Once there had been less of a necessity for her to be roped in as mediator, she had no trouble in wriggling out of the remainder of the planned evening. Daniel might not have been transformed into the loving son, but at least he seemed to have forgotten the debacle of the missed Sports Day. And Katherine…
That little show of backbone, when she had soundly ticked off Leo and spared Heather the embarrassment of being cross examined like a criminal in the dock, had been a telling reminder that she was still a mother and Leo still a son.
All told, she’d been able to leave with a pretty clear conscience.
By seven-thirty she was back in her studio. Painting had never before let her down. In the aftermath of Brian, she had retreated back to her art, and it had been a soothing balm.
Its soothing, balm-like qualities were proving more elusive now. In fact, as she peered at the fairy she had just spent forty-five minutes painting meticulously, she could swear that he bore a striking resemblance to Leo. How had that happened? And what role could a cruel, money-obsessed, self-centred workaholic fairy have in a children’s book?
Having downgraded to the television—which was having a similarly non-remedial effect on her chaotic thoughts—she was startled when she heard a bang on the door.
Heather didn’t think for a moment that it would be anyone but Leo, and she was shocked and frightened to discover that her heart was doing all sorts of weird things. Her head was behaving pretty badly as well, forcing her to recall the way his mouth curved in that smile that was always not very far away from cynical; the way he tilted his head to one side when he was listening to something, giving the impression that he was listening intently with every fibre of his being.
Faced with the unpalatable truth that the man had somehow managed to spark something in her that she had convinced herself was long dead and buried, Heather yanked open the door, bristling for attack.
‘You’ve been painting again,’ was the remark that greeted her. ‘How are the fairies? All work and no play; you know what they say about that.’
‘You keep showing up on my doorstep!’
‘There’s a lot to be said for predictability. Hope I’m not interrupting anything—aside from a painting jag, that is?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I come bearing gifts.’
She hadn’t noticed, but now he lifted both hands and she could see that he was carrying several carrier-bags.
‘What’s that?’ Heather asked suspiciously.
‘Food—Chinese. And a bottle of wine, of course. Today has worn Daniel out, and my mother has retreated to watch something on television. A historical romance; I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach it.’
‘And you didn’t decide to work?’
‘This seemed a more interesting option.’ Besides, he felt in holiday mode. The day had gone well, and more than that…Leo had found himself watching her, watching the way she laughed, closing her eyes and throwing her head back, giving it everything. He watched the way she related to his mother and his son, gentle and compassionate. He had also found himself watching the way her body had shifted under her clothes, the bounce of her breasts when she had reached across to get the salt on the table…
After that illuminating little chat about the stock market, there had been no more work-related discussions, although he was pretty sure that she would rise to the challenge given half a chance. No, the conversation had been light and amusing, and he had enjoyed himself.
He had a chequered love life behind him, which was just the way he liked it. But lately he had become bored with the relentlessly intellectual conversations provided by the women he dated; bored with trying to arrange dates, with each of the women consulting their BlackBerries, endeavouring to find a suitable gap in hectic timetables, bored with leggy brunettes.
A change was as good as a rest, he had decided, and that change came in the small, curvy figure of the woman looking at him as though he might very well be something infectious.
She was a challenge, and Leo was in a mood to take on a challenge.
Furthermore, it had crossed his mind that seeing his son, and his mother for that matter, had been a considerably less stilted business with Heather in the mix. They relaxed with her in a way that they never relaxed around him. Taking on this challenge might have more than just the expected rewards.
He surfaced to the tail end of something she had been saying, and when he frowned she said very slowly, as if she were talking to someone mentally challenged, ‘There was no need for you to come over here with food. You probably feel that this is a suitable thank-you gesture, but I don’t need thanking.’
‘Stop being so bad tempered and let me in. The food’s going cold. Cold Chinese food is never a good sight—congeals.’ He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Besides, what’s wrong with accepting a little thanks?’
It was the smile. Heather’s mouth went dry and she stared at him. The sight of him took her breath away. She was aware that she was gaping, and she snapped her mouth shut and reminded herself that being deprived of breath was not a good place to be. In fact, it was terminal.
‘It was a good day.’ He was still smiling, his shrewd eyes taking in her response to him and banking it. She fought like a wild cat, but he got to her and, considering she got to him as well, it seemed only fitting. ‘And you deserve credit for it.’
‘Why are you being nice?’
‘Maybe I want to show you that I’m not the self-centred, arrogant monster you seem to think I am.’
‘I never said you were a monster.’ She was struck by the thought that to turn him away would be to admit that her past still had a hold over her; that Brian—three years gone—still had a hold over her and could still influence the way she related to other people, other men.
‘Okay.’ She stood aside, making up her mind, realising that she had nothing to fear but herself and her stupid overreactions. Besides, he’d be gone in a few hours. ‘But I really have to get back to my painting some time tonight.’
