Tracey slid into the vacant chair, and glanced at Leila with assessing green eyes.
‘He’ll see us in a minute. Want some orange juice? It’s freshly squeezed.’
‘No, thanks.’
Feeling oddly tense, Leila waited at the edge of the water, holding her shoulder-bag in both hands. Sure enough, the swimmer turned at the far end, and made an arrow-straight track towards where she stood. Reaching the edge of the pool, he hauled himself out with a ripple of wet bronze muscle, and flicked the water from his long dark hair.
A fist clenched around Leila’s heart.
She was looking into the face of the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen in her life.
CHAPTER TWO
LEILA had seen those green eyes before, in the face of his daughter. But where Tracey Oliver’s eyes were gentle and wistful, Blaize Oliver’s eyes were as hard and brilliant as that rarest of stones, a green diamond. They reminded Leila of the eyes of a tiger she had once seen in a zoo.
Their stare was awesome, made shockingly sexual by the thick black lashes that fringed them. A straight Roman nose and powerful cheekbones surmounted a mouth that was soul-dissolvingly passionate, with a full lower lip, holding both cruelty and sensuality. It was impossible for Leila to look at that mouth and not wonder what it would feel like pressed against her own. Blaize Oliver had the kind of beauty that exploded the most prepared poise, and violated the vulnerable feminine sensibilities beneath.
‘Mr. Oliver?’ she said unsteadily. ‘I’m Leila Thomas, from the Clarewell Agency.’
‘I know.’ The green stare weighed her up. ‘You come highly recommended, Miss Thomas.’
‘If so, I’ll do my best to earn it,’ she answered without smiling.
‘I hope so,’ he said, his voice deep and husky, with a distinctive, dryish note. ‘I make demands on my staff, and I expect them to come up to scratch. Always.’
She thought of what Tracey had told her. ‘I’ve come here to work, Mr. Oliver,’ she said significantly.
His smile was mocking. ‘Was there any doubt about that?’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ she said, with a slight emphasis, and wondered whether he’d got the message now.
Blaize Oliver was in his late thirties, maybe as old as forty; yet she’d never seen a younger man who could compare with him. In fact, every man she’d ever met had been just a pale imitation of this one.
The hair that was slicked back wetly from his high temples was very dark, but not quite black, and free of any touch of silver. And the rest of him was equally, magnificently male. His skin was fine, and tanned the rich colour of newly poured bronze. Crisp, dark hair etched the broad chest and lean ribcage, delineating the supple muscles of his stomach, and streaking the long, lean thighs.
It was suddenly a lot easier to understand the helpless desperation of Tracey Oliver. This was a man who could have any woman he chose, just by snapping his fingers.
She tore her eyes away from the physically stunning man in front of her, and found herself looking into the cynical eyes of Tracey Oliver, who was watching her with weary irony from the chair. ‘You haven’t met Dad.’ The sentence rose unbidden out of her unconscious.
Gulping down the tense lump in her throat, she said, ‘I’m ready to start any time. Where would you like me to begin?’
‘This afternoon will do.’ He picked up a towel, and dried his face and hair briskly. Leila waited in silence, watching the way muscles flickered under his tanned skin.
Tracey was still sitting in silence, her eyes moving from Leila to her father alternately. ‘Know anything about me?’ he asked as he dried himself.
Leila cleared her throat. ‘You run a multinational,’ she replied.
‘I own a multinational.’ He made the distinction calmly. ‘I pay a great many other people to run it. I don’t suppose you know why you’re here, either?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘I sacked my personal assistant some weeks ago,’ he told her coolly. ‘My staff, who seem to feel this is some kind of disaster, are frantically finding a replacement. Up till now, no one’s turned up with the right qualifications. You’re here to stop the gap until the right person does turn up. Carol Clarewell tells me that you’ve picked up a good grasp of how big businesses run, along the line.’
‘I’m not a genius, by any means. But I’ve worked in big firms before.’
‘Well, given the glowing reference Carol has furnished me with, I doubt whether the work here will prove either very onerous for you, or will adequately fill your time. I don’t expect you to undertake any company work, just routine secretarial stuff. There’s a certain amount of work that’s inevitable. But I expect you to make sure that no unnecessary hassle ends up on my plate. I’m on vacation right now. With my family. I intend the next six weeks to be as close to a holiday as my cluttered life is able to achieve, for my children and for me.’
‘That’s understood,’ Leila nodded, thinking cynically that his family-man image didn’t fit very well with the silent child who was watching them.
‘Good.’ He reached out then, took her arm in cool, strong fingers, and lifted it slightly. ‘You’re as pale as ivory,’ he said. ‘You need some Spanish sun, urgently.’
He was inspecting her with no less interest than she had been inspecting him, his eyes undressing her with unashamed interest, assessing the curves of her woman’s body, and obviously appraising her potential to interest him in bed. A sudden rush of heat, which had nothing to do with the sun, prickled across her skin.
