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‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re a virgin and pure as driven snow!’ Bastian exclaimed, throwing his long powerful body down into a seat and flipping open his laptop with an air of purpose.
As that was exactly what she was and little opportunity had recently arisen for her to redress the condition, Emmie compressed her lips and returned her attention to the magazine she had abandoned. she had said what she had to say because she needed him to know upfront that sex was not an option. For an instant, she wished she could simply tell Bastian Christou the truth, but the prospect of explaining that her mother ran an escort agency and had virtually blackmailed her into accepting his booking stuck in her throat. It would be too degrading to admit that her mother would do virtually anything for money. After all, mud always stuck. He wouldn’t believe that she had never worked as an escort before either, and that he was, in fact, her first and last client. Anyway, why was she worrying about what he thought of her? Why should that matter to her? Bastian Christou was simply a filthy-rich, domineering and very spoilt male and she wasn’t one bit surprised that he had had to hire an escort rather than approach an obliging female friend for assistance. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover that he didn’t have any female friends.
In a state of festering irritation, Bastian watched Emmie sleep, a long slender hand topped with delicate pale pink nails tucked below her cheek, luscious lips parting infinitesimally on every breath, superbly long elegant legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle—very dainty ankles too—golden hair tumbling like a waterfall of glorious silk across her sweater. For an escort, she wasn’t very good on the entertainment front, he mused, his full sensual mouth compressing. Of course to be fair if she had chitter-chattered all the way from London, he would have been ready to strangle her by now, but the complete unconcern and indifference to his opinion that had allowed her to fall asleep in his company was almost an insult. If he was honest, he had expected her to flirt like mad and make a move on him, using the opportunity he had given her to get close to him. As a young, extremely rich and presentable man he was accustomed to receiving that attitude from her sex. Women tried to impress him, charm him, seduce him…They didn’t just fall asleep as if he were a piece of furniture! Bastian ground his perfect teeth together again, struggling to suppress the suspicion that he was disappointed that she wasn’t all over him like a rash.
Emmie slept right up until the jet landed in Athens and stumbled drowsily onto the helicopter that was to convey them the final leg of their journey to the island of Treikos. ‘Your own island…I should’ve expected that, shouldn’t I?’ she mumbled abstractedly, speaking her thoughts out loud. ‘Owning your own island is almost textbook Greek billionaire.’
‘Treikos belongs to my grandfather, Theron,’ Bastian said flatly.
‘I take it…your mood hasn’t improved?’ Emmie remarked gingerly.
‘There is nothing wrong with my mood!’ Bastian ground out, what little patience he possessed challenged beyond tolerance level.
Eyes flaming gold below sinfully long black lashes, he was moving his hands in a violent arc, suddenly for the first time striking Emmie as thoroughly foreign and exotic. He said more as well but she couldn’t hear him because of the noisy ignition of the helicopter. Getting airborne again was a relief while she deliberated on the way she had been reacting to him. Her cheeks reddened on the awareness that she had taken her resentment of her position out on him when it would have been more just to take it out on her mother. She had needled Bastian, criticised him, even scorned him. Right there and then, she was shaken to have to accept that she could behave like that. She swallowed hard. He had paid a small fortune for a pleasant companion and had instead received a venomous and truculent one.
As it would have been quite impossible to communicate with him while they were airborne due to the noise level inside the helicopter, Emmie dug a pen out of her bag and wrote on the back of her hand and then extended it to him so that he could see what she had written.
When it came to women, Bastian considered himself to be incapable of surprise at anything a woman did, but when Emmie printed ‘I’m sorry’ on the back of her hand and thrust her apology at him, he was strongly disconcerted by her approach. He blinked, looked again and then suddenly he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings when he genuinely admired the wholehearted honesty of her admission that she had been challenging company. In answer he caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips in forgiveness.
