‘You know damned well that’s not what I meant, Marnie.’
‘I’m a hairdresser, not a mind-reader. Could you be a bit more specific?’
Leon frowned. He would have preferred she had worked this out for herself rather than him having to spell it out. But maybe it was better this way. There would be no way she could misinterpret his bald words, nor attach any kind of unwanted significance to them.
‘I’m talking about seeing one another again when I’m in town.’
‘You mean for sex?’ she questioned carefully.
‘I suppose that’s one way of describing it.’ There was a pause. ‘I prefer to think of it as mutual enjoyment.’
She was still regarding him with that unblinking stare. ‘And you would expect me to be available?’
He shrugged. ‘Only if you wanted to be.’
A long silence followed his remark. He realised he was hanging onto her every word and for one insane moment he actually thought she might be about to turn him down, but then those wintry eyes narrowed speculatively.
‘No strings?’ she said.
That was supposed to be his line.
‘No strings,’ he concurred.
‘Because I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.’
‘Neither am I,’ he said faintly. ‘I don’t want marriage and I definitely don’t want children, but I—’
‘You, what?’ She tipped her head to one side, her blond hair falling untidily over her breasts, drawing his attention to them and making it imperative that he flick his tongue over their puckering surface as soon as possible.
‘I want you,’ he concluded huskily.
‘Yet you’re still looking shell-shocked,’ she observed caustically. ‘What’s the matter, Leon? Haven’t I been eager enough in accepting your offer? Do women usually cling to you like limpets in this kind of situation?’
‘You could say that.’
‘I just did.’
He smiled. ‘Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who answers back quite as much as you do,’ he murmured as he brushed another thick and wayward strand of hair back from her face. ‘But I know one guaranteed method of keeping you quiet.’
‘Oh, really?’ she questioned innocently. ‘And what’s that?’
But he shut off any further lines of questioning with a hard and demanding kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE RATHER BATTERED old Mercedes came to a halt outside the salon, the profile of the man behind the wheel darkly rugged and unmistakable, and Marnie’s heart performed a predictable somersault when she saw him.
‘Ooh, look—here’s your boyfriend, Marnie!’ Hayley, the salon junior, sounded excited as she peered out through the plate-glass windows, watching the yellow gleam of the headlights cutting through the late-September dusk. ‘Haven’t seen him in a while.’
‘No. That’s right. He’s been away,’ said Marnie, grabbing her coat and feasting her eyes on her Greek lover, who was waiting for her in his old car. The ten-year-old car he kept in his garage for solo anonymous driving trips until she’d confessed she much preferred it to his sleek, chauffeur-driven limo. Just as she’d explained she’d rather get the bus than be driven around by someone wearing a cap and uniform who insisted on leaping to open the door for her as if she were infirm, and bowing to her every wish. At first Leon had thought she was joking—as if nobody in their right mind wouldn’t like being ferried around by a driver. But Marnie hadn’t been joking. What was happening to her was surreal enough anyway—without throwing into the mix the sort of hands-on luxury most people only dreamed about. His massive apartment she could just about cope with, along with the staff he employed there—but anything else would be stretching it. And why get used to something which was only ever intended to be temporary? Wouldn’t that make the inevitable comedown even worse?
Wasn’t she already terrified of how much she was going to miss him once it ended?
‘Where’s he been?’
Marnie turned to look at the salon junior. ‘Oh, you know. Abroad. On business.’
Hayley frowned. ‘You’ve never really said what it is he does, Marnie.’
‘Something to do with property?’ Marnie said, turning the answer into a question. ‘I’m never really sure what it is myself.’
Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, she grimaced. She hadn’t actually lied to the staff at Hair Heaven about the identity of her ‘boyfriend’, and particularly not to young Hayley, whom she’d been mentoring for years—she’d just played down Leon’s international status and achievements. Because the reasons for her caginess had the same root as her preference for travelling in a nondescript rather than a head-turning car. It was easier to let her colleagues believe she was going out with an ordinary man, rather than an international property tycoon, and it stopped them from asking too many questions.
She licked her lips. Not that ‘going out’ was a particularly accurate description of their set-up. They didn’t really travel anywhere much beyond the walls of his vast apartment—although, to be fair, he often asked if she wanted to go out for dinner, or the theatre, or even the opera. But Marnie invariably refused and not just because she was paranoid about their relationship going public. She liked being alone with him best of all, without the pressure of wondering whether she was using the correct knife and fork. And besides, she didn’t have the clothes to wear to those places and she didn’t want people staring at them, thinking what an odd couple they made. She could never quite shrug off the feeling that others were judging her and deciding she didn’t have a right to be there. She knew that was called imposter syndrome.
Because you are an imposter. If Leon knew the person you really were, you wouldn’t get within five yards of his home.
Because that was the bottom line, wasn’t it? The ever-present fear which always gnawed away at the back of her mind, that her true identity would be rumbled. And not just that. Years of being rejected and subjected to the harsh regimes within the many institutions which had housed her had planted in her the seeds of doubt. Of not being good enough—certainly not good enough for a man of Leon’s calibre. Cocooned in the roomy opulence of his London home, she was safe from speculation, and safety was something she had always rated highly.
