Bea knew she should resist, and lifted her free hand to press against the hard wall of his chest, but for some reason her fingers spread out instead, over the soft silk of his shirt.
It was Leon who broke the kiss, murmuring against her mouth, ‘Happy birthday, darling.’ Then, lifting his head and staring down into her flushed, beautiful face, he winked...
‘The chemistry is still fizzing, Phoebe, which is more than can be said for the glass of champagne you’re clutching with such tenacity.’ And, taking the glass from her unresisting hand, he placed it on the windowsill. ‘I’ll get you another. Come on.’ Capturing her hand, he added, ‘Let’s get out of here and into the study, where we can talk.’
Bea shook her head to clear her brain. He was doing it again, exactly as he had years ago. Mesmerising her, poor fool, with a kiss, and then ordering her about. That was Leon’s modus operandi and she would do well to remember it.
‘No, thank you, I’ve had quite enough to drink.’ She snatched her hand free. ‘And as for talking we can discuss all we need to at our meeting on Monday.’ She was proud of her ability to speak firmly to Leon for once, and, bravely meeting his narrowed gaze, she added for good measure, ‘But if you would like a drink please help yourself. The bar is in the dining room. You know the way.’ Half turning, she would have walked past him, but Leon’s hand closed around her upper arm, halting her in her stride.
‘Not so fast, Phoebe.’
She fought down the tingling sensation the large hand curved around her flesh aroused, and looked up into his face. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I have guests. I must mingle.’
Black eyes raked her from head to toe in a blatant sexual appraisal, lingering for a moment on the shadowy cleavage cupped in silver Spandex before returning to her face. ‘Mingling with you was actually what I had in mind. How about it, Phoebe?’ Leon asked with deliberate provocation, his long fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. ‘Interested?’
Bea looked at the man towering over her and recognised the sensual amusement glittering in his eyes. Leon hadn’t changed in three years. He was still as devastatingly attractive as ever, and he knew it. It was there in his arrogant stance, an animal magnetism he exuded without even trying. Add wealth, power and sophistication, and he was a lethal cocktail to any member of the female species.
Tonight he was wearing a conservative business suit, dark navy, with a plain white silk shirt and a muted blue and red striped tie. His jacket was open and pleated trousers hung comfortably on his lean hips. For a second she wondered why he was dressed that way at almost midnight on a Saturday night, at a party he had not been invited to. But she refrained from asking. She simply wanted him out of her house.
‘Will I do?’ Leon asked, arching one dark eyebrow enquiringly, fully aware that she had been studying him. Bea could feel hot colour flood her cheeks, and was not sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.
‘Does your silence mean you’re considering my offer, Phoebe, darling?’ he teased huskily.
His deep voice was awfully close to her ear, and, jerking her arm free from his hold, she shot back scathingly, ‘Still the incorrigible flirt, Leon. I pity your poor wife and...family.’ For some reason she could not bring herself to say ‘child’. ‘How they tolerate your many escapades I can’t imagine,’ she added, trying for a flippant note, horrified to realise that his touch, his closeness, still had the power to make her go weak at the knees. But there was no way she was going to let him see it. Never again...
He straightened to his full height and stepped back. ‘My family, if you can call it a family, is fine. My stepmother and stepsister live in California, and I rarely see them unless they want something.’ He stared down at her with eyes as black as jet, all trace of amusement gone. ‘As for a wife, you should know the answer to that better than most,’ he opined cynically.
‘Sorry, I haven’t kept up with your private affairs,’ she said, drawling out the last word deliberately.
Bea’s blue eyes, filled with contempt, flicked up over the hard planes of his face, his smooth, tanned skin, the faint shadow of his square jaw; she saw the sheer animal strength of him, and more. He was furiously angry, but hiding it well. Deciding discretion was called for, unless she wanted a fight in a room full of people, Bea added with a calm she was far from feeling, ‘It takes me all my time to keep up to date on our business partnership. Your personal life is your own. Forget I mentioned it.’
‘Forget?’ Leon smiled, a cynical twist of his hard lips. ‘How could I forget, when the nearest I ever got to falling into the matrimonial trap was the abortive engagement you and I shared for a few idyllic months, my sweet Phoebe?’
Idyllic! My eye, she thought bitterly, and, looking anywhere but at Leon, she realised a good percentage of her guests were watching them with avid curiosity. Damn the man! ‘I don’t know what you want to discuss that can’t wait until Monday, but you were right; the study would be better.’
‘There now, Phoebe.’ A large arm fell across her shoulders and urged her through the press of bodies towards the door. ‘I knew you would see it my way in the end.’
Once in the relative peace of the elegant oak-panelled hall, Bea shrugged off Leon’s guiding arm. ‘I do know where the study is. This is my home.’ She mocked him, walking towards the large door to the rear of the sweeping staircase with Leon a step behind her.
‘True, but the bird is about to fly the nest at last.’ He sighed, with a hint of irritation in his deep voice. ‘Which is why we need to talk about your entrance into the wider world of London, and work.’
Bea glanced up at his handsome face; he looked older. A few lines crinkled at the corners of his black eyes, and more bracketed his sensuous mouth. And was that grey she spied in the thick black hair swept back behind his ear? Yet he could still have wowed the whole of the feminine population. Inexplicably she felt a sudden tenderness sweep through her for the man—after all, he had been a good friend once. Maybe they could be friends again.
Leon’s long arm reached over her head and pushed open the panelled study door. He stood aside for her to enter. Bea walked in and breathed deeply. She loved this room, and even after all this time she still imagined the spirit of her father lingered in the air. It was a library-cum-study—a room where the man of the house could relax.
‘I always loved this room,’ Leon remarked, glancing about him appreciatively, and then, closing and locking the heavy door behind him, he gestured towards the sofa. ‘Sit down.’
Bea seated herself stiffly on the edge of the sofa and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. ‘So what is it that’s so vital it can’t wait until Monday?’ she said in a rush. Suddenly being alone in a locked room with Leon seemed vaguely threatening. Bea watched as he strolled past her to lean one arm on the mantelpiece, tall, elegant and completely at ease, while her own nerves were stretched to breaking point.
‘You are extraordinarily like your mother,’ he remarked, ignoring her question, his glance flicking to fix intently upon her. His dark eyes slid over her with the sensual thoroughness of a professional womaniser. ‘You have grown into an incredibly attractive woman, but then I always knew you would.’
‘Really, Leon, if you’ve brought me in here to practise your chat-up lines, forget it... I’m immune to your brand of charm,’ she lied, with a hint of mockery in her voice. ‘Been there, done that, worn the tee-shirt.’
‘Not
