She had to tell Leo at the party tonight. The idea terrified her. What would he do when he found out she was pregnant? What would he say? Fear gripped Daisy as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
What had she done by following her heart?
* * *
Leonidas Niarxos was in a foul mood as he arrived at his skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan, the headquarters of his international luxury conglomerate, Liontari Inc.
“Good morning, Mr. Niarxos.”
“Good morning, sir.”
Various employees greeted him as he stalked through the enormous lobby. Then they took one look at his wrathful face and promptly fled. Even his longtime chauffeur, Jenkins, who’d picked him up in Brooklyn—around the corner from Daisy’s building, so she wouldn’t see the incriminating Rolls-Royce—had known better than to speak as he’d driven his boss back across the Manhattan Bridge. Leonidas was simmering, brooking for a fight. But he had only himself to blame.
He hadn’t been able to tell Daisy his real name.
She’d looked at him with her mesmerizing green eyes, her sensual body barely covered by a sheet, and she’d hinted that seeing where Leonidas lived might make a difference—might give them a future.
At least, that was what he’d wanted to hear. So he’d given in to the temptation to postpone his confession. He’d convinced himself that pleading his case in the private luxury of his mansion, later, after he’d made love to her one last time, might lead to a different outcome.
Now he was paying for that choice. Leonidas Niarxos, billionaire playboy CEO, had just been upstaged by a dog. And he would be forced to confess his true identity in the middle of a political fundraiser, surrounded by the ruthless, powerful people he called friends. Besides, did he honestly think, no matter where or when he told Daisy the truth, she’d ever forgive what he’d done?
Standing alone in his private elevator, Leonidas gritted his teeth, and pushed the button for the top floor.
Daisy was different from any woman he’d ever met. She loved everyone and hid nothing. Her emotions shone on her face, on her body. Joy and tenderness. Desire and need. Her warmth and goodness, her kindness and innocent sensuality, had made him feel alive as he’d never felt before. She’d even been a virgin when he’d first made love to h
er. How was it possible?
Leonidas never should have sought her out a month ago. But then, he’d never imagined they would fall into an affair. Especially since he’d sent her father to prison.
A year ago, Leonidas had heard a small-time Brooklyn art dealer had somehow procured Love with Birds, the Picasso he’d desperately sought for two decades. His lawyer, Edgar Ross, had arranged for Leonidas to see it in his office.
But he’d known at first sight it was fake. He’d felt heartsick at yet another wild-goose chase, trying to recover the shattered loss of his childhood. He’d told his lawyer to press charges, then used his influence with the New York prosecutor to punish the hapless art dealer to the fullest extent of the law.
He’d found out later that the Brooklyn art dealer had been selling minor forgeries for years. His mistake had been trying to move up to the big leagues with a Picasso—and trying to sell it to Leonidas Niarxos.
The old man’s trial had become a New York sensation. Leonidas never attended the trial, but everyone had known he was behind it.
It was only later that Leonidas had regrets, especially after his lawyer had told him about the man’s daughter, who’d loyally sat behind her elderly father in court, day after day, with huge eyes. He’d seen the daughter’s stricken face in a poignant drawing of the courtroom, as she’d tearfully thrown her arms around her father when the verdict had come down and he’d been sentenced to six years. She’d clearly believed in Patrick Cassidy’s innocence to the end.
A few months ago, on hearing the man had died suddenly in prison, Leonidas hadn’t been able to shake a strange, restless guilt. As angry as he’d been at the man’s deceit, even he didn’t think death was the correct punishment for the crime of art forgery.
So last month, Leonidas had gone to the Brooklyn diner where Daisy Cassidy worked as a waitress, to confirm for himself the girl was all right, and anonymously leave her a ten-thousand-dollar tip.
Instead, as the pretty young brunette had served him coffee, eggs and bacon, they got to talking about art and movies and literature, and he was amazed at how fascinating she was, how funny, warm and kind. And so damn beautiful. Leonidas had lingered, finally asking her if she wanted to meet after her shift ended.
He’d lied to her.
No. He hadn’t lied, not exactly. The name he’d given her was a nickname his nanny had given him in childhood, Leo, along with his patronymic, Gianakos.
Leo, Daisy called him, her voice so musical and light, and hearing that name on her sweet lips, he always felt like a different person. A better man.
No woman had ever affected him like this before. Why now? Why her?
He’d never intended to seduce her. But Daisy’s warmth and innocent sensuality had been like fire to someone frozen in ice. For the first time in his life, Leonidas had been powerless to resist his desire.
But after tonight, when he told her the truth at his cocktail party—hell, from the moment she saw his house, when she obviously believed he lived in some grim studio apartment—he’d have no choice but to do without her.
Just thinking about it, Leonidas barely restrained himself all afternoon from biting the heads off his vice presidents and other employees when they dared ask him a question. But there was no point in blaming anyone else. It was his own fault.