Secrets of Cinderella’s Awakening by Sharon Kendrick

CHAPTER FOUR

‘MARNIE, YOU’REGOING to have to do an emergency manicure!’

Marnie glanced up, emerging from the uncomfortable swirl of her thoughts to focus on her boss, a wiry and very dynamic Scotswoman called Jodie, who had worked on Paramenios for almost a decade. It was Jodie who’d been responsible for getting her this prestigious summer job on a Greek island and Jodie who had persuaded her salon in London to allow her to have unpaid leave for the summer so she could double or even triple her salary in this luxury resort. Thus it was important not to annoy someone who’d done her a number of favours. But, really, how on earth could a manicure ever be described as an emergency?

‘Can’t someone else do it?’ Marnie questioned. ‘I’m not feeling that great, to be honest.’

‘Yeah, I can tell. You look terrible,’ said Jodie bluntly. ‘What happened?’

Marnie bit her lip, because how could she possibly confide the reason for her washed-out appearance or inability to concentrate for most of the morning? She could just imagine Jodie’s reaction if she explained that yesterday she’d met a gorgeous stranger, had let him take her to dinner—then ended up losing her virginity to him on a beach. Or that he’d dropped her off near her staff accommodation without even a farewell kiss to remember him by. And hadn’t that bit hurt the most of all, even though she’d tried to convince herself it didn’t matter? He’d been deep inside her body in the most intimate of ways and that didn’t even warrant a goodnight kiss.

She’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in her narrow bed, unable to get rid of the memory of Leon as he had ridden her to fulfilment. She kept remembering the way she had cried out in rapture. She’d lain there in the claustrophobic staff accommodation, beating herself up about her behaviour—until the morning light had helped her put things in perspective.

She had been foolish and impulsive in a way which was totally out of character, that was all. She’d been living on her nerves since Pansy’s arrest and maybe it was inevitable that sooner or later something was bound to give. But she hadn’t hurt anyone—except perhaps herself—and she was going to draw a very firm line under the whole episode. The sex had been amazing—she wasn’t going to deny that—but it wasn’t going to lead anywhere. She was never going to see Leon again—he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to, and she had pretended she felt the same. And even though she had just been saving face, it was probably a good thing they weren’t on schedule for a repeat performance. Because Leon Kanonidou had made her feel...vulnerable, and vulnerability had no place in her life. Didn’t she have enough on her plate, without pining after some boho biker who probably slept with a different woman every night of the week?

She could feel her cheeks growing hot as she met Jodie’s curious stare. ‘I just didn’t sleep very well last night,’ she said truthfully. ‘I think a mosquito must have got into the room because every time I closed my eyes I could hear that awful high-pitched whining sound buzzing around the room.’

Jodie shuddered. ‘Tell me about it. I hate mosquitos. Get some of the spray they sell in the hotel shop—the one with the red label. I know it’s expensive but it works wonders.’

‘I will. Though I’m not sure it’s great for the lungs. Anyway—’ Marnie forced a smile ‘—who’s this manicure for?’

Her nails glinting coral in the bright Greek sunshine, Jodie glanced down at her clipboard. ‘One of the women in that party who’ve taken over the western side of the hotel. You know—the billionaire who’s having the birthday celebrations. Her name is Ariane Paparizou and she’s requested a mini manicure. Poolside.’

‘And when does she want it?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Jodie pulled a comic face. ‘Like yesterday? You know what these wealthy women are like.’

Marnie nodded. She certainly did. A few seemed like perfectly decent people but many of them were spoiled and, in her experience, nearly all of them were demanding. So she tidied her hair, checked her portable nail kit and then made her way through the sprawling Paradeisos complex towards the upmarket Ouranos section. She’d never actually done a treatment here before—Jodie usually kept the jobs with the greatest tip potential for herself—and ordinarily Marnie might have been excited at the thought of having a peek round this most exclusive area of the hotel. But today didn’t feel ordinary. Not at all. She still had that strange feeling of being disconnected from her own body. As if being given two orgasms in quick succession by a man she barely knew had shaken the foundations of her world and made her realise she didn’t really know herself very well at all.

Abundant pink and white flowers framed the interconnecting buildings surrounding the different-sized swimming pools which made the Ouranos complex so distinct, though naturally it had its own private beach. It was just unfortunate that the thought of any kind of beach made Marnie want to shudder. It made her think of grains of sand falling onto the floor of her tiny shower cubicle and swirling down the plughole as she’d tried to wash away the memories of Leon’s lovemaking. But his scent had clung stubbornly to her hair and her skin and it had taken a full twenty minutes of fierce scrubbing before she’d finally felt free of him and able to fall into bed last night.

