‘Deal,’ she said, turning onto her side to face him. ‘So, now do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?’
‘You don’t usually ask questions.’
‘No, but you don’t usually keep scowling like that either.’
Leon stared into the up-close focus of her features because the crazy thing was that he did want to tell her. Crazy because his usual instinct would be to shut the topic right down. But there was something about the way she was talking which felt more like concern than prying. He didn’t get the feeling she wanted to discover more about him because that would increase her influence over him, or because one day she might try to use it against him. He was no stranger to power games with women, but there had never been any with her. In fact, she had been the soul of discretion since their affair had begun. She’d explained that she hadn’t told anyone at work about it—‘They’d only try to talk me out of it, like my sister.’—which he had found slightly insulting. Her words had been backed up by a lack of prurient calls from diary columnists, trying to find out why he was dating someone like her.
He swallowed. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known, that was for sure. She confounded his expectations at every turn. Was that why he was tempted to confide in her? Because, on some unfamiliar level, he felt he could trust her not to take this any further?
‘My father is getting married and I have to go to the wedding.’
‘Have to?’ Her grey eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t imagine you doing anything you don’t want to, Leon.’
‘Your faith is touching.’ His voice hardened. ‘Put it this way—the publicity and conjecture surrounding a no-show would be far worse.’
She pushed a thick handful of hair away from her flushed face. ‘Let me guess. You don’t like your new stepmother?’
The suggestion was almost comic in the circumstances but Leon didn’t smile. ‘It would be difficult to attribute that particular role to a woman who, at twenty-four, is almost a decade my junior.’
‘So she’s—’
‘I think the term you might be looking for is trophy wife,’ he offered caustically. ‘And there’s no need to look so concerned, Marnie—I’m used to it. This will be my father’s fourth wedding, but the third was far worse—or rather, that particular stepmother was.’
There was a pause. Her soft lips became suddenly sombre, as if she had detected the new and bitter note which had entered his voice.
‘So was she cruel, like in all the fairy tales?’
The silence which followed was broken only by the sound of their breathing. ‘No,’ he said, at last. ‘I almost wish she had been.’ He waited for her to comment because that would have been a distraction—an intrusion—and might have halted the dark flow of his words. But when she didn’t, he found himself lost in the past. Talking as if nobody were listening. Saying things to Marnie Porter that he’d never told another soul.
CHAPTER NINE
‘MY FATHER WAS a shipbuilder,’ Leon began, pushing the sheet away from his bare torso. ‘And one of the wealthiest men in Greece.’
His words faded away and for a moment Marnie thought he’d forgotten she was there. ‘That explains how you got so rich, I guess,’ she prompted.
‘Actually, it doesn’t.’ His words became coated with acid. ‘I took nothing from him.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’ she questioned slowly. ‘For a man not to help his kids out financially?’
‘I believe so. Though he certainly didn’t have any problem showering wealth on my two older stepbrothers from his first marriage. But by the time I was a teenager, we were estranged.’
There was a space in the conversation which demanded to be filled. ‘Why was that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Most stories are.’
He was staring at her, but it was as though he were looking right through her, and suddenly Marnie found herself wishing they were making love again or that she’d let him fix her that drink after all. Something which might have distracted him long enough to change his mind about telling her this. Because wasn’t that the trouble when you found out more about someone—that you might not necessarily like what you heard? That once you had started exchanging confidences it changed the nature of a relationship and meant you might never be able to return to an earlier, easier place? Wasn’t there the fear that he might expect her to tell him stuff about herself?
And she could never risk that happening.
She swallowed down the lump in her throat, knowing it would be better to halt the conversation right now. Make an excuse to leave their sex-rumpled bed to get them a drink or something and hope that he’d forgotten about it by the time she returned.
But it was too late for any U-turn. She could feel the rough brush of his thigh against hers as he changed position on the bed and turned to face her, his handsome features hard as granite, with an expression she’d never seen there before. ‘My mother died when I was sixteen,’ he began.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, but she spoke with almost exaggerated care, because life with mothers was not her favourite topic. ‘What happened?’
‘She had cancer for a long time.’ He paused. ‘A fact made worse by the fact she didn’t tell me how bad it was. She pretended there was nothing wrong right up until the end and by the time I found out...’
She saw and heard the pain as his words faded out and wished she could take it away. ‘I think terminal illness was handled very differently when we were growing up,’ she said, with some degree of calm. ‘They tried to protect children from the truth without recognising the damage they were doing in the process. Didn’t your father say anything to you, or did he collude with her?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a case of collusion. They barely spoke. He was never around and I don’t think he particularly cared what happened to her,’ he said, and now she could hear a different kind of bitterness in his voice. ‘It was his second marriage and not a particularly happy one, but at that stage in his life I don’t think he had the appetite for another divorce. So he just carried on seeing his long-term mistress and once my mother had died, he married her.’
She took a moment to absorb this. ‘So what was that like? For you?’
He turned away from her, lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling—but not before Marnie had seen the flicker of something unbearably bleak in his eyes. It was only afterwards that she realised it was disgust.
