Bought By A Billionaire. Kay Thorpe

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СКАЧАТЬ have to say to her she had no idea. Another apology, perhaps, for taking too much for granted last night—even though he’d had some cause. It seemed unlikely, yet she could think of no other explanation for his looking her up. Not that it would make the least bit of difference to her view of him after reading what she’d read this morning.

      ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he turned onto Park Lane.

      ‘My suite,’ he said, jerking her upright.

      ‘If you think…’

      ‘I’m not about to repeat last night’s error in judgement,’ he declared. ‘What I have to say to you requires privacy.’ He shook his head as she made to speak. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it.’

      He was right about that, she had to admit. The evening traffic was heavy, road sense in short supply. A driver needed no distractions. She subsided again reluctantly, even more confused.

      They made the square eventually. Vidal drove straight down into the hotel’s underground car park. Another couple joined them in the lift. Leonie saw the way the woman looked at Vidal, then back at her own partner, as if comparing the two. Not that there was any comparison.

      The other two got out at the fourth floor, leaving them to ascend to the fifth in a silence Leonie had no intention of being the first to break. She would listen to whatever it was he had to say, but he wasn’t going to sway her opinion of him. Certainly not after that morning’s revelations.

      It was gone six-thirty by her watch when they reached the suite. She’d told her father she’d be going straight home tonight, though she rarely made it before seven. She’d give him a ring as soon as she got out of here, she promised herself. He tended to worry if she failed to put in an appearance when she’d said she would, imagining all kinds of mishaps. A leftover from her childhood days.

      Vidal invited her to take a seat, lifting his shoulders in a philosophical shrug when she declined. Dressed today in trousers and a fine white cotton sweater, dark hair showing a hint of curl in its thickness, he was achingly alluring. Leonie steeled herself to stay on top of the emotions he still aroused in her.

      ‘So?’ she said.

      A smile touched his lips as he surveyed her. ‘You remind me of a stag at bay,’ he said. ‘Ready to do me damage should I make one false move. You need have no fear. I’m willing to wait.’

      Green eyes fired a whole shower of sparks. ‘You’ll be wasting your time!’

      ‘It’s mine to waste,’ he returned. ‘Not that I intend a lengthy engagement.’

      The wind taken completely out of her sails, Leonie gazed at him blankly. ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘Our marriage,’ he said. ‘I want you to be my wife.’

      Leonie knew a sudden urge to laugh. Pure hysteria, she thought dazedly. From last night to this was too much of a jump for her mind to make.

      ‘What kind of game are you playing now?’ she got out.

      ‘I’m not in the habit of playing games,’ he said. ‘Certainly not of this nature. I’ve waited a long time to meet a woman I could contemplate spending my life with. A woman who values herself enough to overcome her more basic urges. You wanted me last night in exactly the same way that I wanted you, but you refused to give way. You never have, have you?’

      Leonie felt her face flame. ‘That’s none of your business!’

      Vidal smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s very much my business. My wife must have known no other man. It’s one Dos Santos tradition I’ve no quarrel with. I’d prefer a quiet wedding. And as soon as can be managed.’ The dark eyes acquired a tawny spark again as he studied her. ‘I found last night frustrating enough.’

      Leonie found her voice, amazed by its steadiness. ‘Does the word love figure in your vocabulary at all?’

      ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps not the “at first sight” kind written about in books. The real kind takes time and knowledge to develop.’

      He paused, a faint line appearing between his brows as he waited for some response from her. ‘Do you have nothing to say to me?’

      She drew a deep shuddery breath, fighting a sudden mad inclination to simply go along with it all. ‘I’ve got plenty to say,’ she forced out. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’

      The shock that sprang in his face would have been laughable if she’d felt at all like laughing. The possibility of rejection had obviously never occurred to him. Not so surprising, she supposed, considering his status as one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, but that in no way excused his sheer arrogance.

      The anger sweeping her was as much a defence against any lingering doubts as an expression of repulsion. She drew herself up to her full height, fists clenched at her sides, eyes scornful. ‘If you want the truth, I’d as soon consort with a worm than a womanising, baby-abandoning low-life like you! I must have been mad to let you anywhere near me to start with. Talk about scraping the barrel!’

      She stopped there, apprehension taking over at the look in his eyes. Danger shimmered in the air between them.

      He turned abruptly and made for the drinks cabinet, pulling down the shelf with control to reach for glass and bottle. The whisky he poured was at least a double measure. He tossed it back in a single gulp, standing there with his back to her, tension in every line of his body.

      ‘I think you’d better leave,’ he said.

      For a moment she hesitated, ashamed of the sheer viciousness of her attack. It took the memory of the newspaper item to drive all regret from her mind. Somewhere out there was a woman caring for his child. Maybe not the only one, for all she knew. He merited no apology.

      He was still standing there when she closed the door on him.

      It hadn’t been true, Leonie reflected painfully, coming back to the present. Not that part, at any rate. The woman had just been trying it on, losing her case when a blood test proved that the baby couldn’t be his. Not that it made him any less of a rake.

      The ultimatum he’d just presented her with was still hard to take in. No marriage contracted under such circumstances could ever become meaningful. He would be condemning them both to a loveless union simply to salve his pride. He had to see how utterly useless a gesture it would be.

      He was seated on one of the sofas, a drink to hand, when she finally nerved herself to go through. He watched her expressionlessly as she moved towards him.

      ‘There has to be some other way of handling this,’ she said. ‘Why would you want a wife who hates you?’

      ‘You don’t hate me,’ he declared without undue emphasis. ‘You feel the way you’ve always felt about me. The same way I feel about you. We’re meant to be together. If this is the only way of achieving that, then so be it.’

      ‘Forsaking all others?’ she asked. ‘Or are Dos Santos wives expected to turn a blind eye?’

      The shrug was brief. ‘A matter of learning to trust.’

      ‘Trust СКАЧАТЬ