‘I do,’ Bastian sliced in grittily on the score of his trusted PA, while wondering how on earth he would tolerate Emmie for an entire weekend without killing her.
‘But I doubt if it’s enough to warrant keeping a married mother of three working until eight at night on Christmas Eve,’ Emmie tossed back. ‘Or for taking her abroad to work on her fortieth birthday, so that she had to reschedule her party.’
‘I didn’t ask Marie to work late on Christmas Eve. As for her birthday, as I have no idea when her birthday is I can’t comment. But I will point out that if she didn’t choose to mention a prior arrangement to me, you can’t blame me for it!’
‘It was Christmas Eve. You told her the work was urgent and she did it,’ Emmie expanded gently. ‘Of course she did. She’s very diligent. A considerate employer would have appreciated her position on that particular day of the year.’
Bastian ground his even white teeth together. ‘Keep quiet,’ he told her harshly. ‘I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the remainder of the flight!’
Emmie made a teasing zip-up gesture across her lips, which went down like a lead balloon. She veiled her eyes, cloaking the amusement there and then glanced at him again. She knew she was annoying him and she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. Well, he shouldn’t have kissed her, she reasoned, still resenting that breaking down of boundaries. That had been a step too far in their pretence. She glanced up again, collided unwarily with burning golden eyes and felt heat surge as if he had lit a torch inside her. Her cheeks burned. Standing there, tall, lean and dark as sin, even with that brooding sardonic slant to his hard chiselled features, he was too gorgeous for words.
‘You shouldn’t have kissed me,’ Emmie said abruptly into the heavy silence.
‘And how do you expect to put on a convincing act of being my girlfriend in my home if you can’t cope with one little kiss?’ Bastian derided.
‘There was no need for you to touch me. There were no witnesses at the airport who needed to be convinced of anything,’ Emmie pointed out. ‘We’ll get along better if you respect the ground rules—’
‘What ground rules?’ Bastian demanded grimly.
‘Please don’t touch me unless you absolutely have to.’ Emmie studied him with clear blue eyes and lifted her chin. ‘You may have bought my time but don’t make the mistake of believing you’ve bought anything else.’
‘Are you saying that you have never slept with a client?’ Bastian pressed with so much incredulity in his voice that she wanted to slap him hard.
‘Never,’ Emmie told him vehemently.
‘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.