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She gasped at the interpretation he had put on her words. ‘So your choice of word was right, and I do look cheap?’ she retaliated, her own anger and hurt rising with his.
‘If you looked cheap, my dear Jemma,’ he decided, ‘you would not be standing here in my home right now!’
‘So, why are you offering to buy me an expensive wardrobe of clothes?’ she challenged. ‘Why the expensive—sorry, cheap gifts? If it offends your ego to be with a woman who wears high-street bargain clothes and gold-plated jewellery, Leon, then maybe we should just call it quits right now!’
‘I never said that!’ he sighed in exasperation. ‘Or even implied it! You are a very beautiful woman, Jemma—sackcloth or silk, you would always look beautiful. Why is it so wrong for a man to want to buy his woman beautiful things?’
‘Because this particular woman feels more comfortable without them,’ she replied. ‘I have nothing but myself to give to you and I want nothing but yourself in return. Is that so difficult to understand?’ she appealed.
He sighed at that, and, in a way which brought tears to her eyes, reached out and drew her against him. ‘You are wrong, you know,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘You have given me the most expensive and precious gift a woman can give a man, agape mou. And if I let it pass by unacknowledged, then I would certainly be playing you cheap.’
She blushed, knowing exactly what he was referring to. ‘It was given freely, Leon,’ she whispered softly.
‘And cannot be handed back as my—paltry gifts to you can be,’ he pointed out.
She lifted her head to look at him at that, her eyes suddenly alight with mischief. ‘And do you want to give it back?’ she enquired provocatively.
‘Vixen,’ he scolded. ‘You know I do not! But,’ he added, ‘in all fairness, according to your rules, you must accept something back from me in return.’
‘All right,’ she reluctantly conceded. ‘One gift I will accept graciously—but nothing else!’ she warned him sternly. ‘And something small! If I come here next Friday night to find a wardrobe stuffed with fine clothes, I’ll throw them out of the window!’
‘Jemma...?’
‘Mmm?’ she murmured hazily now, the tender smile softening her face taking its time to fade as she slowly refocused.
Trina was looking anxious. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing?’
No, Jemma thought, but I know I can’t do a thing about it. She got up, stretching tiredly. ‘What’s right or wrong for me doesn’t seem to come into it,’ she confessed as she let her body relax again. ‘I want him,’ she tagged on simply. It seemed to say it all to her.
‘You love him, you mean,’ Trina grimly corrected.
Did she? Jemma paused to ponder a concept she had until now refused to so much as peep at. Had she fallen head over heels in love with Leon Stephanades at the first moment she saw him?
‘I know you, Jemma, and there’s no way you would put yourself in this kind of no-hope situation unless your heart was involved. You love him,’ she stated again. ‘And that bastard most probably knows it, and couldn’t give a hoot so long as he gets what he wants from you!’
‘I’m going to bed,’ Jemma said pointedly, turning towards the door. ‘Goodnight, Tri.’
‘He’ll hurt you!’ her friend warned, real concern darkening her rich green eyes. ‘He’s the kind of man who sees something he wants and goes after it and damns the consequences! It wouldn’t enter his arrogant head to wonder whether it was the right and fair thing for you! Men like him exist on a different plane from us mere mortals. They’re takers, Jemma!’
‘And you think I’m not taking as much from him?’ she challenged.
‘It’s not the same,’ Trina sighed. ‘You’ll be the one left hurting in the end while he walks away sublimely unscathed! Oh,’ she groaned in frustration when she saw Jemma’s set face. ‘Why couldn’t you have put it around a bit like the rest of us more normal creatures? Gained some experience before taking on a man like him!’
‘Goodnight, Trina,’ Jemma sighed out wearily, announcing the end of the discussion.
‘Goodnight,’ her friend mumbled. Then, as Jemma reached the door, ‘I hate him!’ she yelled at the top of her voice.
‘I’ll be sure to tell him,’ Jemma replied, smiling, because poor Trina was only behaving like this out of concern for her.
‘You won’t need to,’ Trina snapped, ‘because I’ll damn well tell him myself!’
And she did.
It was Wednesday before Jemma saw Leon again. He was tied up with business until then, and in a way Jemma was glad of the respite. Not least because her body physically ached from the sensual onslaught it had been put through.
He called her at work, though. Usually around three each afternoon, his voice like warm honey on her senses, gliding sweetly over her. On Wednesday, she received a beautiful posy of freesias, their luxurious scent filling the whole office. ‘Not a gift,’ he’d sardonically written on the accompanying card, ‘but a hello because I will not have time to call you today. And I wanted to remind you to keep tonight free. It belongs to me. L.’
She smiled at his sarcasm, grimaced at his arrogance and inhaled the lovely perfume of the flowers as if she were inhaling that subtle spicy scent of him.
