Sarkany was probably just the sort of rich creep who undressed every woman. Her foolish infatuation with him was unlikely to be reciprocated. What the bastard wanted was her efficiency and computer skills. Well, he could have those for a whack of cash.
She would go to the Caribbean, to wherever that island was— and hope she had time to enjoy the sun and sand, and come home with more than enough money to settle her debts and set her up for life. But she would almost certainly return a virgin, unless Sarkany introduced her to his gardener or something.
Leah might have been the world's most reluctant virgin, but she wasn't likely to fall for the practiced lines of some lecher. No woman who had been raised by Marine Sergeant Bill St. George would fall for the glib lures of any Casanova. She knew exactly what she wanted in a lover.
She wanted a man with her Poppy's sense of honor and rectitude. An upright man with a sense of humor and deep wells of kindness. The kind of man who opened doors for his wife after forty years of marriage. The kind who treated all women with respect. A family man. Which did not sound even the tiniest bit like Mr. Fast and Loose. She was safe enough, sadly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hugo hadn't thought forthright, unflappable Leah St. George would be afraid of flying. But his ladylike PA was clutching her armrests and trying not to look desperately terrified. There was still another four hours to go, and she looked as if she might shatter.
He felt a brief flicker of guilt. He was so unused to the sensation that he suppressed it instantly. He assessed Leah dispassionately. If she arrived on Isle Balaur exhausted and stiff with tension, she wasn't going to be much good to him. He sniffed the air. She smelled frightened and the aroma of her fear was deeply unsettling. He ignored that feeling too.
“Have you always been afraid of flying?” he asked her casually.
“This is my first time,” Leah admitted stiffly, her plump mouth unnaturally hard.
“You've never been in a plane?” Hugo asked in astonishment.
“Never.”
“Never left the U.S. of A?” he asked.
“Never.” Leah swallowed and put a hand up to her mouth to hold back the wave of nausea.
Hugo's eyes widened. His companion was about to succumb to motion sickness unless he was very much mistaken. Not in his presence she wasn't. He buzzed the steward.
Holden appeared immediately. “Yes, sir,” he said. Holden was in his thirties, stocky, muscular and fit. He was wearing a black suit and looked like the bodyguard he was. He stood erect and impassive like the butler he was pretending to be, and waited for instructions.
“Miss St. George isn't well,” Hugo said.
Holden inclined his head and went into action. Within minutes Leah was ensconced in the stateroom on four hundred thread count sheets embroidered with Hugo's initials. She didn't notice the quality of the bedding, she was too busy contemplating the stainless steel bowl Holden had handed her.
“You'll feel better afterward, miss,” Holden told her.
She peered up at him. He had placed a carafe and a glass on the table behind him and was standing looking stalwart and capable. Leah smiled half-heartedly. Her stomach lurched. Holden held the bowl with one hand and braced her body with the other. Somehow he kept her hair from falling into the bowl.
Afterwards he handed her a glass of water and a little pink pill. “Gravol,” he said. “It'll make you sleepy but it will take away the nausea.”
Leah gulped it down gratefully. She was even more grateful when he handed her a warm, damp washcloth to wipe her face.
“Try to sleep, miss,” he told her.
“My name is Leah,” she said. “I'm just an employee like you, you don't have to 'miss' me!”
Holden returned her smile. “I'm Steve to my friends.”
“Thanks for your help, Steve.”
* * *
It was intolerable. If he had thought about it, he would have recalled that Holden had a first name. But he had had no occasion to think about it. Until now, when Leah was 'Steve this' and 'Steve that.'
Leah had awakened from her nap looking delightfully tousled. But she had ignored him to focus her charms on Holden. She had headed for the galley as soon as she left the stateroom. He could hear every word of her low voiced conversation with Holden. Dragon hearing could be a curse.
“A Green Beret!” she said, admiration in her sultry drawl. “My Poppy was a Marine.”
“Retired I hope,” Holden answered in his own deep drawl, his clipped, neutral vowels gone.