She could hear the chink of glasses and as she approached, her gaze took in the kind of scene which looked like an advertiser’s dream. Around a vast azure pool stood a cluster of rich and beautiful people—all speaking in Greek and laughing while waiters topped up their crystal goblets with champagne. Several of the women lay sprawled on sun loungers and they were all wearing tiny scraps of swimwear which looked hugely expensive. But that was because they were. Marnie had seen the discreet price tags in the hotel boutique and marvelled at the fact that anyone would ever spend that much on a bikini.

From beneath the wide brim of her straw hat, one of the women spotted her and lifted her hand in careless greeting. ‘Ah! My manicurist is here. At last!’ she exclaimed, in perfect if slightly dramatic English. ‘Never has the sight of someone been so welcome!’

Everyone turned to stare at her, their voices growing silent as Marnie walked towards the group. Finding herself the unwilling focus of attention made it difficult to avoid becoming self-conscious as she moved across the terrace. She was dimly aware of the women’s collective beauty and that the men were all tall and devastatingly handsome. But her unease quickly became acute as the identity of one of the guests seared itself onto her disbelieving brain and at first she thought it must be some sort of mirage. Please, no, she thought. Please don’t do this to me. She could feel the savage pounding of her heart as she risked a glance towards the most captivating member of the group and could see that her prayers hadn’t been answered.

Because it was Leon.

Leon the biker, who’d picked her up on the beach.

Lion-like Leon, to whom she’d given her virginity.

But this Leon looked nothing like the man she’d kissed so passionately last night while his fingers had been playing a rhapsody between her legs. Today there were no faded denims. No close-fitting black T which caressed his ripped torso—and definitely no sign of a dusty old motorbike. He wore an expensive linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and navy swim shorts. His black hair was tamed and sleek, not windswept and ruffled. He was looking cool and immaculate, yes—but his head-turning qualities were due to much more than his rugged good looks and muscular body, for he radiated power and privilege in the way that only the truly wealthy ever could. Marnie wanted to look away but somehow she couldn’t. She was mesmerised by those eyes which rivalled the sky behind him, for they were dominating her line of vision and burning into her like blue fire. Was his expression mocking her, she wondered, or was he just acutely embarrassed to see her here?

Awkwardly, she moved towards the woman who was beckoning her with a rather impatient finger, and realised that if she didn’t get it together, she would start stockpiling complaints about her lack of professionalism—and that was the last thing she could afford to happen. But the efficient smile she was usually able to summon up at will for clients seemed to have deserted her. ‘Ariane Paparizou?’ she croaked.

‘That’s me! Don’t just stand there. Come and sit down.’ Ariane turned her head with a swish of a glossy black ponytail and flashed the onlookers a wide smile. ‘I’m sure the others don’t mind watching while...what’s your name, dear?’

‘Marnie.’

‘While Marnie works her magic on me!’ A small chair beside the lounger was patted and Marnie padded her way over to it, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. Wishing she’d never met him. Wishing she were anywhere other than here. Taking the colour swatch of varnishes from her little bag, she splayed it out for Ariane’s attention, but her head was buzzing with questions which seemed impossible to answer.

Like, what was he doing here? He was supposed to be a builder, wasn’t he? Yet he was standing fraternising with these privileged people as if he had every right to be here and, judging from their fawning body language—he did. Suddenly, she realised that, whoever he was, he wasn’t the man he had appeared to be—and that she had made a very bad choice for her first lover. Not just that, but she had been totally naïve—she, who always prided herself on being street-smart. She, the wisecracking victim of circumstance who was never going to allow herself to be conned by a smooth-talking man.

Of course he wasn’t a builder! Yes, he’d been dressed in a laid-back way—but what else would he have been wearing if he’d been out in the hot sun all day, pelting around a Greek island on a motorbike in the height of summer? She remembered the restaurant where all the tables had supposedly been reserved...until Leon had appeared and one had miraculously been made available by a proprietor who had been fawning over them all evening. Would they have done that for an ordinary builder? Of course they wouldn’t!

Flicking him another glance, she could see he was the only one not drinking champagne, for he was holding a glass of water. His expression was dark and brooding and he was still staring at her. Staring very hard. Any minute now and someone might notice that his attention was—inappropriately—fixed on the visiting beautician and start to wonder why. Or was she flattering herself? Were casual sexual games with staff members par for the course for these kind of people?

Pulling out her kit bag, she began to rummage inside it but all she could think about was that bright gaze which had burned itself into her consciousness.

