‘Make sure you aren’t here when I get back,’ Leon told her coldly.
‘I won’t be.’
He shook his head almost dazedly. ‘To think I don’t really know you at all,’ he muttered. ‘A denial of feeling for me I could probably have accepted, but to have you suggest an affair…! God, that’s beyond understanding!’
Helen bowed her head. ‘Goodbye, Leon.’
‘Goodbye, you little vixen.’ With a jerk he pulled her roughly into his arms, savagely parting her lips. He was breathing hard when at last he released her, gently touching her bruised mouth with his fingertips. ‘Maybe I’ll pay you a visit when I get back,’ he murmured. ‘Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer.’ His hands ran insolently over her slender curves, pausing to possessively cup her breasts. ‘If I’m the one that brought life back into this delectable body then perhaps I should be the one to reap the benefits.’
‘Leon!’ she gasped her dismay.
He thrust her away from him. ‘Don’t worry, Helen, I have no intention of doing that—unless I get desperate, and I mean desperate for you,’ he drawled.
‘You won’t.’
‘Don’t count on that,’ he tapped her playfully on the nose. ‘Take care of yourself, Helen. And don’t rush into something you’ll later regret.’
And then he left, probably going out of her life for ever. Helen felt numb, unable to collect her packed suitcase from the bedroom and actually leave. They could have been so happy together here. If only Leon hadn’t mentioned marriage! To think that he had wanted to marry her only two days after meeting her, had been so sure of his feelings he had been out and bought a special licence.
When the telephone began ringing she felt sure it was Leon, snatching it from
its cradle before Max had time to pick up the extension. ‘Leon! Leon, I—’
‘Sorry,’ interrupted an unfamiliar male voice. ‘But unhappily I’m not Leon Masters.’ He sounded amused. ‘Do I take it I have the honour of talking to Mrs West?’
‘Why, yes.’ Helen frowned her puzzlement. Who on earth could be telephoning her here?
’Mrs Michael West?’
Suddenly she knew exactly who this was, and she slammed down the telephone as if it had burnt her hand. That man had been a reporter, she knew it as surely as she knew her own name. And she had walked right into his trap. By slamming down the receiver she had confirmed her identity as surely as if she had verbally admitted it.
She left the flat as if she were being pursued, running back to Jenny and their small flat as if it were her only refuge.
She hesitated on the doorstep, finally deciding to knock and not to use her key. After all, this hadn’t been her home for the past few weeks.
Jenny flung open the door. ‘What on earth are you standing there for?’ she chided with a grin. ‘And why did you knock?’ She pulled her young cousin inside. ‘Have you lost your key?’
Helen blushed. ‘You could have been—entertaining.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Jenny giggled. ‘We don’t all have handsome actors longing to get us into bed,’ she teased.
‘We didn’t—’
‘I know, poppet,’ Jenny cut in gently.
Helen frowned. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because Leon told me. Now come on, take your coat off and we’ll have a cup of coffee. Then you can tell me all about it.’
‘Leon told you?’ Helen repeated. ‘But when?’
‘He called me from the airport this morning. He seemed to think you needed looking after.’
So Leon had called Jenny from the airport and yet he hadn’t taken the trouble to call her. ‘I can’t imagine why he should say something like that.’
Jenny raised her eyebrows. ‘Can’t you?’
‘No!’ It came out more sharply than she had intended it to.