The Argentinian's Demand. CATHY WILLIAMS
father.
‘He taught me,’ Leandro had said drily, ‘that if you want something you have to go for it, and that the things you most want seldom drop into your lap like ripe fruit falling from a tree...’
Emily had inwardly sniggered. That being the case, he had clearly never really wanted any of the women he had dated, because one of the most stunningly predictable traits they had in common was their ability to fall like ripe fruit from a tree straight into his lap.
She had said with her customary politeness that sometimes you just had to give up on certain things because that was the wiser option, and had then immediately clammed up when he had tried to draw her into an explanation of what she had meant.
‘Yes. A fortnight.’
‘You took two weeks off last year in a stretch...’ he reminded her.
‘But I didn’t leave the country.’
He had assumed she had. Of course when he had shown interest she had shrugged her shoulders and thrown him a something and nothing reply.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked curiously. ‘I recall you took a fortnight off in October...not a brilliant time of year to relax in this country—not if you’re looking for anything other than wall-to-wall rain and wind...’
‘Last October the weather was beautiful.’
She tensed as he unwittingly came close to a subject she definitely had no intention of talking about. He might have dragged Oliver’s name out of her, but that had been unavoidable. She should have had the foresight to know that her resignation would prompt his curiosity. Beyond that, however... No, there were no more roads she would be lured down.
‘Was it?’
‘Yes, it was. You must be keen to get off the phone, Leandro. Are you at home?’
‘Not currently.’
Emily wondered where he was and assumed the obvious. Her voice was correspondingly cool when she said, after a brief hesitation, ‘I’ll make sure not to disturb you for the remainder of the evening, even if I need to ask you anything.’
‘And why would that be?’
‘I’m assuming that you’re on one of your dates.’
She could have kicked herself. Yet again her tongue had run away from her and she needed to rescue this unruly twist in the conversation—one that had been prompted by her!
She wondered if the stress of everything happening in her life at the moment had weakened her defences. Whether, combined with that, the sudden, unexpected shift in her normal working relations with Leandro had further thrown her off course.
Kicking herself every time she slipped up wasn’t going to help matters.
‘In which case,’ she added briskly, ‘I wouldn’t dream of interrupting.’ She emitted a forced chuckle at this point, if only to demonstrate to him how fatuous she actually found their conversation. ‘I do know that you don’t like to be disturbed when you’re with one of your...your...’
‘My...? Don’t forget you’ve made yourself crystal-clear on what you think of my...my... Now, how would you describe them...?’
‘I never said anything about the sort of women you go out with,’ Emily muttered. ‘I only told you that I don’t like running errands involving them on your behalf. I’ve only met a couple of them and they both seemed very...very...nice...’
‘Damned with faint praise.’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ Emily burst out angrily. ‘I don’t want to be having this conversation with you. If you’re out with someone then I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. If you need to get in touch with me tomorrow for some reason then you have my mobile number. I shall make sure I check it at regular intervals just in case.’
Leandro, who had no time for any show of histrionics in women, relaxed and half closed his eyes. This was the most rattled he had ever heard her. In fact over the past twenty-four hours she had blossomed into a real three-dimensional person, and he was enjoying the conversation—passing histrionics and all.
‘And you’ll be in London should I need to call on you to come in for some reason? Highly unlikely but, as you pointed out, a fortnight with both of us out of the office is unheard of...’
‘No,’ Emily said shortly. ‘I probably won’t be in London if I have a day off. Would you like me to come in to work after all?’
‘No...’
Leandro found his mind wandering off course as his imagination, previously rusty, kicked into gear. A day off having mind-blowing sex with the mystery fiancé?
‘I think I’ll cope. You go off and do...whatever it is you have planned. Excluding, of course, that terminally boring retail therapy which you’re not into. I’ll see you at the airport. Bring your computer, Emily. And don’t forget...pack for the weather...’
EMILY ARRIVED AT the airport with time to kill. She had had a sleepless night. Various random scenarios of what lay ahead of her for the next two weeks had ensured a disturbed sleep and now, with the bustle of people around her pulling cases, peering around for check-in desks, browsing in the shops and buying stacks of magazines and confectionery, she anxiously glanced around for Leandro.
He had instructed her on where to meet him. Whilst every other check-in desk was fronted by long queues, the first-class check-in for their flight was calm and empty. She could see people glancing at her with envy and kept her eyes firmly pinned in front of her.
She had packed economically and sparingly and kept her wardrobe as neutral as possible for a fortnight in the sun. Nothing flowery or girlish. Nothing to suggest that she was there for any other reason aside from business. Her single one-piece swimsuit was black. She had no intention of frolicking in a pool in a bikini. Or even stepping foot in one if she could help it.
Leandro’s dark, deep voice behind her made her jump; she swung round to find him far too close to her for her liking, and automatically took a step back.
‘I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.’ His voice was amused as he gave her the once-over.
Her fair hair was neatly in place, pulled back from her face and twisted into her style of choice, which was a bun designed to demonstrate that its wearer was anything but frivolous. She had traded in the more severe grey suit in favour of something a little less formal but still, in the end, a suit. Cream jacket with sleeves to the elbow, navy blue tee shirt underneath, cream skirt and a pair of flat shoes. Her entire outfit shrieked business, and if he hadn’t had a tantalising glimpse behind the stern façade, he could have been forgiven for thinking that the woman looking up at him was completely devoid of personality.
But, oh, she wasn’t. Never had been. Even though she had tried her hardest to camouflage that fact. And now...
‘Can’t stand airport waiting...’
He held out his hand for her passport and Emily stood back while he handled the check-in. Did he notice how the young girl behind the desk had gone bright red and was stumbling over her little speech about the first-class lounge and where they could find it? Or, as a practised charmer who worked his way through glamorous women the way a gourmand worked his way through a Michelin-starred meal, was he casually immune to the attention he commanded from the opposite sex?
Her lips thinned and she turned away.
‘Which is why,’ he continued, striding off as she fell in step with him, ‘I tend to get to airports as late as possible. Tell me how your day was yesterday? What did you do?’
‘I...I...had a few things to put into place...’
Leandro looked down at her. In flats she reached