by Sara Wood
Music filtered drowsily into her subconscious. Gentle zithers, a haunting refrain. She felt herself relaxing and began to surrender to desperately needed sleep.
Lexi was close, she thought dreamily. Almost in her arms. Another huge sigh of pleasure was expelled from her soft lips and, although she slept, her hands unconsciously sought refuge at her wounded left breast.
Leon shook his head to clear it. He’d be fine if he kept remembering that there was vengeance in her soul. She’d do anything to hurt him. And Lexi was the weapon she’d choose.
He knew he couldn’t keep mother and daughter apart. Eventually the court would be faced with Emma’s doting mother act and grant access. His only hope was if he could convince them she was not a reformed character.
He glanced at her then scowled at the road ahead, trying to eradicate the sight of her lush breasts swelling beneath her dress. He ached from wanting her. But that was out of the question.
He dragged his mind back to the problem. Emma would visit Lexi and one day make an abduction attempt. He thought of the vulnerable little Lexi being hauled across Europe with two strangers and his chest expanded with uncontainable rage. Sefton was a creep. He didn’t trust him an inch.
He had to keep Emma away. And to do that, he needed clear evidence that she wasn’t fit to go near his niece and that any contact would be harmful.
His pulses quickened. An idea was forming in his mind. One that would kill two birds with one stone.
He too had a weapon. Sex.
CHAPTER THREE
‘IT’S lovely,’ Emma said longingly, wandering around the villa’s elegant sitting area in awe. Quality floor tiles. Stunning traditional furniture, heavily carved, the sofas invitingly squishy and with huge cushions she could picture herself sinking into… She groaned. Heaven. ‘But I can’t possibly stay…’
‘Let me make you some tea,’ called Leon from the kitchen area beyond. ‘Then I’ll explain the set-up.’
‘Tea!’ She sighed, instantly seduced by the sound of a kettle being filled. ‘OK. Then I must call John,’ she insisted, being ruthless with herself. And very annoyed by the wistful note that had crept into her voice.
She paused, even more irritated to be disconcerted by the breadth of Leon’s tautly muscled back as he stretched up to one of the blue-painted units. It was a back. Gorgeous, granted, but nothing to quiver about.
‘I expect there’s some chocolate cake somewhere,’ he mused, bending to search in one of the lower cupboards.
In doing so he provided her with an unwanted but riveting view of his neat and muscular rear beneath the straining material of his linen trousers. She primmed her mouth in exasperation.
His body had been spectacular. Still was. She really must get out more. Appalled at her rampaging pulses, she did an about turn and concentrated on her suspicions.
‘Just where and what is this place? I doubt I can afford it,’ she remarked coolly, parking herself at the stylish marble dining table adorned with blue china pots of all shapes and sizes. She picked one up. It was Chinese. ‘Leon!’ she cried, breathless with hope and abandoning her assumed indifference. ‘Is this your house?’
He glanced amiably at her, the dazzle of his beautiful smile raising her blood pressure a few notches. She glared it back down again where it belonged.
‘It’s mine,’ he replied. ‘But not where I live.’
What did that mean? she wondered, while he put a temptingly rich dark cake and two plates on the table in front of her. He seemed very much at home, very familiar with the place.
Leon pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs opposite her and sat down on the comfortable linen cushion, his muscular arms resting on the table. Emma dragged her fascinated gaze away from their tanned strength and obliterated all thought of being held by those arms.
But her treacherous body had remembered the fluttering of her heart when he’d escorted her across the road earlier, and the almost intimate pressure of his firm hand. And so she found her voice stupidly husky when she asked what had just occurred to her.
‘I hope this isn’t a secret hideaway for your mistress?’
His eyes glowed. ‘My…mistress?’ he said slowly.
It was crazy, but she had the distinct impression that he was thinking of her in that role. Perhaps he remembered how good they’d been… Her breath rasped in, every bone and sinew in her body back in memory lane. Blue eyes locked with brown. He was remembering too, she realised in panic, shaken by his blatant hunger.