Only Pansy knew the truth about Marnie’s new lover and Pansy most definitely did not approve. She seemed to have become a worrier on her sister’s behalf and, in a slightly ironic twist, their lifelong roles seemed to have become reversed.
‘Is that why he bailed me out?’ her twin had demanded. ‘Just so he could get inside your knickers? You do know that he has a terrible reputation with women, don’t you, Marnie? I looked him up on the internet. Why, even I wouldn’t dream of getting involved with a man like that, and I’m way more experienced than you!’
That last bit had been particularly wounding and Marnie had railed at her sister’s ungratefulness, closing her mind to the fears which Pansy’s words had produced. If her twin was determined to be cynical, that was up to her. She had agreed to a no-strings fling with Leon. She had laid down those terms herself and the billionaire tycoon had agreed to them. She’d done that mostly to protect herself, to try to shield herself against any hurt she might feel when it all ended—and if she was being naïve, then so what? Naivety wasn’t a crime, was it? He had given her the opportunity to walk away from him and she had chosen not to take it.
Hayley’s question broke into her thoughts.
‘He’s still keen, then, I take it?’
Marnie gave a ghost of a smile as she made her way towards the door. ‘That’s a question you’d have to ask him, I guess.’
But one word spun around in her head as she bade goodnight to the junior and pushed open the salon door.
Keen?
He was keen for sex, that was for sure. Just like she was. And that was what all this was about,
she reminded herself fiercely. A grown-up relationship which revolved around the physical, with no unrealistic promises and definitely no glimpses into a possible future. They never discussed next month, let alone next year. He hadn’t asked how she was spending Christmas or quizzed her about what she wanted for her birthday. In fact, he had no idea when her birthday was, and she didn’t know his either. And since Marnie had never pursued a happy-ever-after, she had convinced herself that she was contented with what Leon was offering.
Sometimes she couldn’t quite believe the situation in which she found herself, because in a sense she was betraying everything she held dear. Sometimes, in the dead of night, she found herself unable to escape the mocking thoughts which taunted her. That she had become something she’d never set out to be. A rich man’s plaything. Something she’d never planned but which had been driven by her fierce desire for him. Because she just couldn’t resist him. Never. He only had to look at her to make her boneless with longing, and when he touched her she went up in flames.
She’d let down the defences she’d spent a lifetime erecting and knew that made her vulnerable. But Marnie had convinced herself that as long as she compartmentalised everything—if she kept her feelings in check and just enjoyed the sex—she would be able to keep emotional danger at bay.
Hayley was still standing at the salon window watching as Marnie opened the car door and there was Leon in the driver’s seat, his jaw shadowed, his black hair ruffled. She felt her pulse pick up speed as he turned to slant her that slow and sexy smile.
‘Hi,’ he said softly.
‘Hi.’
Keeping her greeting as casual as his, Marnie slid into the passenger seat and snapped her seat belt shut. How quickly she had adapted to being a rich man’s lover! His discreet squeeze of her thigh made her shiver and a rush of something powerful flooded through her as their gazes met. But there was no kiss. Nothing to indicate he’d been missing her while he’d been away. Leon Kanonidou didn’t do public declarations of affection. Just as he didn’t do romance, or commitment, or marriage—though he’d never told her why and she’d never asked. They didn’t have that kind of soul-searching relationship.
But that was okay.
That was what she had signed up for, wasn’t it?
‘Like to go for a drive?’ he questioned as he started up the engine. ‘We could watch the sun go down somewhere along the river. Maybe have a drink on the way.’
The dying September day might be growing dusky, but it was still light enough for Marnie to notice the tension which was forming deep grooves on either side of his lips. Was that jet lag? she wondered. ‘We don’t have to. You look tired—and I’ve been on my feet all day,’ she said, suddenly realising how much the backs of her calves were aching. ‘Why don’t we go...’ she nearly said home, until she realised that sounded a little presumptuous, so she quickly changed course ‘...back to yours?’
‘Okay. Back to mine it is.’ Leon switched on the ignition and glanced in his rear-view mirror as he pulled away. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your day?’
Out of the corner of his eye Leon could see her clasping her hands together on her lap, before beginning to chat. Slowly at first and then, as she got more into her stride, her account became rapidly laced with irreverent anecdotes and a few impersonations of the salon’s clientele, which for once failed to make him smile.
His mouth hardened as he drove into the underground garage of his block. Deep down, he was grateful she had refused his offer of a drive because he was worn out after his trip and dreading the week ahead. He switched off the engine. Sex would ease some of the tension. It always did.
The elevator from the garage took them straight to his apartment and as Marnie removed her rather ugly coat he felt the instant flare of hunger. He stared at her with a bemusement which was rapidly overtaken by desire, despite her sartorial shortcomings. Beneath the coat she wore a plain and frumpy blouse and skirt, along with a pair of shoes whose only possible attribute—surely—was that they could be described as comfortable. But at least she had untied her hair, letting it fall into a silken tumble which rippled down over her luscious breasts, in the style she knew he liked. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met and yet she dressed like a middle-aged secretary.
