grim-faced. For a moment or two she could breathe again. It was a long time since she’d felt so limp and short of oxygen. Presumably anxiety and the heat had affected her.
Emma groaned. This was bad news. Over the next few days she must be able to cope with whatever Leon threw at her. The way things were going, she could well have a court case to cope with.
After that, if she eventually won access, she’d need to be at her physical peak if she was to respond to Lexi’s needs.
Emma let out a deep sigh. She’d intended to hire a car and take her daughter to the beach. There they could make sandcastles, play in the water and generally have a good time.
However long it took, she meant to forge a strong and loving relationship with Lexi. She knew she could do that. Her love for her child had survived despite the long separation. Her illness had intensified the knowledge that only one thing in the world mattered: being with her emotion-starved daughter and showing her what it was like to be truly loved.
She leaned back, worried. There was so much to do before Lexi was safe in England. There would be the hazardous journey with Lexi and John: boat-hopping up the chain of Ionian Islands, a secret landing on the Greek coast and then the long drive across Europe.
Throughout the trip she’d have to be focussed exclusively on Lexi, playing games to pass the time, keeping her amused and happy so that it all seemed great fun.
It had sounded perfectly feasible back in England. The route had been mapped, John had returned from his recce with an optimistic report on secluded coves and rarely used roads. But… She bit her lip. If she wasn’t strong enough—if she fell ill…
Horribly daunted by what lay ahead, she passed a shaking hand over her forehead as Leon slid into the driver’s seat. Doubts multiplied. If she lacked energy she’d never cope. Lexi would feel abandoned and bewildered.
Her breath caught in a choking anguish in her throat. The thought of failure made her feel sick.
‘You look shot to pieces. I think you need cheap digs like a hole in the head,’ he commented shrewdly, starting up the car.
‘A luxury hotel would be preferable, but beyond my funds,’ she retorted, wallowing crossly in the ambitious thought of a soft bed, room service and an en suite bathroom.
‘Wait and see what I can come up with,’ he said, sounding smug. ‘If you don’t like where I take you, we’ll ring your lawyer and get you to his rat-infested hovel instead.’
‘Promise,’ she mumbled, almost past caring about rats as long as there was a mattress to rest her weary body.
She let out a long and whispering sigh and felt his dark glance on her parted lips.
‘On my father’s head,’ he said softly. ‘Take a break for now,’ he added, as if soothing a fractious child. ‘Sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.’
Emma did her best to disobey but felt her heavy lids closing like shutters. Yet Leon’s image stayed to torment her remorselessly: the classic Greek profile, thick lashes concealing liquid black eyes, patrician nose and achingly sensual mouth. Before getting into the car he’d removed his jacket, his open-necked cream shirt moulding to his muscular back and torso.
Her breath quickened. He was dangerously attractive. Tension hung in the air so thickly she could feel it. Even from a short distance away his magnetism poured over her like a relentless tide till she felt she might drown beneath it.
But why was he being considerate? It would amuse him to see her living in the hovel he’d so mockingly described. She racked her brains to determine why he was going out of his way to find her decent accommodation. And could only come up with one answer. For some reason, as yet unknown to her, it suited him.
And therefore his offer should be rejected. Hovel it was, then, she thought glumly.
Music filtered drowsily into her subconscious. Gentle zithers, a haunting refrain. She felt herself relaxing and began to surrender to desperately needed sleep.
Lexi was close, she thought dreamily. Almost in her arms. Another huge sigh of pleasure was expelled from her soft lips and, although she slept, her hands unconsciously sought refuge at her wounded left breast.
Leon shook his head to clear it. He’d be fine if he kept remembering that there was vengeance in her soul. She’d do anything to hurt him. And Lexi was the weapon she’d choose.
He knew he couldn’t keep mother and daughter apart. Eventually the court would be faced with Emma’s doting mother act and grant access. His only hope was if he could convince them she was not a reformed character.
He glanced at her then scowled at the road ahead, trying to eradicate the sight of her lush breasts swelling beneath her dress. He ached from wanting her. But that was out of the question.
He dragged his mind back to the problem. Emma would visit Lexi and one day make an abduction attempt. He thought of the vulnerable little Lexi being hauled across Europe with two strangers and his chest expanded with uncontainable rage. Sefton was a creep. He didn’t trust him an inch.
He had to keep Emma away. And to do that, he needed clear evidence that she wasn’t fit to go near his niece and that any contact would be harmful.
His pulses quickened. An idea was forming in his mind. One that would kill two birds with one stone.
He too had a weapon. Sex.
CHAPTER THREE
‘IT’S lovely,’ Emma said longingly, wandering around the villa’s elegant sitting area in awe. Quality floor tiles. Stunning traditional furniture, heavily carved, the sofas invitingly squishy and with huge cushions she could picture herself sinking into… She groaned. Heaven. ‘But I can’t possibly stay…’
‘Let me make you some tea,’ called Leon from the kitchen area beyond. ‘Then I’ll explain the set-up.’
‘Tea!’ She sighed, instantly seduced by the sound of a kettle being filled. ‘OK. Then I must call John,’ she insisted, being ruthless with herself. And very annoyed by the wistful note that had crept into her voice.
She paused, even more irritated to be disconcerted by the breadth of Leon’s tautly muscled back as he stretched up to one of the blue-painted units. It was a back. Gorgeous, granted, but nothing to quiver about.
‘I expect there’s some chocolate cake somewhere,’ he mused, bending to search in one of the lower cupboards.
In doing so he provided her with an unwanted but riveting view of his neat and muscular rear beneath the straining material of his linen trousers. She primmed her mouth in exasperation.
His body had been spectacular. Still was. She really must get out more. Appalled at her rampaging pulses, she did an about turn and concentrated on her suspicions.
‘Just where and what is this place? I doubt I can afford it,’ she remarked coolly, parking herself at the stylish marble dining table adorned with blue china pots of all shapes and sizes. She picked one up. It was Chinese. ‘Leon!’ she cried, breathless with hope and abandoning her assumed indifference. ‘Is this your house?’
He glanced amiably at her, the dazzle of his beautiful smile raising her blood pressure a few notches. She glared it back down again where it belonged.
‘It’s mine,’ he replied. ‘But not where I live.’
What did that mean? she wondered, while he put a temptingly rich dark cake and two plates on the table in front of her. He seemed very much at home, very familiar with the place.
Leon pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs opposite her and sat down on the comfortable linen cushion, his muscular arms resting on the table. Emma dragged her fascinated gaze away from their tanned strength and obliterated all thought of being held by those arms.
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