скачать книгу бесплатно
‘We can hardly give him the trundle bed in the study—Jake’s squeezed into his old room, Rocco’s in the guestroom…Zarios will have to have yours. Come on, it’s time to get dressed,’ Lydia said, refusing to debate the point, buoyed at the prospect of having such a high-profile guest. ‘My friends are going to simply die with jealousy—can you imagine Cindy’s face when she finds out? You did buy something nice for tonight, I hope?’
‘Like a bridal gown?’ Emma said, firmly tongue in cheek.
‘Well, he has broken up with Miranda!’
Emma’s sarcasm was entirely wasted on her mother. Lydia Hayes had spent her married life clinging on to the middle rung of the social ladder, and was determined that her children would rise to the heights she had never achieved.
‘Australia’s most eligible bachelor is joining us to celebrate your father’s sixtieth birthday, Emma. Surely you’re just a little bit excited?’
‘Of course I’m excited.’ Emma smiled. ‘About Dad’s birthday…’
‘Get ready, then,’ Lydia chided, and then, wincing slightly, massaged her temples. ‘They’ll be arriving soon…’
‘Mum, calm down.’
‘What if they’re expecting something spectacular?’
‘Then we’ll wheel out Zarios!’ Emma smiled again, but her mother was past jokes. ‘They’re expecting a birthday celebration, which this is,’ Emma said, walking across the lounge and taking her mother’s hands from her temples and holding them. ‘They’re coming to see you and Dad. That’s all that matters.’
‘Jake’s not even here yet!’ Lydia trilled. ‘My own son can’t make it on time. Do you think he’ll have remembered to order the pastries for breakfast?’ Emma could hear panic once again creeping into her mother’s voice and moved quickly to avert it.
‘Of course he’ll have remembered. You go and sort out fresh sheets for my bed, and I’ll go and get ready. And,’ she added with a wry smile, ‘I’ll give my room a quick tidy!’
Her bedroom was exactly the same as it had been seven years ago, when she’d left home to go to university to study art. Emma loved coming back and staying in her old room, amongst her old familiar things, but this evening she eyed it somewhat critically, wondering what Zarios would make of the paintings that adorned the walls, the curtains she had tye-died herself when she was twelve, the tatty overfilled bookshelves and the dressing table laden with childhood photos.
Emma had always intended to wear something nice for her father’s special night. Her tiny broom cupboard of an art gallery was in Chapel Street in Melbourne, and as well as her gallery the street boasted an array of designer boutiques. Slipping on the cerulean blue dress, Emma wondered what on earth had possessed her. It had caught her eye in the window—the shade of blue almost a replica of the view of the bay from her parents’balcony. The price had been an instant dissuader, yet the assistant had suggested Emma at least try it on. Staring at her reflection, Emma let her teeth worry away at her bottom lip as she wondered if it wasn’t just a bit too much.
Or too little!
An inch shorter than she would have preferred, it clung provocatively in all the wrong places. Her bottom surely appeared massive, and her breasts as if they had instantly gone up a size, where the feather-light wool caressed her figure, only loosening its grip at mid-thigh, then hanging innocently, yet flaring as smoothly as a trumpet bell as she walked.
It was, quite simply, divine.
Worthy, Emma told herself as she pulled a shoebox from her case, of the horribly expensive strappy sandals she’d bought to go with it. Worthy of the hours of buffing and polishing her body had endured—and her first visit to a tanning parlour.
Running her ceramic straighteners for the final time over her long blonde hair, she stopped worrying her bottom lip and applied a final layer of lipgloss instead, thanking the gods who had looked after her these past days, who must have known that Zarios D’Amilo would be coming tonight, and had, unbeknown to Emma, insisted that she look her best for the embarrassing task of facing him again after all these years.
Emma picked up one of the photos on her dressing table and stared at the wedding group. Even though it was ridiculous, even though it was only a photo, still she blushed as she looked into Zarios’s serious dark eyes.
She’d been nineteen…
A young and extremely naive nineteen-year-old, she had been dressed up like a vast pink blancmange, as bridesmaid at Jake’s wedding.