‘It was hell,’ he said bitterly. ‘She...’
‘She what?’ she prompted softly.
‘My stepmother was a very beautiful woman and very conscious of that fact, in the way that beautiful women sometimes are,’ he said. ‘My father was in his fifties when I was born, so by the time he remarried, he was relatively old.’
‘While you were just on the brink of manhood,’ she observed. ‘I’m guessing the atmosphere in the house wasn’t great.’
‘It was toxic. There were warped undercurrents everywhere you moved and you wouldn’t need to be a genius to work out what happened.’ He turned back towards her. ‘Or rather, what my stepmother intended to happen.’
She didn’t like what she could see in his eyes now, but she could hardly deny the truth when it was staring her in the face. ‘She...’ Marnie’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. ‘She wanted you?’
He nodded. ‘Oh, she wanted me, all right. It was a silent form of seduction, conducted in total secrecy. Lingering glances which used to make my flesh crawl. She used to slide her tongue over her lips whenever she stared at me and she stared at me a lot. Nobody but me would have known it was happening, but I knew. It’s what made me despise women who use and abuse their sexuality.’ His words were tight and clipped. ‘I kept away from the house as much as I could, but soon my absences started to be noticed. My father wanted to know why I was never there.’
‘And you couldn’
t tell him, I suppose.’
‘Of course I couldn’t tell him. It would have ruined him. Smashed his pride and his ego, and no way did I hate him enough to want to do that.’ He gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘I don’t think he would have believed me anyway—for what man likes to believe he’s being cuckolded? The upshot was that I felt like a stranger in my own house. As if I were trespassing within the hallowed sanctuary of their marital home—and my father reinforced that feeling in his attitude towards me. Maybe I reminded him too much of the wife he had cheated on, or maybe on some subliminal level he did guess what my stepmother’s intentions were.’ A muscle began to work at his temple. ‘All I know is that he was totally in thrall to that woman in a way I’ve never forgotten, nor wanted to replicate.’
His words unsettled her—sent alarm bells ringing—but Marnie told herself this wasn’t about her, or her insipient fears about their relationship. ‘Don’t they call it the young lion syndrome?’ she questioned slowly. ‘Who is driven out of the pack by the older, jealous male.’
‘I guess.’
She took the opportunity to snuggle up to him. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I took the route of disenchanted sons the world over and ran away to America. To Chicago, which has a big Greek community. I found myself a job and a mentor who told me what I needed to do. And with his backing, eventually I got lucky.’
‘That sounds a very modest assessment, Leon,’ she said, drawing a circle over his belly with the tip of her finger.
‘Are you implying that I’m usually immodest?’ he mocked, shifting his weight slightly to give her better access.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it!’ Her face grew serious. ‘But now you’re reconciled with him? You must be, if you’re going to his wedding.’
He shrugged. ‘In theory—though it was never a total severing of relations, for that would have caused gossip and I had no desire to bring shame upon the family name. Whenever I visited my homeland I made sure I saw him, though I never visited the family house because I didn’t want to run into my stepmother. But there was a definite thawing when he finally divorced her on grounds of infidelity.’ He let out a frustrated sigh. ‘And then came the news that he was planning to marry a woman in her twenties. Nearly sixty years his junior this time round.’
‘And he wants you there.’
‘He wants me there.’
‘But you don’t want to go?’
His mouth twisted. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m thinking that maybe your conscience is nudging you to,’ she answered quietly. ‘Because he’s an old man and it probably means a lot to him.’
Leon tensed, aware that again she had surprised him with her perception and quiet lack of judgement. She had listened to his words but his confidences hadn’t brought forth a torrent of prurient questions. It was as though he’d dropped a stone into a pool, leaving behind no ripples. As if the things he had told her had vanished without trace.
And suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps Marnie Porter would be the ideal person to take to the wedding as his plus-one. Wouldn’t she be like a breath of fresh air in that stale and echoing mansion? Someone innocent and straightforward who wasn’t motivated by avarice, or greed. Someone honest and truthful, who could provide him with enough entertainment and satisfaction to make the whole damned occasion bearable.
He reached up to twirl a strand of pale hair around his finger and when he let it go it dangled in a perfect spiral against her heart-shaped face. ‘Want to come with me?’ he asked.
She blinked. ‘Where?’
‘To Syros, for my father’s wedding.’
‘You mean to the marriage of a child bride to a man you have a rocky relationship with? You haven’t exactly sold it to me, Leon,’ she said, but the waver in her voice betrayed a sudden sense of nervousness. ‘I’m guessing it’ll be a big, glittering affair?’
‘Not at all. My father assures me it will be very low-key. A handful of guests, that’s all.’
She still didn’t look convinced. ‘When is it?’
‘Next weekend. The wedding is on Sunday,’ he said. ‘We could fly out on Thursday and come back on Monday. Make a break of it. We don’t have to stay on Syros. I’ve recently bought a property in Thessaloniki. I think you’d like it.’
‘I’m sure I would, but I happen to be working on Saturday.’
