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She focussed her search on the whereabouts of his London offices and discovered they were in Mayfair, not far from Bond Street Tube station. Soon she was standing outside a small, modern block of offices which sat comfortably beside the imposing splendour of its eighteenth-century neighbours.
As she headed towards a discreet smoked glass door bearing the Kanonidou name, Marnie felt a sudden onset of nerves. Couldn’t she have sent him a thank-you card, or a bottle of whisky in a flashy wooden box? She found herself wondering if she was using his interference as an excuse to see him again and whether this was the start of a slippery slope which was only ever going to lead downwards.
Her mind kept returning to their last meeting, when she’d told him about Pansy and had refused the help he’d offered. She remembered feeling empowered as she had announced that she didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. But he had ridden roughshod over her wishes and done it anyway, hadn’t he? What kind of arrogance was that?
She remembered the terrible, sweet tension which had sizzled between them, with her alternately praying he would kiss her, then praying he wouldn’t. And he hadn’t. He had walked away without a backward glance and that had made her feel dark and lonely inside, her stomach twisted into knots of regret and rejection.
She caught a glance of herself reflected back in the glass of the Kanonidou building. The wind had managed to free some of the hair which she had coiled into a sensible updo for the court hearing, and the sober charcoal suit she had hoped would reflect well on her wayward sister made her look as if she were moonlighting as a bailiff. But she wasn’t here because she wanted to appear attractive to the Greek billionaire. She was here to say her thanks, and then leave.
What if he wasn’t here?
Well, it was too late to change her mind because a revolving door was expelling her into a huge reception area, filled with jungle-like foliage, and Marnie felt as out of place as she’d ever felt—especially when she noticed a uniformed security guard studying her from between narrowed eyes. A beautiful brunette behind a wide desk was sending a questioning look in her direction, the angle of her jaw suggesting that Marnie had no right to be here.
But she did.
She most certainly did.
Trying not to feel overwhelmed by the cavernous dimensions of the place, she made her way to the desk—fixing her face with the determined expression she’d used with social workers during most of her turbulent childhood.
‘I’d like to see Leon Kanonidou, please,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid Mr Kanonidou doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’
‘How do you know I haven’t got an appointment?’
The brunette gave a serene smile. ‘Because I have his diary sitting right in front of me and your name isn’t on it.’
‘But you don’t know my name.’
‘No, but I do know all the people on his list and you aren’t among them.’
Marnie chewed on her lip. In a way she admired the woman’s resolve, which was easily a match with her own—but if this receptionist thought she was going to slink away from here with her tail between her legs, then she thought wrong.
‘Tell him Marnie Porter is here,’ she said quietly. ‘He’ll see me.’
It was amazing how many insecurities you could hide behind a mask of bravado, but for once in her life Marnie was sure of herself, confident that Leon would see her. Because wasn’t there something powerful which pulled her to him and vice versa? Some unseen force which flowed between them—as strong as molten metal. Wasn’t it that same force which had made him hire an expensive lawyer to get her sister out of a fix? Which had brought her here today, even though every atom of her body was telling her it was dangerous.
The receptionist’s perfect brow pleated into a frown as she picked up a phone and had a brief conversation which resulted in her giving a grudging nod. But any triumph Marnie felt at having got her own way was short-lived, because the realisation that she was actually going to face Leon again was making her feel dizzy. Would she have gained some kind of immunity to him by now? Would she be able to look at him without wanting him to pin her down onto the nearest horizonal surface?
As a flash elevator swished her upwards, she wished she’d had the good sense to use a bathroom to repair her wayward hair and perhaps apply a slick of lipstick. She had already decided she didn’t particularly care about impressing him, but she didn’t want to come over as looking a total mess. But the elevator doors were sliding open and another gorgeous brunette was waiting outside. Did he order them from a catalogue? she wondered. This one was dressed in a neat black pencil skirt, a pristine white silk shirt and vertiginous black heels.
‘Miss Porter?’ the woman questioned.
Marnie nodded. ‘That’s me. I’ve come to see Leon.’
‘If you’d like to come this way. Kyrios Kanonidou is expecting you.’
No time for second thoughts, just time to breathe deeply in a vain attempt to calm the wild thunder of her heart—while Marnie followed the black pencil skirt over a softly carpeted floor and into a vast office, whose windows overlooked the carefully tended grass of Hanover Square.
A lifetime of being summoned into alien offices had honed her ability to take a rapid measure of the tycoon’s inner lair and, naturally, it was impressive. Spectacular paintings covered the walls, making it far less impersonal than most offices. There were big windows with amazing views and an even bigger desk, on which she could see a fancy cream card edged in gleaming gold, which looked like an invitation.
And then she noticed Leon standing on the other side of the room, watching her—the faintest of curves tilting his hard mouth into an ironic smile. As if he were used to being the first thing someone looked at, not the last. What did his expression tell her? Was that bemusement she could read? It was difficult to tell. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the bright light—trying to get her head around the fact that this was the man who had kissed her, and held her. Who had taken her virginity with a consummate skill which had made her want to weep with disbelieving joy.
Yet today he looked like a stranger in his smart city clothes. An intimate stranger in a dark suit and a sapphire tie which echoed his spectacular eyes. She felt poleaxed by his presence, aware of her stinging breasts, which had started rubbing against her bra, and the rush of syrupy heat to her panties. It was as if her body were acknowledging him with ecstatic familiarity, even if her mind remained deeply mistrustful. She had certainly not acquired any desired immunity, she realised, too late.
‘Marnie,’ he said, his rich voice caressing her skin like velvet. ‘This is an unexpected surprise.’
‘Is it really?’ she questioned quietly and when he didn’t answer, she continued. ‘Did you pay for my sister’s defence lawyer, Leon?’
