Too Proud to be Bought by Sharon Kendrick Page B

was the eye-catcher. She was about three decades younger than him, and wore red patent shoes which madeher tower over her companion. A waterfall of blonde hair fell to her tiny waist and sawn-off denim hot-pants emphasised her long, tanned legs. She looked as if he’d picked her out of a catalogue, thought Zara. And in her plain A-line black skirt and flat shoes, she suddenly felt like a complete frump in comparison.
    Nikolai lifted his hand in greeting. ‘Sergei—I can’t believe that I’ve prised you away from the attractions of Paris! Aren’t you already having withdrawal symptoms?’
    ‘Invitations to Paradis are too rare to ever be refused,’ laughed the man. ‘Though I guess you must be eager for a fellow Muscovite to confide in! Nobody sees the world in quite the same way as a Russian.’
    ‘Ah, but you must know by now that I confide in no one.’
    ‘No, I’ve heard you play your cards very close to your chest,’ gushed the blonde, and Nikolai raised his eyebrows.
    ‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’ he said.
    ‘No, we haven’t. I’m Crystal,’ said the blonde. ‘And you’re Nikolai. Mmm. Suddenly I can understand why all my girlfriends went green when I told them where I was staying!’ Her glossy lips sparkled in the sunlight. ‘God, we got stuck in a pig of a traffic jam outside Monte Carlo and I’m absolutely parched—can I have a drink before I pass out?’
    Nikolai gave a cool smile. Perhaps her skills in the bedroom compensated for her apparent lack of social graces, he thought caustically as he gestured towards Zara. ‘Of course you can. Champagne okay for you? ‘
    ‘Mmm! I love champagne!’
    ‘I rather thought you might,’ observed Nikolai drily.
    ‘Well, why don’t we sit over here and enjoy the gardens—lunch won’t be long, will it, Zara?’
    ‘No, sir,’ she answered, her cheeks even redder now as she listened to Crystal’s shameless flirting. No wonder Nikolai thought all women had some kind of agenda.
    With a dexterity borne of countless jobs, Zara kept their glasses topped up and soon began serving the deceptively simple lunch which had been prepared. She busied around with the seafood salad, making sure that Sergei’s glass was topped up with copious amounts of bourbon, which was the only thing he drank, but all the time she was listening to their conversation—at least, what she could understand of it.
    Nikolai and Sergei kept breaking into bursts of Russian—while Crystal said, or ate, very little. In fact, the blonde spent most of the meal holding out her champagne glass to be filled up and moodily staring out at the distant glitter of the Mediterranean.
    What must it be like for a woman to be ignored like that? Zara wondered as she served the dessert, a pale yellow
tarte au citron.
Didn’t Crystal mind that she was being treated like an ornament—or was that the price she paid for being brought to exquisite places like this? She was so lost in her thoughts that for a moment she didn’t notice the mocking blue gaze which was being angled in her direction, until she looked up and was caught in the cool crossfire of Nikolai’s gaze.
Please don’t let me blush again,
she thought.
Don’t let him realise that he’s getting under my skin.
For a split second his eyes were thoughtful as they skimmed over her and, beneath her thin white cotton shirt, she could feel the heated prickle of her skin.
    ‘We’ll have coffee now, Zara,’ he instructed softly.
    She nodded, her throat feeling thick and dry. ‘Certainly, sir. Shall I serve it out here?’
    ‘If you would.’
    It was an exchange she’d had countless times in her working life but for once Zara found it hard not to resent her subservient status as she hurried off to the kitchen. Having to wear a too-hot skirt and apron and to sweat slightly beneath the too-heavy weight of the coffee tray as she made her way back to the terrace. Having to fade into the background as if she were a ghost rather than a real