Then he just turned and walked off down the hall, arrogantly taking her possessions with him.
It’s getting worse, she noted tremulously as she meekly followed. Ten minutes in his company last time and her senses had been so responsive to him that she could barely breathe or think. Another ten minutes and she was now so acutely conscious of him that she was actually afraid.
She paused on the threshold of a beautiful pale lemon and white sitting-room, seeing her coat casually discarded on the back of a chair. Leon was standing across the room, pouring a drink into a fine crystal glass, his dark business suit moulding his muscled body with little attempt at hiding the power beneath.
Her stillness had him glancing around at her. ‘Come in,’ he drawled. ‘I am in no mood to jump on you if that is what is making you hover like a frightened bird.’
She still didn’t move, her eyes too big in her face as she continued to stand there staring helplessly at him, her loose hair flowing like liquid toffee around her face and shoulders. His thick lashes lowered, half hiding his eyes while he let them travel slowly over her, lighting candles inside her wherever his gaze touched. She was still wearing the cool blue slinky stretch Lycra dress she had worn for her date with Tom. It lay off the shoulder and moulded her figure to halfway down her slender thighs. It wasn’t a cheap dress, but neither was it of the expensive designer kind he was probably used to seeing his women in. And where with Tom she had only felt pretty, with Leon’s eyes on her she felt vulnerable and self-conscious beneath his connoisseur’s gaze.
‘You dressed for him like this tonight?’
The question startled her, putting a wary light into her eyes, but it also served to remind her of why she was here at all, and Jemma lifted her chin, her mouth firming as she looked back at him.
‘Yes,’ she said, adding defiantly, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’
‘No?’ The smile on his lips held no humour, nor did the mocking tone. ‘You have a lot to learn, if you truly believe what you say.’
He turned, gathering up another glass and bringing it with him as he walked towards her. Jemma held her ground, but only on the outside. Inside she was a broiling mass of panic. If he touched her—if he so much as laid a finger on her—she had a fear she would go up in flames.
‘Here.’ He held out the glass. ‘Drink this.’
She looked down at the dark golden liquid gleaming in the glass. ‘What is it?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘The national drink of Greece,’ he replied. ‘Come—’ He gestured with the glass. ‘I drink the same, so you can be assured it is not drugged. Try it. It is called metaxa—a carefully matured brandy that is kind to the palate.’
She took the glass reluctantly, lifting it to her lips to take a wary sip. Like brandy, it heated the sensitive tissues of her mouth as it flowed across it, but, unlike brandy, it did not burn. She swallowed. ‘It’s nice,’ she allowed, sounding surprised.
He smiled, a brief smile that had gone as soon as it had arrived. Then he was staring at her again, the anger she had sensed simmering in him when he’d spoken on the phone still burning in his eyes.
‘You—care for him?’ he asked. ‘You want this man you went out with tonight?’
‘How can I say?’ she cried, objecting to his proprietorial tone. ‘It was our first date! Far too soon to make a decision like that!’
‘Yet you knew you wanted me at the first clash of our eyes,’ he pointed out.
She shrugged, unable to deny what had to be the biggest humiliation of her life. ‘Which doesn’t mean I have to jump right into bed with you,’ she snapped. ‘Wanting and having are two completely different things.’
‘I am here.’ He held out his arms, mocking her reply and inviting her at the same time. But she wasn’t fooled; the anger was still there in his eyes. ‘For the—having. Yet you decide to play this—little game with your fresh-faced young man with the winsome smile and thatch of light brown spiky hair.’
Shocked by his accurate description of Tom, she stared at him. ‘How do you know what Tom looks like?’ she gasped.
He took a sip at his drink, dark eyes thoughtful on her while he took his time swallowing. Her head began to spin, that awful track of uncontrollable attraction spiralling its way through her system. It was the eyes that did it, she acknowledged hazily, feeling her breath begin to shorten and her body begin to pulse to a rhythm that was strange to her yet unbearably exciting. Those deep, dark, beautiful eyes could hold her captive at a single look.
‘Thomas MacDonald,’ he said suddenly, bringing her sharply back into focus. ‘Aged twenty-nine. Recently employed by Driver and Lowe, architects.’ Jemma’s mouth fell open. ‘Moved into the flat below your own on Tuesday last week. Has a passion for Simply Red and never misses a concert if he can help it. His current bank account rests at one thousand and fifty-two pounds. He caught the bus to work with you on Wednesday. Borrowed teabags from your enchanting flatmate Trina Beaton on Thursday. Trina Beaton...’ He moved on while Jemma could only stand there gaping. ‘A delightfully enterprising creature with bright red hair and a—satirical disposition. You have shared a flat with her since you arrived in London four years ago. She runs an interesting little business called—Maids in Waiting.’ He actually smiled with amusement at that. ‘An idea which began during her college years in an effort to make some extra money to prop up her grant and grew into the flourishing business it is today because she had the courage and foresight to see its potential. Her accountant is also her lover—though they never use your flat for their—intimate activities—reputedly in respect of your...finer feelings. His name is Frew Landers and he’s clever and sharp. Upwardly mobile, I think is the popular term. His favourite pastime is teasing you. Jemma Davis,’ he continued levelly, never for one second taking his eyes from her stunned face. ‘Parents dead, killed in an automobile accident four years ago. Attended secretarial college for two yours and graduated with distinctions at the age of nineteen. Has worked for three companies, TDC being the last and current one. Josh Tanner employed you—not particularly for your exemplary secretarial skills, but because he wanted to take you to bed. But—and I compliment you on your good sense—you made him see the error of his—judgement. Since then you have become his right-hand man, though he does not realise it himself. And his complicated love-life has hit the doldrums—how is Cassie, by the way?’ he concluded lightly.
‘I n-need to sit d-down,’ Jemma said weakly.
‘Of course,’ he said, immediately the indulgent host and taking her arm to lead her over to one of the comfortable damask sofas set before the flower-filled grate of a beautiful mahogany fireplace.
She lowered herself carefully, aware that the slightest puff of wind was likely to toss her into a crumpled heap. He watched her sink into a corner, her face gone quite blank, then sat himself down beside her. She was still holding her glass, and he gently curled his own fingers around it and lifted it to her ice-cold lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, watching the colour take its time returning to her face. ‘But you made me very angry or I would not have said any of that.’
‘Why?’ she managed to enunciate, but only just. In truth, he had completely knocked the stuffing out of her.
‘I want you,’ he shrugged as if that explained everything. ‘By necessity I have to be a careful man. Power makes you dangerous, and your enemies do not always wear intentions on their sleeves. Danger can come in many guises—hostile take-overs, industrial espionage—’
‘And you suspect me of being some kind of Mata Hari trained to seduce you for all your powerful secrets?’ she gasped, disbelief and scorn warring in her anger-bright eyes.