Equally startled, Emmie tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from that brief salutation. He had style and he really didn’t sulk, she conceded guiltily. But it was partly his fault that she had been behaving badly. Good grief, that kiss had knocked her sideways and she hadn’t been able to cope with that! She had believed that she had made a total fool of herself when she responded to him. She stole a sidewise glance at his bold bronzed profile. But she was undoubtedly dealing with a guy who always got a response out of a woman. He was downright beautiful and she could have kissed him for an hour without getting bored, stunned by the bonfire of reaction one kiss could light in her body. Even so, what she was experiencing was only sexual attraction and perhaps she had never felt it so strongly before, she reasoned, wishing she didn’t want him to do it again, wishing she were back safe in his office where such temptation had been unknown and he had been a distant figure whom someone as insignificant as her rarely saw, never mind got close to.
‘You were right about the manners,’ Bastian admitted wryly as he helped her out of the helicopter again, his bodyguard bringing up the rear. ‘I have no excuse. I spent years at an exclusive English public school where I learned every courtesy. Then I went to visit my mother in Italy one summer when I was fourteen and…er, lost the habit—’
Surprised by that far from arrogant and generous concession, Emmie turned to look at him. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘My mother said that every time I opened a door for her it made her feel like an old lady and that all the thank-yous I used made me sound like a waiter.’
‘I know some women do believe that a man being courteous to a woman these days is sexist,’ Emmie allowed, resisting a strong urge to criticise his parent. ‘But I don’t think that way.’
‘Obviously not.’ Dark eyes dancing with raw amusement, Bastian shot her a glance, making her maddeningly conscious of his thick dark eyelashes. ‘I was trying so hard to impress my mother, and make her proud of me because I didn’t see her very often, but evidently I overdid it.’
Or his mother was an unfeeling shrew, Emmie reflected in pained silence, in much the same way as Emmie had been to judge Bastian on appearances and assume that his wealth and status explained his seeming lack of manners.
‘I suppose I was sort of prejudiced about you,’ Emmie admitted ruefully.
‘Ditto,’ Bastian added.
‘I’ll try very hard not to hold your money against you,’ Emmie muttered.
Bastian almost laughed out loud, for it was the very first time it had been suggested to him that his fortune could act as a source of prejudice. ‘And I will try equally hard not to cherish misconceptions about your…er, profession outside the office.’
Emmie winced. ‘Don’t use that word, “profession”,’ she advised. ‘It’s misleading when you think of that reference to “the oldest profession of all”.’
‘You’re right. That wasn’t tactful.’
Feeling almost in charity with him, Emmie was taken aback when he reached down and closed his hand round hers and her bright blue eyes dropped to their linked fingers in silent question.
‘We’re in view of the house. We now have those witnesses you said we needed before I could touch you,’ he extended in calm justification.
Emmie was tense, intent on the sheer novelty value of Bastian smiling at her, even if it was fake and for public show. Good grief, it was an incredible smile that utterly transformed his face, chasing the detachment she had so often glimpsed there. Reddening, she looked ahead of her and only just managed not to gasp like an overexcited child at the sight of the huge white rambling modern house sprawling along the edge of the beach. ‘That’s your home?’
‘I demolished my father’s old house and had this one built about six years back. Before that I stayed with my grandfather, who lives on the other side of the island…’
It was a massive house. Nervous butterflies leapt in her tummy at the thought of the family occasion she was about to crash in her false identity of girlfriend, not to mention the ex-fiancée, who she assumed would be present the night before the wedding in her role as bridesmaid.
‘You know we haven’t discussed any sort of cover story,’ she pointed out belatedly. ‘Where will I say we met?’
‘The office. Keep it simple but I doubt if you’ll be asked nosy questions. As a rule my relations are afraid of offending me and should be civil and reserved,’ Bastian reassured her.
That didn’t exactly suggest a warm and friendly welcome to Emmie and she felt more than ever like an intruder on private territory. It wasn’t possible to get more personal than seeing someone’s home and family. The warmth of his hand on hers was strangely comforting in spite of the fact that it was only part of the masquerade. He had such big hands that her hand felt lost in his. She sucked in a sustaining breath.
