit car ride was going to come to an end. Did she communicate something of that disappointment to him—and was that why he shot her another swift glance?

‘Do you want to see something beautiful?’ he questioned suddenly.

Zara hesitated. But she had handled him okay so far, hadn’t she? Had refused to react to his murmured little innuendos and had somehow remained calm. And when would she ever get another chance like this—to see the beautiful south of France through an insider’s eyes?

‘Yes, please.’

He drove the car around several more bends, before bringing it to a smooth halt on a natural rocky viewing point, which jutted out from the winding road. ‘Take a look at that,’ he said softly.

For a moment Zara said nothing as she gazed down at bright turquoise sea which glittered in the afternoon
sunlight. The little coves which edged it were fringed with fine silver sand and there were green lines of parasol pines which looked like giant umbrellas. It was so beautiful that for a moment she struggled to find words which would do it justice. ‘Oh, it’s amazing,’ she breathed. ‘So…so
blue
—and there’s so
much
of it.’

‘The area is on a natural peninsula,’ said Nikolai. ‘Which is why the water seems to surround us. We have some of the best beaches along the Côte d’Azure—but we don’t have the massive tourist influx of Nice and Cannes, and we’re only a short drive from Italy.’

‘You sound like you’re selling real estate.’

‘Oh, believe me—I’ve done that before,’ he commented wryly.

She stared down at the sea—at the darker shades of rippling sapphire where the waters grew deeper. And she tried to imagine somebody actually living with this kind of beauty—waking up and seeing it every morning for the rest of their lives, if they wanted to. ‘You’re very lucky,’ she said, without thinking.

The word ‘lucky’ jolted Nikolai from his guided tour and brought reality crashing in like the waves on the rocks below. For a moment he forgot the fact that her hair gleamed like gold and that her sun-warmed body was just crying out to be touched.
Lucky.
He swallowed a bitter laugh. That was what people always said. What they always presumed about him when they saw the houses and the cars and the priceless antiques in the properties he had dotted around the globe. How he hated the word with all its random associations. As if he had been bestowed with precious gifts at birth—handed wealth and privilege—when nothing could be further from the truth. Sometimes he wondered what the reaction might be if he came right out and told it as it really was.

Was it ‘lucky’ to be abandoned like a feral animal and left to fend for yourself? And then to discover that you meant nothing to the woman who had given birth to you? That the supposedly most powerful bond of love which existed between mother and child had as much substance as a puff of smoke.

His mouth hardened as forbidden memories broke free like black clouds which swarmed into his mind and darkened it. Until he reminded himself that bitterness was a waste of time and energy. It had all turned out right for him in the end, hadn’t it? Even if the price he had paid had been an inability to trust anyone ever again. He couldn’t change the past—nobody could—but he could capitalise on the present and enjoy it. Because a man had to make his own luck in life …

‘Do you know that, right now, I feel like the luckiest person in the world,’ he said softly.

Unable to stop herself, Zara slowly turned her head to look at him, even though she knew that he was probably spinning her a line. Just as she knew he was going to kiss her and she wasn’t going to lift a finger to stop him. Because who could fail to be captivated by the sea and the sunlight, the fragrant air and the sensual softening of Nikolai’s lips? Wasn’t this one of those perfect moments which stayed in your mind for ever, no matter what happened afterwards? ‘So do I,’ she said truthfully.

He felt the wild kick of desire as he pulled her into his arms, remembering that she felt even better than she looked. All warm and soft and instantly accessible—with her windswept hair loose and spilling over her shoulders in silken disarray. With his thumb he traced the outline of her lips and when they began to tremble he bent his head and claimed them with his own.

The kiss was hard and urgent and a powerful jerk
of desire arrowed through him as he inhaled her scent of roses and suncream. They kissed until there was no breath left and he pulled away from her, trying to regain some of the customary control which had momentarily deserted him.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that to you all day,’ he said unevenly.

‘Ha-have you?’

