Passion Becomes You

She saw Leon then, standing in a group of laughing people, his arm draped across the shoulders of the woman in the white dress. Red-hot humiliation swam up from the pit of her stomach to encompass her whole being. He had forgotten all about her! In among this lot she was nothing, and she felt like a nothing.

I hate him! she thought and took a deep gulp at the contents in the glass that had arrived in her hand. The cocktail almost took her head off, whatever was in it burning like fire down the back of her throat. It took all her control not to fall into a fit of choking. Beside her, Jack Bridgeman watched her lazily.

‘Whose is this party, anyway?’ she asked him when she felt able to speak.

‘Hers,’ he informed her, nodding his head towards the woman who was draped all over Leon.

‘Oh,’ said Jemma, looking down to hide the jealous look in her eyes. Why had he bothered bringing her if he preferred his hostess’s company?

‘She looks like a fluffy black kitten when in actual fact she’s a dangerous, money-eating panther,’ he added with a small smile which didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Which is why you only see her with men who stink of the stuff—like your Mr Stephanades.’

‘He is not my Mr Stephanades,’ Jemma denied, and realised bleakly that that was probably the truest thing she’d allowed herself to say about her relationship with Leon since it began.

‘Good,’ Jack Bridgeman said. ‘So let’s you and me go and dance.’

He took her arm again, but Jemma hesitated, her eyes helplessly drawn to the other side of the room where Leon still stood talking with their hostess. Should she just boldly go over there and claim his attention? The urge to do just that was burning alongside the jealousy in her blood. But, even as the idea entered her head, she watched Leon draw the woman closer and lower his dark head to drop a kiss on her upturned cheek.

She looked away, her eyes glazed over with hurt. Then, on a mammoth gathering-together of all her pride, she smiled brightly at Jack Bridgeman. ‘Dance, you said?’ She took a final gulp at her drink and put down the glass. ‘Just lead the way and I’ll follow!’

He guided her on to the tiny dance-floor. ‘Right,’ he said as he drew her into his arms. ‘Tell me about yourself, Jemma Davis!’

So she did, prattling on about anything so long as it kept her mind off Leon. By the time they had circled the room for two records, she was beginning to relax and enjoy herself, Jack’s easy manner and needle-sharp sense of humour actually managing to make her laugh.

‘Ah,’ he sighed ages later when the music went even slower and he took it as a cue to pull her closer and slide his fingers lightly along her uncovered spine. ‘You’ve no idea how much I’ve been aching to do this. You’re the first woman, Jemma Davis, whose back view has managed to turn me on even before I took a good look at the front!’

‘Charming!’ she mocked. ‘Was that supposed to be another one of your compliments?’

He grinned boyishly. ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he murmured huskily. ‘The back view is a delightful appetiser but the front is positively lethal!’

‘You aren’t so bad on the eye yourself,’ she told him, flirting deliberately. ‘Despite the sex symbol image,’ she tagged on teasingly.

‘Or because of it, maybe?’ he suggested drily.

Jemma studied his face for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No,’ she decided. ‘Sex symbols tend to strut their wares for all to see. You don’t strut, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and presume your ego is not as big as it’s reputed to be.’

‘You precocious little madam!’ he choked, not slow on picking up on her hidden meaning. ‘Give me five minutes alone with you and I may well just prove you wrong there!’

He stopped dancing, teasing her by grabbing hold of her wrist and turning towards the doorway. Still laughing, Jemma tugged against his grip—then saw Leon leaning against the open door a mere two feet away, his black eyes fixed on her, and she went still beside the other man.

‘Ah,’ said Jack, seeing the reason for her stillness. ‘Do I see a royal summons written in those frightening eyes, ma’am?’ he mocked.

‘Yes, I think you do,’ Jemma confirmed with a nervous little laugh.

Jack looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. ‘You don’t have to go with him, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘All you have to do is turn your back on him and that will be the end of that. Stephanades is not a man who likes to make scenes. He won’t come after you.’

Jemma knew that, even as she stood there, locked in silent battle with those eyes; she knew that Leon was not going to make a single move towards her. That pride-shrivelling gesture was down to her.

‘So?’ Jack prompted, bringing her eyes flickering up to meet his sardonic ones. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Goodnight, Jack,’ she said a trifle ruefully. ‘And—thanks.’

Reaching up, she kissed his lean cheek, her eyes full of a silent apology before she turned and walked slowly to Leon. ‘I’m ready to leave if you are,’ she told him stiffly.

He didn’t answer or even acknowledge her for the space of ten turbulent seconds, his gaze fixed on something beyond her shoulder—which had to be Jack, she assumed, or Leon’s eyes would not look so shiveringly steely. Then his dark lashes flickered, forming two perfect, sleepy arches over his eyes as he lowered them to her hot, defiant face.

‘More than ready, agape mou,’ he answered quietly, and to her utter confusion he smiled. Not a threatening smile nor even a deriding smile, but a warm, if slightly rueful smile, and his hand, when it reached out to curve around her waist, was surprisingly gentle. He drew her against him and kissed her softly on the lips. As he drew away again, his gaze slid over her shoulder and hardened fractionally. But when it returned to her it was warm again, revealing no hint of anger at all. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

She went willingly enough. But her confusion at his manner did not leave her, so nor did her own stiff manner. Whatever he was up to, she decided as he saw her indulgently into the car then came around to join her, she wasn’t going to let down her guard to find out. If he was trying to soften her up before jumping on her for kissing Jack Bridgeman, then he was in for a disappointment! she decided huffily as they drove away. And she answered his light conversational remarks with monosyllables, her own mood becoming blacker the lighter his become.