‘Stop stressing,’ Bastian urged. ‘You’re only here to smooth over any potential unpleasantness on my sister’s big day.’
That was not a comment designed to give Emmie a swollen head, she conceded with reluctant amusement. ‘Won’t your ex resent me being there?’ she asked abruptly.
‘She doesn’t care enough to resent you,’ Bastian drawled without expression.
‘And this is the woman you were planning to marry?’ Emmie prompted in a voice of disbelief.
‘Some of us don’t pin much faith on hearts and flowers.’
And then a private conversation became impossible as they climbed the steps to the front door where the housekeeper, a widely smiling older woman, was already shooting a flood of welcoming Greek to Bastian and he was replying in kind.
‘They’re all out by the pool,’ he explained, releasing her hand to lead the way through a vast echoing hall ornamented with a sweeping staircase.
Emmie breathed in deeply, smoothing damp palms down over her trousered legs and straightening her slender back when she heard the noise of voices, splashing and the shouts of excited children. Bastian strode ahead of her out into the sunshine again and a young blonde woman leapt up with a delighted grin to call, ‘Bastian! I thought you were never going to get here!’
As Bastian had momentarily forgotten her presence, Emmie hovered uncertainly by the poolside, infuriatingly conscious that she was the focus of all eyes but his. And then someone cannoned into her, knocking her off balance in her high heels and she went flying with a cry of fright into the pool. It happened so fast that she had no way of trying to stabilise herself and her head struck the edge of something hard and blackness claimed her.
Emmie recovered consciousness to find herself lying flat on a gigantic bed in soaking wet clothes. Pain was pulsing at the back of her head and she moaned, lifting her hand to gently trace the source of the sizeable bump beneath her hair.
‘Do you feel sick?’ a familiar voice asked and she lifted her swimming head and began to sit up only to find a large hand planted to her midriff to press her down flat again. ‘Lie still. You gave your head a hell of a thump,’ Bastian told her harshly.
‘Yes…’ Eyes opening, she focused dizzily on Bastian standing over her, clad only in a towel, a startling enough vision to make her stiffen. ‘You’re not dressed—’
‘Yes, and you’re dripping all over my bed,’ Bastian informed her.
A sudden shiver took hold of Emmie and she registered the wet cling of her sodden garments and groaned out loud. She was still staring at the most perfect set of masculine abs she had ever seen outside a movie screen. Stripped, Bastian had the musculature of a Greek god—not a very original thought, she conceded abstractedly, considering who and what he was.
‘Emmie…the doctor’s coming.’ Bastian bent down and scooped her up into his arms without warning. A muffled squeak of surprise escaped her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m putting you in the bathroom so that you can get out of your wet clothes,’ Bastian told her with immense practicality. ‘Do you think you can stand up?’
‘I’ll have to,’ she muttered as he very carefully settled her down on her bare feet. ‘What happened?’
‘One of the teenagers rammed you and you fell in the pool. You were knocked out—’
‘My word, I might have drowned,’ Emmie framed shakily, her knees buckling under her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m feeling dizzy—’
Bastian hauled her up against him and sat down on the side of a raised bath.
‘Don’t you dare try to help me take my clothes off!’ Emmie warned him.
Face taut with frustration, Bastian lowered her limp body down onto the tiled floor. ‘Do you really think I’m likely to touch you inappropriately in the condition you’re in?’ he enquired angrily.
Shivering violently with the chill of her damp clothing, Emmie rested her brow down on her raised knees. ‘Just leave me…I’ll be OK—’
‘You really do have a very low opinion of me, don’t you?’ Bastian growled like an angry bear.
‘Sorry,’ Emmie whispered, on the edge of tears because she felt so weak while she was now also being tormented by the disastrous start she had made to her weekend with Bastian. So much for the girlfriend he wanted to use as cover! One minute inside the door she had taken a header into the pool and rendered herself unconscious and a liability.