“He had a few good years after he retired. But he passed away when I was sixteen.”
“You must miss him,” Holden said sympathetically.
“Every day,” Leah answered. “Every day.” She paused. Hugo could feel her sadness and the effort she made to suppress it. “How did a Green Beret wind up as fancy butler on a private jet?” Hugo heard her quick intake of breath that told him she had instantly realized how foolish her question was.
“Of course,” she said. “You're really a bodyguard.”
“Afraid so. But I'm also the steward. Or anything else Mr. Sarkany requires,” Holden said.
“Am I in danger, Steve?” Leah asked in her direct way.
Holden chuckled softly. “Not on the island. No way on or off except by plane. No planes allowed except for Sarkany aircraft.”
“Oh! Wow! It really is a private island. Are there beaches?”
“Yeah. The reef prevents boats approaching but they also create lots of sheltered bays that are good for swimming. When the boss is otherwise occupied he doesn't mind if the help gets wet. Do you swim, Leah?”
“You bet. I can't wait. I've never been to the Caribbean before, Steve. This is an adventure for me.”
“Hope you brought sunblock. The sun reflects off the water and the sand, and you can burn even in the shade, Leah. Be a shame to scorch that complexion of yours.” Holden's voice deepened.
“Just like Florida.”
“Just like.” Holden's voice got even lower and more intimate.
Hugo pushed his buzzer and ended this intolerable flirting. Leah followed Steve back out to the passenger seating, her dimples showing. Hugo was reclining in one of the big, grey, leather armchairs. His face was stonier than usual and his gold eyes blazed. Leah supposed he did have the right to be upset.
Probably he had expected her to work during the trip. Four hours wasted. But she had been surprised by getting motion sickness. She had been on boats all her life, and had never had a moment's queasiness. She just hoped it wasn't a bug.
“We can get to work as soon as we land,” she said placatingly. “Make up for lost time.” She resumed her seat and buckled her seat belt carefully.
“Would you care for something to drink, Miss?” asked Holden as formally as if he hadn't been flirting with Hugo's woman.
“Hot tea,” she said. “If you would be so kind.”
“Very good. And for you, sir?”
“Water,” said Hugo holding on to his temper by a hair.
Leah was staring out of her window entranced. Her lips were parted in an amazed smile. And her usual delightful smell had returned. Only Hugo was no longer certain that her arousal had been induced by his presence. Maybe all this humming was for Holden. He scowled into his crystal tumbler of sparkling water.
“Your tea, miss,” said Holden arranging Leah's table efficiently.
“Thank you,” she said. “This should restore me.” She smiled shyly, recalling the ignominious episode in the stateroom.
Holden bowed. “Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked Hugo.
* * *
Leah had never seen anything like the beach house on Isle Balaur. For a start the extensive beach home was the biggest house she had ever seen. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous eat your heart out. She seemed to have a suite of rooms to herself that was three or four times as big as her entire apartment. Heck, it was bigger than Poppy and Grammy's whole house.
The enormous bedroom su
ite opened onto a private palm leaf roofed patio. Beyond that the sea shimmered and sparkled and crashed against rocks. Trees provided shade on the winding path down to the shore. The deep overhang of the roof kept the glare from penetrating the glass doors and windows. Her room was a cool oasis with a view of tropical paradise.
The room was ready for its photo shoot in some glossy magazine. The furniture was that sort of simple, elegant design that only came with a high price tag. The king sized bed was low and a multitude of coordinating cushions dominated its cream and aqua coverlet. The chaise and chairs in the seating area were upholstered to match.
The maid who had shown her into her room had opened the California shutters to expose the fabulous view. Eulalie had insisted on unpacking her suitcase and putting her clothes away in one of the row of closets. Thank goodness she had used her generous clothing allowance to replace all her shabby underthings—she would have been cringing otherwise as Eulalie refolded her lingerie.
