So much for cool and aloof.
* * *
Leo closed his laptop as the pilot announced their descent into Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. The flight had been uneventful and he’d passed the time with work, sifting through emails and reports while Helena had mostly slept. Or pretended to. He wasn’t sure which. Either way, she’d avoided engaging with him, stirring only once in two hours to visit the restroom and accept refreshments.
He studied her in the seat opposite. Her eyes were closed, long lashes the same dark auburn as her hair fanned over ivory skin, and the slopes of her breasts rose and fell in time with the steady, hypnotic rhythm of her breathing. Her hair was shiny and tousled and the thick, lustrous curls he’d enjoyed twining his fingers through tumbled in soft waves to her shoulders.
His groin stirred, unbidden. She was a temptress. Beautiful as a mythical siren and twice as dangerous with those sweet, alluring lips that could test the restraint of any man with a libido and a heartbeat.
They had certainly tested his.
He let his gaze linger a few seconds longer, then dragged his focus to the window and the vast sprawl of lights in the blackness beyond.
This version of Helena was a mystery to him and he didn’t like mysteries—or secrets. He liked staying one step ahead of the game. The takeover was a done deal, but writing off his opponent would be premature. Douglas Shaw would be seeking ways to retaliate, and the man had a reputation for playing dirty. The possibility that he’d reached out to his estranged daughter, manipulated her in an effort to undermine his adversary, was one Leo couldn’t afford to ignore.
The jet’s wheels hit the Tarmac and Helena stirred. She straightened, blinked, looked out the window, then peered at her watch.
‘One hour,’ he said.
She glanced up. ‘Sorry?’
‘Turn your watch forward one hour. It’s just after ten.’
The plane taxied to a stop near a large hangar. Fifteen minutes later customs formalities had been completed and their luggage transferred to the trunk of a black Maserati convertible. He guided Helena into the front passenger seat, then slid behind the wheel, anticipating at once the dichotomous feelings of control and freedom he enjoyed whenever he took charge of the sleek, powerful machine.
‘The Eternal City,’ Helena murmured when, a short time later, he manoeuvred them into busier, more densely populated streets. She stared out her side window at the illuminated façades of elegant old buil
dings, towering columns and ancient timeworn structures.
‘You’ve never visited Rome?’
She shook her head. ‘I never got around to it.’
He glanced at her. Was that a wistful note in her voice? Seven years ago she had bubbled with excitement when he’d suggested bringing her to Rome. He didn’t know why the fact she hadn’t come with a boyfriend or lover in the years since should give him a small kick of satisfaction—but it did.
‘I’d love to explore while I’m here.’
‘You can sightsee during the days, while I’m working. I will arrange a driver and a guide.’
He sensed rather than saw her sharp look. ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘I am not suggesting you do.’
‘But you’d be happier if someone kept an eye on me, right?’ Her sigh was loud. ‘You really do have trust issues, don’t you?’
A young couple on a red scooter swerved in front of the car, forcing him to brake. ‘Meaning...?’
‘Meaning I’m not going to run off the minute your back’s turned. We made a deal and I don’t plan to renege on it. I’m here, aren’t I?’
The scooter sped off down an alley and he hit the accelerator again. ‘Rome is a vast city, Helena. An experienced guide can ensure you see the best sights. Go to the right places. There are areas I would not like to see you, or any woman unfamiliar with the city, go to alone.’
‘I can take care of myself.’
He smiled. Briefly. ‘I have no doubt. But if you wish to sightsee you will have a guide. I will not debate with you on this,’ he ended, injecting a note of finality into his voice.
Helena averted her face and he wondered if she would sulk. He didn’t recall her being the petulant type, but then neither did he remember her being so argumentative. Perversely, he liked it.
‘Are you always so over-protective?’