In answer, Bastian trailed her sweater off over her head and tossed it aside. He draped a towelling robe round her pale slight shoulders, gazing down at her while wondering why she looked so absurdly vulnerable, fluffy lashes drooping, full lower lip trembling. He didn’t get involved with women who looked that breakable and had no idea what to do with her.
Emmie managed to dig her arms into the sleeves of the robe to at least cover her bra. She felt absolutely humiliated as Bastian lifted her upright again, urging her to hang onto the edge of the vanity while he freed her from her trousers with as much seductive intent as he might have used towards a cardboard cut-out. She thought of the surgical scars marring her leg and hoped he wouldn’t notice them. Tears stung her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about this!’
‘Why are you apologising?’ Bastian demanded impatiently while he struggled to behave like a man of honour and not sneak a glance at the truly spectacular female figure he had briefly unveiled. Unfortunately his own body was rather less disciplined and was already betraying him with very masculine efficiency. He cursed under his breath, wondering what it was about her that made his hormones react as if she were a rocket attack. She was destroying his self-discipline and he was well aware that experiencing desire while she was feeling wretched was the act of a selfish, unfeeling bastard. Which he was, Bastian fully accepted that, knew he was no candidate for sainthood. Of course, he wasn’t going to do anything about the inconvenient way she made him respond with every flash of those stunning blue eyes, he reminded himself grimly. But with bleak humour he recalled how he had suspected that she might go out of her way to lure him into having sex with her. It was a suspicion that now struck him as insane. There she was hunched in the robe as though she were in the presence of a ravening beast of masculinity likely to rip it off her; no, there was nothing flirtatious or seductive about her behaviour. When had he got so big-headed that he assumed that every woman wanted him? And why was he even thinking such peculiar things?
‘I gather you got me out of the pool.’ Emmie guessed the reason for his lack of clothing.
‘Ne…yes,’ he confirmed in English.
Emmie walked back into the bedroom slowly and made for the bed. ‘I just want to lie down for a while and then I’ll get dressed and come downstairs to join you,’ she promised.
‘I don’t think so. We’ll abide by what the doctor advises when he arrives.’
Having settled back against the pillows, Emmie looked at him and turned bright red. He wasn’t shy anyway. Poised in what appeared to be the doorway of another room, he had cast off the towel and was pulling on a pair of black boxers. Perhaps he didn’t realise that she could see his astonishingly beautiful tawny body rippling with well-honed muscle with every fluid movement. She closed her eyes tight shut. She wanted to apologise again but knew that irritated him and sealed her lips, watching him leave, shockingly elegant again in a dark grey suit. Two less suited personalities than she and Bastian had never been born.
A knock sounded on the door and Emmie sat up to see a young blonde woman looking in at her. ‘Do you feel well enough for a visitor?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I’m Bastian’s sister, Nessa.’
‘Of course, come in,’ Emmie encouraged awkwardly, thinking that she would never have known to look at brother and sister that they were even distantly related, for Nessa was small, curvy and blonde.
‘I’ve never seen my brother move so fast in his life as when he dived into the pool.’
‘Sorry for all the fuss.’ Emmie sighed ruefully. ‘Who knocked into me?’
‘One of my teenaged cousins. His parents are really embarrassed and they wanted to come up and apologise because it could have been a serious accident,’ Nessa pointed out. ‘We’re very lucky that Bastian realised you’d hit your head going into the water.’
‘I’m all right though. Accidents happen,’ Emmie responded lightly.
‘How’s your head?’ Nessa asked ‘Do you mind if I stay a while?’
‘I have a bump, that’s all. Of course you can stay,’ Emmie answered, charmed by Nessa’s smiling friendliness.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Bastian’s sister prompted worriedly, touching Emmie’s hand. ‘My goodness, your skin is icy cold! Get into bed and warm up. I’ll get you a drink!’
Emmie scrambled below the duvet and rested her head back on the piled up pillows, very much appreciating Nessa’s kind-heartedness because it made her feel less of a nuisance. ‘You should be with your guests,’ she said guiltily.
