'What?' she asked a few moments later, looking at him quizzically.
To his chagrin, he realised he'd been too busy staring to take a bite of his own food.
He speared his fork into the delicate flesh of the squid. 'While you're staying here, I don't want you feeling you have to hide yourself away.'
'That won't be a problem when you've left. I'm looking forward to exploring your island.'
'Good.' It shouldn't bother him that she didn't want to be in his company. It didn't bother him. 'You'll find the island a place of hidden treasures. My staff are highly trained and able to cater for any wish you might have, which leads me to the next item on the agenda.'
'Do you want me to take minutes?'
'Excuse me?'
'You mentioned items on an agenda.' She put her knife and fork together and pushed her plate forward. 'Would you like me to act as secretary and write a set of minutes so neither of us forget what's discussed?'
Were it not for the unexpected spark of light that flashed in her eyes, he could have believed she was serious. 'I'm sure you'll remember it all without any problem.'
'A near compliment? I'm touched.'
His smile loosened a fraction. 'Onto my next item-my staff. I hand-picked them all and I do not want them upset in any shape or form.'
The spark of light in Emily's eyes vanished. 'My problem is with you, not your staff.'
'So long as you remember that. They follow my directives and know not to help you communicate with the outside world. Don't embarrass yourself or them by asking for their help.'
'I can go along with that so long as you promise to pass on any message from my family straight away.'
'If they get in touch once I've left the island, I will let Valeria know and she will pass on any message.'
'You'd better,' she muttered, becoming mute as staff inconspicuously cleared their starters away before returning with their main course. Soon, an array of fresh lobster, salads and spicy rice dishes was placed before them.
Emily heaped her plate with a little of everything then, using a bare hand, gripped the body of the lobster. Her eyes met his, insolence ringing from them as she reached for a claw with her other hand and twisted it off with a snap.
Pascha winced. While Emily attacked her lobster with relish, only using her crackers when absolutely necessary, Pascha used a more methodical approach, taking great care with the hard shell. By the time they'd finished eating, he was as clean as when he'd started, while her lips and fingers were slippery with butter.
His blood thickened as an image came into his mind of those slick fingers touching him...
What was it with this woman? Since he'd given Yana her freedom, he'd had more than his share of brief encounters, all with highly groomed, beautiful women who looked good on his arm. Not one of those women had roused him in anything other than the most basic of fashions. They certainly hadn't roused his senses. Not in the way Emily was doing at that moment and she wasn't even trying.
'Anything else you want to discuss?' she asked, pulling him out of his wayward thoughts. Bowls of hot flannels were placed before them and she took one, dabbing at her mouth, that beautiful, sensual mouth, and wiping her hands.
'No. That's everything.' There had been other issues but at that moment his brain felt as if a hazy fog had been tipped into it.
It was time to step away from this situation.
He should have got his staff to set up the dining hall, which had a table large enough to seat thirty. He should have stuck her right at the other end from him, all communication via megaphone.
If he hadn't wanted to eat by the ocean, he would have done just that, but in the morning he would leave for Paris, unlikely to return for a few months. There was something soothing about the sound of the gentle, rippling waves. It brought a contentment he'd never found anywhere else, a knowledge that whatever he did and wherever his future lay the tides would still turn.
'In that case, let's move on to "any other business": my phone call home.' She held a hand out, palm up. 'You gave me your word.'
He had to admire her devotion to her father. Such intense loyalty, she'd been prepared to spend a night in a police cell for it. It almost made him forgive that it had been his office she'd broken into and his data she'd attempted to steal. Almost.
Where had his own loyalty been eight years ago? He'd put his pride first and now it was too late. Andrei had died estranged from the adopted son he'd once adored. Was it any wonder his mother couldn't forgive him?
Snapping himself out of the settling melancholy, he pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and keyed in the password. 'What's the number?'
She recited it from memory. As soon as he heard the tone connecting the two lines, he passed it to her. She practically snatched it from him and pressed it to her ear.
'James?' Emily couldn't hide her relief. Her brother was there.
After hearing that her father had refused to get out of bed for his dinner, never mind eat it, Emily's eyes darted back to Pascha, who was watching her.
There were so many more questions she wanted to ask, but she resisted.
Now was not the time, not with Pascha listening in so closely. It was one thing for people to know how ill her father was, but his suicide attempt... No; that was between James, her and the medical profession. When her father recovered-and he would; whatever it took to get him better she would do it-she didn't want him living with the stigma of being the man who'd tried to kill himself. He wouldn't want it for himself. When he was well, his pride was everything. It had always been that way.
'My phone hasn't got a signal here,' she lied to her brother. 'So use this number if there's an emergency. It's right there in front of you on caller display-write it down, James. By the way, has Hugo called?' She didn't know if it was relief or dread she felt when James replied in the negative.
Disconnecting the call, she handed the phone back.
Her chest felt full and heavy and she suddenly realised she was on the verge of tears.
'Who is Hugo?' Pascha asked. 'You mentioned him earlier.'
Emily sighed.
'Hugo is my boss. Or perhaps I should say was my boss.'
Pascha arched a brow. 'Was?'
'Unless Hugo's had a new heart transplanted into him, I won't have a job to go back to. Most employers wouldn't be happy about a key member of staff taking off for a week's leave on a whim, especially when that member of staff has already been given an official warning for taking too many unauthorised absences.' Stopping herself, Emily clamped her lips together. Pascha didn't care about her or her job. All she was to him was a potential threat that had to be hidden away.
Fashion design was all she'd ever wanted to do. But she shouldn't complain about Hugo. He'd been incredibly supportive through what had been a horrific time, at least initially, but he had a business to run-something he'd made abundantly clear when he'd given her that official warning less than a month ago.
After a long, thoughtful pause, Pascha said in a softer tone, 'I'm certain that if you explain the situation when you return Hugo will understand. He must know how ill your father is.'
Emily felt her heart lurch at the unexpected kindness from Pascha. Heartlessness she could cope with, but not that. Not now when her stomach felt so knotted she was having trouble holding down the beautiful food she'd just eaten.
Her mother had adored lobster, had been the person to teach her how to demolish one so effectively.
A wave of despair almost had her doubled over, lancing her stomach with a thousand thorns.
Her darling, darling mother; oh, how she missed her.
Emily fought to control her emotions. She couldn't let him see it. She just couldn't. He had enough power over her already.
'I...I need to get some sleep,' she said, backing away from him. 'Was there anything else you wanted?'
He shook his head, a strange, penetrative expression in his eyes.
She gave a brief nod and turned on her heel, forcing her rubbery legs to walk.
By the time Emily slid the door of her cabin shut, the grief had abated and her sudden tears had retreated back into their ducts.
Sinking onto the bed, she gazed up at the ceiling.
She could still feel Pascha's gaze on her skin.
* * *
The next morning, fortified by a huge breakfast that had been brought to her room, and armed with mosquito repellent, high-factor sun-cream and bottles of water, Emily set off to explore the island. It had been a long evening and an even longer night. She'd gone to bed far earlier than she usually did. As hard as she'd tried she'd been unable to sleep, her mind a cacophony of faces clamouring for attention: her mother; her father; her brother. Pascha...