The bathroom's pale aqua and cream glass tile continued the decorating theme. Fluffy towels were piled on an open stand and layered on gleaming racks. The tub looked out into a garden paradise where geckos frolicked and birds darted amongst the bright flowers. The glass shower had room for her entire roller derby team.
She wouldn't have been surprised by a gold commode, but it was plain ivory porcelain. Although it had a spray to wash you and hot air driers too. The rich really did live differently from just folks. But a girl could get used to this.
Leah decided she had earned a shower after the terrors and illness she had faced to get to Isle Balaur. Besides she had never been in a shower room before. The spray hit her from all sides and it took her a lot of tries to get it adjusted. Her hair got soaked in the process, so she washed it. It would dry easily enough in the heat.
When Leah came outside in a crisp navy and white sundress and white espadrilles Hugo was surprised. He was used to seeing his PA in stuffy, badly cut suits. But this dress seemed to have been made to showcase her curves. Not that it was skimpy. It had little cap sleeves and the hem came down even lower than her suit skirts. But it also nipped in at her waist and showed off her magnificent figure. She was even better endowed than he had thought.
She had left her hair damp and loose and it was already starting to riot. He had thought her gentle, blonde waves were perfectly natural, but it appeared her hair was quite curly. Bedroom hair he thought approvingly. Her delicious aroma had returned, untainted by fear or nausea.
Leah waved her tablet at Sarkany and said briskly, “Did you want to get started, sir?”
“Tomorrow will do fine,” Hugo assured her. “Sit down and tell me how you like your accommodations.”
“My room is lovely,” Leah said politely. “Very comfortable.” She leaned back in her cushioned armchair. It was exactly the right firmness to support her and it adjusted automatically to her posture. She was going to be so spoiled by the time she got back home.
“Do you have everything you need?” Hugo continued.
“Certainly, sir.”
“If you find you've forgotten anything, ask the housekeeper. She keeps all sorts of things on hand.” Hugo's gold eyes were assessing her breasts.
Talk about inappropriate. Pity she couldn't quite get one of her minimizing work bras under this frock. She had had to make do with a lacy one that didn't compress her girls at all.
The sun was setting out over the water. Dazzling light danced on the waves. The sky was shot through with every shade of gold and crimson fading into cream and peach. Just like that, in a green flash, the sun vanished and the world went dark without a glimmer of twilight. The stars shone down where moments ago the sky had been blue.
Leah gasped in astonished delight.
“It's fantastic every time,” Hugo assured her. “We'll go inside to eat. Otherwise we'll be dive bombed by moths and eaten alive by mosquitoes.”
Who knew the rich had to worry about pests?
“Am I to eat with you?” she asked surprised.
Hugo inclined his head. “How very Victorian you are, Leah,” he chided her.
Leah called up her best corporate smile. He was doing it to her. Putting her ever so slightly in the wrong. She had seen him work this tactic before. He was up to something. But what? She was his employee. If he said jump, she jumped. And she was pretty much Jane Eyre in this situation. An employee, not a guest.
CHAPTER SIX
Hugo was immensely satisfied. His campaign was proceeding exactly as he had planned. Leah St. George was on his island, sitting across from him at his table eating under the stars. The fact that the stars were visible only through the glass roof of his dining room was irrelevant. She was plainly impressed by the night sky. In fact she seemed awestruck by his island.
She had tucked her riotous curls behind her ears and he was pleased to see she was wearing her pearl earrings. They were huge fresh water pearls with a delicate pink sheen that rivaled the opalescent beauty of her own glowing skin. The posts were old twenty-two karat gold, held on by equally ancient butterfly-clips. He knew this because his dragon's sense for jewelry was infallible.
In fact, his affinity for all things valuable was part and parcel of his dragon heritage, as instinctive as breathing fire. Those pearls of Leah's had piqued his interest from the start. They were a big as his thumbnail—matching pearls of fabulous price and she wore those and no other jewelry except a cheap watch. An anomaly in a woman who worked a poorly paid job.
