AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why don’t you give him a fake one, then?
She could. But that would be giving in, regardless of whether it was a fake name or not, and something inside her wouldn’t let her do that.
What was it about him that had her wanting to fight him all the time? She’d never had such strong reactions to a man before. Admittedly, she hadn’t come into contact with a lot of men, since it was better safety-wise to avoid them, but the few she’d had run-ins with hadn’t endeared themselves to her. But this man...
He made her want to fight, to stand her ground, kick back. He also made her feel physical things she hadn’t felt before in her entire life. A kind of shivery ache. A prickly restlessness. The stupid desire to poke at him just to see what he’d do. What on earth was that?
You know what it is.
But Leonie didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t afford to—not when she was seconds away from catastrophe. Who knew how long this job would last? Or when she’d be turned out back on to the streets again?
She’d got herself into this situation, and if she was very lucky it would mean good things for her. So the most logical thing to do now was to be careful with the dangerous panther that lounged on the branch above her head. To keep her head down and perhaps not present herself as so much prey. Keep a low profile and not struggle. If she did that well he might even forget she existed and leave her alone.
So she said nothing, dragging her gaze away from him and looking at the ground instead.
‘Ah, so that’s how it’s to be, hmm?’
Again, he sounded just like that panther—all low and purring and sleek.
‘Come to my study when you finish up today. I’ll tell Camille that you’re expected.’
She nodded silently, and when she finally looked up the doorway was empty.
He’d gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
CRISTIANOFROWNEDATthe clock on the mantelpiece, an unexpected impatience gathering inside him. Leonie was late and he suspected it was intentional, since Camille wouldn’t have kept her working if she was expected to attend a meeting with him.
And she was definitely expected to attend.
He supposed he could have had the conversation with her in the library earlier that day, rather than make a performance of it over dinner. But trust was a difficult thing. You couldn’t compel it and you couldn’t buy it—it could only be given.
Which made him a liar in some respects, because he was absolutely planning a seduction. Except sex wasn’t the goal. He was planning on seducing her curious mind instead.
He found himself energised by the prospect. It had been a long time since he’d had to exert himself for a woman—for anyone, for that matter—and the idea was more exciting than he’d anticipated. Lately his life of unmitigated pleasure had begun to pall, and it made a nice change to have to put his brain to good use instead of his body.
The thought of de Riero’s shock as his daughter was revealed was...
The feeling of satisfaction was vicious, hot, and he had to force it back down—hard. He couldn’t let emotion rule him. Not given the mistake he’d made the last time he’d tried to confront de Riero, blundering around in a blind rage, sending his son straight back into the other man’s arms.
This time he needed to be casual, detached. Keep his revenge cold.
Mastering himself once more, Cristiano checked the time again, allowing himself some amusement at his own impatience, then crossed over to his desk. Since she was late, he might as well do something. It wouldn’t do for her to find him cooling his heels and watching the clock for her arrival; he wasn’t a man who waited for anyone, still less looked as if he was.
There were a few business matters he had to attend to, a few calls to make, and he made them, keeping an ear out for the door. And sure enough, ten minutes later, while he was in the middle of a conversation with a business acquaintance, he heard a soft knock.
‘Enter,’ he said, then turned his chair around so his back was to the room, continuing with his call.
It was petty, but he’d never been above a little pettiness. It would do her good to wait for him—especially since he’d spent the last ten minutes waiting for her.
He carried on with his call in a leisurely fashion, in no hurry to end it since his acquaintance was amusing, and only when the other man had to go did he end the call and turn his chair back around.
Leonie was standing near one of the ornate wooden shelves he kept stocked with his favourite reading material—business texts, philosophy, sociology and a few novels thrown in the mix—staring fixedly at the spines. She held herself very tense, her shoulders and spine stiff, that waterfall of beautiful hair lying sleek and silky down her back.
He had the sense that she wasn’t actually looking at the books at all. She was waiting for him. Good.
‘Good evening,gatita,’ he said lazily, leaning back in his chair. ‘You’re late.’
