might have had about agreeing to Nikolai’s offer had been swiftly quashed when a whole new raft of bills had arrived. Zara had opened up the brown envelopes, seen the bold red print screaming out at her—and there, sitting incongruously among all the final demands, had been a first-class air-ticket to Nice. She’d picked it up and studied it with a terrible sense of inevitability, knowing there was no way she could afford to turn down the kind of money he was proposing to pay her.
So she’d taken the plane from Heathrow and tried to quell her rising nerves, but it hadn’t been easy, especially when disturbing images of his cold face and hard body kept drifting into her mind. At Nice, a car had been waiting to drive her through the hairpin bends of the Corniche—with its stunning green mountains on one side, dropping dramatically down to sapphire sea on the other. And when she’d arrived at Nikolai’s villa it had been like stepping into something you saw between the glossy pages of lifestyle magazines.
The vast gardens were a picture of cascading fountains and curving paths, while flowers in every shade imaginable dazzled the eye. At the end of the long drive was the house itself, a building which dwarfed every othershe’d ever seen. Coloured a beautiful pale rose, it stood contrasted against the magnificence of the mountains behind, and offered breathtaking views of the glittering Côte d’Azure.
Turning off the shower, Zara towelled herself dry and pulled on a clean uniform, telling herself that the lavish beauty of Nikolai’s world was irrelevant. And so was the fact that she found him overwhelmingly attractive. She was here to work and walk away with a hefty pay-cheque, and she’d better not forget that.
Going straight to the kitchens, she checked timings with the chef and had just carried a bottle of vintage champagne up to the terrace when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Fingers tightening around the cold silver ice bucket, she felt her heart skip a beat, because instinct told her that Nikolai Komarov was right behind her.
Act like you normally would if he were any other employer. Smile politely and say hello.
But her legs felt wobbly as she slowly turned round, her heart now crashing against her ribcage as his cool gaze washed over her.
There was nothing of the billionaire about Nikolai Komarov today. He was wearing the kind of off-duty clothes worn by men the world over, be they billionaire or student, but Zara doubted whether anybody had ever looked as good in them as he did. Faded blue jeans skated over the narrow jut of his hips and skimmed down over the hard, muscular legs. A simple black T-shirt moulded his lean torso and the short sleeves showed off powerful forearms, his tanned skin looking as if it had been dusted with flecks of gold.
Meeting the mockery in his ice-blue eyes, she swallowed and tried to control breathing which had suddenlybecome shallow and erratic. Why had she stupidly discounted how gorgeous he was? As if a few days’ distance might have given her some kind of magical immunity to him.
Well, she was going to have to acquire some—and quickly!
Somehow she found her voice. ‘Good morning, Mr Komarov.’
‘Oh, please.’ His eyes gleamed sardonically as he took in the tremble of her lips. ‘I think we know each other well enough to dispense with unnecessary formality, don’t you? It’s quite acceptable for you to call me Nikolai when we are alone.’
Zara’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘If that’s what you want.’
He thought that now wasn’t the moment to tell her exactly what he wanted—even if she
did
sound deli-ciously compliant. How huge her green eyes looked as they studied him, he mused. All startled and bright, yet somehow managing to be both wary and yearning all at the same time. ‘You know, I half expected you not to show up,’ he observed. ‘To have decided that this job might be a little more than you can handle.’
‘But we came
So she’d taken the plane from Heathrow and tried to quell her rising nerves, but it hadn’t been easy, especially when disturbing images of his cold face and hard body kept drifting into her mind. At Nice, a car had been waiting to drive her through the hairpin bends of the Corniche—with its stunning green mountains on one side, dropping dramatically down to sapphire sea on the other. And when she’d arrived at Nikolai’s villa it had been like stepping into something you saw between the glossy pages of lifestyle magazines.
The vast gardens were a picture of cascading fountains and curving paths, while flowers in every shade imaginable dazzled the eye. At the end of the long drive was the house itself, a building which dwarfed every othershe’d ever seen. Coloured a beautiful pale rose, it stood contrasted against the magnificence of the mountains behind, and offered breathtaking views of the glittering Côte d’Azure.
Turning off the shower, Zara towelled herself dry and pulled on a clean uniform, telling herself that the lavish beauty of Nikolai’s world was irrelevant. And so was the fact that she found him overwhelmingly attractive. She was here to work and walk away with a hefty pay-cheque, and she’d better not forget that.
Going straight to the kitchens, she checked timings with the chef and had just carried a bottle of vintage champagne up to the terrace when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Fingers tightening around the cold silver ice bucket, she felt her heart skip a beat, because instinct told her that Nikolai Komarov was right behind her.
Act like you normally would if he were any other employer. Smile politely and say hello.
But her legs felt wobbly as she slowly turned round, her heart now crashing against her ribcage as his cool gaze washed over her.
There was nothing of the billionaire about Nikolai Komarov today. He was wearing the kind of off-duty clothes worn by men the world over, be they billionaire or student, but Zara doubted whether anybody had ever looked as good in them as he did. Faded blue jeans skated over the narrow jut of his hips and skimmed down over the hard, muscular legs. A simple black T-shirt moulded his lean torso and the short sleeves showed off powerful forearms, his tanned skin looking as if it had been dusted with flecks of gold.
Meeting the mockery in his ice-blue eyes, she swallowed and tried to control breathing which had suddenlybecome shallow and erratic. Why had she stupidly discounted how gorgeous he was? As if a few days’ distance might have given her some kind of magical immunity to him.
Well, she was going to have to acquire some—and quickly!
Somehow she found her voice. ‘Good morning, Mr Komarov.’
‘Oh, please.’ His eyes gleamed sardonically as he took in the tremble of her lips. ‘I think we know each other well enough to dispense with unnecessary formality, don’t you? It’s quite acceptable for you to call me Nikolai when we are alone.’
Zara’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘If that’s what you want.’
He thought that now wasn’t the moment to tell her exactly what he wanted—even if she
did
sound deli-ciously compliant. How huge her green eyes looked as they studied him, he mused. All startled and bright, yet somehow managing to be both wary and yearning all at the same time. ‘You know, I half expected you not to show up,’ he observed. ‘To have decided that this job might be a little more than you can handle.’
‘But we came
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