face impassive now. ‘I’ll order you a taxi.’
Leonie went ahead of him back into the room, steeling herself to stay in control as she watched him pick up the telephone.
‘It will be waiting for you,’ he said, replacing the receiver. ‘Charged to my account.’
No doubt an arrangement of long standing, she thought. ‘I can pay for my own transport,’ she declared stiffly.
He inclined his head. ‘You must naturally do as you see fit.’
He came over to pick up the jacket she’d tossed over a chair-back before dinner, holding it out for her to slide her arms into. She did so as smoothly and swiftly as possible, vitally aware of his closeness, and of her hammering pulses. If she’d carried on the act a little longer they would have been in bed by now, with the question of right or wrong purely academic. It took everything she had to restrain the urge to throw caution aside.
Vidal saw her to the suite’s outer door. It was still impossible to read anything in the dark eyes as she met them for the final time.
‘It was an enjoyable day,’ he said.
‘But a disappointing night,’ she responded, determined not to give way to any last-minute wavering.
The smile was unexpected. ‘No matter. Sleep well, namorado.’
What the last meant, Leonie had no idea. Nor did she care to ask. She heard the door close as she made for the lifts.
Crossing the hotel lobby was an ordeal in itself. She was certain that the receptionists on duty were watching her every step. The taxi was waiting, as promised. She gave the address and slid inside, grateful for the closed glass partition precluding any conversation. It was going to be a costly ride all the way out to Northwood, but she had no intention of crying off from paying—even if it did probably mean that the driver would gain double fare.
It was close on midnight when she reached home. As anticipated, her offer of the metered charge wasn’t rejected. Her father came out from the study as she let herself in, his expression only too easy to read.
‘You didn’t go back to your office this afternoon,’ he said.
Leonie donned a smile, a light tone. ‘No. Vidal fancied a trip on the river. We had dinner together too.’
‘Just dinner?’
‘Just dinner,’ she assured him, smothering any resentment at the catechism. ‘He’s been the perfect gentleman.’
Stuart looked relieved. ‘Good. It isn’t that I don’t trust you to keep a steady head,’ he hastened to add. ‘I was just a little concerned that he might attempt to take advantage, that’s all.’
‘Well, he didn’t.’ She could say that with truth, considering the way he’d accepted the rejection. A first for him too, she didn’t doubt. ‘I’m going straight up,’ she declared, stifling a spurious yawn.
‘I’ll be up myself in a few minutes,’ Stuart returned.
Leonie kissed his cheek in passing, mounting the stairs feeling anything but happy. She’d probably turned down the experience of her life tonight, and for what? Hanging fire for Mr Right was all very well in theory, but what if he never turned up?
She spent a restless night, rising to a day that held little sparkle. The more she thought about the previous night, the more gauche she felt. She’d acted like some naïve teenager rather than a grown woman. Vidal must consider her totally immature.
Was it too late, she wondered, to contact him and apologise for giving the wrong impression? She had no idea what his itinerary was, but he’d still be in his suite at this hour. She wanted desperately to see him again. He was like no other man she had ever met. So what if he did have a reputation? At thirty-three, and single, he was hardly going to live like a monk. They’d been so well attuned until she’d come over all moral. Given the opportunity, the relationship might even have developed into something worthwhile.
She was still grappling with the temptation when she went down to breakfast. Her father was reading the morning newspaper.
‘I think you should see this,’ he said, handing a sheet over as she took her seat at the table. ‘Just in case there’s any doubt remaining.’
The photograph leapt out at her: Vidal, resplendent in evening dress, alongside a young and beautiful woman who looked vaguely familiar. According to the accompanying write-up Vidal had refused to accept responsibility for the child she’d recently given birth to, leaving her with a ruined modelling career, and destitute. She didn’t believe in abortion, she claimed plaintively. All she’d ever asked from him was support.
Leonie swallowed thickly on the lump in her throat. Knowing him for a philanderer was one thing; this was something else. What kind of man turned his back on his own child?
‘I wasn’t planning on seeing him again,’ she said.
‘Good.’ Stuart sounded relieved. ‘He’ll be gone in a couple of days, anyway. He never spends long in any place.’
His name wasn’t mentioned again.
Leonie did her best to cast him from her mind altogether—failing because her body refused to play ball. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin; still smell the emotive masculine scent of him. She despised herself for the weakness.
The day went by slowly. Emerging from the office at five-thirty to see Vidal leaning against the bonnet of a silver Mercedes was a shock that left her momentarily speechless. She could only gaze at him, aware of the interest aroused in those around her as he straightened.
‘I remembered you mentioning your company name,’ he said. ‘I need to speak with you.’
‘About what?’ she asked, recovering enough of her poise to achieve a reasonable control of her voice.
He had to be conscious of the spectators, but his attention never wavered from her face, an amber spark deep down in his eyes. ‘Not here.’
Not anywhere with you! she thought, but the words failed to materialise. ‘I really don’t see the point,’ she heard herself saying instead.
‘Indulge me,’ he said.
Leonie hesitated, reluctant to cause further speculation among the onlookers by walking away as her every instinct advised. They would all know who he was, of course. His face had been splashed across too many papers and screens for them not to know. She was going to be faced with a barrage of questions tomorrow, regardless, but it would call for less explanation if she simply went with him now.
He took the hesitation itself as agreement, turning back to open the front passenger door. Leonie slid into the leather seat, reaching automatically for the belt as Vidal moved round the front of the car to gain the driving seat.
‘You’re parked on double yellow lines,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he answered. ‘There are times when the law has to be broken.’
He forced a passage out into the traffic stream, ignoring the furious hooting. Leonie stole a glance
