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‘Give me an hour… George struck me as a very level-headed and rational man.’
Stunned, Angie watched him stride back out again. Leo was planning to drive over to the Dicksons’ to demand custody of a pink giraffe? Jake sat up, rubbing at his eyes. ‘Waff…?’ he mumbled with a hint of a wobbly smile.
‘Wait and see…maybe,’ Angie said carefully.
Leo was back, however, within the hour. He came through the door with Waff extended like a small but tremendously important peace offering. Jake shot out of bed like a jet-propelled missile, hurled himself ecstatically at Leo’s knees and accepted Waff back, tucking the battered toy possessively under his arm. ‘Night, night,’ he said happily, accepting Angie’s help to climb back into bed.
‘How did you do it?’ Angie whispered as Leo moved back to the door again.
‘Dickson was so embarrassed, he couldn’t hand Waff over fast enough. He sends his apologies for what he termed “an unfortunate misunderstanding”,’ Leo informed Angie very drily over his shoulder.
‘Really?’ Angie followed Leo out into the corridor. ‘What else did he say?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have the time to tell you.’
Belatedly, Angie reread the significance of the dinner jacket he wore and flushed uncomfortably. ‘You’re running late again.’
His dark eyes gleamed as he studied her. ‘And tomorrow morning I’m flying over to Brussels for a few days. You’ll have the house to yourself until Thursday.’
He went on down the stairs, and Angie listened to the distant thud of the front door and glanced in at Jake again. Leo’s son had gone out like a light, Waff a barely visible pink splodge tucked under his chin. For some reason she found that she couldn’t stop wondering who the lady in Leo’s life was… Did she play games? Probably not. Games were the province of the young and brash and insecure, she reminded herself heavily. And quite the reverse of appealing when recognised for what they were by the quarry.
In the early hours, Angie lay awake. Leo hadn’t come home, Leo obviously wasn’t coming home—and why had she been unconsciously straining to hear his return? she asked herself with angry self-loathing. Take the average single male on a Saturday night—he did not sit in toasting his feet by the fire. When that same male was also gorgeous, rich, oversexed and spoilt for female choice, he was undoubtedly involved in an intimate relationship, and extremely unlikely to come racing home like Cinderella, struggling to beat the clock at midnight.
Switching on the light, she peered at her alarm clock. Almost two. The house was silent as the grave. Desperate for something to read to pass the time, she slid out of bed, automatically reached for her towelling dressing gown and then realised that, in her eagerness to escape Claudia, she hadn’t retrieved it, or several other garments which she could ill afford to lose, from the wash. More things to replace, and she had barely five pounds to her name, she reflected dully. Furthermore Christmas was hurtling towards them at break-neck speed and she had next to nothing bought for Jake.
She crept downstairs and into the library. Surprise, surprise… Leo’s shelves were packed with books written in Greek. As she began flipping irritably through a pile of business magazines in search of something lighter, the door suddenly opened. In fright, Angie almost jumped a foot in the air.
Bold dark eyes whipped over her paralysed figure. ‘What are you doing in here?’
Recovering, Angie pushed an awkward hand through her tumbled hair. ‘I was looking for something to read—’
‘On my desk?’ Leo prompted drily, possibly because she was standing only a foot from it with the air of being caught in mid-flight.
‘I haven’t been anywhere near your desk,’ Angie muttered defensively, backing away from it as Leo moved slowly forward. ‘I was glancing through the magazines on that chair.’
‘Since when were you interested in electronics?’
Angie stared at him. His black hair was tousled. His bow-tie was missing and his shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing a disturbing triangle of brown skin and the start of the riot of dark, curling hair that she knew covered his pectoral muscles. Embarrassed by that knowledge and the memory, Angie momentarily shut her eyes. But still she saw Leo standing there, strong jawline blue-shadowed with the same early-morning stubble which had once felt so interestingly, arousingly rough against her softer, smoother skin.
Inside her own head, she shrieked at her treacherous subconscious to leave her alone and stop throwing up things she didn’t want to remember—most particularly when it was obvious that Leo had recently vacated some other woman’s bed. As that conviction assailed her, a searing spasm of hot jealousy and resentment shot through Angie, leaving her deeply shaken.
‘Were you looking for money?’
Her dazed and troubled eyes flew wide. ‘M-money?’ she stammered blankly.
Leo gave her a grim smile. ‘Somehow I don’t think you have graduated to safe-cracking yet.’
As Angie grasped his meaning, pain and anger combined in the bitter look she threw at him. ‘Damn you to hell, Leo. I wouldn’t steal from you!’ she flung at him, and turned strickenly away, devastated by the extent of his distrust.
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