He shook his head a little, still slightly irritated by her stubborn rebuttal of his suggested gifts, despite the fact that they’d been seeing each other for weeks now. She hadn’t let him buy her anything. No clothes. No jewels. No shoes. Nothing. Not a single trinket had ever made its way from him to her and he found that deeply frustrating. No woman had ever refused his gifts before and sometimes he found himself wondering if she thought he would regard her more favourably if she rejected his generosity.
But at other times he chided himself for his cynicism because—quite simply—she took his breath away. He let his gaze drift over her now, unable to lose his faint air of incredulity. Wondering how it was that, despite her modest wardrobe and lack of sophistication, Marnie Porter could provoke in him the most powerful physical response he’d ever experienced. A response which was all-consuming, instant and automatic. She was doing it now, without doing anything—just regarding him with those watchful grey eyes which gave nothing away.
He had tried to analyse her appeal, with varying degrees of success. Sometimes he thought it was because she made him laugh and challenged him all at the same time. At others, because she seemed genuinely unimpressed by his wealth. Was it because she didn’t bore him with questions about how he felt—or, even worse, give him chapter on verse on her own feelings? Or was it more primitive than that? Maybe it was all tied up with him having been her only lover. Maybe he was more old-fashioned than he’d thought.
Exclusivity was a powerful entity, he concluded wryly, his lips softening in anticipation. And purity was a surprisingly potent concept. He could feel a sweet aching in his balls as hot, hard desire flooded through him. A desire strong enough to take his mind off the forthcoming engagement which was looming ever closer in his diary with all the allure of an execution.
Deliberately, he leaned back against the wall. ‘Come here,’ he instructed softly, his concerns drifting away as she went straight into his waiting arms. Wasn’t it remarkable that she knew intuitively when to be docile and when to be dominant and, right now, he was the one who needed to be in total control. He kissed her for a while. A long while. Until her breath had begun to quicken. Until he was so hard that he wanted to explode. But he liked making himself hold back—and that was part of the control too.
‘How...how was your trip?’ she asked breathlessly, as he slid her blouse from her shoulders.
‘Predictable.’
‘Oh?’
As her skirt pooled to the ground, he put his hand between her thighs and felt her shiver as his thumb alighted on her sensitive nub, already slick with desire. ‘Well, we could talk about my trip,’ he said unevenly, flipping her round so that now it was her back pressed against the wall. ‘Or we could talk about how wet you are and how much I want to be inside you again, after a wait which has felt almost unendurable.’ He swallowed. ‘The choice is yours, Marnie.’
‘That’s not...fair,’ she said weakly as he pushed aside the damp gusset of her panties and grazed his fingertip down over her soft folds.
‘Isn’t it? How would you like me to be fair, then, agape mou?’ he mocked, his movement pausing. ‘Do you want me to stop? To fix you a drink, and remark how beautiful the trees look from the terrace?’
‘No,’ she husked. ‘You know I don’t.’
He gave a soft laugh as he unzipped himself and let his trousers fall, before stroking on a condom and hooking up her legs, so that her thighs clamped themselves deliciously around his hips.
He could have come immediately but tempered his own desire until she was engulfed by satisfaction, until her curvy body tensed with waves of release and she shuddered out his name.
With one final jerk he let go and spilled his seed—pumping ecstatically until at last he stilled inside her spasming flesh.
Afterwards, he kicked off his jeans and carried her into the bedroom, laying her down in the centre of his bed so that her hair was spread like rippling gold against the pristine white of the pillow, thinking how exquisite she looked with her eyelids hooded and that dreamy smile curving her lips. Deftly, he removed the rest of their clothes and pulled her into his arms, so that her soft flesh moulded against his beneath the duvet.
‘I really am the most inattentive of hosts.’ He pressed his lips into her hair. ‘Want me to get you a drink now?’
‘No, thanks. And for what it’s worth—I have no complaints about your hosting skills,’ she said, rolling over onto her stomach and fixing him with that curious grey gaze. ‘I’m more interested in how you are. You look stressed.’
‘Not any more, I hope.’ He yawned. ‘Orgasm is supposed to release stress.’
‘Temporarily, I believe. But now it’s back again. I can tell.’
‘You’re very observant.’ He yawned again.
‘Mmm. I know. It’s an acquired skill. Comes from years of watching people in the mirror. I can always tell if there’s something on their mind. And there’s definitely something on yours.’ She hesitated for a moment before she started speaking very carefully, as if she were reading from a crib sheet. ‘Do you want to...to move on?’
‘Move on?’ He looked at her with genuine bewilderment. ‘Move on where?’
‘From me.’
His eyes narrowed as it slowly dawned on him what she meant. It was honest and upfront but if she was expecting him to make a declaration that he would never leave her, then she was about to be disappointed. ‘No, Marnie. I don’t want that but when I do, I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know. Is that a deal?’ He wondered if she would find his honesty unsettling, but her careless shrug reassured him.
Secrets of Cinderella's Awakening Page 9