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‘Philanthropy is always such an admirable trait,’ observed Xenon softly, before curving his lips into a smile. ‘But on a more personal level... I gather your father is getting married again. Are you planning to attend the wedding?’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to fit it in,’ answered Leon, with a shrug.
There was a pause. ‘Which number is that, I wonder? It’s so easy to lose count.’
‘Four, I believe.’ Leon’s voice was dismissive, because he didn’t want to talk about his father, or his wives, or to inform a man whose imagination was so limited that he used his leisure time to gossip. He wanted to be left alone to study Marnie Porter, even though she had just slanted him a look of pure ice. He took a sip of water to ease the dryness in his throat. Was he discovering a previously unknown streak of masochism? he wondered wryly. No woman had ever looked at him that way before and his pulse was pounding like a piston in response.
‘Easy on the eye, isn’t she?’ said Xenon, following the direction of his gaze. ‘Though I can’t quite work out what the attraction is. I mean, she’s wearing a pretty unflattering uniform and those rubber-heeled shoes make her look a bit like a nurse, and yet...’
Leon’s body stiffened as Xenon’s speculative observation died away. He knew that men often discussed a woman’s appearance, in the same way you might admire an amazing sunset or a good wine. His friends’ wives told him that women sometimes did the same. It was no big deal and in many cases it wasn’t even predatory. But this felt predatory and suddenly he felt the build-up of something unfamiliar. A slow, simmering rage that the renowned playboy Zafiris should dare to look at his lover in such a way.
But Leon didn’t do jealousy. His eyes narrowed. Just as he didn’t do commitment.
Or trust.
In fact, there was a whole list of no-go areas in his life, which helped shore up his determination never to get married, or have children.
Yet Marnie Porter had managed to achieve something which no other woman had succeeded in doing before, because there had been no need. She had turned him into a hunter.
Yet women usually came to him. They flocked to him like wasps to honey. They didn’t freeze him out with withering looks which seemed genuine rather than fabricated.
So why was his blood pulsing with the hottest desire he could ever remember?
He frowned.
What did the little hairdresser from Acton have which so entranced him?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE KNOCK ON the door was quiet yet insistent, but Marnie ignored it. She didn’t want to see anyone and she definitely didn’t want to speak to anyone. The hurt and humiliation she’d felt when she’d seen Leon Kanonidou down by the poolside with all his sophisticated buddies had been bad enough but she probably could have coped with it. Of course she could, because didn’t it only reinforce what she had already known? That she could trust nobody. Nobody at all. The only person she could rely on was herself and she should forget that at her peril.
She had gone through the rest of the day on autopilot and returned to her room in time to receive a call from her twin in England—a short and deeply upsetting exchange before Pansy’s prison phone credit ran out, which it always did. But the gist of the conversation had been devastating. Her twin’s lawyer had announced that she probably was looking at a jail sentence and Marnie had listened to her sister’s rising hysteria, feeling impotent and useless and too far away.
It had been the final straw and she had given into a violent flurry of tears which had taken her by surprise, because crying was something she rarely succumbed to. Had her sexual awakening made her more susceptible to the great swings of emotion which were barrelling through her and if that were the case, then wasn’t that yet another reason to steer clear of men in future? Her sobs had subsided now and she had scrubbed at her face with a hankie, but someone knocking on her door was the last thing she wanted.
She didn’t care if it was Jodie calling to see if she was feeling better, or one of the hotel waitresses enquiring whether she’d be interested in going out for a drink later, which she never was. Basically, she just wanted to tick off the hours until she could fly back to London and discover for herself if Pansy’s lawyer was as bad as her sister claimed. And she would prefer to do it by burying her head underneath a duvet, and sleeping through the next twenty-four hours.
But it was only six in the evening and there was no duvet to be seen since, according to the hotel guidebook, the temperature on Paramenios was always warm—even in winter. And now, at the tail end of summer, it was almost unbearably hot in this cramped little room—with the noisy fan whirring away in one corner a poor substitute for air conditioning. And somehow she couldn’t escape from the taunting memories which seemed determined to plague her.
Pushing a clump of hair away from her sticky brow, she remembered Leon watching while she painted the glamorous Ariane’s nails. His gaze had been unsettlingly intense, as if he were examining her underneath a microscope, and she had felt...
No. She didn’t really want to think about how she had felt—because it wasn’t very helpful to realise that he had the ability to make her react in a way which was reminiscent of a helpless turtle which had just had the shell ripped from its back. She didn’t want to dwell on her rush of mortification either, when Ariane had pressed a large banknote into her hand as a tip. Obviously, the money would come in very useful, but the ultra-generous amount had made her feel awkward—and Marnie had only just stopped herself from declaring that she didn’t need it.
As if.
But as she had scuttled away from that glittering group of revellers, she had felt less than. Just as she’d felt throughout most of her life. An outsider. The odd one out. The object of ridicule and scorn.
The knock was repeated.
‘Will you go away?’ she said. But the caller was nothing if not persistent, so eventually Marnie got up from the lumpy mattress and opened the
door—her heart clenching like a vice when she saw Leon standing there. He had changed from his pool attire into a pair of tailored trousers and a charcoal-coloured shirt, which emphasised the blackness of his hair. These clothes were also screamingly expensive and hugged his muscular frame as if they’d been designed for him—which they probably had—and once again he seemed to represent a personification of virile power.
His unexpected appearance was a massive shock to the system but not as unwelcome as it should have been and instantly Marnie could feel her body begin to betray her again. Beneath the uniform dress, which she hadn’t bothered to remove, she could feel her breasts springing into rampant life.
What was the matter with her? she wondered furiously. Why was she still attracted to such a deceiving cheat? Yet it horrified her to realise she was also worrying about how awful she must look, with her tear-streaked face and bedhead hair. Her hand tightened on the door handle as she tried not to think about the way he had kissed her. Tried to forget the hard warmth of his body and the way his fingers had stroked over her skin as her yelps of pleasure had subsided into purring little sighs. ‘Go away right now or I’ll slam the door in your face,’ she vowed softly. ‘And don’t think I won’t.’
‘Are you sure you want to do that, Marnie?’
