shifted his bulk beside him then, reminding Leo that he was there. Leo glanced at him, that was all, and both Rasmus and the driver climbed back in the car and firmly shut the doors. Then the car moved away, leaving Leo and Natasha facing each other across its now-empty space. It was hot and it was dark but the light from the building lit up the two of them and the exotic scent of summer jasmine hung heavy in the air.
Natasha watched as Leo ran his eyes over her suit and the bag she once again clutched to her front. He didn’t even need to say what he was thinking any more, he just smiled and she knew exactly what was going through his head. He was letting her know how much he was looking forward to stripping her of everything she liked to hide behind.
And the worst part about it was that her insides feathered soft rushes of excitement across intimate muscles in expectant response.
When he held out his hand in a silent command that she go to him, Natasha found herself closing the gap between them as if pulled across it by strings.
CHAPTER FIVE
NO MAN had a right to be as overwhelmingly masculine as Leo did, Natasha thought as the feathering sensation increased as she walked. With his superior height, the undeniable power locked into his long, muscled body and that bump on his nose, which announced without apology that there was a real tough guy hiding inside his expensively sleek billionaire’s clothes.
He turned towards the house as she reached him, the outstretched hand becoming a strong, muscled arm he placed across her back, long fingers curling lightly against her ribcage just below the thrust of her breasts.
Antagonism at his confident manner began dancing through her bloodstream—fed by a fizzing sense of anticipation that held her breath tight in her lungs. Walking beside him made Natasha feel very small suddenly, fragile, so intensely aware of each curve, each small nuance of her own body that it was as close as she’d ever come to experiencing the truly erogenous side of desire.
Inside, the villa was a spectacular example of modern architecture, but Natasha didn’t see it. She was too busy absorbing the tingling sensations created by each step she took as they walked towards a waiting lift.
Once she stepped into it she would be lost and she knew it.
So that first step into the lift’s confines felt the same to her as stepping off the edge of a cliff. The doors closed behind them. She watched one of Leo’s hands reach out to touch a button that sent the lift gliding smoothly up. He still kept her close to him, and she kept her eyes carefully lowered, unwilling to let him see what was going on inside her head. The lift doors slid open giving them access into a vast reception hallway filled with soft light.
The very last thing Natasha wanted to see was another human being standing there waiting to greet them. It interfered with the vibrations passing between the two of them and brought her sinking back to a saner sense of self.
‘Kalispera, Bernice,’ Leo greeted smoothly, his hand arriving at Natasha’s elbow to steady her shocked little backwards step.
‘Good evening, kirios—thespinis,’ the stocky, dark housekeeper turned to greet Natasha in heavy, accented English. ‘You have the pleasant flight?’
‘I—yes, thank you,’ Natasha murmured politely, surprised that she seemed to be expected, then blushing when she realised just what that meant.
Bernice turned back to Leo. ‘Kiria Christakis has been ringing,’ she informed him.
‘Kiria Angelina?’ Leo questioned.
‘Okhi…’ Bernice switched languages, leaving Natasha to surmise that her ex-future mother-in-law had left a long message to relay her shock and distress, going by the urgency of Bernice’s tone.
‘My apologies, agape mou, but I need a few minutes to deal with this.’ Leo turned to Natasha. ‘Bernice will show you where you can freshen up.’
His expression was grim and impatient. And despite his apology he did not hang around long enough for Natasha to answer before he was turning to stride across the foyer, leaving her staring after him.
‘Leo…?’ Calling his name brought him to an abrupt standstill.
‘Yes?’ He did not turn around.
Natasha was tensely aware of Bernice standing beside her. ‘W-will you tell your stepmother for me, please, that I am truly sorry ab-about the way that—things have worked out?’
His silent hesitation lasted longer than Natasha’s instincts wanted to allow for. Beside her, Bernice shifted slightly and lowered her head to stare down at the floor.
‘I l-like Angelina,’ she rushed on, wondering if she’d made some terrible faux pas in Greek family custom by speaking out about personal matters in front of the paid staff. ‘None of what happened was her fault and I know she m-must be disappointed and upset.’
Still, he hesitated, and this time Natasha felt that hesitation prickle right down to her toes.
Then he gave a curt nod. ‘I will pass on your message.’ He strode on, leaving her standing there feeling…
‘This way, thespinis…’
Feeling what? she asked herself helplessly as Bernice claimed her attention, indicating that she follow her into a wide, softly lit hallway that led off the foyer.
Bernice showed her into beautiful bedroom suite with yet more soft light spilling over a huge divan bed made up with crisp white linen. Dragging her eyes away from it, Natasha stared instead at a spectacular curving wall of glass back-dropped by an endless satin dark sky.
Bernice was talking to her in her stilted English, telling her where the bathroom was and that her luggage would arrive very soon.
Luggage, Natasha thought as the housekeeper finally left her alone. Did one hastily packed canvas holdall classify as luggage?
Dear God, how did I get to be standing here in a virtual stranger’s bedroom, waiting for my luggage? she then mocked herself, and wasn’t surprised when her gaze slid back to that huge divan bed, then flicked quickly away again before her imagination could conjure up an image of what they were going to be doing there soon.
Heart thumping too heavily in her chest, Natasha sent her restless eyes on a scan of the remainder of her spacious surroundings, which bore no resemblance at all to Leo’s very traditional Victorian London home. Here, cool white dominated with bold splashes of colour in the bright modern abstracts hanging from the walls and the jewel-blue cover she’d spied draped across the end of the bed.
Needing to do something—anything—to occupy her attention if she didn’t want to suffer a mad panic attack, she walked over to the curved wall of glass with the intention of checking out the view beyond it, but the glass took her by surprise when it started to open, parting in the middle with a smooth silent glide—activated, she guessed, by her body moving in line with a hidden sensor.
Stepping out of air-controlled coolness into stifling heat caught her breath for a second, then she was dropping her purse onto the nearest surface, which happened to be one of the several white rattan tables and chairs spread around out there, and she was being drawn across the floor’s varnished wood surface towards the twinkle of lights she could see beyond the white terrace