‘Leon...’

Marnie almost dropped her cuticle-pusher as Ariane said the name she had cried out last night, and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention as she heard his murmured response.

‘Mmm?’

‘Would you like to help me choose a colour?’

There was a pause. ‘Nail polish isn’t really my area of expertise I’m afraid, Ariane.’

Sweat began to bead on Marnie’s brow as she found herself thinking the unthinkable. Because what if Ariane and Leon were lovers and he’d taken a few hours out to be unfaithful to her last night? It was a grim possibility but it was still a possibility and, in the sort of world in which she’d grown up, it remained a very real one.

‘Marnie?’

Ariane’s voice broke into her thoughts and Marnie felt another trickle of fear sliding down the back of her neck. What if the gorgeous Greek woman knew exactly what had happened? Maybe they’d even discussed it and laughed about it—in a very modern way? I know I shouldn’t have done it, agape mou, but she kind of threw herself at me.

She swallowed. What if Ariane called the hotel management and dobbed her in for being intimate with one of the guests—something which was strictly forbidden? What if she was sent home in disgrace with a black mark on her CV and, much more importantly, without the inflated bonus she had been relying on to help her twin sister when she got out of prison?

‘Y-yes?’ Marnie questioned, her cheeks burning with dread.

‘I’ll have the Early Sunrise, please.’

Marnie blinked as Ariane jabbed her broken fingernail in the direction of a vivid orangey hue, and she stared at it as if she had never seen that particular shade of varnish before. ‘Yes, yes. Of course. A...a very good choice. It’s been very popular with all our clients this summer.’ She flashed a smile. ‘Is there somewhere I can go to fill up my nail bath?’

Ariane flicked a hand in the direction of one of the sleek white buildings. ‘There’s a bathroom in there—first on the left. You can’t miss it.’

As Marnie began to walk across the sunlit patio, Leon couldn’t tear his gaze away from her because right now she seemed like the personification of his perfect dream.

Or his perfect nightmare.

He was having difficulty breathing. Difficulty thinking of anything other than the way she had wrapped her legs around his back last night while he had thrust deep into her virgin tightness. Had he thought he would never run into her again? Yes—and a million times yes. Because that was for the best. He was all wrong for her and she was definitely all wrong for him. Not just because she was unsophisticated and innocent and would never have fitted into his world—nor he into hers—but because he didn’t recognise the man he had become in her company.

Wild—tick. Reckless—another tick. But it had been the way he had lost control which had so disturbed him. Or rather, the realisation that someone else had the power to take that control away from him which had bothered him most. As a child he had been manipulated by the subterfuge of his mother and the widespread influence of his father and at times had felt powerless. That was the feeling he’d been determined never to revisit but, last night, he had done just that—and it had scared him. He, who despised fear almost as much as he despised lies.

Which was why, when he had dropped Marnie off, he had resisted the urge to kiss her—despite the red-hot invitation of her lips. Just as he hadn’t taken her back to her room and made love to her again, even though powerful desire had raged inside his body. He had forced himself to listen to the voice of reason and had said nothing but a terse goodnight as she slid from the back of his bike.

But now she was here and he knew he had to get her alone, though he didn’t stop to ask himself why. Putting his glass down on a nearby table, he began to follow her into the shady interior of the villa. He could hear the sound of running water and there, in the open doorway of a bathroom, stood Marnie, bending over a sink. He saw her shoulders stiffening and her head jerking up, as if she’d sensed someone was behind her and that it was him. Was she as acutely aware of his presence as he was of hers, he wondered distractedly, even from this distance? But no, she was actually looking at him in the mirror and her furious expression was reflected back at him.

‘Go away,’ she snapped.

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘To say what?’ Holding her little container of water, she turned to face him and her anger was far more intense when witnessed face-on, rather than through the cool barrier of the glass. ‘To explain how you got invited to a fancy party like this? They don’t look like the kind of people who would be hobnobbing with their builder, unless society is a lot more equal here than I thought it was. What happened, Leon—did you decide to leave your trowel and cement behind, or did I arrive too late to see you scaling up a ladder? Because you’re not a builder at all, are you?’

‘In a way, I am—’

‘Please don’t insult my intelligence by playing with words! You know exactly what I mean.’

Leon’s mouth flattened. Her fury was delectable enough to make him want to smile, but he sensed the embarrassment behind the words she flung at him. ‘There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.’

‘I’m sure there is. And what might that be, I wonder?’ Her gaze raked over his body, but it was a cold and damning assessment and nothing like the hungry gaze she had subjected him to over dinner last night. ‘You’re obviously a very rich man, Leon. I guess you need to hide that fact away from casual hook-ups, in case they start making demands on your wealth!’