Zarios had been invited. He’d only been in Australia a few weeks back then, and his accent had been so heavy and rich Emma had struggled to understand his words—except she could have listened to him talk for ever. Put simply, he had been the most stunning man she had ever seen. The whole wedding had passed in a dizzy blur until finally, dutifully, he had danced with her. And because it had been Zarios D’Amilo holding her, and she’d had rather too much champagne, Emma had promptly fallen in lust.
Shoving the photo in a drawer, she turned it face-down and covered it with the drawer’s contents, then slammed it closed. The last thing she wanted was for Zarios to see it—for Zarios to recall her exquisitely embarrassing mistake. But even with the photo safely tucked away Emma was struggling to beat her blush, struggling to banish the image of the two of them dancing that night. Zarios had lowered his head to say something and stupidly, blindly, she’d misinterpreted the action, closed her eyes and, lips poised, waited expectantly for him to kiss her.
Even six years on she burnt with the shame of the memory.
Could still hear his deep, throaty laugh as he’d realised what she thought he had intended.
‘Come back when you’re all grown up…’ He’d smiled at her and patted her bottom as the music had ended, merrily sending her on her childish way. ‘Anyway, my father would never forgive me.’
He’d probably forgotten, Emma consoled herself.
With all the women he’d dated, as if he’d remember a teenager’s clumsy attempt at extracting a kiss. Any-way, she was six years older now and light years wiser—she could see a man like Zarios exactly for what he was: a player.
She certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake again; she’d be aloof and distant, Emma decided, practising an aloof and distant look in the mirror. Maybe she should wear her hair up? Emma thought, piling her long blonde hair on her head and seeing if it made a difference, then deciding against. Maybe she should just make a joke about it, laugh the whole thing off…
Maybe she should tidy her room!
Her mother joined her, and the embroidered quilt was hastily replaced with crisp white linen as Lydia ran around the room removing stray bras, mascara wands and tampon boxes. Folded towels and washcloths were placed at the end of the bed, along with a little bar of Lydia’s expensive soap, and a jug of water and a glass was put beside the bed, covered with a little linen cloth.
‘It’s mineral water,’ Lydia assured a bemused Emma as she arranged the jug with precision. ‘Should I put out a little snack for him?’ she worried. ‘Is there anything else you can think of?’
‘A box of tissues?’ Emma nudged her mother, making Lydia giggle again. ‘Legend has it he can’t go twelve hours!’
But even if she could make her mother laugh and relax just a touch, as she stared out at the bay Emma felt her throat tighten when she heard a helicopter approach and knew it was him. As comfortably off as her parents and their friends might be, only the D’Amilos would arrive for a party in a helicopter. She watched it hover for a moment, could see the marquee flapping, the grass flattened by the whirring blades, and then…
She knew she was holding her breath, because the window had stopped misting over, and she knew as one well-shod foot appeared, followed by an impossibly long leg, that it was him.
The view only improved from that point.
Zarios helped his father down, then, having ducked under the blades, they strolled across the lawn, too used to their mode of travel to give the helicopter even a backward glance as it lifted off into the sunset.
He was wearing black dress pants and a fitted white shirt, and like a prize thoroughbred being paraded before the race he had a restless energy, a glossy, groomed appearance, that had Emma’s stomach fold in on itself as he tossed his head back and laughed at something his father said. For just a moment, an embarrassing twinge, Emma was sure he saw her. Those black eyes had glanced up as if he knew he was being watched, and Emma stepped quickly back, as if burnt.
‘Emma!’ She could hear her mother’s shrill summons and, taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. ‘They’re here! An hour early and they’re here!’
‘Questi sono i miei buoni amici.’ As they walked across the lawn, again his father reminded him how important these people were to him.
‘You believe too much of what you read!’ Zarios laughed. ‘I am capable of behaving occasionally. Any-way, I fear it will be slim pickings at a sixtieth birthday bash, Pa!’