‘I hope you’ve brought a bathing costume?’
‘Well―yes, I’ve brought one—’
‘You’re going to need it. I do a lot of work out here by the pool.’
Leila glanced swiftly at Tracey, but Tracey was looking steadfastly away, her full mouth tight and compressed. The ugly blotches were back in her smooth cheeks. Leila winced inwardly for the girl. Blaize Oliver sat down on the reclining chair, and slipped dark glasses over his eyes. He lay back nonchalantly, trailing his fingers down his own flat be.lly, chasing water droplets idly. She tried not to look at him, at the supple contours of his torso.
‘Has Tracey shown you your room yet?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘She’ll show you now. Won’t you, Trace?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘If you have any complaints, Miss Thomas, let me know.’
‘I’m sure I won’t have any complaints.’
He tilted his head at her, and slid his dark glasses down just far enough to be able to smile into her eyes.
‘No,You’re not the complaining type, are you, Miss Thomas?’ He slid the sun-glasses back over his eyes. ‘Lunch is in an hour. You must be eager to freshen up before then.’
‘I’d like a shower.’ Leila nodded.
‘After that motorway, you’ll need one. Tracey, show Miss Thomas to her room, and then you’d better finish off those sums we were doing last night.’
‘Oh, Dad–’
‘Oh, Dad, nothing. Get them done before you forget everything I showed you.’
‘Can’t I have a swim before lunch?’
‘After spending all morning on the beach?’
‘Please, Dad!’
‘Sums,’ he repeated firmly. ‘Show our guest to her room, and then spend half an hour in your study. And don’t disturb Terry.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In his room. He threw a tantrum for Lucy’s benefit, and I won’t abide tantrums.’
‘Can’t I do my sums tonight?’
‘Tracey!’ The change in Blaize Oliver’s voice was slight, but it was enough to silence the girl at once.
‘Yes, Dad.’ She uncoiled her body from the chair, and gave Leila a look that was cold and empty.
‘Follow me, Miss Thomas.’
The room she had been given was a very pretty little suite, with its own white and gold bathroom, and a window opening out over a mass of flowers in the garden.
<
br /> The walls were crowded with paintings, and the terracotta-tiled floor was so invitingly cool in this heat that Leila kicked her shoes off and padded around barefoot as she explored.
She had her own television, her own music centre, complete with records-e-mainly classical, which suited her fine―and even her own little library, complete with thrillers, romances and a row of recent autobiographies.
Deciding that she was going to be more than comfortable here, she put Mozart on the turntable, and undressed for her shower.
What a stunning man Blaize Oliver was! Yet so arrogant, so used to the world revolving around him. She remembered those lazy fingers’ tracing water on his own bare skin. He’d made an impact on Leila that was still reverberating inside her.
When she’d faced him at the pool this morning, she’d been aware of a feeling she’d never had before. A sudden wish that, instead of being a humble employee turning up for a month and a half of drudgery here, she was a guest. A woman of style and background, arriving on the same level as Blaize Oliver. Someone he would learn to know, someone he would treat like an equal …
But, of course, he must make a lot of women feel like that. She’d known handsome men who hadn’t possessed an ounce of charisma, and she’d known plain men who had more than their share of sexual magnetism. But this combination of the two was nothing short of overwhelming.
No wonder his children were getting desperate at the procession of impermanent women who passed through their lives. Poor Tracey. Poor Terry. Poor little kids.
Forget them. Forget Blaize Oliver. Just be here, now.
She soaped her skin, deliberately keeping the water just off cold, enjoying the sensation of heat and grime rinsing away.
If she was a sensualist, then her senses craved only this kind of gratification: to be cool and clean, to stand under a shower, or to lie on crisp white sand. To put on fresh linen and to sleep between clean sheets. To feel the wind through her hair, to breathe in the scent of pine trees.
Leila’s body was slender, the body of a woman who avoided excess. There was no spare fat in any of the treacherous places that could make even so slight a woman as Leila seem heavy. The long, balletic muscles of her legs and waist counterbalanced the naturally feminine arches of her hips and bust; and, although the curves of her breasts were full, they were light and taut, tipped with the pale pink nipples that went with very fair skin.
She dried herself, glowingly naked in the richly furnished room, and gave her reflection in the cheval-glass a quick check-over. What had Blaize Oliver seen that had struck him as so delicious? The lightness of her colouring was almost a gleam. Her bright cap of hair framed a face that was wide across the cheekbones, curving to a small, decisive chin. The space between was occupied by wide, deep blue eyes, a wide, deep pink mouth, and a short, straight nose.
The combination could have been sweetly innocuous.
But the determination that sat on the mouth, and the experience that deepened the eyes, made it a unique face, with its own unique beauty.
Men usually looked twice, as if to confirm that their first impression had not been mistaken. They very seldom got an alluring look in return. Leila was not, and had never been, a woman who courted men’s glances. Compliments like the ones Mr. Oliver’s eyes and mouth had given her this morning tended not to register.