‘But I don’t do casual hook-ups!’

‘Really? So did I just dream what happened last night? Was it all a figment of my imagination?’ There was the faintest, telltale wobble of her lips before she looked over his shoulder and her angry expression quickly morphed into a brisk and professional smile. ‘Kyria Paparizou!’ she gushed. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you—I was just running the water to get it to exactly the right temperature for your nails. Certainly. Yes, of course! I’ll be right there!’

Leon was so taken aback by the unwanted interruption that he stepped aside to let her pass, tantalisingly aware of her scent before reluctantly turning and wondering how the persistent Ariane Paparizou was going to react when she saw him talking to the manicurist.

Until he realised that the Greek heiress was nowhere to be seen! Only Marnie herself, sashaying across the brilliant patio, with the white material of her uniform stretched alluringly over her buttocks and her hair a million different shades of gold. His body tensed. So, it had been nothing but a ruse to get her away from him—and he had fallen for it! He wasn’t used to being wrong-footed and for a moment he just stood there, watching her retreat.

Suddenly she turned and flashed him a triumphant look—as if she was enjoying having outsmarted him—and Leon felt the corresponding stir of hunger in his blood. As she sat down on the stool to start working on Ariane’s nails, he walked out onto the terrace.

A waiter handed him a drink and he knew he ought to join one of the small clusters of people who were laughing and drinking beneath the shade of big white umbrellas. But all he wanted to do was to stare at Marnie and drink in the way the sunlight was gleaming on her bare legs. Last night he had been determined he wasn’t going to see her again—but in the bright light of day, that suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.

‘So, Leon. This is where you’re hiding.’

A male voice shattered his contemplation and Leon glanced across at the man who had joined him—Xenon Zafiris, heir to a massive shipping line. The two men had moved in similar circles when they’d been teenagers but had never really been friends.

He flicked Xenon a cool smile. ‘As you see, I’m in plain sight.’

‘So you are. How was America?’

‘Oh, you know. Big.’

‘And England?’

‘Pretty small.’

‘I hear you’ve been doing stuff in Northern Greece.’ Xenon raised his eyebrows. ‘Drilling for wells, on a no-profit basis.’

‘That’s right.’ Leon’s voice became thoughtful. ‘The land up there badly needs water. There’s no limit to the possibilities for future farming, if we just get the irrigation right.’

‘Philanthropy is always such an admirable trait,’ observed Xenon softly, before curving his lips into a smile. ‘But on a more personal level... I gather your father is getting married again. Are you planning to attend the wedding?’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to fit it in,’ answered Leon, with a shrug.

There was a pause. ‘Which number is that, I wonder? It’s so easy to lose count.’

‘Four, I believe.’ Leon’s voice was dismissive, because he didn’t want to talk about his father, or his wives, or to inform a man whose imagination was so limited that he used his leisure time to gossip. He wanted to be left alone to study Marnie Porter, even though she had just slanted him a look of pure ice. He took a sip of water to ease the dryness in his throat. Was he discovering a previously unknown streak of masochism? he wondered wryly. No woman had ever looked at him that way before and his pulse was pounding like a piston in response.

‘Easy on the eye, isn’t she?’ said Xenon, following the direction of his gaze. ‘Though I can’t quite work out what the attraction is. I mean, she’s wearing a pretty unflattering uniform and those rubber-heeled shoes make her look a bit like a nurse, and yet...’

Leon’s body stiffened as Xenon’s speculative observation died away. He knew that men often discussed a woman’s appearance, in the same way you might admire an amazing sunset or a good wine. His friends’ wives told him that women sometimes did the same. It was no big deal and in many cases it wasn’t even predatory. But this felt predatory and suddenly he felt the build-up of something unfamiliar. A slow, simmering rage that the renowned playboy Zafiris should dare to look at his lover in such a way.

But Leon didn’t do jealousy. His eyes narrowed. Just as he didn’t do commitment.

Or trust.

In fact, there was a whole list of no-go areas in his life, which helped shore up his determination never to get married, or have children.

Yet Marnie Porter had managed to achieve something which no other woman had succeeded in doing before, because there had been no need. She had turned him into a hunter.

Yet women usually came to him. They flocked to him like wasps to honey. They didn’t freeze him out with withering looks which seemed genuine rather than fabricated.

So why was his blood pulsing with the hottest desire he could ever remember?

He frowned.

What did the little hairdresser from Acton have which so entranced him?