‘Zarios…’ Rocco was serious. It had seemed like a good idea for him to bring Zarios. Fresh out of a relationship, Zarios had that gleam in his roving eye that spelt danger—and if Rocco could avert scandal at this precarious time, then he would. Ah, but had it been wise to bring him here? On the short flight over Rocco had remembered the wedding, the instant attraction that had flared between his son and Emma Hayes. He had warned Zarios off that night—and thankfully the warning had been heeded. But Zarios was six years older now, and way past taking his father’s advice. ‘You remember their daughter, Emma?’
‘The good-looking blonde?’ A smile flickered across his face in instant recall. Things were maybe looking up for tonight after all. ‘Actually, I do.’
‘She’s grown into a very attractive woman…’
‘Splendid!’
‘Attesa!’ Rocco called for his son to slow down, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his brow.
‘Are you okay, Pa?’
‘A little chest pain…’ Rocco took a pill from a little silver box and placed it under his tongue. ‘Nothing I am not used to.’ He did have chest pain—perhaps not enough to merit taking a pill, but if the sympathy card would help Rocco was only too willing to play it. ‘You know I think the world of Lydia, but you know how she loves to spend—and, well, it would seem that Emma has the same tendency…’
‘It is fortunate I am rich then, no?’ Zarios joked, but his father wasn’t smiling.
‘Eric is worried…’ It was only a small lie, Rocco consoled himself. In fact he hadn’t lied, he told himself, just implied…Surely it was better to put Zarios off now, than face Eric after his son had broken his daughter’s heart?
And he would, Rocco thought wearily, mopping his forehead again before folding his handkerchief and putting it back in his pocket. Zarios would break her heart.
‘Don’t get involved with her, Zarios.’ Rocco resumed his walking. ‘It would be far too messy.’
‘You’re early!’ Eric, as laid-back as his wife was neurotic, didn’t worry about things like guestrooms and final layers of lipgloss, instead he was simply delighted as Rocco came through the door, and hugged and embraced his lifelong friend in the effusive Italian way. Zarios stood slightly back.
‘We wanted some time with you before the other guests arrived.’ Rocco beamed, offering Eric a lavishly wrapped gift. ‘Hide that and open it tomorrow.’
‘The invitation said no gifts!’ Lydia scolded, but she was clearly delighted that he had. ‘Zarios—we’re thrilled that you came.’
‘It is good to be here.’
His accent was still rich, his voice low and deep, and Emma could feel the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand on end as she came down the stairs, attempting to maintain her distant and aloof look, watching as he kissed her mother on both cheeks and then did the same with her father. His black eyes met hers.
‘Emma. It’s been a long time.’ His smile was guarded, and in a split second his eyes took in the changes. The short cut she had once worn had long since grown out, and her hair now hung in a heavy blonde curtain over her shoulders. Her once skinny, overactive body had softened and filled out since then, too, and her feminine curves were enhanced by the soft drape of her dress—a dress that swished around her slender legs as she moved. Zarios was surprisingly grateful for his father’s warning, because without it the night might have taken a rather different direction.
She had always been pretty, but she was stunning now!
‘It has been a long time.’ She walked down the last two steps and hovered on the bottom one, but still he had to bend his head to kiss her on the cheeks. As he did so, he smelt her—again. His body flared in surprised recognition as his lips dusted her cheeks. How nice it would be, Zarios thought wildly, to give her the kiss he had denied her so many years ago.
Had denied himself.
The others moved forward, leaving them alone for just a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
‘You are looking well.’ He frowned slightly. ‘How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?’
‘A few years?’ Emma shrugged, refusing to acknowledge she knew the exact length of time, down to the month! ‘Four—maybe five?’
‘It’s not that long…’ Zarios shook his head as they headed through to the lounge. ‘It was at your brother’s wedding.’
‘That was five years ago…’ Emma smiled. ‘Actu-ally, it was six!’
‘Come through,’ Lydia scolded. ‘Emma, get our guests a drink.’
At that moment one of the hired help arrived with a hastily filled tray of champagne. Emma grabbed one for herself before Lydia shooed her away.
