The Dark Side of Desire (11 page)

For the first time in my life I have met someone like no one I have ever met before! Whatever it is about Leon Maranz, he can affect me as no one else ever has! For the first time, I have known what desire truly is …

But it had been poisoned by deceit. Polluted by her father’s blackmail.

Making it impossible for her to be as she truly wanted to be with Leon. Making her frozen with the shame twisting inside her like wires of guilt. Holding him at bay because of the unspoken lie between them, the threat hanging over her head that she dared not tell him about yet which held her in unbreakable talons.

Misery welled dully within her as Leon’s car drove her away. Back to the father she hated with all her being for what he was doing to her. Making a cruel mockery of her tormented, anguished feelings.

Alone on the pavement, Leon watched the car disappear into the London traffic. Frustration warred within him, against a steely determination. There must be a way of getting through to her! A way to persuade her to finally lower her guard against him and start to respond to him. He had seen a precious, essential glimpse of it as he’d told her of his background—but then she had clammed up again!

But at least, he reasoned, as he hailed a taxi to take him
back to his apartment, she’d agreed to see him again—and the very next night. He had till then to come up with something that might appeal to her—something that might help her relax a little towards him. But what? She’d sounded nothing more than polite about any of his suggestions.

His brow furrowed as the taxi turned into Shaftesbury Avenue. All around London buzzed and blared with noise from the traffic, garish neon lights from the shops, restaurants and the theatres that lined the road, and the pavements were thronged with people out for the evening. Suddenly it dawned on him. An echo of her terse comment when he’d asked where she lived sounded in his memory.

‘I don’t like cities.’

Of
course
—that was it! Enlightenment hit him. No matter how carefully he’d chosen the restaurant tonight, it was London itself she didn’t care for.

Relief at his realisation filled him. He slid his mobile out of his breast pocket and tapped in an internet search. Moments later he’d connected to the phone number provided and made the reservation he wanted.

He sat back, his shoulders relaxing into the seat. Tomorrow night would be very, very different from tonight. He was sure of it.

He shut his eyes, letting the image of Flavia, in all her beauty, infuse his retinas.

‘T
HE
limo’s here, sweetie. Don’t keep him waiting!’

Anita’s voice was sugared, but Flavia could hear an acid note in it as well. Her father’s girlfriend was making a poor job of failing to conceal both her irritation and her jealousy of her. As she walked past the other woman, Flavia could see Anita, glass of wine lolling from scarlet-tipped fingers, subjecting her to a scornful scrutiny.

‘God, I hope he’s got a taste for seducing nuns!’ Anita sneered. ‘Why the hell you don’t take my advice on how to dress to impress, I don’t know!’

Yes, well
, thought Flavia silently, making no comment,
that depends on just what impression one wants to make
. Her eyes flicked dismissively over Anita’s clingy leopard-print dress.

She knew what impression
she
herself wanted to make, and the round-necked, sleeveless black shift over which she wore a silk-knit jacket fitted the bill. As she reached the front door, she caught a last jibe from Anita.

‘I hope you’ve got a spare pair of knickers for the morning in your handbag, sweetie. We don’t want to see you back here tonight! This time make sure you don’t cop out—just do whatever it takes to keep Leon happy. Your father’s counting on it. Or ga-ga Granny’ll be popping her senile clogs in a council house. And don’t think your father won’t see to it! If he goes down—
you
go down!’ she promised venomously. ‘So keep that gorgeous Latino hunk of yours sweet on us, if
you know what’s good for you!’ Her tone changed, becoming barbed and accusatory. ‘It’s not like it’s going to be any kind of bloody ordeal, is it? Going to bed with a guy like that! So stop looking like Little Miss Martyr! Hell, I’d trade places with you like a shot—believe me!’ She took another swig from her wine glass, and glared balefully at Flavia.

Face set, jaw as tight as steel, hatred for her father and for Anita biting in her blood, Flavia snapped the apartment door shut behind her, shutting out Anita’s crude, cruel words, her sleazy innuendo, and stalking towards the lift. Mortification burned in her—and shame, and anger, and bitter, bitter resentment. All twisting and writhing like snakes.

But as she walked out of the apartment block she crushed her tormenting emotions back down inside her. The evening stretched ahead of her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Leon’s driver was getting out of the car, tipping his cap to her as he opened the rear passenger door, and she stepped inside. But as she sank back into the seat she froze.

Leon was also in the car.

For a moment she felt panic flare in her eyes. She subdued it as swiftly as she could, stiffly returning his greeting as the car pulled away.

Leon gave her time to compose herself whilst, with a catch in his throat, he took in just how stunningly beautiful she looked all over again. The black of the dress, severe though it was, illuminated the pearlescence of her skin, the soft sheen of her hair in its customary chignon. And the faint floral scent she was wearing was winding into his senses. How incredibly beautiful she was! Emotion welled through him, and for a moment he could only drink her in.

