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But he shook his tousled head. ‘No, not at all. Too...normal, I guess.’
Oh, how wrong could he be? Normal? Marnie almost laughed. An outsider, yes. And a freak too, very occasionally. Both those things. But a human being who blended in with the rest of the world? Never.
‘I am staying there, if you must know,’ she countered, enjoying the surprise which flickered over his face. And then, because he had been kind to her and because she liked him, she shrugged before making her admission. ‘I work there. In the spa.’
‘You work there?’
‘That’s right. I’m a hairdresser, though I’m also qualified as a manicurist and a beauty therapist. And obviously I can do brows and waxing. Not my favourite part of the job, I have to admit.’ She pulled a face. ‘Whoops. Probably too much information.’
Leon felt a rush of something he didn’t recognise. Was it her deadpan delivery which was making him smile, or her refreshing outspokenness? She certainly wasn’t the usual kind of woman he had dinner with. He mixed with investment bankers and CEOs. With models who commanded a king’s ransom for photographers to capture their matchless faces and incredible bodies. With actresses who kept gold-plated awards rather pretentiously on the shelves of their downstairs closet.
And usually he would be bored out of his skull by this stage of the meal.
He felt his pulse quicken as he acknowledged the steely throb at his groin. She wasn’t his usual type, that was for sure—and not just because she was blonde. She was pretty enough. Not beautiful, no—the set of her jaw was too firm and her lips weren’t full enough for conventional beauty—though her dark-lashed eyes were remarkable. She was no traffic-stopper, yet there was something about her which was so out of his comfort zone that Leon felt curiously alive in her company.
‘A hairdresser,’ he observed softly.
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She pursed her lips together, as if he had criticised her. ‘I’m actually a very good hairdresser, which is how I got a job in a place like the Paradeisos, which—in case you didn’t know—is a very high-end hotel complex.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed gravely.
‘In fact, I can give you a trim some time, if you like. Those ends don’t look in great condition to me and it’s long enough for you to be able to lose a bit. Call it payback for having come to my aid, if you like.’
Leon nearly laughed as he wondered how the prohibitively expensive hairdressers he visited in London and Paris and New York would react to the suggestion that his hair wasn’t being properly maintained. ‘Maybe I’ll take you up on that,’ he murmured. ‘But in the meantime—don’t you think we should eat? Any minute now and the chef will come storming over here to demand to know what’s wrong with the food.’
She looked startled. As if she had forgotten that they were in a restaurant and that the proprietor was casting worried looks over their untouched meal.
‘I guess we should,’ she said.
But he noticed that she was spooning salad onto her plate without enthusiasm, and chewing fish in a way which seemed almost mechanical. Did the food taste like sawdust on her tongue, as it did for him? Yet that should come as no surprise when eating was the last thing he needed right now. He wondered if she was aware that he wanted to taste nothing more complex than her skin. To slowly lick his tongue over every salt-covered atom of her curvy body, to discover her scent and her flavour.
Yet he didn’t do casual hook-ups. It didn’t suit his fastidious nature. Maybe it was arrogant of him to think that his cool intellect was always capable of conquering his baser instincts, because hadn’t he been on fire with need since she’d slid onto the back of his bike? Hadn’t it taken all the concentration he possessed—which was usually formidable—to focus on the journey and not the heavy throb between his legs? As an exercise in self-control, it had been considerable.
‘Your turn now,’ she said.
Her words shattered his erotic fantasy. ‘My turn?’ he questioned throatily.
‘I don’t really know anything about you, do I? Other than the fact you were named after a lion and you’re very handy with a pair of tweezers.’
He started to laugh. Maybe that was the secret of her unexpected allure. She was quick-tongued. Bright. Plus she was treating him with an irreverence he wasn’t used to, which he was discovering he liked. Would she continue to behave in the same way towards him once she discovered who he really was? He doubted it.
All the more reason not to tell her.
‘I’m Greek,’ he informed her.
‘Obviously.’
‘And I came to Paramenios for the weekend because work has been pretty full-on lately.’
He watched as she bit into a slice of tomato and found himself wanting to lick away the gleam of juice which lingered on her lips.
‘What kind of work do you do?’
The question was unwelcome and Leon wondered how to avoid it. If he told her, it would change everything. It always did. His billionaire status altered the way women viewed him—hadn’t that been demonstrated time after time, and contributed to his innate cynicism?
‘I’m a builder,’ he said.
