‘There.’ Leo deposited her gently on the squashy sofa in the sitting room and stood back, looking down at her. ‘Ordeal over.’ He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or disgruntled at her frantic efforts to bolt.
‘It wasn’t an ordeal,’ Heather told him, gathering herself into a sitting position. ‘I was—I was just concerned for you…’ Her heartbeat should have been returning to normal, but it wasn’t.
‘Concerned?’
‘I’m not the lightest person in the world.’ She spelled it out for him, willing herself to get back into sensible, protective mode.
Leo sat on the sofa and she immediately squirmed into a cross-legged position, her hands resting lightly on her knees.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You do that.’
‘What?’
‘Introduce a topic and then suddenly decide to back off before you can explain what you’re talking about.’
‘There’s nothing to explain.’ She gave a careless shrug and linked her fingers together. ‘I just think that caveman gestures like that are probably better done with someone skinnier than me. Probably with one of those women who fall over themselves to be in your company.’
Leo, well skilled in the ways of women, could recognise a fishing expedition from a mile away. She was curious about him, wanted to know more, but was reluctant to frame her questions directly. Good sign.
‘I thought women liked the caveman approach.’
‘Not when it can lead to personal injury.’
‘Who on earth ever told you that you were…?
‘Fat?’ Heather supplied for him. ‘Overweight?’ She stared at her fingers. ‘In need of losing a few pounds? No one.’
‘No one. Well, you can tell no one that he was way off-target. You are neither fat nor are you overweight. And as for all those women who fall over themselves to be in my company…’ He noticed the way she inclined her head very slightly, as if stilling to hear some distant sound. This, he thought with satisfaction, was the sound of a woman who was sexually interested in a man. ‘They do tend to be on the skinny side,’ he admitted. He relaxed back on the sofa and crossed his legs.
‘I knew it.’
‘One more of those monstrously predictable things about me?’
‘Why is it that men with lots of money are always attracted to women who look as though they would have difficulty keeping upright in a strong wind? I mean, really, is there something attractive about a human being who doesn’t eat?’
Leo laughed, and when he was finished laughing he looked at her and shook his head, as if a little dazed by the woman sitting opposite him on the sofa.
‘No, there’s absolutely nothing attractive about a woman who doesn’t eat, and I have to admit that I’ve dated a lot of those.’
‘Brainless bimbos?’ She wanted to pull information out of him, and was guiltily aware that she was being as intrusive with him as he had been with her.
‘Brainless bimbos? No, definitely not that.’
Now, that did surprise her, and Leo laughed again, amused. ‘Why would I be attracted to a brainless bimbo?’ he asked.
‘Because she looks good on your arm?’
‘And what about when there’s no one around to see her looking good on my arm? What conversation could there possibly be with a brainless bimbo?’
‘So what sort of women do you go out with?’
‘Why do you ask?’
Why, Heather thought, do I ask? This wasn’t the sort of casual, skimming-the-surface conversation which was safe and unthreatening. There was an edge to this conversation, but like someone standing on the edge of a precipice, peering down, she found that it was irresistible.
‘No reason. Just making conversation. Really, though, you should go. I’m awfully tired. There’s honestly no need for you to tidy the kitchen. I can do that later, or better still in the morning.’
Leo had no intention of leaving, but it dawned on him that Heather was not like any other woman he had known. That bristly, belligerent spark wasn’t an act to get his attention. If she told him that he should go, then she meant it, and since Leo wasn’t going anywhere—at least not yet—he stood up and shook his head in his best bedside manner, something of which he’d had precious little practice.
‘You need some coffee.’ Before she could launch into another goodbye speech, he left the room, only throwing over his shoulder that maybe she should doze for a bit. The occasional catnap could work wonders, he told her. Not that he knew, but it was all part of the bedside manner.
In truth, Leo had forgotten the art of seduction, or at least the art of persuasion.
With women, the outcome was usually apparent within a matter of minutes: conversation of the intelligent variety, a certain type of eye contact and then the unspoken assumption that they would end up as lovers.
With Heather, he realised that one false move and she would run a mile—and of course, given that he was no more than a highly competitive red-blooded male, what more of a turn on could there be than an uncertain outcome?
Not for a minute did it occur to Leo that a deliberate seduction was anything less than perfectly reasonable. He took his time in the kitchen. Dishes were washed and precariously balanced on the draining board, because drying and putting them away seemed a senseless waste of time when they would be used again at some point in the future—and she had been right with the ‘dishwasher’ accusation. There was some sort of coffee-making machine with nozzles and a vaguely threatening glass jug, which he ignored. Instead, he made them both a cup of instant coffee and was gratified to find that she wasn’t dozing, as he’d suspected she might be, when he returned to the sitting room.
‘Instant,’ he said, handing her the cup and then sitting on one of the big, comfortable chairs by the fireplace. ‘There was a machine there, but…’
‘But you didn’t have a clue how to use it?’ She cupped the mug between her hands and watched him as he sat back, relaxed, in the chair.
‘I could have figured it out in time.’ He shot her a wicked grin that made her toes curl. ‘But life’s too short to waste any of it trying to come to grips with a complicated machine that just ends up making stuff you can get out of a jar.’
‘It tastes much better than the stuff you can get out of a jar.’ After their very civilised evening, Heather knew that she should really be getting rid of him. He had made a nice gesture; she had not been churlish and thrown it back at him, and now she could close the evening on a satisfactory note. But didn’t it make her feel alive, having him here? Looking at him? It was, in equal measure, exciting and disturbing.
‘That’s open to debate.’ But he laughed again. ‘Tell me about your work. Do you work freelance, or are you commissioned to a publisher?’
Since this was nice, safe conversation, Heather felt herself relax as she began explaining to him what she did, telling him about some of the books she had illustrated, then finding that they were talking about art in general. Working freelance as she did, she had relatively little contact with members of the opposite sex, and for the past three years that had suited her. After Brian, she had retreated to lick her wounds, only meeting the occasional guy through some of the women she had befriended in the town, mums from the school where she gave art lessons to their kids once a week. She had accepted no dates, and indeed had made sure to give off all the right ‘hands off’ signals to anyone who had looked even mildly interested.
It made a change to have male company. That, she told herself, was why she was now talking to Leo. She had allowed him in to prove to herself that she was capable of rising above her past. Also, it made sense for them to be, if not friends, then at least on speaking terms, because she would bump into him now and again, and the less awkwardness between them the better.
She resolutely slammed the door on the little voice telling her that she was enjoying that weird, tingly, excited flutter inside her; that she was turned on by his charisma, mesmerised by the raw power of his sex appeal.
Heather was not in the market for being turned on or mesmerised by anyone. In due course, she would emerge from the protective walls she had built around herself and would get back into the dating scene. If she wasn’t too old by then. And, when she did, she would be very careful about the type of men she went out with. In fact, she might get them to fill out a questionnaire before the first date—nothing too complicated, just a few sheets of questions so that she could make sure that only the right kind of guy got through the net.
Since Leo was the complete opposite of the right kind of guy, she felt herself fully protected. Yes, she could appreciate all that alpha-male sex appeal; yes, she could admit that he was ferociously intelligent. But there was no way that she could ever physically be attracted to him, not when her head told her that it made no sense—and she was always careful to be guided by her head now.
So why shouldn’t she enjoy talking to someone who seemed interested in her art? In fact, she even found herself showing him some of her past illustrations, ones she had done for a trilogy about a ballerina.