He clenched his hands into tight fists as he wrestled with his conscience. He wasn’t in a good place right now. He was acting totally out of character. It would be wrong to try it on with her. He could slake his lust the way he usually did—with someone who knew the game and was happy with his rules. He didn’t do long term. The longest he did was a month or two—any longer than that and women got ideas of bended knees, rings and promises he couldn’t deliver on.
It wasn’t that he was against marriage. He believed in it as an institution and admired people who made it work. He even believed it could work. He believed it was a good framework in which to bring up children and travel through the cycles and seasons of life with someone who had the same vision and values. He was quietly envious of Julius’s relationship with Holly Perez. But he didn’t allow himself to think too long about how it would be to have a life partner to build a future with—to have someone to hope and dream with.
He was used to living on his own.
He preferred it. He didn’t have to make idle conversation. He didn’t have to meet someone else’s emotional needs. He could get on with his work any hour of the day—particularly when he couldn’t sleep—and no one would question him.
Leandro heard a soft footfall at the top of the stairs and looked up to see Miranda gliding down like a graceful swan. She was wearing a knee-length milky-coffee-coloured dress with a cashmere pashmina around her slim shoulders. It would have been a nondescript colour on someone else but with her porcelain skin and auburn hair it was perfect. She had scooped her hair up into a makeshift but stylish knot at the back of her head, which highlighted the elegant length of her slim neck. She was wearing a string of pearls and pearl studs in her earlobes that showcased the creamy, smooth perfection of her skin and, as she got closer, he could pick up the fresh, flowery scent of her perfume. Her brown eyes were made up with subtle shades of eye shadow and her fan-like lashes had been lengthened and thickened with mascara.
Her mouth—dear God in heaven, why couldn’t he stop looking at her mouth?—was shiny with a strawberry-coloured lip gloss.
A light blush rode along her cheekbones as she came to stand before him. ‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting...’
Leandro felt her perfume ambush his senses; the freesia notes were fresh and light but there was a hint of something a little more complex under the surface. It teased his nostrils, toyed with his imagination, tormented him with its veiled sensual promise. He glanced at her shoes. ‘Can you walk in those?’
‘Yes.’
‘The restaurant is only a few blocks from here,’ he said. ‘But I can drive if you’d prefer.’
‘No, a walk would be lovely,’ she said.
* * *
They walked to a French restaurant Leandro informed Miranda he had found the day before. Every step of the walk, she was aware of the distance between them. It never varied. It was as if he had calculated what would be appropriate and rigorously stuck to it. He walked on the road side of the footpath just like the well-bred gentleman she knew him to be. He took care at the intersections they came to making sure it was safe to cross against the traffic and other pedestrians.
Miranda was aware of him there beside her. Even though he didn’t touch her, not even accidently to brush against her, she could feel his male presence. It made her skin lift, tighten and tingle. It made her body feel strangely excited, as if something caged inside her belly was holding its breath, eagerly anticipating the brush of his flesh against hers.
Miranda realised then she had never been on a proper dinner date with an adult man. When she and Mark went out they had done teenage things—walks and café chats, trips to the cinema and fast-food outlets and the occasional friend’s party. But then he had been diagnosed and their dates had been in the hospital or, on rare occasions when he’d been feeling well enough, in the hospital cafeteria. They had never gone out to dinner in a proper restaurant. They had never gone clubbing. They had never even gone out for a drink as they had been under age.
How weird to be doing it first with Leandro, she thought. It made her feel as if something had shifted in their relationship. A subtle change that put them on a different platform. He was no longer her brothers’ close friend but her first proper adult dinner-date. But of course they weren’t actually dating, no matter what Jaz thought about the way he looked at her. Jaz was probably imagining it. Why would Leandro be interested in her? She was too shy. Too ordinary. Too beige.
The small intimate restaurant was tucked in one of the cobbled side streets and it had both inside and outside dining. When Leandro asked her for her preference, Miranda chose to sit outside, as the October evening was beautifully mild, but also because after the dusty, brooding, shadowy interior of his father’s villa she thought it would be nice to have some fresh air. For Leandro, as well as her.