'Why didn't you tell me it would be just the two of us sharing?' she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
'I didn't think it important.'
'Well, I do. If you'd told me, I could have camped out with Valeria and the rest of the staff in their shelter.'
He raised a bored brow. 'My staff are all, in one way or another, extended family to each other. I deliberately built them their own shelter so in events like this they could be together as a family. You might be a guest, and I might be their boss, but they deserve their privacy away from us.'
How could she possibly argue with that? Although, she wanted to. She really wanted to. Sharing a confined space with Pascha for the foreseeable future could only bring trouble.
The interior of the shelter was practical but luxurious, with a large double bed, a plush sofa, a dining table and a small kitchenette with a bar at the end. The only privacy came in the form of a bathroom which was, by anyone's standards, opulent.
When Pascha shut the door of the shelter, the silence was total, making Emily realise just how loud the wind had become.
She peered through a small round window which reminded her of a ship's porthole, the only source of natural light in the shelter.
Shelter? It was the same size as her London flat.
Turning her head, she found him opening cupboards and rummaging through drawers.
'Can I get you a drink?' he asked, not looking at her.
Taken aback at the offer, she stared at him. 'What have you got?'
'Everything.'
'Rum and Coke?' she said flippantly, wanting to test him.
His grey eyes met hers. 'Do you want ice in that?'
'Seriously?'
He reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of rum, arching a brow as he displayed it for her.
She had to admit, she was impressed. And an alcoholic drink might take the edge off her angst. Might. 'No ice for me, thank you.'
'A thank you? You shock me.'
'I like to keep you on your toes.'
'You're doing an excellent job of it.'
While Pascha mixed them both a drink, her curiosity overcame her and she wandered into the kitchenette to rifle through the cupboards.
Amazing. There was enough food here for them to live like kings for at least a fortnight. A month, if they downgraded to princes.
'I take it there's a back-up generator?' she said.
'Of course.'
Something in his tone made her look at him. He looked furious. 'What's the matter?'
'I've left my phone charger at the lodge.'
'And?'
'And I don't have enough battery left to get through the night.'
'I would suggest going back for it but looking at the trees through the window I can see it wouldn't be the brightest of moves.'
'Finally she says something sensible.'
'I didn't leave the charger behind so don't take it out on me.' She wasn't any happier about it than he was-what if there was an emergency at home? James wouldn't be able to get hold of her.
She forced herself to think practically. If an emergency did occur, she wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway, not from Aliana Island.
A whole evening of peace.
She couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty about it. Peace had become such an elusive thing in her life.
It was just a shame she had to spend it with Pascha Virshilas. It would be more relaxing to spend it with an angry bear. Though she had to concede that an angry bear wouldn't have the sex appeal...
Where had that thought popped out from?
No, no, no. If she was going to get through the night with even a semblance of sanity left, she had to tune out the fact she was in a confined space with the sexiest man alive.
Sexiest man alive?
Ten minutes in the shelter and she was clearly suffering from cabin fever.
'I'm not taking it out on you,' Pascha said.
'Good,' she shot back, the scowl on her face still evident.
He expelled a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Technically speaking, it wasn't Emily's fault, but if he hadn't been so determined to get her to the safety of the shelter, and wasted all that time at the beach with her, he would never have forgotten something as vital as his phone charger.
He could kick himself. He should kick himself.
Pascha should be with his lawyers. They'd spoken and corresponded throughout the day, none of them prepared to leave anything to chance, but it wasn't the same as being in the same room. There was too much that could go wrong and scupper the Plushenko deal, and he was thousands of miles away. And soon he'd be totally cut off from all communication.
He finished mixing her drink and handed it to her.
'Thank you.' She turned away and strolled into the living area. Her behind really did sway beautifully when she walked, he noticed, curving nicely in her modest shorts and causing a whole heap of improper thoughts to race through him. Those improper thoughts were not helped by her silver top with its slanting neckline, which displayed a whole heap of porcelain shoulder, transparent enough for him to see the bikini she wore beneath it.
'So, what is there to do for entertainment in here?' she asked briskly, curling up on the sofa.
He held back the answer that formed on his tongue by the skin of his teeth. 'I'm sure a resourceful woman like you can make her own entertainment.'
She took a sip of her drink. 'Maybe enough of these will send me to sleep and then I'll be able to wake up and the storm will be over.'
'You'll have a headache if you drink too many of them.'
'Then I'll take a headache tablet.'
The woman had an answer for everything.
'Are you hungry?'
Her face scrunched up. 'A bit.'
'I'm not the greatest of cooks but I know how to make eggs on toast. Do you want some?'
She jumped back to her feet. 'I tell you what, I'll cook.'
'Can you cook?' Why did that surprise him?
'Yep. It'll give me something to do.'
'Are you bored?'
'Yep. Anything you don't like to eat?'
'I'll eat anything.'
She practically skipped to the kitchenette. Opening the cupboards and the fridge, she started examining ingredients, selecting some, rejecting others.
'Don't get too excited,' she warned. 'I can cook but it won't be the haute cuisine you're used to.'
'I didn't grow up eating haute cuisine,' he said drily.
'Someone with three chefs at his holiday island is not someone who eats simple food.'
He'd followed her to the kitchenette and his huge form blocked her way to the utensil cupboard. A masculine scent with a hint of citrus filled her senses.
'Excuse me,' she muttered.
He shifted to the left.
Emily knelt down and snatched at a saucepan, tugged it out and immediately lost her grip, the pan clanging to the floor.
She picked it up and shoved it on the work surface. 'Look, you're getting under my feet. Why don't you sit down while I get on with dinner?'
What was wrong with her? Her entire body was flushed, as if she'd been heated from the inside out; her hands and fingers were refusing to cooperate with her brain.
The only thing she knew with any certainty was that this was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SIX
EMILY DID HER BEST to eat her dinner but she struggled to swallow.
Her body just wouldn't relax.
What she needed was noise. She liked noise. It was comforting. If she'd been eating at her flat or at her parents' house-correction, her dad's house-the radio would be humming in the background.
Here, in the shelter, there was nothing but silence. Heavy, oppressive silence.
'Are you not enjoying your meal?' Pascha asked her.
Looking down, she found she'd been pushing her pasta around her plate.
'I'm not very hungry,' she confessed, adding with forced brightness, 'They always say the chef loses their appetite when it comes to the actual eating.'
'Well, I think it's delicious,' he said, popping a heaped forkful of her pasta concoction into his mouth to make his point.
She couldn't help but smile, but as the corners of her mouth lifted nodules in her belly tightened.
How could she eat when Pascha sat so close, near enough that if she moved her foot forward an inch she would graze his leg?
She was softening towards him. She could feel it. And she didn't like it one jot. It felt disloyal, as if she was somehow betraying her father by finding the enemy to be so human. And so damn sexy...
However it was dressed up, be it mutual blackmail or force, Pascha had given her no choice but to come to Aliana Island. There had been no option but for her to comply. Her desperate attempt to help her father had backfired so spectacularly, a firework could be made in its honour.
And yet in the short time they'd been together Pascha had shown more consideration towards her than she'd ever known. He'd sought her out at the waterfall because he'd been worried she would be hungry. He'd sought her out at the lagoon because of the storm, because he'd wanted to take her to safety. Even his anger at her snorkelling alone had been provoked by his concern for her well-being.