CHAPTER TEN
EMILY could not help staring at the woman; the long glossy mane of black hair, flawless milk-coffee coloured skin, exotically tilted and thickly lashed chocolate-velvet eyes, a perfectly straight aristocratic nose, full pouty lips, and a cleanly sculptured chin that lifted haughtily at the sight of Zageo holding another woman’s arm.
As well it might, Emily thought, suddenly feeling like a very common overcurvy peasant in her cotton skirt, casual little top, and very plain walking sandals. Apart from which, her own long hair was not exactly beautifully groomed after an underwater swim and her make-up was nonexistent.
Veronique’s entire appearance was superbly put together. Her model-thin figure was wrapped in a fabulously elegant and sexy dark brown and cream polka-dot silk dress which screamed designer wear, and the high-heeled strappy sandals on her feet were so brilliantly stylish, anyone with a shoe fetish would have lusted for them. Her magnificent facial structure was highlighted with subtly toning make-up, her nails varnished a pearly cream, and just looking at the glossy black hair made Emily’s feel like rats’ tails.
‘Veronique…this is a surprise,’ Zageo said in his silky dangerous voice. Clearly it was not a surprise that pleased him.
‘Your call last night felt like a call to arms, cheri,’ she lilted, her tone warmly inviting him to take pleasure in her presence.
He’d called her last night?
Emily shot him a sharply inquiring look. Had he lied about having ended his relationship with Veronique?
‘Then you were not listening to me,’ he stated coldly.
Anger flashed from the supermodel’s gorgeous dark eyes, flicked to Emily, then back to Zageo, having gathered a fierce determination to fight. ‘You were mistaken in thinking I didn’t want to be with you. I came to correct that misunderstanding.’
They were drawing attention from other people in the foyer. ‘A private conversation should remain private,’ Zageo cautioned sternly, signalling to the man behind the reception desk.
Instant action. A key was grabbed. The man ushered them to a door on the other side of the foyer. It opened to what was obviously the manager’s domain, an office combined with a sitting area for conversations with guests.
Veronique stalked ahead, using the arrogant catwalk style of motion that automatically drew everyone’s gaze after her. She was a star, intent on playing the star to the hilt, perhaps reminding Zageo of who she was, the kind of status she commanded.
‘I can wait out here,’ Emily suggested, pulling back from being witness to a lovers’ quarrel and grasping what felt like the opportune moment to slip away entirely, extracting herself from a very sticky situation.
‘Oui,’ Veronique snapped over her shoulder.
‘Non!’ came Zageo’s emphatic retort, forcibly steering Emily inside. ‘Miss Ross is my guest and I will not do her the discourtesy of abandoning her for you, Veronique.’
It wasn’t a discourtesy, Emily thought wildly, but again she was given no choice. His decision was punctuated by the door closing behind them.
Veronique wheeled to face them, jealous fury spitting from her eyes. ‘You prefer this woman to me?’
On the surface of it, the preference seemed utter madness even to Emily’s mind, so she didn’t take offence, although a strong streak of female pride whispered that for a relationship to last—as her own with Brian had—there had to be more than surface stuff driving it. Two years, she reflected, was the usual time-frame for passion to wear thin.
Zageo ignored the question, blandly inquiring, ‘How did you get from Paris to Zanzibar so quickly?’
The mane of hair was expertly tossed. ‘You are not the only man I know who owns a private jet.’
If it was an attempt to make him jealous, it was a miserable failure, evoking only a curt, disdainful reply. ‘Bien! Then you’ll have no problem with flying back tomorrow.’
Veronique scissored her hands in exasperated dismissal. ‘This is absurd!’
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘I informed you of my position in no uncertain terms. Your coming will not change it.’
‘But you misread my choice not to accompany you, Zageo.’ She gestured an eloquent appeal. ‘I wanted you to miss me. I wanted you to realise how good we are together. I wanted you to think about marrying me.’
‘What?’ Sharp incredulity in his voice. ‘There was never any suggestion of a marriage being possible between us,’ he thundered, hands lifting in such angry exasperation, Emily was able to slide out of his hold, quickly stepping over to the sofa against the wall, out of the firing line between the two antagonists.
‘That doesn’t mean it couldn’t be,’ Veronique argued.
‘At no time did I lead you to think it. What we had was an arrangement, Veronique, an arrangement that suited both of us. You know it was so. Perhaps it does not suit you to have it ended, but I assure you, this attempt to push it further is futile.’
‘Because of her?’ A contemptuous wave and a venomous look were directed at Emily.
It was a good question, Emily thought, curious to know the answer herself since the ruction between Veronique and the sheikh had only occurred last night. She tore her gaze from the glittering double fangs of Veronique’s eyes to look at Zageo, and was instantly shafted by two laser beams burning into her brain.
‘Because its time was over,’ he answered, speaking directly to Emily, his eyes hotly impressing the point. ‘I had decided that before Miss Ross walked into my life.’
Curiously enough, it was a relief to hear this. Being the source of breaking up a long-standing relationship would not have sat easily with her, although she had done absolutely nothing to effect such an outcome.
‘But you’ve let her sweeten the decision, haven’t you?’ came the furious accusation. ‘She is why you won’t take me back. So what has she got that I have not, Zageo? What does she give you that I did not?’
Emily’s cheeks burned.
Nothing, she thought, hating being dragged into what was definitely not her business.
But Zageo was still looking at her and the heat in his eyes simmered with needs and desires that were focused on her, making her heart catapult around her chest, flipping her stomach, shooting her mind into chaos as it tried to deal with responses that were scattering her wits.
‘How does one compare a hothouse carnation to a wild water-lily?’ he rolled out in a softer tone that somehow caused goose-bumps to erupt all over Emily’s skin. ‘It is foolish to try to measure the differences. Each has its own unique appeal.’