The Purest of Diamonds?. Susan Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ was she embarrassed? Too much physical contact? Too much physical contact with him?

      Could Leila really be that innocent? His ingénue radar—rusty from lack of use—said yes. Her sisters weren’t noted for being shy and retiring, which only made Leila all the more intriguing. And when she turned to look at him with eyes that, apart from being very beautiful, were wide and candid, he registered a most definite physical response.

      ‘Come,’ he said, forging a passage for her through the crowd. ‘Let’s get you sorted out so you can enjoy the party.’

      Leila bit her lip to hide her smile. The thought of Raffa Leon ‘sorting her out’ was rather appealing. Thank goodness she had more sense.

      There was one good thing about all this. Everyone was so busy staring at Raffa as they walked through the lobby that no one noticed Leila, or the mud on her clothes.

      Shame on you, Leila Skavanga! Wasn’t this supposed to be your breakout year?

      Pegged as the dreamer of the family—the youngest, the quietest, the peacemaker—if she was ever going to break out of that safe, cosy mould, she had to change, and she had to change now. But not all those changes had to happen tonight. In fact, it would be safer if they didn’t. When she had made that promise to herself that she would change, and that she could change, she hadn’t factored the devil at her side into the equation. Don Rafael Leon, the Duke of Cantalabria, to give Raffa his full title, was not the sort of man to practise anything on. She had set her heart on finding the modern-day equivalent of a pipe and slippers man—someone undemanding and kind. Someone safe. And Raffa Leon was not safe.

      So what about his chivalry towards her?

      Innate politeness, she decided. Even great whites had the decency to circle you before they struck.

      She exclaimed as Raffa grabbed her hands to draw her in front of him beneath the searching light of one of the hotel’s glittering chandeliers.

      ‘Dios, Leila! This is worse than I thought!’

      Standing back, he stared long and hard at her ruined clothes, while she was only capable of registering the unaccustomed heat flooding through her.

      ‘Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself?’ Raffa demanded.

      ‘No, not at all...’ She just wanted to stand there for a moment longer, enjoying the heat and strength in his hands. How cold and limp hers must seem by comparison, she thought, tightening her grip. She quickly released her grip, realising she had given Raffa entirely the wrong message.

      ‘Well, I’m not going to let you out of my sight tonight,’ he said with a hint of humour in his eyes as if he knew how awkward she felt having touched him. ‘We can’t risk any more accidents.’

      ‘Agreed,’ she murmured, still staring at him like a loon.

      ‘The restroom, Leila?’

      ‘Of course.’ Mentally, she shook herself. ‘And, really, I’m fine—I can handle it.’

      ‘Can you?’

      ‘Without you,’ she confirmed pleasantly.

      So ignore my wishes, she thought as Raffa drew her by the hand across the lobby, where the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.

      ‘I’m sure you’ve got places to be, people to meet, Raffa.’

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Right here with you, making sure the rest of your evening goes better than the start has. And you’re not keeping me, Leila. Any excuse to avoid a night of small talk with people I don’t know, don’t want to know and will never see again.’ At this point he gave a delicious Latin shrug that drew her gaze to the width of his shoulders. ‘Getting away from the crowd is great for me, Leila.’

      She’d felt exactly the same when she’d left the house, but only because she was so shy in a crowd of people she didn’t know, which surely couldn’t be Raffa’s problem.

      ‘I’ve been thinking back to Britt’s wedding,’ Raffa admitted as they waited their turn in the queue for the cloakroom. ‘I remember you playing tag with those tiny flower girls. You did a great job of keeping them entertained.’

      ‘I enjoyed it too,’ she admitted. ‘I’m afraid sophistication is not my middle name.’

      ‘Some might call it charming, Leila.’

      Her secret was out. She loved children. In fact, she loved children and animals more than most adults outside her family, because they were straightforward and she wasn’t good at playing mind games.

      ‘Our turn,’ Raffa prompted with his hand in the small of her back as the queue to the cloakroom cleared.

      His touch lit every part of her with awareness. Maybe because his hand was so strong, and his touch was so light...

      ‘So, you like children?’

      ‘Yes, I do.’ Handing his borrowed jacket over, she turned to face the man she was sure would rather be a million miles away and hit back defensively. ‘As a matter of fact, I can’t wait to have children. I just don’t want the man.’

      Raffa’s lips pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘Could be awkward.’

      She frowned. ‘Why?’

      ‘Biology?’

      If there was some sort of danger/beware register, Raffa should be put on it, Leila decided as he flashed his wicked smile.

      She had a lucky escape from more verbal jousting when her gorgeous sister Britt chose that moment to enter the hotel on the arm of her handsome sheikh. Spotting them immediately, Britt gave Leila a what-the-heck-are-you-doing-with-him? look, swiftly followed by a jerk of her beautiful blonde head in the direction of the elevators—a signal that Leila should get herself out of trouble and up to the family suite pronto, before she got herself into deeper water with the most dangerous man in town.

      She returned Britt’s look with a slanting smile that said, do I have to?

      Did she want to? That was the question.

      Britt shrugged as if to say, on your head be it.

      It was all right for Britt. Fantastic in company like Leila’s other sister, Eva, Britt would be an asset to any gathering, while Leila would only get in the way if she went up to the suite Britt had taken for her pre-party gathering.

      ‘Put your ticket away safely, Leila.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘Your cloakroom ticket,’ Raffa prompted, handing it over. ‘Now get yourself into the restroom to sort out your dress. And, okay—’ His gaze descended and lingered for quite some time. ‘Your stockings are shot.’

      ‘My tights,’ she corrected him primly.

      ‘Please don’t disillusion me.’

      That smile!

      Her equilibrium having been taken and СКАЧАТЬ