The Purest of Diamonds?. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
exclaimed as Raffa grabbed her hands to draw her in front of him beneath the searching light of one of the hotel’s glittering chandeliers.
‘Dios, Leila! This is worse than I thought!’
Standing back, he stared long and hard at her ruined clothes, while she was only capable of registering the unaccustomed heat flooding through her.
‘Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself?’ Raffa demanded.
‘No, not at all...’ She just wanted to stand there for a moment longer, enjoying the heat and strength in his hands. How cold and limp hers must seem by comparison, she thought, tightening her grip. She quickly released her grip, realising she had given Raffa entirely the wrong message.
‘Well, I’m not going to let you out of my sight tonight,’ he said with a hint of humour in his eyes as if he knew how awkward she felt having touched him. ‘We can’t risk any more accidents.’
‘Agreed,’ she murmured, still staring at him like a loon.
‘The restroom, Leila?’
‘Of course.’ Mentally, she shook herself. ‘And, really, I’m fine—I can handle it.’
‘Can you?’
‘Without you,’ she confirmed pleasantly.
So ignore my wishes, she thought as Raffa drew her by the hand across the lobby, where the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.
‘I’m sure you’ve got places to be, people to meet, Raffa.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Right here with you, making sure the rest of your evening goes better than the start has. And you’re not keeping me, Leila. Any excuse to avoid a night of small talk with people I don’t know, don’t want to know and will never see again.’ At this point he gave a delicious Latin shrug that drew her gaze to the width of his shoulders. ‘Getting away from the crowd is great for me, Leila.’
She’d felt exactly the same when she’d left the house, but only because she was so shy in a crowd of people she didn’t know, which surely couldn’t be Raffa’s problem.
‘I’ve been thinking back to Britt’s wedding,’ Raffa admitted as they waited their turn in the queue for the cloakroom. ‘I remember you playing tag with those tiny flower girls. You did a great job of keeping them entertained.’
‘I enjoyed it too,’ she admitted. ‘I’m afraid sophistication is not my middle name.’
‘Some might call it charming, Leila.’
Her secret was out. She loved children. In fact, she loved children and animals more than most adults outside her family, because they were straightforward and she wasn’t good at playing mind games.
‘Our turn,’ Raffa prompted with his hand in the small of her back as the queue to the cloakroom cleared.
His touch lit every part of her with awareness. Maybe because his hand was so strong, and his touch was so light...
‘So, you like children?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Handing his borrowed jacket over, she turned to face the man she was sure would rather be a million miles away and hit back defensively. ‘As a matter of fact, I can’t wait to have children. I just don’t want the man.’
Raffa’s lips pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘Could be awkward.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Biology?’
If there was some sort of danger/beware register, Raffa should be put on it, Leila decided as he flashed his wicked smile.
She had a lucky escape from more verbal jousting when her gorgeous sister Britt chose that moment to enter the hotel on the arm of her handsome sheikh. Spotting them immediately, Britt gave Leila a what-the-heck-are-you-doing-with-him? look, swiftly followed by a jerk of her beautiful blonde head in the direction of the elevators—a signal that Leila should get herself out of trouble and up to the family suite pronto, before she got herself into deeper water with the most dangerous man in town.
She returned Britt’s look with a slanting smile that said, do I have to?
Did she want to? That was the question.
Britt shrugged as if to say, on your head be it.
It was all right for Britt. Fantastic in company like Leila’s other sister, Eva, Britt would be an asset to any gathering, while Leila would only get in the way if she went up to the suite Britt had taken for her pre-party gathering.
‘Put your ticket away safely, Leila.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your cloakroom ticket,’ Raffa prompted, handing it over. ‘Now get yourself into the restroom to sort out your dress. And, okay—’ His gaze descended and lingered for quite some time. ‘Your stockings are shot.’
‘My tights,’ she corrected him primly.
‘Please don’t disillusion me.’
That smile!
Her equilibrium having been taken and turned upside down, it was definitely time to take a short break from the hottest man around. ‘Don’t bother waiting up for me,’ she called over her shoulder with a grin as she headed at speed for the restroom.
She’d given him an out. Hopefully, he’d take the hint. Leaning over the washbasin, she took a much-needed moment to catch her breath. Forget the dress. Forget the mud. Her mind was full of the man outside that door. Would he wait for her? Almost certainly not, thank goodness. No one had ever had this sort of effect on her before. Which had to mean she was certifiably crazy. Raffa Leon had a reputation that made Casanova look like a choirboy. He was single because he played the field. And she had no intention of applying to become a member of his team.
Pulling back from the basin, she tore off a strip of paper towel and, wetting it, cleaned the mud off her dress. The dress was soon okay-ish, but, as Raffa had clearly identified, her tights were ruined. Stripping them off, she dumped them in the bin.
Bare legs?
She pulled a face. Chalk legs weren’t exactly the look she’d been aiming for, but who would notice?
Raffa.
Raffa noticed everything.
But he probably wouldn’t even speak to her again that night. And if he did, wasn’t this year supposed to be about chilling out and freeing herself to do some of the things she had longed to do—like travelling, like meeting new people, for instance? And if he was waiting outside the door for her, why shouldn’t she allow him to escort her to the party? Britt and Eva wouldn’t miss her up in their suite. They would be heavily into hosting cocktails and canapés by now. And Raffa was surely more entertaining than the mayor of Skavanga, whose unofficial job it was to make a wallflower feel valued. Or the elderly vicar, who could always be relied upon to give Leila a pep talk on finding a husband before it was too late.
Too late at twenty-two?
And who needed a husband, anyway? All she wanted was a child—children, preferably. She was perennially broody. And, in the unlikely event that Raffa was desperate enough to be outside that door, she would be well chaperoned at the party. Britt and Eva would be there with their partners, along with a hundred or so guests. And it wasn’t every day she got to swap small talk with a billionaire.
So... Would he be there? Or would Raffa Leon have breathed a sigh of relief the moment she closed the restroom door and made his escape? Before her courage deserted her completely, she opened the door to find out.
‘Leila.’
‘Raffa...’
So far, so disastrous. One glance into those laughing dark eyes and she could hardly breathe. Raffa looked amazing—even more than amazing. In a dark, formal suit that moulded his powerful body to perfection,