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‘That’s better. Now, tell me again exactly why this is not a good idea?’
Feeling cornered and angry now—with herself as much as him—Leila flung out a hand. ‘I own a shop and you’re a king. We’re not exactly on a level footing.’
Alix cocked his head to one side. ‘You’re a perfumer, are you not? A very commendable career.’
Unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, Leila said, ‘To be a perfumer one needs to be making perfumes.’
‘Something I’ve no doubt you’ll do when your business recovers its equilibrium.’
His quiet and yet firm encouragement made something glow in Leila’s chest. She ruthlessly pushed it down. This man could charm the devil over to the light side.
‘Don’t you have more important things to be doing?’
A curious expression she couldn’t decipher crossed his hard-boned face before his mouth twitched and he said,‘Not right now, no.’
Leila’s stubborn refusal to accede to his wishes was having a bizarre effect on Alix. He could quite happily stay here for hours and spar with her, watching those expressions cross her face and her gorgeous eyes spark and glow.
‘Don’t you know,’ he said carefully, watching her reaction with interest, ‘that feigning uninterest is one sure way to get a man interested in you?’
Immediately her cheeks were suffused with colour and her back went poker straight with indignation. Eyes glittering, she said, ‘I am not feigning uninterest, Mr Saint Croix, I am genuinely mystified as to why you are persisting like this—and to be perfectly frank I think I’d prefer it if you just left me alone.’
He took a step closer. ‘Really, Leila? I could let you walk out of this suite right now and you’ll never see me again.’ He waited a beat and then said softly, ‘If that’s really what you want. But I don’t think it is.’
Oh, God. He’d seen her disappointment. She’d never been any good at hiding her emotions. She’d also never felt so hot with the need to break out of some confinement holding her back.
She hadn’t felt this hungry urgency with Pierre. He’d been far more subtle—and ultimately manipulative. Alix was direct. And there was something absurdly comforting about that. There were no games. He wasn’t dressing his words up with illusions of more being involved. It made her breathless.
Her extended silence had made something go hard in Alix’s eyes and Leila felt a dart of panic go through her. She sensed that he would stop pursuing her if she asked him to. If he did indeed believe she was stringing him along. Which she wasn’t. Or was she? Unconsciously?
She hated to think that she might be capable of such a thing, but she couldn’t deny the thrilling rush of something illicit every time she saw him. The rush of sparring with him. The rush each time he came back even though she’d said no.
Leila felt as if she was skirting around the edges of a very large and angry fire that mesmerised her as much as it made her fear its heat. She’d shut down after her experience with Pierre, dismayed at coming to terms with the fact that she’d made such a huge misjudgement. But now she could feel a part of her expanding inside again, demanding to be heard. To be set free. Another chance.
She’d never been to the opera. Pierre’s most exciting invitation had been to a trip down the Seine, which Leila had done a million times with her mother. The sense of yearning got stronger.
She heard herself asking, ‘It’s just a trip to the opera?’
The hardness in Alix’s eyes softened, but he was careful enough not to show that he’d gained a point.
‘Yes, Leila, it’s just a simple trip to the opera. If you can close a little early tomorrow I’ll pick you up at five.’
Closing a little early would hard
ly damage her already dented business. She took a deep breath and tried not to let this moment feel bigger than it should. ‘Very well. I’ll accept your invitation.’
Alix took up her hand and raised it to his mouth before brushing a very light, almost imperceptible kiss across the back of it. Even so, his breath burned her skin.
‘I look forward to it, Leila. A bientôt.’
* * *
At about three o’clock the next day Leila found herself dealing with an unusual flurry of customers, and it took her a couple of seconds to notice the thickset man waiting just inside the door. When she finally registered that it was Ricardo, Alix’s bodyguard, she noticed that he had a big white box in his hands.
She went over and he handed it to her, saying gruffly, ‘A gift from Mr Saint Croix.’
Leila took the box warily and glanced at her customers, who were all engrossed in trying out the samples she’d been showing them. She looked back to Ricardo and felt a trickle of foreboding. ‘Can you wait for a second?’
He nodded, and if Leila had had the time to appreciate how out of place he looked against the backdrop of delicate perfume bottles she might have smiled.
