Bought By A Billionaire

CHAPTER TWO

LEONIE stared at him in stupefaction. When she did find her voice it sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I was never more so,’ Vidal assured her hardily. ‘For two long years I’ve tried to put you from my mind—to tell myself that no woman is worth losing sleep over. But it’s been of little use. I made you an offer I’d never made to any other woman, only to have it thrown back in my face as though it were an insult. I have the opportunity now to make you eat your words.’ The pause was brief. ‘The final choice still remains with you.’

‘It’s emotional blackmail!’ she accused, in no doubt as to his meaning. ‘You’re asking too much!’

‘No more than you’re asking of me in continuing to employ a man who stole from me,’ came the unmoved return. ‘Of course, you could always allow him to make the decision for himself.’

There would be no question of which way that decision would go, Leonie knew. Her father would be devastated if he knew what she was facing. The question of whether Vidal would actually call in the police if the money was paid back was debatable, but he certainly wouldn’t be prepared to reinstate him, or give him a reference, which would effectively put paid to his career.

Vidal made an abrupt movement. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over.’

Leonie sank to a seat on the edge of the bed as the door closed behind him, her nerves in tatters. Any appeal to his better nature was going to be a waste of time: he didn’t have a better nature. But marriage! How could she possibly go along with that? Especially when offered in a spirit of revenge for past offences.

There was a cheval mirror a few feet away. She caught a glimpse of herself, shirt only partially buttoned, hair tumbled from the hands run through it. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the hardness of his body against her—the deep down stirring at the memory. He was right about one thing: she had wanted him two years ago and she wanted him now. Despising him as a person made no impact on her senses.

She’d felt that impact the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d called in at the office to invite her father to lunch, to be told by his secretary that he was in conference with the company president. The inner office door had opened almost as she said it, framing a man whose expression registered open appreciation as he viewed her…

‘I’ve been looking at the photograph on your father’s desk for the past half-hour,’ he said. ‘It fails to do you full justice.’ He moved forward, holding out a hand, his smile devastating. ‘I’m Vidal Parella Dos Santos.’

Leonie took the hand, murmuring a response, aware of a tingle like a small electric shock as his fingers closed about hers. After all she’d heard and read about the man before her it was hardly surprising to find him exuding such pure animal magnetism. Women throughout Europe had been subject to it.

She turned her gaze on the man at his back. ‘I was hoping we could have lunch together, Dad.’

‘Sorry, darling, I’m going to be tied up for at least another hour,’ Stuart answered regretfully.

‘In which case, perhaps you’ll allow me to take you to lunch in your father’s stead?’ offered Vidal. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure.’

Leonie’s instinct was to refuse, but a stronger force held sway. It was, after all, only lunch. ‘That’s very nice of you,’ she said.

The smile came again, equally disturbing in its effect. ‘It takes little effort to be nice to a beautiful woman.’

Leonie caught her father’s eye, reading the message there without difficulty. He was as aware as she was of Vidal’s reputation. Not that she had any intention of becoming one of his conquests.

‘I’ll see you later, then,’ she said lightly. ‘Don’t work too hard!’

They went to a restaurant she had never visited before, but where Vidal was welcomed by name and escorted to a table by the maître d’ himself. The place was well populated, the dress code very much upmarket. Leonie was glad she’d chosen to wear a new lemon suit. While not exactly designer label, it looked the part sufficiently well to pass muster to all but the most discerning eye.

‘I gather you’re a pretty frequent visitor here?’ she remarked when they were seated.

‘Whenever I come to London,’ Vidal agreed. ‘They know my tastes.’

In women too, no doubt, she thought with a cynical edge. She wouldn’t be the first he’d brought here, by any means. She studied him as he ran his eyes down the menu, taking in every superbly carved, olive-skinned detail of his face, the breadth of shoulder beneath the fine grey suiting, the lean, long-fingered hands with their well-tended nails. So far as outward appearances were concerned he had it all. Even without his position and wealth, he would never have to fight for female companionship.

As though sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up, catching her before she could look away. ‘Do I meet with your approval?’ he asked smilingly.

‘You’re a handsome man,’ she answered, refusing to be thrown. ‘You must be accustomed to attention.’

The dark head inclined in mock humility. ‘A matter I owe to my ancestry. The Dos Santos males have always been fortunate.’

‘Do the Dos Santos women share the same inheritance?’

‘Some. Not all.’ He paused, studying her in turn. ‘You’ve little of your father in you. Your mother must have been a very beautiful woman herself.’

Even after four years, mention of her still brought a pang. ‘How did you know she was dead?’ she asked.

‘I make it my business to know a top employee’s background,’ he said. ‘I understand you still live with your father?’

‘That’s right.’ Leonie saw no cause to explain her reasons. He should be able to work them out for himself. She dropped her eyes to the menu in front of her. ‘I’d like the whitebait to start, followed by the trout, please.’

‘A woman of decision!’ He applauded. ‘I believe I’ll have the same. You’re content to leave the choice of wine to me?’

