Secrets of Cinderella's Awakening

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Secrets of Cinderella's Awakening Page 5

by Sharon Kendrick


  Like, what was he doing here? He was supposed to be a builder, wasn’t he? Yet he was standing fraternising with these privileged people as if he had every right to be here and, judging from their fawning body language—he did. Suddenly, she realised that, whoever he was, he wasn’t the man he had appeared to be—and that she had made a very bad choice for her first lover. Not just that, but she had been totally naïve—she, who always prided herself on being street-smart. She, the wisecracking victim of circumstance who was never going to allow herself to be conned by a smooth-talking man.

  Of course he wasn’t a builder! Yes, he’d been dressed in a laid-back way—but what else would he have been wearing if he’d been out in the hot sun all day, pelting around a Greek island on a motorbike in the height of summer? She remembered the restaurant where all the tables had supposedly been reserved...until Leon had appeared and one had miraculously been made available by a proprietor who had been fawning over them all evening. Would they have done that for an ordinary builder? Of course they wouldn’t!

  Flicking him another glance, she could see he was the only one not drinking champagne, for he was holding a glass of water. His expression was dark and brooding and he was still staring at her. Staring very hard. Any minute now and someone might notice that his attention was—inappropriately—fixed on the visiting beautician and start to wonder why. Or was she flattering herself? Were casual sexual games with staff members par for the course for these kind of people?

  Pulling out her kit bag, she began to rummage inside it but all she could think about was that bright gaze which had burned itself into her consciousness.

  ‘Leon...’

  Marnie almost dropped her cuticle-pusher as Ariane said the name she had cried out last night, and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention as she heard his murmured response.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Would you like to help me choose a colour?’

  There was a pause. ‘Nail polish isn’t really my area of expertise I’m afraid, Ariane.’

  Sweat began to bead on Marnie’s brow as she found herself thinking the unthinkable. Because what if Ariane and Leon were lovers and he’d taken a few hours out to be unfaithful to her last night? It was a grim possibility but it was still a possibility and, in the sort of world in which she’d grown up, it remained a very real one.

  ‘Marnie?’

  Ariane’s voice broke into her thoughts and Marnie felt another trickle of fear sliding down the back of her neck. What if the gorgeous Greek woman knew exactly what had happened? Maybe they’d even discussed it and laughed about it—in a very modern way? I know I shouldn’t have done it, agape mou, but she kind of threw herself at me.

  She swallowed. What if Ariane called the hotel management and dobbed her in for being intimate with one of the guests—something which was strictly forbidden? What if she was sent home in disgrace with a black mark on her CV and, much more importantly, without the inflated bonus she had been relying on to help her twin sister when she got out of prison?

  ‘Y-yes?’ Marnie questioned, her cheeks burning with dread.

  ‘I’ll have the Early Sunrise, please.’

  Marnie blinked as Ariane jabbed her broken fingernail in the direction of a vivid orangey hue, and she stared at it as if she had never seen that particular shade of varnish before. ‘Yes, yes. Of course. A...a very good choice. It’s been very popular with all our clients this summer.’ She flashed a smile. ‘Is there somewhere I can go to fill up my nail bath?’

  Ariane flicked a hand in the direction of one of the sleek white buildings. ‘There’s a bathroom in there—first on the left. You can’t miss it.’

  As Marnie began to walk across the sunlit patio, Leon couldn’t tear his gaze away from her because right now she seemed like the personification of his perfect dream.

  Or his perfect nightmare.

  He was having difficulty breathing. Difficulty thinking of anything other than the way she had wrapped her legs around his back last night while he had thrust deep into her virgin tightness. Had he thought he would never run into her again? Yes—and a million times yes. Because that was for the best. He was all wrong for her and she was definitely all wrong for him. Not just because she was unsophisticated and innocent and would never have fitted into his world—nor he into hers—but because he didn’t recognise the man he had become in her company.

  Wild—tick. Reckless—another tick. But it had been the way he had lost control which had so disturbed him. Or rather, the realisation that someone else had the power to take that control away from him which had bothered him most. As a child he had been manipulated by the subterfuge of his mother and the widespread influence of his father and at times had felt powerless. That was the feeling he’d been determined never to revisit but, last night, he had done just that—and it had scared him. He, who despised fear almost as much as he despised lies.