‘Leon!’ she said croakingly and furiously cleared her throat. ‘I don’t know why you’ve brought me here, but if it’s to…to…’
‘To what?’ He smiled beguilingly. ‘Why don’t you indulge?’
She blinked, eyes wide and alarmed. ‘In…what?’
‘Cake,’ he said, purring, with the charming, lopsided smile which had weakened her knees on countless occasions before. ‘What did you imagine I meant?’
She blushed. But she wasn’t mistaken. She knew desire when she saw it. Knowing Leon’s arrogant assumption that all women would come running if he snapped his fingers, knowing how little he respected her in particular, she was sure he was expecting her to say, Yes, please, and, Thank you, when he made a move on her.
He probably assumed that because she’d been deprived of male company for some time, she was up for grabs. And, she remembered grimly, he’d used her purely for sexual pleasure before.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said haughtily. He could make of that what he liked.
‘I am.’
She flashed a sharp glance at him. His teeth were biting into the chocolate cake, but his tone had been laden with throaty sexuality. That was why she was here, then. For a bit of slap and tickle.
Misery washed over her, far out of proportion to her disappointment in his motives. For a brief moment she had thought that he was being nice to her in finding somewhere for her to stay. But he did want to use her again. She felt like crying.
‘You eat away, then,’ she said. ‘While I call John. Where’s the phone?’
His hand caught her arm in a gentle but inescapable grip. ‘Hold on a moment. You can’t turn down a chance like this. You want somewhere to stay, don’t you?’
She shivered. Something hot and fierce ricocheted between them, ripping through her tense body and cutting her legs from beneath her. Incapable of staying on her feet, she collapsed into the chair again. But, as she did so, his fingers slithered up the softness of her arm.
Before she could stop herself, she let out a gasp. The sensation had been electrifying, every cell in her body responding as if they had been individually charged. Appalled, she wrenched herself free, her mouth tight with disapproval. She knew his game. And would resist.
‘Not with strings attached. I’ll take the hovel and its rats rather than your love nest and you.’
‘This has never been a love nest,’ he said, his voice soft and low. It vibrated deeply into her fractured nerves, soothing them. And alarming her even more. ‘It’s just one of four villas I’ve had built for the holiday trade. Diversification.’
She wasn’t convinced. Too much valuable china. Sensationally beautiful drapes at the windows. Kitchen equipment to die for. Terracotta busts in niches. Murano glass lampshades and hand-carved furniture. Holiday trade!
‘Luxury market, presumably?’ she scorned in disbelief.
‘Of course.’
‘So where are the occupants? The designer-label buckets and spades?’
‘It’s not quite finished and nobody’s used it yet,’ he explained, his mouth quirking up in amusement.
‘Except for whoever’s partial to tea and chocolate cake,’ she muttered.
‘My…designer used this as a base.’
‘Ah. I understand. Female, blonde and beautiful?’ she asked sourly before she could stop herself.
His eyes seemed to bore into her skull. ‘The description fits her.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Does that bother you, Emma?’
‘It ought to bother your wife,’ she pointed out, hating herself for minding. He was dangerous. A womaniser with an overactive sex drive. And, she thought indignantly, her daughter was in his care!
‘Ex-wife,’ he corrected softly.
Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘Oh. I didn’t know…’ Emma tried to interpret his expression but it was unreadable. She remembered only too vividly how her own marriage had disintegrated, leaving scars and recriminations behind. And now…yes, there was a hint of pain in his eyes. Her face softened in sympathy. ‘I am sorry, Leon. It’s—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘No. Of course not…’
Extraordinarily, Emma wanted to comfort him. He seemed…tense, perhaps caught up in his own grief.
‘Stay,’ he urged.
She didn’t dare. He was fancy-free and twice as dangerous. Loathe to drag herself out again, she raised her hands in a helpless gesture.
‘I can’t let John down. He’s gone to all that trouble—’
‘Not very much trouble, I imagine,’ Leon said cynically.