Leo stepped inside, brushing her protestations aside, and headed for the kitchen. Unerringly he knew where it would be, and felt her walking behind him; he liked the anticipation of what the evening might bring. Sure there was a lot to be said for predictability, but there was a great deal more to be said for the thrill of the unknown, and her obvious reluctance to be anywhere near him had roused his hunting instincts.
He dumped the bags on the table. The wine was still cold from the fridge.
‘If you point to the plates…’
‘Don’t tell me that you’re Mr Domestic?’
‘You mean you wouldn’t believe me?’ He perched against the counter, arms folded, and laughed softly under his breath.
‘I mean—’ Heather had to take a deep breath to steady her sudden giddiness ‘—I’d quicker believe that there were lots of little green people dashing about on planet Mars.’
‘Okay. You win.’ He gave a mock gesture of defeat. ‘Domesticity doesn’t agree with me.’ He watched as she opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. The ubiquitous flowing skirt was gone. She was wearing some grey jogging-bottoms and an off-white vest bearing the telltale signs of her painting. For the first time, he could really see something of her figure, and his eyes roved appreciatively over the full breasts, the flat stomach, the womanly curve of her hips. She was by no means thin, but her body was toned and surprisingly tanned. He wondered whether she had been taking advantage of the hot weather, tanning in her garden—tanning nude in her garden…?
When she swung round to give him a glass, he surprised himself by flushing.
‘And why is that?’ Heather asked. ‘Could it be that, the more money a person has, the more temptation there is to buy the services of other people who are a lot more handy at doing all those inconvenient chores like cooking?’
Instead of bringing down his shutters, that little undercurrent of belligerence sent a jolt of red-hot lust running through him.
‘Ah…’ He strolled towards her and took a sip of wine. ‘But just think, my little economist, of how many people I keep employed…’
Looking up at him, she could feel that breathing thing happening again. She forced herself to get a grip, to bring the conversation back down to a level she could handle.
‘Or maybe you’re just scared at the thought of putting down roots,’ she said wryly. ‘And if you never treat your house like a home then you never put down roots, do you?’
CHAPTER THREE
HUGE inroads had been made into the Chinese food, which was spread on the table between them. Noodles and other assorted bits of food had managed to escape the chopsticks and were hardening on the pine table-top. The bottle of wine was nearing its end, but Heather was barely aware of having drunk anything at all. It had taken a little while, but she had lowered her defences and was proud of how normal she was behaving. As far as exercises went, this was a pretty good result. Yes, she could talk to the man without pigeon-holing him. She knew him for what he was, but was not letting that get in the way of responding to him like an adult. She was smugly aware of a sense of personal achievement.
Of course, it had to be said that Leo was making things easy for her. He was no longer on the attack, no longer looking at her with narrow-eyed suspicion which made her hackles rise. The conversation was light, skimming the surface, avoiding any pitfalls.
And the wine was helping. Heather rested her elbow on the table, cupped her face in her hand and looked at Leo sleepily.
‘Don’t tell me that you’re going to doze off in the middle of my conversation?’ he said, sipping his wine and looking at her over the rim of his glass. ‘My ego would never recover.’
‘And we both know that you’ve got a very healthy one of those,’ Heather murmured. His eyes were hypnotic. She could stare into them for ever.
‘I’m going to say thank you, even though I have a sneaking suspicion that there wasn’t anything complimentary behind the observation.’
‘My head feels a little woolly.’
‘In which case, we’d better get you to the sitting room. Leave all this debris. I’ll tidy it up.’
‘You will? You’re domestically challenged—you said that yourself. Do you even know what a dishwasher looks like?’
Leo gave a low laugh and looked at her. She was as soft and full as a peach. Her hair was a riot of gold ringlets framing her face, giving her a look that was impossibly feminine. No hard edges there. Sitting across from her as they had eaten had required a lot of restraint. He had watched her as she tipped her head back, her eyes half-closed, so that she could savour the noodles on her chopsticks, and he had had to shift his body because it had been so damned uncomfortable dealing with his aching erection.
‘You seem to forget that I had a childhood,’ he told her drily. ‘And there was no one around then to do my bidding. My brother and I had our list of chores every day, and some of them included clearing the table after meals.’ Another memory that had not surfaced for a very long time.
‘I can’t imagine you doing chores. I bet you paid your brother to do yours for you.’ Heather had never met Alex. She knew that he was away somewhere distant and exotic and had been for a while.
‘Come on. I’m going to get you into the sitting room.’ The shutters had come down with the mention of his brother, and he stood up. But as she pushed herself away from the table he moved quickly around, and was sweeping her off her feet, taking her by surprise and therefore finding little resistance.
After a few startled seconds, Heather wriggled against him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m carrying you into your sitting room. You look a little wobbly on your feet.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of walking three inches!’
‘Stop struggling.’
‘You’ll pull a muscle in your back, lifting me up! ‘After all her smug satisfaction at how amazingly adult she had been—chatting to Leo as though he was just another perfectly normal guy who didn’t rattle her cage—she could now feel every nerve ending in her body screaming in response to this physical contact. His chest was hard and muscular and the hands supporting her were strong and sinewy; all those stirrings, of whatever the heck they were that she didn’t want, were flooding through her in a tidal wave.
