Bought By A Billionaire. Kay Thorpe
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.
The day went by slowly. Emerging from the office at five-thirty to see Vidal leaning against the bonnet of a silver Mercedes was a shock that left her momentarily speechless. She could only gaze at him, aware of the interest aroused in those around her as he straightened.
‘I remembered you mentioning your company name,’ he said. ‘I need to speak with you.’
‘About what?’ she asked, recovering enough of her poise to achieve a reasonable control of her voice.
He had to be conscious of the spectators, but his attention never wavered from her face, an amber spark deep down in his eyes. ‘Not here.’
Not anywhere with you! she thought, but the words failed to materialise. ‘I really don’t see the point,’ she heard herself saying instead.
‘Indulge me,’ he said.
Leonie hesitated, reluctant to cause further speculation among the onlookers by walking away as her every instinct advised. They would all know who he was, of course. His face had been splashed across too many papers and screens for them not to know. She was going to be faced with a barrage of questions tomorrow, regardless, but it would call for less explanation if she simply went with him now.
He took the hesitation itself as agreement, turning back to open the front passenger door. Leonie slid into the leather seat, reaching automatically for the belt as Vidal moved round the front of the car to gain the driving seat.
‘You’re parked on double yellow lines,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he answered. ‘There are times when the law has to be broken.’
He forced a passage out into the traffic stream, ignoring the furious hooting. Leonie stole a glance at him, unable to do anything about the toe-curling impact. It was unfair that one man should be given so much in the way of looks.
What he could possibly 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