But he could see that she was just as tense tonight—there was no lowering of her guard. Determination scythed through him. Well, perhaps this evening would be more propitious …

‘You said last night,’ he began, ‘that you would be happy to let me choose what to do this evening. So …’ He took a breath.
‘I hope I’ve made a good choice. Tell me—’ he looked at her enquiringly ‘—have you ever been to Mereden?’

She looked slightly confused. ‘Mereden? No. I’ve heard of it, but …’ She paused. ‘Isn’t it way out of London?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. You let slip last night that you didn’t care for cities, so I thought you might enjoy somewhere like Mereden instead. It shouldn’t take more than maybe half an hour to get there. I hope that’s OK with you?’

‘Um—yes. Yes. Of course.’

He threw a glancing smile at her. ‘Good. While we’re travelling there, I hope you won’t mind if I use the time to finish off some work. There’s some magazines if you’d like something to flick through.’

Relieved that she did not have to make painful conversation with him yet, Flavia took one of the magazines at random while Leon focussed on his laptop. Every sense was super-aware of him sitting there, a few feet away from her, and every part of her mind was leaping with the memory of what had happened the last time she’d sat in this limo with him …

He’d swept away her reserve, her resistance, as if they were nothing. Nothing at all! Melting her with his kiss, dissolving her very bones with it!

It had been the most devastating experience of her life—changing everything she’d been. Making her feel what she had never felt before!

She could feel her heart-rate quicken as the memory seared across her brain, feel her breath catch. Urgently she fought for control, lest he turn his head, see the hectic flush in her cheeks—and know just what had caused it.

Somehow she managed to regain at least an outer semblance of the composure she was trying to hang on to with all her might. Inwardly, her emotions were in turmoil—currents swirling inchoately as she tried not to think about what might lie ahead at the end of the evening …

She was grateful for the journey out of London. By the time the car was making its way off the motorway into the
Thames Valley she was able to take some cognisance of where they were going. They were driving through hilly woodland along quiet, country roads that seemed a universe away from London, only that short journey behind them.

The car slowed to turn through imposing ironwork gates, to move along a drive bordered by rhododendrons in vivid bloom, with glimpses of extensive parkland beyond. Early evening sunshine lit up the landscape, and Flavia could not help but feel its soothing influence over her jangled nerves.

‘Better than London?’

Leon’s enquiry made her turn her head. He had shut down his laptop and was slipping it into its case.

‘Oh, yes …’

There was a warmth in her voice that was obvious by its previous absence. As the magnificent Palladian frontage of Mereden came into view, bathed in sunlight and lapped by manicured gardens, he knew with satisfaction that he had made a good decision in bringing Flavia here. She was no city girl, craving bright lights and crowds. This country house hotel, set in rural parkland, was far more her style!

They drew up in front of the grand entrance and a uniformed doorman stepped forward to open the passenger door. Flavia climbed out and looked around her. She had heard of Mereden, but had never been here before. Once a stately home, now it was a lavish private hotel, set in the exclusive wealthy catchment area of the Thames Valley.

‘Shall we go in?’

Leon ushered her forward and she stepped through the imposing double doorway into a high-ceilinged hall beyond.

They were clearly expected, and were conducted out on to a wide terrace overlooking the gardens and the River Thames beyond. Guests were enjoying pre-dinner drinks, watching the sunset. Flavia caught her breath, gazing out over the panoramic vista.

‘Worth the drive out?’

She turned impulsively to Leon. ‘Oh, yes! It’s absolutely breathtaking!’

His expression stilled. Slowly he replied, ‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘Who couldn’t?’ she answered, and turned back to gaze over the stone balustrade at the verdant lawns, drenched in golden evening sunlight, reaching down towards the river’s edge.

Even without consciously realising it, she could feel some of the tension racking through her ebb a little. It was
so
good to be out of London, away from the built-up streets, in such a glorious place as this, with such a vista in front of her. It was impossible not to respond to it. The warm, balmy air, clean and fresh after the fumes and pollution of London, was like a blessing, as was the blessed quietness all around her. No traffic noise was audible, only the murmuring of the other guests, and the evening birdsong from the trees set around the wide lawns.

‘Madam?’ A waiter was standing beside her, champagne glasses on a tray.

‘Thank you,’ she found herself saying with a smile, and took a narrow flute filled with gently fizzing liquid.

Leon did likewise. A sense of achievement glowed in him. He’d definitely done the right thing in bringing her here. He could feel relief easing through him, and hoped it was not premature. But, for all his wariness, at least her reaction so far was proving encouraging.

‘To a pleasant evening,’ he said.

With only the barest hesitation Flavia clinked her flute to his, then, as if to give herself some cover, turned back to gaze out over the vista, sipping at the champagne. It tasted cold and delicious.

