Diamonds are for Marriage: The Australian's Society Bride. Margaret Way
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to be either dead set on walking into them or simply didn’t see them.
“I haven’t been thinking of marriage at all,” Leona lied. “I’m more into a career, or haven’t you noticed?”
A smile brushed his handsome mouth. “Leo, I know your job means a lot to you. You do it extremely well. Your job is safe. Bea has been known to frighten assistants to death but the two of you get on very well.”
“Well, I’m used to frightening people.”
“Tell me about it,” he groaned.
They were back inside the apartment, which was more like a house. She went about switching on lights that were grouped on slim, elegant power boards. “This is some pad! We could be high up on a mountain. Far away from the world.”
“Is that how you feel?” he asked in a voice that made her pulses drum.
“Leading question.” She continued wandering about as though new to the penthouse when she knew it well. “It all turned out very well, didn’t it? It’s sort of sculptural in a way. Masculine, but female friendly.”
“And it suits the purpose.” He followed her, keeping a few paces away. “Personal space, business space. I can switch on or I can switch off completely.”
“What are you now?” She didn’t dare turn to look at him, instead running her hand over a small bronze sculpture of a horse—Tang dynasty, she knew. Both she and Boyd loved the arts of Asia.
“Bordering on the disturbed,” he confessed quite unexpectedly.
She spun in shock, meeting his brilliant blue gaze. “Isn’t that the way we usually are when we’re together?”
He acknowledged her point with a dry smile, beginning to shrug out of his light beige cotton jacket, worn over a blue open-necked cotton shirt. It came to her that manufacturers didn’t make women’s shirts in that beautiful shade of blue. She would talk to Bea about it. “Are you going to sit down?” Boyd asked.
“No, I’m going to wander,” she said, moving about as though she couldn’t contain her restless excitement. “You and the architect and designers worked well together. The interiors are great, both the informal and the formal. It’s a reflection of you. Boyd Blanchard. Literally the Man at the Top. This has to be four or five times the size of my apartment.”
Boyd settled himself into a plush sofa, spreading both arms along the back. “It’s big because it has to be, Leo.”
“I know that. Anyway, I love my apartment. Chloe been here? Stayed overnight?” She gave him a swift challenging glance.
“Who’s Chloe? I’ve never heard of her!”
“I hate to say this, but I have. Lots of people are going to be upset if you push through with this.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he said. “Since you mention her, I should tell you I’ve said nothing whatever to Chloe that would—”
“I thought you didn’t remember her?”
He ignored the jibe. “That would give her to understand that I hoped to marry her. We’ve known one another since we were kids.”
“So in the end she was just one of the girlfriends?”
His eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
“No way!” She shook her head emphatically, though her heart felt heavy in her breast. “Really, when I think about it, it might be best if I go on home.”
“But it’s pouring outside and you have no umbrella,” he joked.
“Then how come I can see the stars shining?”
“Here, come and sit beside me.” He patted the sofa. “We’ll just talk. It’s me, Boyd, remember? You’re acting like you expect me to launch into wild erotic games.”
“Perish the thought!” A kiss—kisses, maybe. Madness. She knew neither of them could stick to kisses. Whatever flaws there were in his grand plan, they had well and truly discovered they had chemistry to burn.
“So you can’t have a worry.” His manner was utterly relaxed. She drew a slow breath. Didn’t he know she was vibrating with nerves? Too much was happening to her, way too fast. The idea of their being a couple—an engaged couple—struck awe into her. She couldn’t bear to think of Rupert’s fantasies involving her innocent mother. That would have to keep until later. It seemed as if Rupert had longed all his life for what he couldn’t have.
“Trouble is, I’m a working girl, Boyd,” she explained briskly. “I need to go home. Organise what I’m wearing tomorrow. I can’t go to work, in any old thing. Bea expects me to look great at all times. It’s part of the job.”
“And you’re known for it. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you early,” he promised. “I have a board meeting at eight-thirty.”
She shook out her glittering cloud of hair—red, gold, copper lights. “If I could only work out what you really
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