Leila found it hard to draw in a breath. Suddenly terrified of why he was there, she gabbled, ‘By the way, you left far too much money for the perfume.’
She turned and went to the counter and took out an envelope containing the excess he’d paid. She’d been intending to drop it to the hotel for him, but hadn’t had the nerve all day. She held it out now.
Alix barely looked at it. He speared her with that grey gaze and said, ‘I want to take you out to dinner.’
Panic fluttered in Leila’s gut and her hand tightened on the envelope, crushing it. ‘What did you say?’
He pushed open his light overcoat to put his hands in his pockets, drawing attention to another pristine three-piece suit, lovingly moulded to muscles that did not belong to an urban civilised man, more to a warrior.
‘I said I would like you to join me for dinner.’
Leila frowned. ‘But you have a mistress.’
Something stern crossed Alix Saint Croix’s face and the grey in his eyes turned to steel. ‘She is no longer my mistress.’
Leila recalled what she’d seen the previous night and blurted out, ‘But I saw you—you were together—’ She stopped and couldn’t curb the heat rising. The last thing she wanted was for him to know she’d been spying, and she said quickly, ‘She certainly seemed to be under the impression that you were together.’
She hoped he’d assume she was referring to when she’d seen the woman waiting for him outside the shop.
Alix’s face was indecipherable. ‘As I said, we are no longer together.’
Leila felt desperate. And disgusted. And disappointed, which was even worse. Of course a man like him would interchange his women without breaking a sweat.
‘But I don’t even know you—you’re a total stranger.’
His mouth twitched slightly. ‘Which could be helped by sharing conversation over dinner, non?’
Leila had a very strong urge to back away, but forced herself to stand her ground. She was in her shop. Her space. And everything in her screamed at her to resist this man. He was too gorgeous, too big, too smooth, too famous...too much.
Something reckless gripped her and she blurted out, ‘I saw you. The two of you... I didn’t intend to, but when I looked out of my window last night I saw you in your room. With her. She was taking off her clothes...’
Leila willed down the embarrassed heat and tilted up her chin defiantly. She didn’t care if he thought she was some kind of stalker.
His gaze narrowed on her. ‘I saw you too...across the square, silhouetted in your window.’
Now she blanched. ‘You did?’
He nodded. ‘It merely confirmed that I wanted you. And not her.’
Leila was caught, trapped in his gaze and in his own confession. ‘You pulled the curtain across. For privacy.’
His mouth firmed. ‘Yes. For privacy while I asked her to put her dress back on and get out, because the relationship was over.’
Leila shivered at his coolness. ‘But that’s so cruel. You’d just bought her a gift.’
Something infinitely cynical lit those grey eyes and Leila hated it.
‘Believe me, a woman like Carmen is no soft-centred fool with notions of where the relationship was going. She knew it was finite. The relationship was ending whether I’d met you or not.’
Leila balked. She definitely veered more towards the soft-centred fool end of the scale.
She folded her arms and fought the pull from her gut to follow him blindly. She’d done that with a man once before, with her stupid, vulnerable heart on her sleeve. It made her hard now. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I must say no.’
His brows snapped together in a frown. ‘Are you married?’
His gaze dropped to her left hand as if to look for a ring, and something flashed in his eyes when he took in her ringless fingers. Leila’s hands curled tight. Too late.
The personal question told her she was doing the right thing and she said frostily, ‘That is none of your business, sir. I’d like you to leave.’
For a tiny moment Alix Saint Croix’s eyes widened on her, and then he said coolly, ‘Very well, I’m sorry for disturbing you. Good evening, Miss Verughese.’
ALIX WAS HALFWAY across the quiet square, fuelled by a surge of angry disbelief, before the thought managed to break through: no woman, ever, had turned him down like that. So summarily. Coldly. As if he’d overstepped some invisible mark on the ground. As if he was...beneath her.
He dismissed his security detail with a flick of his hand as he walked into the hotel, with staff scurrying in his wake, the elevator attendant jumping to attention. Alix ignored them all, his mind filled with incredulity that she had said no.
He’d ended his liaison with Carmen specifically to pursue Leila Verughese.
When Carmen had undressed in front of him in his suite he’d felt nothing but impatience to see her gone. And then, when he’d gone to his window and seen the light shining from a small window above the perfume shop and that slim figure, all he’d seen was her alluring body in his mind’s eye. The hint of generous curves told of a very classic feminine shape—not exactly fashion-forward, like Carmen, with tiny breasts and an almost androgynous figure, but all the more alluring for that.
He wanted her with a hunger he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. And that impatience to see Carmen gone had become a compelling need.
When Alix got to his suite of rooms he threw off his coat and prowled like a restless animal. He felt animalistic.
How dared she turn him down? He wanted her. The exotic princess who sold perfume.
Why did he want her so badly?
The question pricked at him like a tiny barb and he couldn’t ignore it. He’d only ever wanted one other woman in a similar way. A woman who had made him think she was different from all the others. When she’d been even worse.
Alix, young and far more naive than he’d ever wanted to admit at the age of eighteen, had been seduced by a beautiful body and an act of innocence honed to perfection.
Until he’d walked into her college rooms one day and seen one of his own bodyguards thrusting between her pale legs. The image was clear enough to mock him. Years later.
As if his own parents’ toxic marriage hadn’t already drummed it into him that men and women together brought pain and disharmony.
Ever since then Alix had excised all emotion where women were concerned. They were mistresses—who pleasured him and accompanied him to social events. Until the time came for him to choose a wife who would be his Queen. And then his marriage would be different. It wouldn’t be toxic. It would be harmonious and respectful.
Alix thought about that now. Because that time would be coming soon. He was already being presented with prospective wives to choose from. Princesses from different principalities who all looked dismayingly like horses. But Alix didn’t care. His wife would be his consort, adept at dealing with the social aspects of her role and providing him with heirs.
So why is this woman getting under your skin?
She’s not, he affirmed to himself.
She was just a stunningly beautiful woman who’d connected with him on some very base level and he wasn’t used to that.