LITMIR.BIZ

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kind of dinner?’ she questioned suspiciously.

      ‘You can lose the look of horror—I’m not suggesting a cosy meal for two in some candlelit restaurant. I have a duty dinner on the other side of the city. You can be my partner for the evening, if you like.’

      What could she say? That she was scared of accompanying him anywhere because he made her feel so … so vulnerable? She shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said cautiously.

      ‘Okay?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that it? I’ve had more enthusiastic responses from a water-cooler.’

      ‘You’re in the habit of inviting water-coolers out to dinner?’

      He gave the glimmer of a smile. ‘Very funny.’

      ‘I do my best.’ She tried to tell her stupid heart to stop slamming so wildly against her ribcage, but it didn’t work because Emma recognised that a brief moment of humour was as intoxicating as strong liquor. ‘Will it be dressy?’

      ‘It will. Black tie and long dresses. I’ll order a car—so meet me in the lobby at eight.’

      ‘Eight it is.’

      Emma’s heart was still racing as she searched her wardrobe for something suitable to wear, finding fault in every single item she pulled out. Within half an hour she was outside on the busy sidewalk, knowing that she wanted to buy something new and not daring to question why she didn’t just make do with something she already had.

      But it was a long time since Emma had shopped for clothes and she felt an unfamiliar excitement as she scoured the fancy shops on Madison Avenue. The stores were packed with gorgeous garments, but something made her steer away from the rails of safe and staple black. Instead, she was drawn to a white silk dress which was draped and pleated in all the right places and fell in soft folds to the ground. She didn’t need any pressure from the cooing saleswoman to buy it, though when she put it on in her hotel room a couple of hours later she started to have second thoughts about her purchase.

      Was she showing too much flesh? Was it sending out the wrong kind of message?

      The expression in Zak’s eyes when she walked into the crowded lobby only intensified her feeling of nervousness.

      ‘It isn’t suitable?’ she questioned, a note of vulnerability creeping into her voice as she saw the sudden narrowing of his eyes.

      Suitable? Zak’s mouth dried as his gaze drifted over her. Her arms were bare and the dress was cut low, the soft white silk moulding her breasts and skimming the curve of her hips as it fell to the floor. The long tumble of her pale hair flowed down over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. She looked, he thought suddenly, like a Greek goddess. A perfect statue who had come to life for one night only. He must have been out of his mind to propose taking her to dinner.

      ‘Oh, it’s suitable all right,’ he said, in an odd kind of voice as he led the way to the waiting car. ‘But I’m probably going to spend the entire evening playing bodyguard.’

      She raised her eyebrows. ‘Though maybe from your boasts of earlier and all the things I’ve heard about your legendary success with women—perhaps it’s me who’ll have to play bodyguard to you?’

      ‘You really think you could fight them off, do you, Emma?’

      She met the challenge in his eyes. ‘I could try.’

      He shifted his weight, distracted by the way she had crossed her leg, so that the white silk was now clinging to one shapely thigh like rich cream. ‘Then I’d better put out a general alert that all women should tonight keep their distance.’

      The lazy note in his voice made Emma’s breasts tighten and she wanted to tell him to stop being so nice to her. Or, more to the point, to stop flirting with her. This was crazy. How was she going to endure the rest of the evening when he had the power to make her feel like this?

      ‘So whose party is it?’ she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

      With difficulty, he averted his gaze from the pinpointing of her nipples against the white silk. ‘An old friend of my father’s. His granddaughter, Sofia, is twenty-one—and he’s giving her a coming-of-age party.’

      Emma nodded, remembering something Nat had said. ‘Nat told me that your father had died last year. I’m … well, I’m sorry, Zak.’

      For a moment he said nothing, realising that his brother must have told her about all kinds of things—resenting the fact that he couldn’t control the flow of information. That this woman probably knew more about him than most people. More than he wanted her to know. How much had he told her?

      ‘Thanks,’ he said tersely.

      ‘I understand he was ill for a long time.’

      Which answered his question. She knew plenty. ‘Thanks again,’ he said, just as tersely.

      Hearing his abrupt sense of closure, Emma looked out of the window and watched the night-time city slide past. The big car weaved its way through the busy streets, before coming to a halt at the front of a glittering hotel, whose arching entrance was garlanded with pink and white blooms.

      Emma became aware of the press standing waiting outside and of Zak’s terse exclamation when he saw them—but this was something she was an old hand at dealing with. Dipping her head so that her hair fell like a mantle to obscure her face, she was inside the building before any of the intrusive flashes could capture her face for posterity, with Zak close behind her, and when she turned round she saw that he was laughing.

      ‘That’s the first time a woman’s ever avoided being photographed with me!’

      ‘You think I want to be seen with you?’

      ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

      But her modesty and rejection of publicity pleased him inordinately, and forced him to confront his initial prejudices. Would she really be such a bad choice of woman for his brother, if she made him happy? Once he got to know her a little better, wouldn’t this inconvenient lust for her simply melt away?

      Emma was aware of him guiding her through to the grand ballroom where the party was being held. The room was decked out in the same pink and white roses they’d seen outside and there were matching balloons and sugared almonds at every place setting. It was a bit cheesy, but somehow it worked—especially when a slender, dark-haired girl in a pink voile dress came running up to Zak and flung her arms around him.

      ‘Thios Zakharias!’ she bubbled enthusiastically. ‘I’m so glad you came—and thank you for my earrings!’

      He smiled. ‘You like them?’

      ‘I love them! See? I’m wearing them now!’ She pushed back her heavy black hair to reveal two creamy pearl studs. ‘Come and have a drink. Grandfather is around somewhere and so is Mama. Oh, and there’s Loukas—I must go and say hello!’

      Emma felt suddenly a little shy to find herself in the middle of such a large and lively party. She could hear bursts of laughter and snatches of incomprehensible Greek and as she looked around she thought that she’d never been in a group of people who were quite so animated.

      ‘Everyone seems to be having a great time,’ she observed.

      ‘If there’s one thing a Greek knows how to do, it’s party.’

      At his words, Emma’s nerves fled and, despite the rather bizarre circumstances which had brought about this pairing, she began to enjoy herself. And so did Zak, playing the part of attentive partner perfectly. He introduced her to lots of people during the pre-dinner drinks and she struggled to remember all their names as they surveyed her with frankly curious eyes. He explained the history behind the food when they sat down to eat, because ‘everything in Greece has a story,’ and kept her entertained with stories about Sofia’s grandfather’s fabled exploits as a young man, when he had left his Greek island determined to make his fortune and had returned

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