not included!’ Emma gave a tight, distracted smile as she flung her bedroom door open. ‘There they are. I’d better go down—the cake should be coming out soon.’
‘Are you okay?’
No, she wanted to scream, but knew she couldn’t. She just gave him a worried, confused nod.
‘I’m fine.’
‘If you want to talk…’
‘Why would I talk to you?’ Emma challenged. ‘I hardly know you!’
‘That can be sorted.’ He gestured to the bedroom, but on turning back to her immediately Zarios shook his head at her stunned expression. ‘I meant we could talk in private here…’
Only a fool would walk into a bedroom with Zarios and expect conversation! But for a second she was tempted.
Tempted to push his arrogant, testosterone-loaded body into the dark space. Tempted to be daring and wicked and reckless and…her rabid mind flailed as it tried to come up with the word—bad.
To for once be irresponsible—and, yes, very, very bad.
Only it wasn’t Emma.
‘As I said.’ Ever the dutiful daughter, she gave him a brittle smile, then turned on her new and starting to rub high heels. ‘They’ll be bringing out the cake soon.’
* * *
She wished they would bring out the cake.
There was the most appalling lull—but only Emma seemed to notice.
The dance floor was still heaving with couples, the tables filled with chatting and laughing groups, but despite her best efforts to join in with a couple of conversations it was hard going.
Dutiful Jake was chatting up the old aunties and making them laugh, and Cindy’s eyes had shot knives when Emma had attempted to join a group of women. All in all she’d left it too late to suddenly join in with the others. Everyone was settled in to their little cliques, making her feel like a wallflower. Then Zarios returned.
‘Looks like you’re stuck with me.’
He took her by the wrist, then led her to the dance floor without asking.
Which was a wise move on his part. Because had he asked, she would have declined—not because she didn’t want to dance, but because of how much she did.
He held her loosely at first, swaying to the heavy beat as she willed her heart and breathing to slow down. The second they did, he pulled her closer.
Was it his looks or his status that made him so appealing? Emma begged to know as his arms snaked around her back. And was it just his reputation that held her back? All she knew was that it was a dizzying combination—want and trepidation, curiosity and nervousness, all there fizzing in each cell of the body he was holding.
‘I don’t like cake…’ Zarios smiled down at her ‘…which gives us more time for dancing.’
‘Oh, but my mother thinks of everything,’ Emma quipped. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a fruit platter.’
‘Forbidden fruit, perhaps?’
‘I’m far from forbidden.’ Emma gave a wry smile as her mother danced past them and practically fractured her father’s rib as, none too subtly, she pointed out the lovely couple dancing, clearly delighted at to how well they were getting on. ‘My mother lives for the day we might get together.’
‘While my father shudders at the thought.’
All the ingrained insecurities of her childhood, all her mother’s deepest fears seemed to seep into her pores. But as his hands spread around her waist and he pulled her just a fraction closer, Emma realised she’d misinterpreted him.
‘He has told me many times that, though he would love nothing more than for us to be together… Well, he knows my reputation. He says he would not be able to look at your father if I were to hurt you.’
Her blue eyes jerked to his, her mind screaming for her to be quiet. But the words were out before she could stop them.
‘Then don’t.’ It was the most blatant flirt—the most blatant acknowledgement of their attraction—but she recovered quickly. ‘Anyway—given you’re seeing Miranda…’
‘We broke up.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’ He didn’t miss a beat, either in dancing or flirting, his repertoire as sleek and practised as the body that moved with hers. ‘Maybe we could have coffee or dinner when you are back in the city—somewhere away from our families’ eyes…’
‘Perhaps…’ Emma nodded, trying to shrug, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.
Oh, but it did.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes…’
‘I will ring.’
‘Sure.’ Somehow she managed a casual smile, but her heart was soaring as he pulled her in closer.
‘I like your scent.’
‘It’s just…’ She shrugged, tried to be casual, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the perfume’s name. ‘I got it for my birthday.’
‘I meant your scent,’ he corrected her, which made her cheeks burn.
She’d never been held like this. He was barely touching her, and they were barely moving, yet it was positively indecent the sensations he evoked. Her internal barometer had shattered, common sense scattering like tiny balls of mercury, irrecoverable as he pulled her right into the circle of his arms. His breath was hot on her ear and suddenly she wanted him to lick it—he didn’t. Lowering his head just a bit further, till she could feel his mouth just inches from her neck, she fought the urge to repeat her mistake of yesteryear. She wanted to turn her face to his like a flower to the sun, to receive the sweet reward of his mouth on hers.
It was a relief when the music ended—a relief to stand apart from him in the darkness as the room broke into song.
Eric smiled broadly as a vast cake was wheeled in, blazing with sixty candles. Still Zarios held Emma’s wrist, his hot fingers wrapped tightly around her flesh as she sang along. Then the candles were blown out and the tent was plunged into full darkness. Tonight she finally received what she’d longed for all those years ago and for way too many moments in between. Finally Emma was rewarded with the prize of his mouth on hers.
Even a vivid imagination couldn’t adequately prepare her for the thoroughness of his kiss, the shocking feel of his tongue sliding into hers, the way his body enveloped hers. He tasted like manna, his scent potently male. It was a thrilling, decadent kiss that she absorbed—a kiss during which he pressed himself so hard into her she could feel the dangerous thick length of him. It was a kiss so consuming that it triggered a dangerous chain reaction—one that made her forget to breathe, forget to think, forget even herself.
If the entire embrace lasted only ten or maybe fifteen seconds it was just as well. Because any more and she’d have come there and then. His timing was impeccable, though, and by the time the last cheer had faded, before the cameras had stopped flashing, his mouth had released hers. She had to peel herself off him and stand in lights that were suddenly blazing. No one had seen them, all eyes were still on her father, yet she felt as if the spotlight was suddenly on her—that surely everyone knew what had just taken place. She felt as embarrassed, almost, as if they’d been caught making love—hell, she felt as if they had been making love. Her panties were damp with arousal, her nipples erect and throbbing beneath her soft dress; so exposed was her want, surely everyone could see it?
What did this man do to her?
She could see Rocco’s eyes narrowing in