‘I don’t know how anyone can live in London,’ she heard herself musing, her eyes resting on the peaceful scenery before her.

Leon moved slightly and came to stand beside her, taking
care not to invade her body space lest she take fright. He rested a hand on the sun-warmed stone of the balustrade.

‘Many don’t have another choice,’ he pointed out mildly. What he didn’t point out, though, was that her comment was the first completely unprompted one she’d made to him. He wanted to do absolutely nothing to make her aware of that. If that meant treading on eggshells, so be it.

Her eyes flickered to him, then swiftly away out over the view again. ‘Yes. I feel so sorry for them. But some people like the city. My father and Anita, for example.’ Her voice was flat.

‘I hated London when I first came,’ Leon said, choosing not to take up her remark about her father and his girlfriend. ‘It was freezing cold, and it rained all the time.’

‘A lot of foreigners think that,’ she said wryly. ‘Quite a few Brits, too—it’s why they head south to the sun. But somehow winter is worse in the city, I think.’

‘I wouldn’t disagree with you there,’ said Leon dryly. He paused. ‘So, whereabouts in the country do you live?’

Immediately he saw her stiffen. Inwardly he cursed himself. Up till now, ever since they’d arrived here, she’d seemed to thaw discernibly—as if the beautiful, rural surroundings had calmed her. Now the tension was back in the set of her shoulders.

‘Oh, in the West Country,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘Look, isn’t that a heron?’

Her voice was animated because she wanted to change the subject fast. It was the second time Leon had asked her where she lived, and it was the last thing she wanted him to know. Disquiet swirled rancidly within her at the reminder of just why she was here—and at whose bidding. For a brief moment there seemed to be a shadow over the sunlit view she was gazing over.

Thankfully, he accepted her change of tack. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘Natural history isn’t my thing at all.’

‘I think it
is
a heron,’ she said, eyes fixed on it.

‘What are those smaller birds darting around over the river?’ If she wanted to talk about wildlife, then he could only be grateful. Anything to keep her mood as it was. The stiffening in her shoulders as he’d asked about where she lived had gone again, and he was thankful. He didn’t want to talk about anything at all that might make her tense up again. This visible thawing, slight though it was, was far too precious for that.

‘Swallows and swifts, probably,’ she replied. ‘They like to catch the insects that are attracted to the water.’ She took another sip from her champagne flute. It helped to let her speak more naturally, with less awkward stiffness. And besides, sipping chilled champagne, here on the terrace, looking out over so beautiful a vista, seemed an appropriate thing to do in such a setting.

With such a man beside her … A man who set every nerve-ending in her body aflame …

No—she mustn’t think of that! Mustn’t let herself. She was coping with this whole situation in the only way she could—by taking it minute by minute and keeping that composed, unemotional mask over her face, her mind …

Leon smiled. ‘Ah, yes—I’ve seen them at my villa on Santera, skimming over the swimming pool in the evenings.’

Flavia glanced at him. ‘Santera?’

‘One of the many smaller islands of the Balearics,’ he said.

‘I’ve not heard of it.’ She shook her head slightly.

‘Most people haven’t,’ he answered. ‘They know about the main islands of the Balearics—notably Majorca—but the archipelago has a host of other tiny islands and islets. Many are uninhabited, kept as nature reserves or just places to sail to and around. A few have villas and resorts on them, like Santera.’

Flavia looked away again. It was safer to look at the view down to the river, to study the birds darting over the water, than to stand looking at Leon. He was talking again, and she was grateful. More about this island near Majorca. She made
herself pay attention. Nature, geography, foreign travel—all were safe, innocuous subjects.

‘Santera is very flat,’ he was saying, ‘and the land almost seems to meld with the sea. It’s dry and sandy, but to my mind very lovely. The beaches are wonderful, and there is only one metalled road, leading from the small harbour where supplies are brought in. There are only a few other villas there besides mine, so each is very secluded.’

‘It sounds beautiful,’ she said slowly. There had been a warmth in his voice she had not heard before, and it made her turn her head to glance at him. Just for a moment—the briefest second—their gazes mingled.

Then she pulled hers away and looked out towards the River Thames again, rotating the stem of her champagne glass. Her blood seemed to be swirling in her veins suddenly.

‘It is,’ he said. An idea was forming in his mind, though he was not sure of it yet. ‘But it is not by any means luxurious.’

She gave a small, dismissive shrug of her shoulders. ‘Luxury isn’t important,’ she said.

His eyes narrowed, studying her as she gazed out over the balustrade. She was a child of luxury—born to it—with a wealthy father to lavish her with designer clothes like the elegant outfit she was wearing now.

‘Easy to say when you have always had it at your disposal,’ he could not stop himself saying.