Green eyes widened innocently. ‘Of course. Men know so much more about wine!’

The smile that curved his lips wrought havoc on her heartstrings. ‘Mock me at your peril,’ he warned. ‘I may find it necessary to exact penalties.‘

Flirting with a man of Vidal’s calibre was hardly to be recommended, but it was too enjoyable a pastime to be abandoned. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said demurely.

She’d fully intended to plead other commitments after lunch, but when the time came she found herself agreeing without demur to his suggestion that they take a ride on the river.

‘You may not believe it, but this is the first time I’ve ever done this,’ she remarked when they were afloat.

‘I find it very easy to believe,’ Vidal returned. ‘Few of us appreciate the readily available. There are parts of Lisbon I’ve never visited.’

‘I know the Dos Santos headquarters are in Lisbon, but is it your main home too?’ Leonie ventured.

‘Not the city itself. I live at Sintra, some thirty or so kilometres to the northwest.’

‘Your own place?’

‘Of course. Reconstructed from the remains of a fourteenth century monastery.’

Her eyes lit with interest. ‘Really?’

‘And truly,’ he mocked. ‘Not that you’ll find any ghosts from the past still in residence. They were all driven out by the clamour of modern machinery.’

‘You planned the restoration yourself?’

‘With the invaluable aid of an architect friend who was able to tell me what was and wasn’t possible. It was finished three years ago, so the new stonework has weathered in. I employed a landscaping company to design the grounds surrounding it.’

‘Does your family live in the same area?’

‘The Dos Santos estates are in the Douro Valley. Beautiful, but too isolated for my tastes. There’s more than one branch of the family surviving,’ he added, anticipating her next question.

‘My father’s cousin has land adjoining. There are relatives on the island of Madeira too. They own several hotels there.’

‘So you’re not the only one who chose to go into business rather than sit around enjoying the fruits of inheritance?’ Leonie remarked lightly.

The comment drew a quirk to his lips. ‘A very poetic way of putting it, though correct in essence. I leave the latter way of life to my cousins.’

Leonie would have liked to know more, but the warning flags were out. She would be doing herself no favours by delving any deeper into the life of a man she was unlikely to be seeing after today.

The thought alone brought a rare despondency. He came across as so very different from the image she’d formed via media reports. She was drawn to him in more than just the physical sense.

They left the boat at Greenwich, and took a taxi back to where they’d left the car. By then Leonie was even less inclined to call time on the day. She’d never gone short of male attention, but none of the men she’d met had radiated the same charm. Vidal made her feel she was the one person in the whole world he wanted to be with. Deep down, she knew it was all part of his technique, but she turned a deaf ear to the cautionary voices.

Drinks in a Mayfair wine bar, followed by an invitation to dinner in his hotel suite, made his intentions clear enough, but she chose to follow the same reckless path, driven by an inner, irresistible need. Life was for living. With a man like Vidal, the experience could only be good.

The suite was sumptuous, the food superbly prepared, the conversation scintillating. They ate out on the balcony, finishing off the meal with brandies.

Feeling positively euphoric, Leonie got up and went to the balustrade to look out over the sparkling panorama. ‘“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”,’ she quoted softly.

‘Samuel Johnson knew a very different London, I think,’ Vidal observed. He was at her back, hands sliding about her waist to draw her closer, lips parting the hair at her nape to nuzzle the tender skin. ‘The night is beautiful, but you surpass it,’ he murmured. ‘Eu quero, meu querido!’

Leonie had taken off her jacket earlier. The thin blouse she was wearing beneath offered little defence against the hands now sliding up to cup her breasts. She felt her nipples peak beneath the gentle caressing motion of his thumbs, a shudder run the whole length of her body. A core of heat rose from some central spot, radiating outwards to encompass her whole being. She felt as if she were floating, her legs too weak to support her.

Vidal turned her towards him, face dark but for the glitter in his eyes as he bent his head to find her lips. The kiss was a revelation, drawing an instant and overwhelming response. She could feel his heat, the burgeoning hardness against her thighs. He’d removed his jacket too. The fine silk of his shirt moulded to the muscularity beneath, emphasising every masculine line.

‘Come,’ he said softly.

It was only then, as he took her hand to lead her back indoors, that she began to come to her senses. This was nothing new to him. Nothing special, the way it was for her. She was just another easy lay—another notch on his bedpost.

He turned his head to view her in some surprise as she pulled sharply free of him. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked

‘I’m no one-night-stand!’ she jerked out

Dark brows drew together. ‘Is that how you believe I see you?’

‘Well, isn’t it?’ she challenged. ‘You had this in mind from the first, didn’t you?’

‘I was under the impression that we both of us knew where we were heading,’ he returned levelly. ‘You gave me no cause to doubt it up until now.’

Leonie felt the warmth run up under skin. She sought refuge from the truth in anger. ‘You take too much for granted! I accepted an invitation to dinner. I didn’t realise I’d be called on to pay for it in kind.’