‘You know damned well I have. And more. Much more. Shall I show you how much?’

‘No.’ Her tongue snaked out over her lips. ‘We…shouldn’t.’

His laugh was unsteady. ‘You little liar. You want this just as much as I do.’

His hand starfished over her breast and she heard a ragged sound of pleasure as he slipped his hand inside her dress to capture the aching mound beneath. That was
her,
she realised with a shock. She who was moaning softly as if she were in pain. She who gasped as his fingertips began to rub at one sensitised nipple through her bra.

‘Nikolai—’ With an effort, she tried to articulate another word. ‘We …’

‘Da.
We seem to make a habit of making out in cars,’ he said, pushing the awry hair out of her face. ‘Let me look at you.’

‘But I can’t look at
you.
I can’t see your face properly,’ she whispered, reaching up to remove the wrap-around sunglasses and then dropping them onto the dashboard. For a moment she gazed into the pale blue eyes but, blackened with lust, there was no hint of his feelings in their frozen depths.

‘Is that better?’ he demanded.

She nodded. ‘Much better.’

‘Then you are very easily pleased. Believe me, it’s going to get better still,
milaya moya.’
Dipping his head, he began to kiss her again as she wound her arms around his neck like some sexy kind of cobra and he felt the slide of her tongue as it moved into his mouth and slicked against his own. It was nothing a woman hadn’t done to him before but he could never remember feeling quite such an urgent shaft of lust before.

He heard her make another little moan of pleasure as he put his hand on her knee and he smiled with anticipation as she gave an impatient little wriggle of her hips. Fingers now sliding to her thighs, he felt them part for him instantly and he traced tiny circles there until she was almost incoherent with pleasure, gripping onto him as if she feared she might float away. She was ready, he thought, his heart racing with the heady anticipation of sexual release. Briefly, his fingertips tiptoed over the scorching moistness of her panties and he heard her bite back a little yelp before suddenly shattering the spell by wriggling away from him.

‘Nikolai!’

Dazedly, he stared at her from between opaque eyes as she sat with her back pressed up against the car door. ‘What’s wrong? ‘

‘We’ve got …’ She sucked in a shuddering breath and then let it out again. ‘We’ve got to stop!’

‘But you don’t want me to stop.’

Frantically, Zara shook her head. Of course she didn’t want him to stop—or, at least, her body didn’t want him to—but neither did she want him making love to her in broad daylight, either.

‘Just look where we
are,’
she whispered.
‘Look!
Anybody could see us.’

‘But I am very dextrous,
angel moy,’
he said softly.

‘And
very
discreet. I could bring you to orgasm underneath that little dress of yours and nobody but us would know I was doing it—unless they happened to be passing at the split second when you were arching your back and moaning my name.’

His words painted a provocative image which turned her bones to water and desire warred with shock as she acknowledged his arrogant boast. ‘You’re…you’re outrageous,’ she managed, through lips so dry they felt like sandpaper.

‘I think we established that a while back, didn’t we?’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced down at the agitated rise and fall of her breasts. ‘Stop making it difficult for yourself, Zara.’ He bent his head so that he whispered his lips along the line of her jaw. ‘Let’s just make love.’

Her resolve at breaking point, it was his words which brought Zara back to her senses with a start.
Make love?
What the hell was he talking about? What would the instant gratification he was proposing have to do with
any
kind of emotion—least of all love? If he’d said ‘let’s have quick and meaningless sex’ at least it would have been honest.

Distractedly, she covered her mouth with her palm and could feel her quickened breathing. She
shouldn’t
have let herself get so carried away—especially after all her good intentions. And even though she could put some of the blame on Nikolai’s undoubted skill—she wasn’t blameless herself, was she? She had let him get intimate with her, had egged him on, like someone who was desperate for a man’s touch. What if she had actually capitulated? A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. How could she actually have the courage to serve him and guests tonight if she’d actually let him…let him …?