“We’re expecting a cracker game tomorrow!” This from one of the great-uncles. Playing polo was a release for Boyd and they all loved watching him.
Tonya seized the moment by going up to him and laying a proprietorial hand on his arm. A petite, sharp-featured but attractive blonde, she looked like a doll beside him, even in her spike-heeled shoes.
“Cheek of her!” Geraldine muttered, herself grabbing Leona’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Doesn’t she know she drives him mad?”
“So who invited her?” Leona asked, gently easing her arm out of Geraldine’s fierce hold. She had her own suspicions.
“My brother, of course.” Geraldine had confirmed them. Geraldine, who often referred to her powerful brother as “the tyrannosaurus” humphed, “Rupert likes to throw a spanner in the works when we all know who the right gel is for Boyd.”
The right gel for Boyd?
“Chloe Compton?” Leona hazarded with a profoundly sinking heart.
“Gracious, no!” Geraldine turned on her, almost indignant. “Go fill your plate, child, then come back to me. Is that stepbrother of yours coming?”
“He was invited, Gerri. And he is on Boyd’s polo team.”
“All right, all right, so loyal. Not that I don’t admire it.” Geraldine shook her elegant silver head so that the little quiff of feathers on the hat which matched her chic suit danced in the breeze. “Matter of fact I quite like him, even if he does have the makings of a bit of a rogue. His father had charm too, but what a dreadful man, running off like that and leaving the boy. Being abandoned doesn’t make for little angels.”
Words to live by.
And then he was beside her. “How’s it going, Flower Face?”
Again the familiar contraction in her breast. The invading warmth in her blood. Even her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. For all her strategies, nothing worked. As always, his voice fell with dangerous charm on her too sensitive ears. Sometimes, not often these days, he came out with that moniker, Flower Face. Each time it made a flutter of excitement pass over her, as if he’d actually stroked her naked body with a feather. Flower Face was the pet name he had for her when she was growing up. When she was his fluffy stray duckling.
She made herself steady, astonished she could do so. She glanced up, seemingly casual, allowing herself to meet his gaze for mere seconds only. She couldn’t for the life of her manage a smile. Within her all was excitement and confusion. Her eyes, had she known it, were a pure crystalline green, set as they were against porcelain skin and the scintillating reds and golds of her long, naturally curly hair.
Deliberately she focused those eyes on his fine cotton shirt, white with a blue stripe, the long sleeves carelessly pushed to the elbow. She could see the tanned skin of his chest, the beginnings of the mat of hair, black as black. Boyd’s height and handsomeness was only the half of his extraordinary sexual radiance. She knew other handsome young men but, though they did their best to engage her interest, they were mere schoolboys beside Boyd.
“If you don’t like this shirt, I can always change it,” he said.
She wanted to slap herself alert. “Actually I was admiring it. Helmut Lang, isn’t it?”
“If you say so, Leona, that’s good enough for me. You’re the fashion expert in the family.”
“Don’t put yourself down,” she scoffed. “Didn’t Icon magazine name you one of the most stylish men in the country?”
He stared at her in mock astonishment. “You saw that, did you?”
With an effort she ignored the mockery. “Anyway, how was the trip—a big success?” She was pleased she was able to speak so collectedly.
His expression of indulgence abruptly sobered. “In many ways. Deals were done, a few swung. Blanchards has a lot of clout, but nothing is as it seems these days, Leo. It’s a dangerous world out there. And becoming increasingly so.”
“I know.” She bent her head. “Terror and suffering everywhere.” She didn’t tell him how she worried every time he flew off on one of his many overseas trips. For that matter, she suffered a degree of apprehension on her own overseas buying trips with Bea.
He nodded, looking down at her hair as it caught fire in the sunlight before focusing on the buffet table.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“The same as you,” she answered tartly, another defence mechanism. One of the things she did to put distance between them because, oddly enough, they had many things in common. They loved horses, country life. They liked the same food, music, books, films, even people. They both shared a great love for Brooklands and they both derived enormous pleasure out of being successful at what they did, finding relaxation there.
He laughed, looking much amused. “Right then. Leave it to me. I know what you like. Go back and join Gerri. Save a place for me on your other side.”
Her shimmering eyes ranged across the large room, at the groups of laughing, chattering people, then back to him. “What, with Tonya waving a hand?” Tonya was indeed waving an unrestrained hand, trying to capture Boyd’s attention. It was a wonder she wasn’t banging a spoon on the table.
“Doesn’t give up, does she?” he murmured dryly, blatantly ignoring the summons. “I love it, playing happy families. Do as I say, Leo.” He spoke with a natural authority that had nothing to do with arrogance. “I don’t get to see enough of you.”
On track again, she spoke with a spurt of challenge. “That’s an order then, is it?”
He laughed—so annoying, so devastating—before turning to glance at the lavish buffet. “You know what, Flower Face? You’ve made an art form of challenging me.”
“Maybe I’m a rebel at heart,” she suggested.
“How could you not be with that glorious red hair?” He picked up two plates. “By the way, do you want to go riding with me this afternoon?”
The offer was so unexpected that she just stood there, overtaken by excitement and shock.
“Well?” Boyd asked, his blue eyes moving lightly over her. What he saw was a lyrically beautiful young woman in an extremely pretty silk dress—pure, virginal and incredibly sexy, which he knew she was unaware of. And for once lost for words.
Silently she willed herself to answer. “I should check that Robbie is okay,” she said, not enjoying the nervousness she heard in her voice. Exactly how was Boyd looking at her? Whatever was in his mind, it was very unnerving. “He hasn’t arrived yet.”
“How old is Robbie now?” He shifted his brilliant gaze to the buffet, as though aware of her inner confusion.
“He’s still my little brother.”
“High time he stood on his own two feet,” he said crisply. “This little brother bit has gone on too long.”
“And you don’t like it?”
