Secrets of a Ruthless Tycoon

He impatiently swept aside the downward spiral of introspection and surfaced to find her telling him that there were books in her study.

‘And there’s something I want to show you,’ she said hesitantly. She disappeared for a few minutes and in that time he strolled around the lounge, distractedly looking at the fire and wondering whether the log basket would have to be topped up. He wondered how much money she was losing with this enforced closure of the pub and then debated the pros and cons of asking her if he could have a look at her books.

‘Okay...’

Leo turned around and walked slowly towards her. ‘What do you have behind your back?’

Brianna took a deep breath and revealed one of the small paintings she had done a few months back, when she had managed to squeeze in some down-time during the summer. It was a painting of the lake and in the foreground an angler sat, back to the spectator, his head bent, his body leaning forward, as if listening for the sound of fish.

‘I don’t like showing my work to anyone either,’ she confided as he took the picture from her and held it at a distance in his hands. ‘So I fully understand why you don’t want to talk about your book.’

‘You painted this?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re wasted running a pub here.’ Leo was temporarily lost for words. Of course he had masterpieces in his house, as well as some very expensive investment art, but this was charming and unique enough to find a lucrative market of its own. ‘Why don’t you try selling them?’

‘Oh, I could never produce enough.’ She sighed regretfully. She moved to stand next to him so that they were both looking at the painting. When he rested it on the table, she didn’t move, and suddenly her throat constricted as their eyes tangled and, for a few seconds, she found that she was holding her breath.

Leo sifted his fingers through her hair and the door slammed shut on all his good intentions not to let his wayward libido do the thinking for him. He just knew that he wanted this woman, more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life before, and for the hell of him he had no idea why. He had stopped trying to work that one out. He was not a man who was accustomed to holding out. Desire was always accompanied by possession. In fact, as he looked down at her flushed, upturned face, he marvelled that he had managed to restrain himself for so long because hadn’t he known, almost from the very start, that she was attracted to him? Hadn’t he seen it there in those hot, stolen looks and her nervous, jumpy reactions when he got fractionally too close to her?

He perched on the edge of the table and drew her closer to him.

Brianna released her breath in a long shudder. She was burning up where he touched her. Never in a million years would she have imagined that she could do this, that she could feel this way, feel so connected to a guy that she wanted him to touch her after only a few days. Showing him that painting, had he only known it, had been a measure of how much she trusted him. She felt easy in his company. Gone were the feelings of suspicion which had been there when she had first laid eyes on him, when she had wondered what such a dramatic looking stranger was doing in their midst, standing there at the door of the pub and looking around him with guarded coolness.

She had let down her defences, had thawed. Being cooped up had blurred the lines between paying guest and a guy who was as amusing as he was intelligent; as witty and dry as he was focused and disciplined. He might have worked in a company and done boring stuff but you would never guess that by the breadth of his conversation. He knew a great deal about art, about world affairs, and he had travelled extensively. He had vaguely told her that it was all in connection with his job, and really not very exciting at all because he did nothing but work when he got to his destination, but he could still captivate her with descriptions of the places he had been and the things he had seen there.

In short, he was nothing at all like any of the men she had ever met in her entire life, and that included Danny Fluke.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked weakly.

‘I’m touching you. Do you want me to stop?’

‘This is crazy.’

‘This is taking a chance.’

‘I don’t even...know you.’

No, she certainly didn’t. And yet, strangely, she knew more about him than any other woman did. Not that there was any point in getting tied down with semantics. ‘What does that have to do with wanting someone?’ His voice was a low murmur in her ear and, as he slid his hand underneath the jumper to caress her waist, she could feel all rational thought disappearing like dew in the summer sun.