Playing the Greek's Game. Sharon Kendrick

      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.

      The Granchester had provided a place of refuge when she’d most needed it. It had helped her recover from her disastrous marriage and to hone her interior-designing skills. She’d forged a quiet and uneventful life for herself, which had been something she’d always wanted—but hadn’t it all become a little too easy?

      She knew that her craving for peace had come as a reaction to the past—to avoid repeating those highs and lows she’d found so exhausting. But now she could see that maybe she had allowed herself to fall into a rut and that maybe it was time to clamber out of it. Wouldn’t it be good for her to grab this amazing opportunity, even if it had arrived by rather unconventional and unwanted means?

      What was the worst thing that could happen? That the arrogant Zak would see her agreement as confirmation that he’d won this little battle? Would that really be so bad? Why not let him have his pathetic few moments of gloating triumph—after all, he was nothing to her.

      And the best thing that could happen? Emma stared down at Nat’s olive finger which was still drawing little circles over her hand. She’d get a little more breadth on her CV—the extra dimension she needed. Because she was good at her job, she knew she was—and mightn’t this be the little push she needed to fulfil her true potential?

      ‘Maybe I’ll ring Zak up and tell him I’ll take it after all,’ she said uncertainly.

      ‘No need to do that,’ said Nat, in an odd sort of voice. ‘You can tell him yourself, right now.’

      Emma stiffened, her horrified gaze travelling to the door to see Zak Constantinides walking into the restaurant as if he owned it. Come to think of it, he probably did. Other heads had also turned to watch him and Emma suddenly realised that he must always have that effect on people. The sense that someone special had just walked in. The noise of the room had diminished and a pin-drop silence ensued, before the roar of chatter resumed to a great crescendo.

      Her heart began crashing out a crazy rhythm as she registered his powerful frame, kitted out in a dark suit of such impeccable cut that it made every other man in the place look bland. And then she noticed that he wasn’t alone. That he had a woman with him. She gave a wry smile. Of course he did. A man like him would have his pick of any number of dates.

      The woman looked Greek and was model-slim, her short hair framing sharp cheekbones and elfin features. Few women would have looked so beautiful with such an unforgiving haircut, but this one did. In fact, she looked absolutely stunning. With her retro sixties mini and white over-the-knee boots, Zak’s companion looked as if she’d fallen straight from the pages of Vogue.

      Telling herself to look away but finding it impossible to do so, Emma felt her breath catch in her throat as Zak put a protective hand in the small of the woman’s back. She watched as they followed the maître d’ to a secluded table in the corner and the woman was just sitting down when Zak glanced up and saw her, his pewter eyes boring into her with a look of disbelief and something else, too. Something she’d never seen in a man’s eyes before and which she couldn’t even begin to interpret.

      Her fingers began trembling and her heart renewed its painful crash against her ribs. Just what was it about him which made her have such a physical reaction to him? Which made her mind dance with such disturbing images?

      Forcing herself to look away, she glanced down at her untouched plate. ‘Did you know he was coming here?’ she hissed.

      ‘Of course I didn’t!’

      ‘Can’t we get the bill and leave?’

      ‘Too late,’ said Nat. ‘He’s coming over.’

      To Emma it felt as if she were waiting for her own execution. She could feel her cheeks burning and that strange tingling in her breasts again. And maybe sitting still was her only option because her legs suddenly felt as if they were made of jelly and she didn’t think she could have moved anywhere.

      He reached them at last, his substantial shadow falling over the crisp white tablecloth like a dark omen and she had no option but to look up from the blur of food still on her plate and into the rugged beauty of his face.

      ‘Well, well, well—if it isn’t Miss Emma Geary,’ he said softly. ‘Dining with my brother. And looking like love’s young dream.’

      What was it which made Emma curve her lips into a knowing smile and place her hand directly over Nat’s in a gesture which spoke of pure possession? Did it have something to do with the cynicism which glittered from Zak’s eyes—or was she just trying to shield herself against his undoubted charisma?

      ‘We can’t help how we look, can we, Nat?’ she questioned softly, and saw the briefest look of surprise in her date’s eyes before he shook his head.

      ‘We certainly can’t, Em,’ he purred obediently.

      Looking down at their entwined fingers, Zak flinched at the contrast between Nat’s deep olive skin and the pale translucence of hers. Some primeval hostility began to heat