herself, she launched in. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your trip to Skavanga.’
He seemed amused by her opening sally. ‘I am now.’
This was accompanied by a slanting smile that would bring Hollywood to its knees.
‘It’s been back-to-back business meetings for me before tonight,’ he explained, his face turning serious, which was another great look for him. ‘I just finished another meeting.’
‘So you’re staying here at the hotel?’
She blushed as Raffa held her gaze and frowned slightly. He probably thought she was coming on to him, when that was a typical example of Leila Skavanga out of her depth and swimming frantically to reach the shore. Or, to put it another way: she had zero small talk.
Fortunately, Raffa had turned to assess the logistics of making it through the door without being trampled on. ‘It seems to have quietened down a bit. Shall we go in?’
‘Oh, I can make it from here,’ she insisted, guessing he was longing to get away.
‘Don’t look so worried, Leila,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re going to love the party. Trust me...’
Trust Raffa Leon? When everyone knew his reputation? ‘I’d better find my sisters, but thank you for your assurance—and for your great save,’ she added as an afterthought, smiling.
‘Don’t mention it.’
His eyes were warm and luminous, and they plumbed deep, considering Raffa Leon was practically a stranger. This only made her more determined to stick to her original plan, which was to share a quick drink with her sisters, eat dinner—without spilling food down her, if possible—and then indulge in a little non-controversial chit-chat before shooting off as soon as she politely could.
‘You’re shivering, Leila—’
Oh... She was, she realised now.
‘And you’re laughing?’
She bit her lip, to stop thinking about the Raffa effect, and how her shivering had nothing to do with the freezing cold.
‘Here—put my overcoat on...’
‘Oh, no, I—’
Too late! She might have a perfectly good jacket, but Raffa’s reflexes were too fast for her and now she had his coat draped round her shoulders. It was hard to pretend she wasn’t distracted by his residual heat in the coat, or by the fact that it still carried the faint imprint of his cologne.
‘How did you get all this mud on your dress, Leila?’
As he noticed everything she decided to make a joke of it. ‘I...um...slipped away for a minute?’
He laughed. ‘And I thought I saved you.’
‘Almost.’
‘Next time I’ll have to do better.’
‘Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. It was my fault for chatting to the cabbie instead of looking where I was going.’
Raffa’s mouth kicked up at one corner as his eyes lit in a conspiratorial smile. ‘The landing wasn’t too hard, I hope?’
It was hard not to laugh. ‘Only my pride got bruised.’
‘I think we’d better go inside before you have another accident, don’t you, Leila?’
His smile was indefensibly sexy, she concluded, dragging her gaze away, but it was nice to have a man take care of her for once, especially when she was Ms Independence—not that she was going to make a habit of it, but for a few short minutes on this one special night, it couldn’t hurt to lap up his aura, and she was quite sure Don Leon would find some excuse or other to part company as soon as they were inside the hotel.
* * *
So, he’d finally met the third Skavanga sister. And for longer than a ten-second handshake in a receiving line. She had turned out to be quite a surprise. Tense, but funny, Leila Skavanga was hugely lacking in self-confidence for some reason. He didn’t blame her for not relishing the prospect of a party—false smiles and meaningless chit-chat weren’t his favourite form of recreation either.
It was hard being the youngest in a family, as he knew only too well, though he’d broken free of the constraints imposed on him at a young age. When he’d been young, with absentee parents, and three older brothers to kick him around, not to mention two older sisters, who took great pleasure finishing the job, it was no surprise he’d turned out to be a handful. In his experience you went one of two ways as the youngest child: determined and driven, as he was, or retiring and apologetic, like Leila Skavanga.
‘Let’s find the restroom first, to sort out your clothes,’ he suggested as soon as they were inside the hotel. He was feeling unusually protective towards this woman, he realised as Leila glanced at him.
‘That was my plan,’ she confirmed as if to let him know that she was setting the ground rules—and she could look after herself, thank you very much.
‘Before I intercepted you?’
‘Before I landed in your lap,’ she corrected him.
He laughed into her eyes. He liked the defiance he saw there. There was more to Leila Skavanga than met the eye. But then her cheeks flushed red and she looked away.
Why was she embarrassed? Too much physical contact? Too much physical contact with him?
Could Leila really be that innocent? His ingénue radar—rusty from lack of use—said yes. Her sisters weren’t noted for being shy and retiring, which only made Leila all the more intriguing. And when she turned to look at him with eyes that, apart from being very beautiful, were wide and candid, he registered a most definite physical response.
‘Come,’ he said, forging a passage for her through the crowd. ‘Let’s get you sorted out so you can enjoy the party.’
Leila bit her lip to hide her smile. The thought of Raffa Leon ‘sorting her out’ was rather appealing. Thank goodness she had more sense.
There was one good thing about all this. Everyone was so busy staring at Raffa as they walked through the lobby that no one noticed Leila, or the mud on her clothes.
Shame on you, Leila Skavanga! Wasn’t this supposed to be your breakout year?
Pegged as the dreamer of the family—the youngest, the quietest, the peacemaker—if she was ever going to break out of that safe, cosy mould, she had to change, and she had to change now. But not all those changes had to happen tonight. In fact, it would be safer if they didn’t. When she had made that promise to herself that she would change, and that she could change, she hadn’t factored the devil at her side into the equation. Don Rafael Leon, the Duke of Cantalabria, to give Raffa his full title, was not the sort of man to practise anything on. She had set her heart on finding the modern-day equivalent of a pipe and slippers man—someone undemanding and kind. Someone safe. And Raffa Leon was not safe.
So what about his chivalry towards her?
Innate politeness, she decided. Even great whites had the decency to circle you before they struck.
She 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