AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Evidently,’ she clipped out.
Leon studied her expression. She hadn’t liked the imputation, but then, he mused, perhaps few men had actually put it to her that living off her indulgent father’s wealth at her age was not something that could be admired. A thought flickered across his mind. If Flavia Lassiter was indeed entirely reliant on her father’s wealth for her comfortable lifestyle—her gown, however lacking in ‘bling’, was clearly a designer number, for instance, and those were definitely high-carat diamonds in her earlobes and in the slender bracelet snaking around her wrist—how would she cope if that wealth were to evaporate? He knew all too well that if he—or another turnaround expert—did not rescue her father it was the very likely outcome of Lassiter’s disastrously fragile financial situation.
Does she know how close to the wind her father is? he speculated. If she truly were a pampered princess then it was unlikely she did. Females like that did not trouble themselves over the source of their funding. They took it for granted that the largesse would not stop. Besides … His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Unlike Lassiter’s mistress, she had made no effort to fawn on him. Just the reverse! Had she any realisation of just how essential he was to her father’s continued affluence—and therefore her own—she would surely not be so chilly and rejecting of him!
But her frigid demeanour was because she was trying to deny the effect he was having on her, he reminded himself. She was trying to resist him. That was why she was so determined to give him the cold shoulder. His dark eyes glinted briefly. Did she really not realise that her attitude would merely spur him on?
Her tension now was visible in the stiffness of her spine. Clearly she was wishing him to perdition—but in that he was not going to oblige her. He took a contemplative mouthful of his drink, enjoying the fine bouquet and fiery resonance of the vintage cognac.
‘Perhaps you occupy yourself in charity work?’ He trailed the suggestion in front of her.
His reward was a daggered glance. ‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘Attending essential functions like this one. Which as you can see—’ her voice was viciously sweet ‘—I am so enjoyi
ng.’
Even as she spoke she knew she’d been unacceptably rude. But it was too late to take her unpleasantly sarcastic riposte back now. Too late, she thought with a hollow grip inside her, to do anything at all about Leon Maranz’s disastrous, unwanted impact on her except hold him as far at bay as she possibly could! Even if that meant crossing every boundary of social courtesy.
A desperate thought crossed her haunted mind. Perhaps if she were sufficiently rude to him he’d at least back off and leave her alone. Go off and seek a more willing, complaisant woman—goodness knew there were enough of them here tonight! He could have his pick if he wanted. So why, why did he have to focus on her, for heaven’s sake!
I can’t cope with this! I can’t cope with having this happening to me here, and now. He’s part of my father’s world, and I have every reason to reject that world—reject anything to do with it! I’ve got responsibilities and duties that are two hundred miles away which I cannot abandon even if I were to want to—which I don’t. So I just don’t want this—I don’t want this man paying me attention, trying to pull me, trying to get me into bed. Because that, obviously, is what he wants …
Like a guillotine slicing down, she cut off her train of thought. It was far too dangerous. Emotion writhed in her. All she wanted to do was get to her feet and bolt—just get away from the man invading her presence, disquieting and disturbing her, making his impact felt so powerfully and overwhelmingly.
The sudden tightening of his expression showed her that he had not appreciated her sarcasm, and for a moment she felt an impulse to apologise to him. Then she hardened. Making him dislike her was as good a way as any to keep him at a distance. Besides, a resentful voice said in her head, she didn’t want to be so affected by him. She didn’t want to have this fluttery quickening of the pulse, this perpetual shimmer of awareness of him. She wanted to be immune to him, to be unaffected by him, completely indifferent to him.
This time tomorrow I’ll be back at home—safe.
She made the thought hang in her head, clinging to it. All she had to do was get through the remainder of this wretched evening and she’d be done. Done with Leon Maranz for good!
She reached for her coffee cup and deliberately let her gaze wander out over the ballroom with an expression of boredom on her face.
Beside her, Leon felt his anger snap its jaws.
‘Tell me,’ he drawled, his voice like a blade, ‘what makes you think you have a right to be rude to me?’
Flavia’s head swivelled. Words jumbled fiercely in her brain—hot, angry words that she wanted to hurl at him! But she couldn’t—couldn’t say the words she was burning to throw at him.
What makes you think you can come on to me the way you are? What makes you think you can drag me out on to the dance floor and make me dance with you, invading my body space, making me react to you the way I did? What makes you think you can look at me the way you do—making it obvious … blindingly, searingly obvious … what you want?
But she couldn’t hurl those words at him. Instead, all she could do was glare at him stonily, her face tightening, and retreat behind her rigid, icy guard to keep him at bay. Resort again to the unforgivable rudeness that she knew, with a small, shaming part of her brain, that she was handing out to him.
‘I don’t think anything about you at all, Mr Maranz,’ she said, forcing her voice to be cold. ‘You’re my father’s guest, not mine, and I would far rather he did a host’s duty by you instead of leaving the task to me.’
Involuntarily her eyes went past him to the dance floor, urgently trying to seek out her wretched father and Anita. Would they get off the floor and come back to their table?
Leon saw her searching gaze. Was that, maybe, what this was all about? Was Alistair Lassiter’s idle, pampered daughter sulking because her father paid more attention to his mistress than to her?
He took a mouthful of brandy, studying Flavia’s rigid face. ‘Are you jealous of Anita?’ he ventured.
Again Flavia’s gaze snapped to him. ‘What?’
He gave a slight shrug. ‘It would not be surprising. Daughters—especially those who are used to being Daddy’s darling—are very often extremely possessive of their fathers, and resent them paying attention to any other female. Let alone one as young and glamorous as Anita.’
Flavia could only stare. ‘You think I’m jealous of Anita?’ She could not hide the disbelief in her voice.
‘Why not?’ Leon replied. ‘Your father seems quite … smitten by her.’
Flavia could feel her face icing. ‘Anita,’ she bit out, ‘is a gold-digging piece of work who wouldn’t look twice at him if he weren’t rich! Every bit of jewellery she’s dripping with, every designer number in her vast collection, was paid for by him!’