‘I said I’d phone him—’
‘But this is so much more convenient than somewhere in town, twenty minutes away,’ he argued. And temptingly he added, ‘We’re actually on my land, Emma. My house is the other side of the olive grove.’
Her eyes rounded in a wildly revived hope. What was he implying? He wouldn’t let her come this close to his house if he didn’t intend to let her see Lexi, would he? Or was this a cruel joke, to tease her with, before letting her down—the so-near-and-yet-so-far trick?
‘It sounds too perfect. Why bring me here?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Simple.’ He threw her one of his devastating smiles. ‘I thought that if you’re to be on the island then you might as well be somewhere I can keep an eye on you.’
She glared. ‘I’m to be spied on!’
He shrugged. ‘You’re not doing anything you shouldn’t, are you?’ He waited for her to comment but she just stared doggedly, refusing to be drawn. She watched him dig deep into his range of smiles and select one that was utterly persuasive and suspiciously benign. ‘It’s rent-free and near your daughter,’ he informed her. ‘Can you afford to turn my offer down?’
‘Depends who I share with,’ she said warily, very much tempted.
‘No one. Other than whoever you invite.’ He reached across the table, his fingers almost touching hers. But not quite. She looked at them, dazed, every nerve in her body tingling as she waited for his hand to inch a little closer. ‘You’d like to be close to Lexi, wouldn’t you?’ he coaxed.
Brute! She stared helplessly, her heart lurching as she imagined little tea parties with Lexi here… A walk to the nearby village—if there was one—for ice creams…
‘Yes…’ She choked. How could she trust him? ‘But—’
‘I’ll make the tea while you think about it,’ he said with warm understanding.
Too warm. He was up to something. ‘I’ve thought. I don’t want to be spied on,’ she said reluctantly, common sense overruling her yearning heart.
He brought over a blue and white teapot and pulled his chair even closer to hers, studying her with an expression of concern.
‘But, Emma, you’re tired. You don’t feel well.’ His voice did its stroking act on her, evoking a dangerous need for sympathy and a shoulder to lean on. ‘Surely,’ he murmured, ‘you don’t want to go charging across the countryside to find Sefton’s nasty little rented room?’
No. She didn’t. But she’d have to. The thought of it made her feel weak. ‘So you’re Sir Galahad now, are you?’ she muttered.
He gave a small chuckle that made him seem eminently harmless and friendly. But she knew better.
‘Hardly. But see it from my point of view. Supposing you’re taken ill in some backstreet dump in Zante town? How would that look? There’d be a scandal when it gets out what our relationship is.’
‘Oh. Your precious reputation!’ she snapped waspishly.
‘Absolutely.’ He leaned forwards earnest-faced, apparently unaware of her sarcasm. ‘It would be unforgivable if I did not offer hospitality to my late brother’s wife, whatever I think of her, whatever she has done.’
Thoughtfully she picked up a slice of cake. ‘That makes sense,’ she remarked, nibbling off the layer of chocolate icing reflectively. She saw him smiling to see her eating despite her declaration that she wasn’t hungry. And went for the kill. ‘You can’t afford to have the courts thinking you’re vindictive.’
‘Courts?’ he asked, raising his brows. His smile was pure charm as he turned her gibe back on her. ‘I hope we can come to an arrangement without their involvement.’
Her heart thudded with excitement. But she kept her head.
‘You were worried about Lexi’s welfare earlier on,’ she declared. ‘What’s changed your mind?’
He raised expressive shoulders and poured out the tea. ‘You. I did everything I could to dissuade you but obviously you’re determined to see her, come hell or high water. I can’t stop you. You are her mother. If I forbid you to see her and you put in a complaint then tongues would wag—’
‘Bad for your reputation,’ she suggested, seeing that this could work in her favour.
‘My honour would be tarnished. No one would understand that my motives were purely in Lexi’s interests. I don’t like this, Emma. But providing we go about this sensitively, I don’t see how I can decently refuse.’
Her eyes shone as his words sank into her tired brain. ‘Oh, Leon!’ she gasped, overwhelmed.