‘A real drink!’ Lydia hissed to Emma out of the side of her mouth.
‘Whisky?’ Emma checked. That was what Rocco always had when he came over. ‘And a small dash of water?’
‘She has a good memory.’ Rocco beamed.
‘Zarios?’ Emma deliberately forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘What would you like?’ Black eyes held hers, and she could have sworn there was just a fraction of innuendo in the pause that went on for just a beat too long. The torch she had carried for him over the years flared brightly as his eyes held hers, no matter how she tried to douse it.
‘Whisky.’ He added no please or thank you to his order. ‘No water.’
And as easily as if he’d flicked a switch she was lost.
Pouring the golden liquid, she could see her hand was shaking. She hadn’t exaggerated the memory of him. He was as lethal and as potently sexy as he had been all those years ago—and as arrogant and rude, Emma reminded herself. Handing him his glass, trying and failing not to notice the brush of his fingers against hers, she crossed the room and sat on the sofa, as far away from him as possible.
The cat soon found the mouse.
He sat beside her, just a tiny bit too close for her liking. There was no contact, none at all, but she could feel the heat from his body, feel the weight of him, the ancient springs in the leather couch tilting her just a fraction towards him.
He invaded her space—but perhaps that was his trick. No one watching could testify to intrusion; you had to be beside him, or looking at him, to feel it. Taking a sip of her champagne, she wished she had chosen whisky, too—wished for something, anything, strong enough to douse the nerves that were leaping like salmon in her chest.
‘I take it Jake and his wife will be coming tonight?’
‘Just Jake.’ Emma gave a tight smile.
‘They have twins now, don’t they?’ Zarios checked, watching her closely, seeing the brittle smile on her face slip into a more relaxed one as she described her niece and nephew.
‘Harriet and Connor—they’ll be three in a few weeks’ time.’ On cue her brother arrived, bustling into the room.
‘Darling!’ Lydia practically fell on to her son’s neck, the lateness of his arrival immediately forgiven. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Sorry, sorry…’ Jake beamed. ‘The traffic was an absolute nightmare.’
‘On a Saturday?’ Emma couldn’t help herself.
‘The football’s on!’ Lydia beamed. ‘The city’s hell around this time—it’s just wonderful you made it, darling. You did remember the pastries for tomorrow…?’
There was a tiny, appalling pause as Jake’s fixed smile slipped just a fraction, his frantic eyes darting to his sister. Lydia’s mouth opened in horror mid-sentence. Emma was almost tempted not to intervene, to refuse to save the day yet again for her brother and let them see that the one thing, the one thing he had been asked to contribute, had proved too much for him. But, as Jake well knew, she couldn’t do that to her parents.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mum—the bakers rang to confirm Jake’s order. They’ll be here first thing.’
‘Oh, Emma!’ her mother snapped. ‘You could have let me know!’
‘Where is Beth?’ Rocco frowned, voicing the question Lydia had clearly hoped he wouldn’t. ‘And where are the twins? I was looking forward to seeing them again.’
‘Tonight’s for adults only.’ Lydia beamed again, but there was a rigid set to her lips.
‘Why?’ Rocco had been single too long, and missed the warning signs flashing from Lydia’s eyes to simply drop it. ‘Children are part of the family…they should be here…’
Surprisingly, it was Zarios who saved the day.
‘Oh, come on, Pa…’ Zarios gave a thin smile, and Emma was sure there was just a flash of contempt as he halted his father—could hear the slight drip of sarcasm in his expansive deep voice. ‘Surely you remember how hard it is settling little ones to bed at a family function—and all those things you have to remember to bring?’
‘Absolutely!’ Lydia nodded furiously. ‘We’ll see the twins next weekend—oh, and Beth, of course…’
‘Don’t worry.’ Zarios gave Emma a tight smile as the conversation drifted on. ‘My father is a master of the “don’t do as I do, do as I say” school of thought.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Nothing.’ He took a slug of his whisky before concluding, ‘It does not matter.’
Oh, but clearly it did!
