shook her head slowly, stopping suddenly. Yes, she did remember reading an article about someone of that name. Now what had it said?
‘Probably a bit before your time,’ remarked Gavin, flicking a switch in the entrance hall and instantly throwing the huge reception area into a radiant flood of light. Reflections of light hit different corners of the hallway from the chandelier set in the ceiling high above them and Leigh couldn’t hold back her gasp of admiration. It was like something out of the glossy magazines she occasionally flicked through looking for her dream house—deep pile carpets thick enough to sink your feet into, and all the expensive luxury she had never expected to see out of those glossy pages. She hadn’t realised Gavin came from such a rich background; he never seemed to have any more money than the rest of them and dressed just as casually.
Gavin had now thrown open the big double doors that led into a room Leigh assumed to be the lounge. The decor in here was in autumn browns and golds and even in her discomfiture she could appreciate the elegant beauty of it.
Gavin put down her small overnight case which now seemed rather incongruous in this magnificent house. Walking confidently over to the drinks cabinet, that Leigh felt sure must be a genuine antique, he poured out two glasses full of liquid and handed one out towards her.
‘No, thanks.’ Leigh put her hands effectively behind her back so that she couldn’t be made to take the glass. ‘I don’t drink,’ she said in an effort at lightness. The atmosphere between them had become too tense for comfort, besides that she had the feeling she was going to need all her wits to get out of this situation. ‘Remember?’
He still held out the glass. ‘Make this an exception,’ he said insistently.
Leigh shook her head again. ‘I don’t want it,’ she said firmly.
‘Take it!’ Gavin ordered. ‘It will help steady your nerves.’
‘They don’t happen to be unsteady!’ She glared at him with dislike. ‘And I don’t like alcohol, you know that.’ She brought one of her hands forward to brush back her dark swathe of long hair, and Gavin, thinking she had relented, pushed the glass at her in a triumphant gesture. The amber liquid upset all over her dark blue jeans and the coldness of it made her gasp.
‘Ooh!’ She brushed frantically at the fast soaking in liquid, wrinkling her nose delicately at the stickiness of her legs.
Gavin pulled out a handkerchief and began mopping up as best he could, bending down on one knee to gain better access to the largest of the wet patches on her jeans.
Leigh, seeing her chance of escape, pushed him over, and not waiting to see any more she ran blindly to the door. She found herself in an unfamiliar darkened room and realising her mistake turned to re-enter the lounge, only to be stopped in her tracks by the harsh anger of a voice she didn’t recognise.
‘Gavin! What the hell are you doing on the floor?’
Leigh resisted an impulse to chuckle at the ridiculous picture Gavin must make lying on the floor, unwilling to draw this man’s attention to herself. She wondered how Gavin was going to explain himself to this obviously angry man.
‘Dad!’ Gavin exclaimed, and Leigh shrank back against the door. Piers Sinclair! And from what his son had mentioned about him he certainly wasn’t going to help the situation in any way. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked his father lamely.
‘I happen to live here. I take it you have no objection to my staying in my own home?’ the voice asked scathingly. Leigh had to admit that she felt rather curious about the man that went with that voice, its deep tone husky and attractive.
‘Er … no … But I…’
‘Yes? God, it smells like a brewery in here! How much have you had to drink, Gavin? And where’s Lee?’
So he had told his father he was bringing her here after all! She felt some of the tension leaving her rigidly held body, or did that man assume, as Gavin had, that she intended sleeping with his son! If so, Gavin was right and the Nichols’ must have very broad minds to tolerate such behaviour from their employer. But if the money was right, who were they to complain?
‘Leigh is …’ Gavin hesitated. ‘Leigh is in your study.’
‘In my—–! What the hell is he doing in there?’
Before Leigh could move further back into the room the study door was flung open and she stood in the sudden glare of the lights staring at the silhouette of the man she only knew as a name, her violet eyes huge and terrified. The man before her took a step forward and pulled her effortlessly into the lounge.
Leigh stared up into a pair of deep blue eyes set in a ruggedly handsome face. At the moment his features were grim and forbidding, but even so Leigh found him completely devastating. It was perfectly obvious that this was Gavin’s father, the likeness between them was too great to be any other. But whereas Gavin’s face was still young and boyish, this man’s was hard and cynical, as if he had seen all life had to offer and found it wanting. He was aged between thirty-five and forty and Leigh found herself trembling at his nearness.
No man had ever affected her like this before and she found it impossible to look away from his narrowing eyes. Dark brown hair, almost black, flecked with grey at the temples, grew low on his collar and the sideburns low down his jawline. He was dressed in close-fitting black trousers and a black silk shirt unbuttoned almost to the low waistband of his trousers, and looked very lean and attractive. Over these he wore a thick sheepskin jacket, and Leigh found herself wishing he would take it off so that she could see him better. No wonder Gavin’s mother had left such a man! Any woman would have difficulty holding and keeping him by her side.
He dropped her arm, stepping back to survey her tousled dark hair and dishevelled appearance before turning his mocking eyes on his now standing son. Gavin was studiously brushing down his denims, effectively avoiding his father’s eyes. ‘Well?’ Piers Sinclair demanded, his expression deceptively lazy. To Leigh he had the look of a sleepy feline, a black panther perhaps.
‘Well what?’ Gavin asked evasively.
Gavin was playing for time and Leigh knew it, unfortunately for Gavin, so did his father. But he had told his father about her—or at least, he had told him something. Whatever the information had been she felt sure Piers Sinclair had not expected her to be here. Then why had he asked about Leigh? It was all too puzzling for her and she sighed deeply.
Piers Sinclair looked at her with cold indifference. ‘As my son doesn’t seem forthcoming perhaps you wouldn’t mind supplying a few simple answers to a few simple questions. Like, who the hell are you? What are you doing here, if that isn’t a rather too stupid question,’ he added enigmatically. ‘And why do you smell like a whisky bottle? Unless of course you’ve drunk the contents of one, which wouldn’t surprise me—your eyes look over-bright and your appearance isn’t exactly perfection.’
Leigh gasped in disbelief. Somewhere along the line she had come out of this as the person in the wrong, how she didn’t know, but she felt her temper rising at this man’s unwarranted rudeness. ‘My name, Mr Sinclair, happens to be Leigh, Leigh Stanton.’ She saw dawning realisation in his eyes and carried on, her voice stilted with disapproval at his attitude. ‘I’m here because your son chose to bring me here. And I smell of whisky because Gavin tipped a whole glassful down my jeans. And may I add that after meeting you I understand his actions much better than I did.’
‘Really,