Vidal viewed her in silence for a moment or two, a deep down spark in his eyes the only indication of emotion. ‘I apologise for the error,’ he said at last. ‘I thought you a woman of the world.’

She’d gone out of her way to give that impression, Leonie had to admit. Anger gave way to shame for a moment. The fault was more hers than his.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I got a little carried away. I’m not in the habit of it, believe me.’

The expression that crossed the sculpted features was difficult to define. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘I do take far too much for granted. Perhaps we might begin again?’

Leonie shook her head, ousting temptation before it could swamp her. ‘I really don’t see any point. We come from different worlds. I’ll stick to my own in future.’

‘Your choice, of course.’ Vidal indicated the open glass doors, face impassive now. ‘I’ll order you a taxi.’

Leonie went ahead of him back into the room, steeling herself to stay in control as she watched him pick up the telephone.

‘It will be waiting for you,’ he said, replacing the receiver. ‘Charged to my account.’

No doubt an arrangement of long standing, she thought. ‘I can pay for my own transport,’ she declared stiffly.

He inclined his head. ‘You must naturally do as you see fit.’

He came over to pick up the jacket she’d tossed over a chair-back before dinner, holding it out for her to slide her arms into. She did so as smoothly and swiftly as possible, vitally aware of his closeness, and of her hammering pulses. If she’d carried on the act a little longer they would have been in bed by now, with the question of right or wrong purely academic. It took everything she had to restrain the urge to throw caution aside.

Vidal saw her to the suite’s outer door. It was still impossible to read anything in the dark eyes as she met them for the final time.

‘It was an enjoyable day,’ he said.

‘But a disappointing night,’ she responded, determined not to give way to any last-minute wavering.

The smile was unexpected. ‘No matter. Sleep well, namorado.’

What the last meant, Leonie had no idea. Nor did she care to ask. She heard the door close as she made for the lifts.

Crossing the hotel lobby was an ordeal in itself. She was certain that the receptionists on duty were watching her every step. The taxi was waiting, as promised. She gave the address and slid inside, grateful for the closed glass partition precluding any conversation. It was going to be a costly ride all the way out to Northwood, but she had no intention of crying off from paying—even if it did probably mean that the driver would gain double fare.

It was close on midnight when she reached home. As anticipated, her offer of the metered charge wasn’t rejected. Her father came out from the study as she let herself in, his expression only too easy to read.

‘You didn’t go back to your office this afternoon,’ he said.

Leonie donned a smile, a light tone. ‘No. Vidal fancied a trip on the river. We had dinner together too.’

‘Just dinner?’

‘Just dinner,’ she assured him, smothering any resentment at the catechism. ‘He’s been the perfect gentleman.’

Stuart looked relieved. ‘Good. It isn’t that I don’t trust you to keep a steady head,’ he hastened to add. ‘I was just a little concerned that he might attempt to take advantage, that’s all.’

‘Well, he didn’t.’ She could say that with truth, considering the way he’d accepted the rejection. A first for him too, she didn’t doubt. ‘I’m going straight up,’ she declared, stifling a spurious yawn.

‘I’ll be up myself in a few minutes,’ Stuart returned.

Leonie kissed his cheek in passing, mounting the stairs feeling anything but happy. She’d probably turned down the experience of her life tonight, and for what? Hanging fire for Mr Right was all very well in theory, but what if he never turned up?

She spent a restless night, rising to a day that held little sparkle. The more she thought about the previous night, the more gauche she felt. She’d acted like some naïve teenager rather than a grown woman. Vidal must consider her totally immature.

Was it too late, she wondered, to contact him and apologise for giving the wrong impression? She had no idea what his itinerary was, but he’d still be in his suite at this hour. She wanted desperately to see him again. He was like no other man she had ever met. So what if he did have a reputation? At thirty-three, and single, he was hardly going to live like a monk. They’d been so well attuned until she’d come over all moral. Given the opportunity, the relationship might even have developed into something worthwhile.

She was still grappling with the temptation when she went down to breakfast. Her father was reading the morning newspaper.

‘I think you should see this,’ he said, handing a sheet over as she took her seat at the table. ‘Just in case there’s any doubt remaining.’

The photograph leapt out at her: Vidal, resplendent in evening dress, alongside a young and beautiful woman who looked vaguely familiar. According to the accompanying write-up Vidal had refused to accept responsibility for the child she’d recently given birth to, leaving her with a ruined modelling career, and destitute. She didn’t believe in abortion, she claimed plaintively. All she’d ever asked from him was support.

Leonie swallowed thickly on the lump in her throat. Knowing him for a philanderer was one thing; this was something else. What kind of man turned his back on his own child?

‘I wasn’t planning on seeing him again,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Stuart sounded relieved. ‘He’ll be gone in a couple of days, anyway. He never spends long in any place.’

His name wasn’t mentioned again.

Leonie did her best to cast him from her mind altogether—failing because her body refused to play ball. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin; still smell the emotive masculine scent of him. She despised herself for the weakness.