But he had chosen his own gift for her with those iridescent pearls in mind, even though he had originally planned on sapphires to match her lovely eyes. Women liked jewels that matched their eyes. But when the jeweler had shown him a tray of necklaces, they had seemed all wrong for Leah's magnolia tinted skin.
He had asked to see pearls and had selected a long strand of matched freshwater pearls each slightly smaller than her earrings, but with that same pink shimmer. She would love them he thought smugly, better than her other lover's gift.
Across from him Leah was eating her dinner with a good appetite although she had only taken one polite sip of her Chablis.
“Is the wine not to your taste?” he asked her courteously.
Leah smiled becomingly. “It's perfect,” she said automatically, but her hand reached for her water glass not her wine glass.
“If you don't care for it, I can send for something more to your taste,” he offered.
“No thank you, sir,” she said cheerfully. “I'm not much of a drinker. Except for sweet tea.”
“Ah, purest flower of fair Southern womanhood,” he mocked.
Affront flashed across her pretty features before they smoothed out into a glittering smile that did not reach her eyes. “How do you keep this room cool when the roof is made of glass?” she asked, ignoring his comment. Why was the louse goading her to drink?
He tapped the table and a rank of buttons popped out of the gleaming wood. He pressed one and an off-white, coffered ceiling glided out of the wall two feet below the glass. When it reached the far wall it locked into place. The ceiling now appeared to be ordinary wallboard framed by painted wooden beams. Overhead, there was a low burr as fans switched on.
Leah cocked her head at this new noise.
“The ventilation system is initiated by covering the glass,” Hugo explained.
“Cool,” said Leah admiringly. “So the hot air exhausts and doesn't build up to be released when you uncover the sky lights?”
“Correct.”
“It's a wonderful piece of engineering,” she said. “I've never heard of anything like this before.”
“My own design,” he told her and pressed the button to retract the ceiling again. The night sky returned. “It is a complex mechanism. And this room is at the limit of the span that can be covered.” He launched into a long description of the difficulties he had experienced in getting it set up.
Leah looked at him with wide-open, innocent eyes. She made interested murmurs and asked intelli
gent questions. Hugo had finished his meal and had his glass refilled before he realized her very real curiosity masked a minor sense of triumph. The minx was managing him. He had pushed her about the wine, and she had deflected him with a well-chosen change of topic.
His houseman Martin came back in to clear the table. Leah had a perfectly natural smile for him. “Thank you,” she said softly as he took her plate.
The bottle was empty and her glass was still full. She had had exactly two sips of wine. Unfortunately, with his dragon shifter metabolism, it would take more than a bottle of wine to get him drunk. Well, no matter, there was always Plan B.
She ate exactly two bites of her liqueur laced chocolate parfait before she put her spoon down.
“Is there something wrong with your dessert?” he asked.
Her eyes opened wide again. She smiled another cold beam. “It's truly delicious. And so rich. Your cook is a treasure.” She paused fractionally. “This island seems to have only this house and a few small cottages. Where does your staff come from?”
“Antigua,” he replied. “It's the closest inhabited island. Everyone goes home by helicopter after dinner. The chopper brings them back at dawn.”
“Hmm. A very long day,” she said blandly.
“There are two shifts of workers,” he informed her.
This time the smile lit her eyes. “Wow!” she murmured. She paused delicately. “Does Steve Holden leave at night too?” she asked.
Hugo shook his head and suppressed his fury. How dare she ask him about Holden? “He has one of the cottages,” he said curtly.
He forbore to tell her that he came to Isle Balaur in order to be able to fly at night without frightening anyone. In this age of radar and electric lights, it was difficult to find a dark spot in which to spread his wings and exercise his dragon.
Not even at the rural Schloss Sarkany in Switzerland, were he and his brother free to fly at a whim. But here if he stayed in sight of his speck of coral and sand, he could fly every night. He was looking forward to it—after the servants had departed and he had put Leah to sleep. Of course Holden knew he was a dragon. He had hired the ex-soldier primarily because he was himself a shifter.
Dragon's Treasure (BBW/Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 1) Page 4
