Escape By The Sea. Trish Morey
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the least important detail of the conversation. He followed her from the stall, swiping his own towel from the rack and lashing it around his hips, not bothering to wipe the beads of water from his skin so that his chest hair formed scrolls like an ancient tattoo down his chest to his belly and below.
Oh, my…
She squeezed her eyes shut. Grabbed another towel and covered her head with it, rubbing her hair frantically so she couldn’t see him, even if she opened her eyes. ‘All right. The sex was great. Fabulous.’
The towel blinding her eyes was no defence against the electric touch of his fingers at her shoulders. ‘Then why shouldn’t we meet again? It’s not as if I’m asking for some long-term commitment.’
That’s just it, she yearned to say. There’s no future in it. There’s nothing but great sex and the longer that happens, the greater the risk that I start to believe it’s about more than that, and I can’t afford to let that happen.
Not when she had Sam…
One night of sin was one thing. But she could not contemplate any kind of affair. What Sam needed was stability, not his mother embarking on a series of meaningless one-night stands, passing him off to whoever could look after him. She shook her head, heading for the bedroom, her clothes and a return to sanity. ‘I can’t sleep with you and work with you at the same time.’
‘So become my mistress instead of my PA.’
She blinked, blindsided once again by the night’s increasingly insane developments, pulling on her underwear in a rush, slipping off the towel to fix her bra, needing the shelter of her dress.
‘Are you kidding?’
‘You’re right,’ he said, without a hint of irony. ‘Who could I get to replace you? So why can’t you be both?’
‘Perfect.’ She slipped into her dress, retrieved her stockings and sat on the end of the bed, hastily rolling them up her legs. ‘I thought you’d never ask. And when you get sick of me being your mistress, you can get me to send myself one of those trinkets you’re so fond of sending to your ex-playmates. I already know where to send it. How efficient would that be?’
‘Evelyn?’
She was busy in her purse, searching for a comb in order to slick back and twist up her wet hair and not finding one. ‘What?’
‘Anyone might think you were jealous.’
‘Jealous? Me?’ She scooted past him back into the bathroom. Pulled a comb from the complimentary supplies boxed up on the vanity, raking it through her hair before twisting it up and securing it with a clip. It was rough but it would do until she got home. She certainly wasn’t going to hang around here, styling her hair or trying to reapply make-up that would just have to come off at home anyway. ‘Jealous of what?’
He leaned an arm up against the door, muscles pulling tight under his skin, making the most of the posture, and she cursed the fact he hadn’t thought to put on anything more than a towel yet. Or maybe that was his intention. To remind her what she’d be missing out on. Well, tough. After tonight she knew what she’d be missing out on. Of course, he was tempting, but there came a time where self-preservation came first.
‘You did make a point about having to send out those gifts to…my friends.’
‘Your ex-lovers, you mean.’
‘You are jealous.’
She shrugged. ‘No. I’ve had my one night with you. Why should I be jealous?’
‘Well, something’s bugging you. What is it?’
She turned toward him then, wishing she could just walk away, sensitive to the fact that she could still be at risk of losing her contract if she angered him but still bothered enough by the riddle that was Leo Zamos to ask. ‘You really want to know?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Okay,’ she started, her eyes taking this last opportunity to drink in the glorious definition of his body, wanting to imprint all she could upon her memory before she left, because after tonight her memories would be all she had. ‘What I don’t understand is you.’
He laughed, a rich, deep sound she discovered she liked too much. ‘What’s so hard to understand?’
‘Everything. You’re confident and successful and ultra-rich—you have your own plane, for heaven’s sake!—and you’re a passionate lover and clearly have no trouble finding women willing to share your bed…’ She paused for a moment, wondering if she’d said enough, wondering if she added that he was drop-dead gorgeous and had a body that turned a woman’s thoughts to carnal acts, she would be saying more about herself than about him.
He smiled. ‘That’s it? I’m not actually sure where your problem lies.’
‘No, that’s not it. You know there’s more. People are drawn to you, Leo, you know it. And it’s just that, with everything you have going for you, I don’t understand how it can be that when you feel the need to play happy families, you have to pay someone to pretend to be your fiancée.’
‘You would have done it for free?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll remember that for next time.’
‘No!’ she said, knowing she was making a hash of it, knowing he was laughing at her. ‘That’s not my point at all. I just don’t understand why you’re in the situation where you need to pretend. How is it that a man with clearly such great appeal to women hasn’t got a wife or a fiancée or even a serious girlfriend? How is that possible?’
The smile slipped as he pushed away from the wall, moving closer, the menacing glint in his eyes putting her on sudden alert. ‘Maybe,’ he said, drawing near, touching his fingers to her brow, tracing a line south, ‘it’s because there is no lack of women willing to share my bed. What is that delightful saying? Why buy a book when you can join a library?’
She stood stock-still, resisting the tremors set off by his merest touch, hating the smug look on his face, forcing a smile to hers. ‘Well, the loan on this particular book just expired. Goodnight, Leo.’
He let her go, at least as far as the door.
‘Evelyn.’
She halted, put her hand on the doorframe to stop herself swaying, and without turning around said, ‘Yes?’
‘Something I tell all the women I spend time with. Something I thought you might have understood, although, given your questions, maybe you need to hear it too.’
She looked over her shoulder, curious about what it was he told his ‘women’, what he thought she needed to hear. ‘Yes?’
‘I like women. I like sex. But that’s where it starts and finishes. Because I don’t do family. It’s not going to happen.’
This time she took a step towards him, stunned by his sheer arrogance. ‘You think I was on some kind of fishing expedition to work out what my chances were of becoming Mrs Leo Zamos for real?’
‘You were the one asking the questions.’
‘And I also said I don’t want to see you again. Which part of “I don’t want to see you again” equates to “Please marry me” exactly?’
‘I was just saying—’
‘And I’m saying you needn’t have bothered. I’m not in the market for a husband as it happens, but even if I were, I’m certain I’d prefer someone who didn’t profess to liking women and sex quite so much!’ She turned on her heel and strode through the bedroom, slipping on her heels and picking up her purse, scanning the room for anything she might have left.
‘Evelyn!’
But she didn’t stop until she was through the living room then, turned, one more question to be answered before she left. ‘I’ll understand if you no longer want to retain