She’d worked grindingly hard to get where she was now. To consistently find work in an agency like Carol Clarewell’s you. had to have more than just finely sharpened secretarial skills. You had to have ambition, drive, determination. You had to have the durability that put you one step ahead of the rest.
And, in exchange, you got three things: the highest salaries in the business, which meant a lot to a girl who’d once been desolately poor, the chance to travel, which filled some longing deep in her heart, and a career without permanent commitments, which was a bonus to someone who’d been disillusioned and betrayed as often as Leila Thomas had.
To be able to walk out of any assignment, if she were ill-treated. Not to have to submit to any bullying, sexual or otherwise, in order to keep a job. To change bosses and environments long before they palled on her―these were priceless aspects of her job to Leila. She didn’t want commitments. Since Carol had taken her on three years ago, she hadn’t stayed with one employer for more than three months at a time, and that was exactly the way she liked it.
She spanned her taut waist with her hands, her fingertips almost meeting on either side of her smooth navel.
Twenty-four was a good age to be. She was happy with her life, and that was something that hadn’t been true for twenty-one out of those twenty-four years.
She put on a lightweight sun-dress in a bright synthetic print, slipped sandals on her bare feet, and went down the wide staircase for lunch.
There seemed to be a lot of people at lunch, which was served at a long oak table in the high-ceilinged, cool diningroom. Leila had been placed at the end of the table, opposite Blaize Oliver, who was now wearing a patterned shirt and faded jeans. The amused green eyes met hers once or twice during the meal, as though he was enjoying a joke she hadn’t caught yet.
Terry Oliver sat beside his sister. The boy barely raised his eyes from his plate, picking at his food with an indifference that made Leila look pityingly at his skinny arms and lean, sulky face. Whatever sin he had committed to have earned imprisonment all morning, he didn’t have the air of a penitent now. He announced glumly that he had a cold, which he confirmed by sneezing several times during the meal and blowing his nose awkwardly on a spotless white hanky. Tracey, too, spoke little during the meal, though her appetite was ravenous.
Two Englishwomen sitting next to the children turned out to be a governess and a housekeeper. Miss Lucy, the governess, was young, and talked animatedly to Leila in a bright South London accent. Mrs Saunders, the housekeeper, was elderly, and did not. She looked grimly efficient, at least. Leila wondered how well the voluble Miss Lucy could be doing her job if she couldn’t control Terry’s tantrums, and if Tracey had given her the slip so easily that morning. She assumed drily that a pretty face and a sexy figure had gone a long way towards getting her the job.
There were two other men at the table. One, a middle-aged Spaniard, appeared to be a friend, and talked energetically in Spanish to Blaize. The other was a good-looking American in his mid-twenties, who sat beside Leila, and introduced himself as Rick Watermeyer.
Leila’s curiosity was disappointed, however, to register that there was no sign of Katherine, the woman whom Tracey was so keen to enlist as stepmother.
‘Are you with Mr. Oliver’s company?’ she asked Rick Waterrneyer politely.
‘Not exactly.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Blaize’s pilot and flying instructor.’
‘Is Mr. Oliver learning to fly his own plane?’ she asked.
‘Helicopter,’ Rick corrected mildly. ‘Blaize learned to fly fixed-wing two years ago. I’m teaching him to fly a neat little Gadfly he bought this year. Once he’s got his Iicence.I'll go back to the flying school where I usually work, Just outside Manchester. In the meantime I’m having a whale of a time here.’
‘It’s certainly very beautiful,’ Leila said. ‘I imagine a helicopter is the perfect way to get around this rocky coastline.’
‘Oh, sure.’ Rick smiled. ‘And they’re great for getting around cities, too. Choppers have a lot of advantages or a man like Blaize. He leaned forward confidentially. A guy in his position can’t afford to take hours getting where he wants to go, you know.’
‘I’m sure he can’t,’ Leila said drily. ‘Mr. Oliver has to get what he wants as Soon as possible, doesn’t he?’
' Right. There’s no problem with landing-strips, either,’
Rick said, missing her irony! ‘You can put a chopper down wherever there’s a bit of lawn or a stretch of tarmac. They’re fast, and they get you exactly where you want to go. We can even put the Gadfly down on top of the office-building, in London.’
‘It’s fabu
lous,’ Lucy sighed, passing Leila a dish of prawns. 'I love being in helicopters. When they take off it does something to your insides.’ Her eyes were bright.' I can t get enough of it, and yet I hate ordinary flying. Isn’t that funny?’
‘I imagine the children love it, too,’ Leila said conversationally.
Terry looked up quickly from his plate, his green eyes, so like his sister’s and father’s, showing a flicker of bitterness. He sneezed into his hanky:
' Oh, no,’ Lucy said, dabbing her mouth. ‘The children have never been up. Mr. Oliver wouldn't permit It.'
‘Why not?’
‘It costs a fortune to keep the helicopter up, doesn't it, Rick?’
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