The more she wriggled, the more the stirring magnified, so she stopped wriggling and told herself to get a grip.
‘There.’ Leo deposited her gently on the squashy sofa in the sitting room and stood back, looking down at her. ‘Ordeal over.’ He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or disgruntled at her frantic efforts to bolt.
‘It wasn’t an ordeal,’ Heather told him, gathering herself into a sitting position. ‘I was—I was just concerned for you…’ Her heartbeat should have been returning to normal, but it wasn’t.
‘Concerned?’
‘I’m not the lightest person in the world.’ She spelled it out for him, willing herself to get back into sensible, protective mode.
Leo sat on the sofa and she immediately squirmed into a cross-legged position, her hands resting lightly on her knees.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You do that.’
‘What?’
‘Introduce a topic and then suddenly decide to back off before you can explain what you’re talking about.’
‘There’s nothing to explain.’ She gave a careless shrug and linked her fingers together. ‘I just think that caveman gestures like that are probably better done with someone skinnier than me. Probably with one of those women who fall over themselves to be in your company.’
Leo, well skilled in the ways of women, could recognise a fishing expedition from a mile away. She was curious about him, wanted to know more, but was reluctant to frame her questions directly. Good sign.
‘I thought women liked the caveman approach.’
‘Not when it can lead to personal injury.’
‘Who on earth ever told you that you were…?
‘Fat?’ Heather supplied for him. ‘Overweight?’ She stared at her fingers. ‘In need of losing a few pounds? No one.’
‘No one. Well, you can tell no one that he was way off-target. You are neither fat nor are you overweight. And as for all those women who fall over themselves to be in my company…’ He noticed the way she inclined her head very slightly, as if stilling to hear some distant sound. This, he thought with satisfaction, was the sound of a woman who was sexually interested in a man. ‘They do tend to be on the skinny side,’ he admitted. He relaxed back on the sofa and crossed his legs.
‘I knew it.’
‘One more of those monstrously predictable things about me?’
‘Why is it that men with lots of money are always attracted to women who look as though they would have difficulty keeping upright in a strong wind? I mean, really, is there something attractive about a human being who doesn’t eat?’
Leo laughed, and when he was finished laughing he looked at her and shook his head, as if a little dazed by the woman sitting opposite him on the sofa.
‘No, there’s absolutely nothing attractive about a woman who doesn’t eat, and I have to admit that I’ve dated a lot of those.’
‘Brainless bimbos?’ She wanted to pull information out of him, and was guiltily aware that she was being as intrusive with him as he had been with her.
‘Brainless bimbos? No, definitely not that.’
Now, that did surprise her, and Leo laughed again, amused. ‘Why would I be attracted to a brainless bimbo?’ he asked.
‘Because she looks good on your arm?’
‘And what about when there’s no one around to see her looking good on my arm? What conversation could there possibly be with a brainless bimbo?’
‘So what sort of women do you go out with?’
‘Why do you ask?’
Why, Heather thought, do I ask? This wasn’t the sort of casual, skimming-th
e-surface conversation which was safe and unthreatening. There was an edge to this conversation, but like someone standing on the edge of a precipice, peering down, she found that it was irresistible.
‘No reason. Just making conversation. Really, though, you should go. I’m awfully tired. There’s honestly no need for you to tidy the kitchen. I can do that later, or better still in the morning.’
Leo had no intention of leaving, but it dawned on him that Heather was not like any other woman he had known. That bristly, belligerent spark wasn’t an act to get his attention. If she told him that he should go, then she meant it, and since Leo wasn’t going anywhere—at least not yet—he stood up and shook his head in his best bedside manner, something of which he’d had precious little practice.
‘You need some coffee.’ Before she could launch into another goodbye speech, he left the room, only throwing over his shoulder that maybe she should doze for a bit. The occasional catnap could work wonders, he told her. Not that he knew, but it was all part of the bedside manner.
In truth, Leo had forgotten the art of seduction, or at least the art of persuasion.
With women, the outcome was usually apparent within a matter of minutes: conversation of the intelligent variety, a certain type of eye contact and then the unspoken assumption that they would end up as lovers.
With Heather, he realised that one false move and she would run a mile—and of course, given that he was no more than a highly competitive red-blooded male, what more of a turn on could there be than an uncertain outcome?
Not for a minute did it occur to Leo that a deliberate seduction was anything less than perfectly reasonable. He took his time in the kitchen. Dishes were washed and precariously balanced on the draining board, because drying and putting them away seemed a senseless waste of time when they would be used again at some point in the future—and she had been right with the ‘dishwasher’ accusation. There was some sort of coffee-making machine with nozzles and a vaguely threatening glass jug, which he ignored. Instead, he made them both a cup of instant coffee and was gratified to find that she wasn’t dozing, as he’d suspected she might be, when he returned to the sitting room.
Hired for the Boss's Bedroom Page 4