  Which was why, when he had dropped Marnie off, he had resisted the urge to kiss her—despite the red-hot invitation of her lips. Just as he hadn’t taken her back to her room and made love to her again, even though powerful desire had raged inside his body. He had forced himself to listen to the voice of reason and had said nothing but a terse goodnight as she slid from the back of his bike.

  But now she was here and he knew he had to get her alone, though he didn’t stop to ask himself why. Putting his glass down on a nearby table, he began to follow her into the shady interior of the villa. He could hear the sound of running water and there, in the open doorway of a bathroom, stood Marnie, bending over a sink. He saw her shoulders stiffening and her head jerking up, as if she’d sensed someone was behind her and that it was him. Was she as acutely aware of his presence as he was of hers, he wondered distractedly, even from this distance? But no, she was actually looking at him in the mirror and her furious expression was reflected back at him.

  ‘Go away,’ she snapped.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘To say what?’ Holding her little container of water, she turned to face him and her anger was far more intense when witnessed face-on, rather than through the cool barrier of the glass. ‘To explain how you got invited to a fancy party like this? They don’t look like the kind of people who would be hobnobbing with their builder, unless society is a lot more equal here than I thought it was. What happened, Leon—did you decide to leave your trowel and cement behind, or did I arrive too late to see you scaling up a ladder? Because you’re not a builder at all, are you?’

  ‘In a way, I am—’

  ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence by playing with words! You know exactly what I mean.’

  Leon’s mouth flattened. Her fury was delectable enough to make him want to smile, but he sensed the embarrassment behind the words she flung at him. ‘There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure there is. And what might that be, I wonder?’ Her gaze raked over his body, but it was a cold and damning assessment and nothing like the hungry gaze she had subjected him to over dinner last night. ‘You’re obviously a very rich man, Leon. I guess you need to hide that fact away from casual hook-ups, in case they start making demands on your wealth!’

  ‘But I don’t do casual hook-ups!’

  ‘Really? So did I just dream what happened last night? Was it all a figment of my imagination?’ There was the faintest, telltale wobble of her lips before she looked over his shoulder and her angry expression quickly morphed into a brisk and professional smile. ‘Kyria Paparizou!’ she gushed. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you—I was just running the water to get it to exactly the right temperature for your nails. Certainly. Yes, of course! I’ll be right there!’

  Leon was so taken aback by the unwanted interruption that he stepped aside to let her pass, tantalisingly aware of her scent before reluctantly turning and wondering how the persistent Ariane Paparizou was going to react when she saw hi
m talking to the manicurist.

  Until he realised that the Greek heiress was nowhere to be seen! Only Marnie herself, sashaying across the brilliant patio, with the white material of her uniform stretched alluringly over her buttocks and her hair a million different shades of gold. His body tensed. So, it had been nothing but a ruse to get her away from him—and he had fallen for it! He wasn’t used to being wrong-footed and for a moment he just stood there, watching her retreat.

  Suddenly she turned and flashed him a triumphant look—as if she was enjoying having outsmarted him—and Leon felt the corresponding stir of hunger in his blood. As she sat down on the stool to start working on Ariane’s nails, he walked out onto the terrace.

  A waiter handed him a drink and he knew he ought to join one of the small clusters of people who were laughing and drinking beneath the shade of big white umbrellas. But all he wanted to do was to stare at Marnie and drink in the way the sunlight was gleaming on her bare legs. Last night he had been determined he wasn’t going to see her again—but in the bright light of day, that suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  ‘So, Leon. This is where you’re hiding.’

  A male voice shattered his contemplation and Leon glanced across at the man who had joined him—Xenon Zafiris, heir to a massive shipping line. The two men had moved in similar circles when they’d been teenagers but had never really been friends.

  He flicked Xenon a cool smile. ‘As you see, I’m in plain sight.’

  ‘So you are. How was America?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Big.’

  ‘And England?’

  ‘Pretty small.’

  ‘I hear you’ve been doing stuff in Northern Greece.’ Xenon raised his eyebrows. ‘Drilling for wells, on a no-profit basis.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Leon’s voice became thoughtful. ‘The land up there badly needs water. There’s no limit to the possibilities for future farming, if we just get the irrigation right.’

  ‘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?’

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure!’

  ‘I would have to disagree with you on that particular point,’ he remarked coolly and she blushed at the implication.

  ‘Do you really think trying to ignore me is the best way to deal with our predicament?’ he continued.

  ‘The only predicament we have, Leon,’ she echoed sarcastically, ‘is two strangers standing looking at one another, with one of them wishing they’d never met.’

 

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