‘You were only nineteen…what did you know then of men or their motivations?’ Leo’s response was harsh, dismissive, as he glanced with sudden, unconcealed impatience at the thin gold watch on his wrist and strode towards the door. ‘I’m afraid I really do have to leave.’
The abruptness of his exit took Angie by surprise. She sped out after him and by then he was already in the porch. As she opened the door, he stared broodingly down at her and, without warning, time slid dangerously back for Angie and served up a disturbingly intimate memory. Leo…responding with shockingly primal dominance to her flirtation, pinning her down in the meadow grass by the lake and crushing her lips beneath his with an explosive, driving hunger that had just blown her away. Embarrassed heat coiled like a burning, aching taunt low in Angie’s stomach.
A feverish darkness now overlaid the oblique slant of Leo’s cheekbones, but sardonic amusement glittered in his brilliant eyes. He raised a hand and let a long brown forefinger trail gently along the tremulous line of her soft, full mouth, leaving a stunning chain of prickling sensitivity in his wake and sentencing her to shaken stillness. ‘You really are wasted in a domestic role, Angie.’
And then, before she could catch her arrested breath, he swung away, striding out into the night air. ‘Think over what I have said,’ he urged almost carelessly. ‘Wallace is keen to meet the child… I’ll call tomorrow for your answer.’
‘No, don’t. There’s no point. I’ve made up my mind and I don’t need a night’s sleep to consider it,’ Angie told him tightly. ‘In any case, I couldn’t get the time off. The Dicksons have a very busy social calendar over the next ten days, and the house is always full of visitors over Christmas.’
‘Can you really have changed so much?’ Leo murmured lazily. ‘I believed you would walk out of this house like you walked out of my grandfather’s without a backward glance.’
Angie flushed furiously. Naturally Leo had assumed that the prospect of money would make her eagerly snatch at his grandfather’s invitation, but he had miscalculated. Had she? She hadn’t told him that Jake was his—had almost done so in anger, but had ultimately remained silent. Why? At the back of her mind lurked the shameful and mortifying recollection that she had told Leo that it was safe to make love to her that weekend…and she had lied, with both purpose and full knowledge of what she was doing.
From the doorway, she watched numbly as Leo strode towards the sleek black Ferrari parked at a careless angle across the paved frontage of the house. Dimly, she registered that she was trembling; reaction was setting in after the terrible tension, sudden coldness biting into her bones.
Headlights suddenly lit up the front garden. Dredged from her introspection, Angie uttered a soundless groan as George’s Range Rover raked to a halt.
Claudia virtually leapt from the car. ‘What on earth is going on here?’ she demanded, casting Leo, who stood in the shadows, a haughty, questioning look, but aiming her ire at Angie as she stalked towards her.
‘I called with a message for Angie,’ Leo drawled coolly.
‘You let a strange man into the house with my children sleeping upstairs?’ Claudia ranted in furious attack.
‘Darling…’ her less volatile husband said rather loudly. ‘I don’t believe that Mr Demetrios quite qualifies as a strange man.’
‘My father works for Leo,’ Angie said for the sake of brevity. ‘I’ve known him for years.’
Claudia had come to a halt, glancing uncertainly at her husband for guidance. Her tall, thin spouse was calmly shaking hands with Leo. Angrily conscious that she might have made a fool of herself, Claudia gave Angie a filthy look. ‘We’ll discuss this matter in private.’
‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed now,’ Angie replied with quiet dignity. ‘Leo kept on ringing the bell. I had to let him in.’
She climbed the stairs, conscious that she had no hope of ultimately escaping one of Claudia’s bossy lectures, but too weary and shaken by Leo’s visit to care. Considering the length of Angie’s employment with her, Claudia ought to be able to trust her by now not to invite an armed robber or child molester into the house. She was almost twenty-two, not a feckless teenage baby-sitter.
Yet Leo had made her feel very much like a teenager again, she conceded grudgingly—hot, bothered, awkward, oversensitive to atmosphere. It had been embarrassment, she told herself—the embarrassment of memories that no woman with any pride would want to recall. And that was all.
Determined to be satisfied with that explanation, she climbed into the bed across the room from Jake’s, having fought a very heavy battle against a feverish longing to snatch him out of bed and hug him tight to comfort herself. That would be selfish, and she was not a selfish mother…was she? No, of course she wasn’t.
She put up with an employer who would have taxed the temper of a saint just so that Jake could eat well, live in a comfortable house and play in a spacious garden with lots of toys. So he had virtually nothing to call his own, and his clothes were all the twins’ hand-me-downs, but he was still too little to appreciate those facts. This year she had wanted to give him a proper Christmas, though. That was why she had dared to risk Claudia’s wrath to ask for more money, but the recollection of the earlier part of the evening could no longer hold her concentration…
It was almost impossible for her to believe that Wallace Neville was willing to entertain the butler’s daughter at his vast ancestral home. Would he have invited her to stay in the main house, or would he have expected her to squash herself back into her father and stepmother’s disgracefully damp and desolate little basement flat? And if Leo’s grandfather had offered her financial help, would she have been weak enough to accept it?
Uneasy with the thought, Angie tossed and turned sleeplessly. It was out of the question anyway. Claudia would blow a gasket if Angie demanded time off over Christmas, and until Jake was old enough to start nursery school at least the Dicksons were their security.
Even so, she still lay awake, staring into the darkness, helplessly remembering the first time she had seen Leo when she was thirteen. Every Christmas and every summer he had come to stay with his grandfather, and although his English was perfect he had remained quintessentially Greek. Exotic, fascinating and extravagantly handsome, he had become the natural focus of Angie’s first crush. Of course, eight years her senior, he had barely noticed that she was alive in those days.
During the summer when she was fourteen, Leo had brought a girlfriend with him. She had had a very irritating giggle. With intense amusement, Angie had watched Leo wince. But the following year laughter had been thin on the ground. Petrina Phillipides had come to visit—a porcelain-perfect and dainty little Greek heiress with a cloud of silky black hair and an elderly maiden aunt in tow as a chaperon. Angie had ground her teeth in disbelief while she had watched Leo fall in love. Couldn’t he see that Petrina was too spoilt, too conceited, too empty-headed, with her silly clothes and even sillier hairstyles, to provide lasting appeal for an intelligent man?
No, Leo had been blind, and the summer after that Petrina had had even better reason to look smug. She had been wearing Leo’s engagement ring. Angie had been aghast, but even then she hadn’t given up all hope. After all, many an engagement was broken before the altar was reached, she had reasoned, snatching at straws.
However, when Wallace had finally flown out to Leo’s wedding and no last-minute miracle had prevented the dreadful deed from being done, Angie had been inconsolable. But by then she had been seventeen, and thoroughly fed up with herself for ever having wasted time languishing over a male who had always been out of reach and who was now another woman’s husband. So she had started dating herself and, boy, had she dated! Her five-foot-ten-inch model-slim body, symmetrical features and waist-length mane of pale blonde hair had ensured that she was never short of eager admirers.
Petrina