‘Who’s L?’
She hadn’t heard Josh come in the room, and jumped when she found him leaning over her, blatantly reading the card. ‘An—admirer,’ she said, and quickly shoved the card away. She didn’t want Josh to know about Leon. Things between the two men were strained enough as it was.
Cassie, it seemed, had gone into hiding. And Josh, for all he tried, could not find out where she was and was therefore blaming Leon. ‘The man’s no fool, I’ll give him that!’ Josh had grated bitterly after spending hours trying to locate Cassie. ‘If she’s with him then he’s managed to secure himself the safest lay in town!’
‘Josh!’ Jemma had gasped. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’
He’d muttered something beneath his breath, scraped an angry hand through his straight blond hair then stormed back into his own room.
When Leon picked her up on Wednesday night, her first question was, ‘Have you seen Cassie?’
His frown was genuine enough. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I? Aren’t you ready?’ he then
demanded impatiently, glancing at her white towelling robe than pointedly at his watch, poor Cassie firmly dismissed. ‘The table is booked for eight. I dislike being late.’
Reassured about Cassie, Jemma then forgot all about her when another concern leapt into her mind. The one which meant leaving him alone with Trina while she finished getting ready.
By the time she joined them, you could have cut the air with a knife. Leon was standing by the window, his elegant back in its beautifully cut dark silk suit an arrogant wall of dismissal. Trina was seated hot-faced on the sofa, glaring fiery daggers at him. Jemma took one look at them both and bit down anxiously on her bottom lip. Leon was a sophisticated man of the world, and not the kind you gave moral lectures to. She didn’t want Trina spoiling this for her.
‘I’m ready,’ she murmured nervously.
He turned, his eyes darkening as they ran over her. She was wearing black tonight, figure-hugging silk jacquard black with a halter-neck that left her shoulders bare and fastened like a dog-collar around her slender neck. It was fashionably short, revealing more than enough of her long, slender legs. And she’d put up her hair, tying it in a topknot then teasing down some wispy tendrils to soften the shape of her face.
She knew she looked good. But under his expert eye she was severely on the look-out for any hint of criticism. What she actually saw made her blush warmly as she turned away to collect her bag, only remembering what the back of the dress did when she heard his indrawn gasp.
In fact, the dress did not have a back. It hugged her breasts and skimmed down the sides of her ribcage to her waist, but other than that she was naked.
‘Want to borrow my black wrap?’ Trina offered in an odd tone of voice which had her glancing sharply at her. It was then she realised that the offer had not been made out of the goodness of her heart, but as a taunt to the man who was staring at Jemma in a way that increased her anxiety. Had she gone too far? Was the dress too revealing for his taste?
‘Do you think I need one?’ She put the question to Leon—and they all knew she was not referring to the unusually warm weather they were having for April.
‘He thinks you need bedding,’ Trina drawled. ‘But that is beside the—’
‘Shut up, you acid-tongued bitch,’ Leon cut in levelly. He didn’t even flash Trina a threatening glance when he said it, just relayed the words with a cool indifference that made Trina shrug and Jemma gasp. ‘You’ll do exactly as you are,’ he then murmured to Jemma. And the tone alone showed the perfect example of what a voice could say without using the right words.
She was still trembling with reaction to it when he opened the sitting-room door and politely saw her through it.
‘Wait a minute,’ Leon stalled her as she went to walk down the narrow hall.
She turned, lifting a self-conscious hand to her hair when she found him studying her narrowly. ‘What is it?’ she asked worriedly.
‘Come here,’ he commanded, ‘and I will show you.’ She went to stand nervously in front of him.
His hands came to her waist, almost managing to span the slender width as he drew her against him. ‘She’s right, you know,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I do want to bed you.’
His mouth was warm and seeking, hungry, without attempting to fan the fires they both knew were being carefully banked down right now. His fingers played lightly on her naked back, setting her flesh tingling as they brushed tantalisingly over her, his thumbs finding their way inside the dress to caress the satin sides of her breasts. She arched against him in seductive pleasure, and he groaned against her mouth, their lips clinging protestingly as they slowly broke apart.
‘Feel what you do to me?’ he murmured.
‘Mmm,’ she smiled, and presented her mouth for another kiss. He was just lowering his head when the rattle of the sitting-room door broke them both apart.
‘Ah,’ he mocked. ‘The wicked witch is about to appear.’
‘She’s not a witch,’ Jemma protested as she put some distance between them. ‘And she’s not wicked. She’s just concerned for me, that’s all.’
‘And I admire her for that,’ Leon surprised her by saying as he guided her towards the flat door. ‘But it does not alter the fact that she has a mind like a sewer and the tongue of an asp!’
‘Does it bother you,’ Jemma asked him anxiously as they reached the top of the stairs, ‘that she doesn’t mind saying what she thinks to your face?’