‘Technically they’re Bastian’s guests because this is his house but they’re all family,’ Nessa told her, disappearing through one of the doors and reappearing with a glass, which she thrust into Emmie’s hand. ‘Drink it. I’m sure I read some place that it’s good for someone in shock.’
Emmie drank and then began to cough as brandy burned the back of her throat, for she really hadn’t expected to be given an alcoholic drink. The rich liquid raced like a flame though down into her chilled tummy.
‘So, tell me about you and Bastian…’ Nessa perched on the bed beside Emmie, bright brown eyes leaping with warmth and curiosity. ‘I was over the moon when I realised he’d met someone else, and so quickly too…like magic—’
‘Oh, yes, pure magic,’ Emmie agreed uneasily, thinking how very young and refreshingly unspoilt Nessa seemed.
‘You are so beautiful!’ Nessa commented with satisfaction. ‘Lilah will tear her hair out when she sees you—’
‘As long as it’s not mine. I don’t want to upset anyone—’
‘I know she’s one of my bridesmaids but she’s treated my brother very badly,’ Nessa proclaimed, condemnation tightening her pretty face. ‘He deserved better and she should have dropped out of my wedding, not insisted on carrying out her role when it’s no longer appropriate.’
‘Perhaps Lilah didn’t want to let you down,’ Emmie suggested, sipping at the brandy while appreciating that Bastian’s sister was not at all attached to her brother’s former fiancée.
‘No, she wants Bastian back,’ Nessa contradicted, her conviction sending a current of alarm through Emmie. ‘She doesn’t know my brother as well as she thinks she does though. He’s tough—’
‘I know.’
‘He had to be tough. By the time he was eighteen years old he had lived through four divorces and three stepmothers. People don’t understand what he went through and what all that did to him,’ Nessa declared, fiercely defensive of her half sibling. ‘My mother was the only one who didn’t treat him badly.’
‘That’s something to be grateful for,’ Emmie soothed, curious but keen to stem the flood of information, which she did not feel entitled to receive because she knew Bastian wouldn’t appreciate her knowing such private stuff.
‘Bastian’s never had a family life. He doesn’t know what one is.’
‘Childhood can be challenging,’ Emmie commented vaguely, touched by Nessa’s innocence, comprehending why her brother was prepared to go to such lengths to ensure she wasn’t upset on her wedding day.
Nessa grimaced. ‘Well, I was lucky. I was spoilt rotten by my mum. But Bastian didn’t have an easy time.’
‘He’s a very confident, private man,’ Emmie remarked with gentle emphasis.
‘That’s why I’m telling you this—so that you understand him better. I mean, if you’re waiting for him to tell you anything, you’ll wait for ever.’ Nessa pulled a comic face on the score of her brother’s reticence. ‘The minute I heard you worked with him I knew you would be a normal woman and that’s exactly what I think he needs.’
The two women were interrupted by another knock on the door, telegraphing the arrival of the doctor with Bastian in tow.
‘You don’t need to stay,’ Emmie informed Bastian with a stiff smile.
‘I’m afraid I do. Dr Papadopoulos doesn’t speak any English.’
Suppressing the suspicion that she would never ever get the last word with Bastian, Emmie nodded agreement, poker-faced. Bastian translated the doctor’s questions and then Emmie’s head was examined. The older man finally said that he thought that there wasn’t much wrong with her that couldn’t be cured by a good night’s sleep. He then gave her painkillers for her headache and departed.
‘I’ll get up now,’ Emmie told Bastian before he could leave with the doctor.
‘You heard the doctor…rest,’ Bastian spelt out grittily, noting that the mascara streaks on her cheeks suggested that she had been crying and was probably not half as composed as she would like him to believe. ‘I would have been happier if he had agreed you needed to be checked out at the nearest hospital.’
‘I’m OK…and this household doesn’t need all that fuss the night before Nessa’s wedding,’ Emmie reasoned, knowing that that would carry more weight with him than any other argument.
‘You could go home and try to sue me,’ Bastian commented grimly.
Emmie groaned out loud. ‘I’m not going to sue anyone. I’m not like that.’