He pushed the crumbs around his plate with his forefinger. ‘Don’t imagine you’re having things all your own way. Having conceded the possibility of access, I want to hammer out the when and how and what with you—and not some lawyer.’ His voice lowered. ‘She’s too important to be stuck in the middle of an unpleasant legal tussle. And I prefer to have some say in what happens to her. So we do this on my terms. Understood?’
Emma stared. She could hardly believe that he was actually acknowledging her rights at last. And if they could do this amicably then it would save time—and thousands of pounds in fees. She would be spending time with Lexi—with Leon’s blessing—and her daughter would be back in England sooner than she’d ever imagined.
Her smile grew in magnitude till it irradiated her face. ‘Thank you,’ she said breathily. ‘I agree. I don’t want her upset either. I just want to see her, Leon.’
‘So you’ll stay here in this villa,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes! Yes!’
She was crying and laughing. He didn’t know what to do. She sat there, tears trickling down her cheeks, obviously trying to control herself. And failing. The point of her tongue slid out to capture each silvery droplet and Leon felt an extraordinary lurch of sentiment and compassion before he realised these were probably tears of exhaustion.
And that he could use this moment to his advantage.
He felt a brief sense of distaste but something else—perhaps sympathy, perhaps desire—drove him to push back his chair and bend over her.
He’d had to concede more than he’d wanted. But she was on his land, under his eyes, subject to his demands. It could have been worse. Under Sefton’s guidance, she would have gone to the courts and perhaps won unsupervised access. She might have told Lexi immediately who she was. And that wasn’t in his plan at all.
Gently he wiped her eyes, steeling himself to ignore her startled look and the appealing flutter of her wet lashes. With great care he dabbed at her face and leaned close to wipe her mouth.
It took great self-control not to kiss her. It was too soon.
‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t you drink your tea and I’ll show you around?’ he suggested, far too huskily for his liking. He mustn’t frighten her away.
‘Oh, Leon!’ she said breathily, almost ruining his plan by turning starry eyes on him. ‘I’m so glad we’re not at daggers drawn any longer!’
> He had to move away. And hide his shamed face. He hated this but he didn’t see any other way. Deception wasn’t in his nature and it went against everything he stood for. But he’d do this for Lexi. She had to be protected from Emma.
‘Come and see the view. It’s worth staying for alone,’ he said, managing to sound hearty, and he flung open the back door.
‘Oh-h-h!’
Tears forgotten, Emma jumped up, enchanted. Framed by the doorway was a sunken terrace surrounding a swimming pool, its water an invitingly clear aquamarine. Flowers tumbled in profusion from Ali Baba pots around it and already she could smell the scented breeze that ruffled the leaves of the orange and lemon trees shading one end of the terrace.
Stretching across the skyline she could see a range of green undulating hills. And from their wooded slopes, to the citrus orchard beyond the pool lay a fertile valley filled with silvery olives and vines and the tall, pencil-slim shapes of dark cypress trees. One lone and magnificent cypress had been planted strategically by the pool, and it soared like a malachite rocket into the bright blue sky.
‘You like?’ Leon enquired close by.
She’d drifted to the doorway to gape without knowing it. The view was affecting her strangely. She felt calm and at peace, almost as if she was responding emotionally to the timeless beauty of the landscape. Perhaps because she was so keyed up.
But it was stunning. She could spend hours drinking it in, smelling the scents on the warm breeze, feeling the sun on her tired body.
‘I like,’ she murmured with quiet fervour, her eyes dreamy.
‘You can swim any time, night or day. It’s quite private,’ Leon said.
She saw herself in the turquoise water, letting it ripple over her skin. Her eyes glazed, her thoughts racing. She’d buy one of those blow-up chairs for the pool. A ball. She could see herself and her daughter; laughing, splashing, cuddling…
‘Does Lexi like the water?’ she asked, suddenly horribly aware that she knew nothing about her child. Her nerves began to jangle. This wouldn’t be easy…
‘Swims like a fish. She’ll love it here,’ he assured her. ‘Better than a hovel?’