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Most women would have walked over broken glass to get an invitation to a party at the famous Kanonidou mansion and Marnie’s reluctance was only firing his determination to have her there. Idly, he reached for her breast and began to caress the pliant flesh. ‘But surely—’
‘Surely what, Leon?’ Pushing his hand away, she sat up and glared at him. ‘You think I can just drop everything and come with you when you snap your fingers? You obviously have no idea how a hairdressing salon works! I have a client list which I’ve built up over years and which I’m not going to jeopardise for some random last-minute invitation.’
‘“Some random last-minute invitation...”’ he repeated faintly as he pulled her back down and into his arms, and this time she didn’t resist.
‘Well, how else would you describe it? You’ve hardly given me weeks to prepare, have you?’ Undoubtedly influenced by the fingers which were edging towards her inner thigh, her voice became smoky. ‘If I were to agree to come—if—it would have to be when I’ve finished work on Saturday afternoon.’
‘That won’t be a problem. We can fly out that night. You’ve never been on my plane, have you?’
‘No, I’ve never been on your plane, but I haven’t been losing any sleep over it.’
‘That’s a surprise. Most women are turned on by the size of a man’s jet,’ he said softly as he pinned his thigh over hers.
‘Oh, you’re impossible!’
‘Am I?’
‘Totally.’
He grazed his mouth over hers. ‘But you’re going to have to let me buy you some clothes for the wedding.’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘No.’
‘Yes,’ he insisted softly.
‘You know how I feel about you buying me things.’
‘I don’t think I could ever be in any doubt about that, Marnie,’ he said drily. ‘But this is different.’
‘Because I dress so terribly, you mean?’
He chose his words with care. ‘Because otherwise, I think you might feel out of place. And that would draw attention to you, which I know you don’t like.’
She went very quiet then, as if she were weighing up her options. ‘I’m not going into one of those fancy stores where the assistants look you up and down as if you’re a nasty smell,’ she said eventually.
A smile touched his lips, because this felt something close to triumph. ‘That isn’t going to happen. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Marnie.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE PILE OF glossy merchandise was piled high on the floor of Leon’s dressing room and Marnie came to a sudden halt when she saw it. Taking off her coat, she draped it over the back of a chair, conscious of his bright blue gaze boring into her. ‘What’s all this?’ she asked slowly.
‘Why don’t you take a look?’
She regarded the boxes and upmarket carrier bags as warily as if they contained a set of unexploded bombs, but really it had been a disingenuous question. She knew exactly what would be inside—outfits for her to wear to his father’s wedding, which she had grudgingly agreed to accept. She’d told herself that such a move made sense because if she turned up looking like a poor relation, wouldn’t that make her stand out even more? But now the moment had arrived, her heart was thumping and she couldn’t seem to shake off a gnawing feeling of anxiety. Was that because accepting his gifts seemed to signify a subtle shift of power between them? Or was she being delusional in denying that Leon had always possessed the powe
r in their relationship? She wasn’t sure—all she did know was that she felt as if she had crossed a line and the boundaries between them were becoming blurred.
Leon had suggested she choose the clothes herself but she had refused—citing busyness at work making it impossible for her to find the time. But the truth—which she didn’t tell him—was that she wouldn’t have known where to start looking. What if she’d broken some fundamental style rule and turned up wearing something horribly unsuitable? More than that, she couldn’t bear the thought of walking into an intimidating store brandishing a rich man’s credit card because that would have made her feel like...like a cliché.
She bit her lip.
Like a kept woman.
Perhaps if she’d been able to get hold of her sister she might have asked her to accompany her, because Pansy was super-confident, even if their taste in clothes clashed. But her twin wasn’t answering her phone and, besides, Marnie couldn’t bear to endure another lecture on Leon’s unsuitability as a lover.
The upshot was that Leon had announced he would sort it out himself—and it appeared he had done just that. Was there anything a rich man couldn’t do? she marvelled silently.
She walked across the room towards the goodies, telling herself she didn’t particularly care what he’d bought her, but that certainty was fading by the second and suddenly Marnie was back to being that little girl at Christmas time. The one who never got any decent presents, even though she’d never stopped hoping. Even when she and Pansy were being considered for adoption, the gifts they received were always second-rate. It was as if their prospective parents didn’t want to waste any money in case it didn’t work out, which, of course, it never did—which meant that her mistrust of generosity ran deep. But Leon was looking at her questioningly as she stood in front of all the designer-store bounty—and surely it would be rude not to take a peek...
Crouching down, she began to untie the silken ribbons, delving between rustling layers of tissue paper to pull out the kind of clothes she’d only ever seen her most upmarket clients wearing. Several filmy day dresses, a couple of delicate blouses and butter-soft T-shirts. Pale jeans and a beautifully-cut skirt, as well as a kaftan, sandals and swimwear—all with co-ordinating accessories. There was underwear, too. Flimsy little scraps of fine lace and satin. High-cut panties designed to flatter a woman’s legs and bras whose sole purpose, she suspected, would be to accentuate cleavage. Yet instinctively she knew that all these colours were her colours and that everything would flatter her and fit her perfectly. They were exactly the kind of clothes she might have chosen if she had lived a different life and been a different person.
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