was a cheval mirror a few feet away. She caught a glimpse of herself, shirt only partially buttoned, hair tumbled from the hands run through it. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the hardness of his body against her—the deep down stirring at the memory. He was right about one thing: she had wanted him two years ago and she wanted him now. Despising him as a person made no impact on her senses.
She’d felt that impact the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d called in at the office to invite her father to lunch, to be told by his secretary that he was in conference with the company president. The inner office door had opened almost as she said it, framing a man whose expression registered open appreciation as he viewed her…
‘I’ve been looking at the photograph on your father’s desk for the past half-hour,’ he said. ‘It fails to do you full justice.’ He moved forward, holding out a hand, his smile devastating. ‘I’m Vidal Parella Dos Santos.’
Leonie took the hand, murmuring a response, aware of a tingle like a small electric shock as his fingers closed about hers. After all she’d heard and read about the man before her it was hardly surprising to find him exuding such pure animal magnetism. Women throughout Europe had been subject to it.
She turned her gaze on the man at his back. ‘I was hoping we could have lunch together, Dad.’
‘Sorry, darling, I’m going to be tied up for at least another hour,’ Stuart answered regretfully.
‘In which case, perhaps you’ll allow me to take you to lunch in your father’s stead?’ offered Vidal. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure.’
Leonie’s instinct was to refuse, but a stronger force held sway. It was, after all, only lunch. ‘That’s very nice of you,’ she said.
The smile came again, equally disturbing in its effect. ‘It takes little effort to be nice to a beautiful woman.’
Leonie caught her father’s eye, reading the message there without difficulty. He was as aware as she was of Vidal’s reputation. Not that she had any intention of becoming one of his conquests.
‘I’ll see you later, then,’ she said lightly. ‘Don’t work too hard!’
They went to a restaurant she had never visited before, but where Vidal was welcomed by name and escorted to a table by the maître d’ himself. The place was well populated, the dress code very much upmarket. Leonie was glad she’d chosen to wear a new lemon suit. While not exactly designer label, it looked the part sufficiently well to pass muster to all but the most discerning eye.
‘I gather you’re a pretty frequent visitor here?’ she remarked when they were seated.
‘Whenever I come to London,’ Vidal agreed. ‘They know my tastes.’
In women too, no doubt, she thought with a cynical edge. She wouldn’t be the first he’d brought here, by any means. She studied him as he ran his eyes down the menu, taking in every superbly carved, olive-skinned detail of his face, the breadth of shoulder beneath the fine grey suiting, the lean, long-fingered hands with their well-tended nails. So far as outward appearances were concerned he had it all. Even without his position and wealth, he would never have to fight for female companionship.
As though sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up, catching her before she could look away. ‘Do I meet with your approval?’ he asked smilingly.
‘You’re a handsome man,’ she answered, refusing to be thrown. ‘You must be accustomed to attention.’
The dark head inclined in mock humility. ‘A matter I owe to my ancestry. The Dos Santos males have always been fortunate.’
‘Do the Dos Santos women share the same inheritance?’
‘Some. Not all.’ He paused, studying her in turn. ‘You’ve little of your father in you. Your mother must have been a very beautiful woman herself.’
Even after four years, mention of her still brought a pang. ‘How did you know she was dead?’ she asked.
‘I make it my business to know a top employee’s background,’ he said. ‘I understand you still live with your father?’
‘That’s right.’ Leonie saw no cause to explain her reasons. He should be able to work them out for himself. She dropped her eyes to the menu in front of her. ‘I’d like the whitebait to start, followed by the trout, please.’
‘A woman of decision!’ He applauded. ‘I believe I’ll have the same. You’re content to leave the choice of wine to me?’
Green eyes widened innocently. ‘Of course. Men know so much more about wine!’
The smile that curved his lips wrought havoc on her heartstrings. ‘Mock me at your peril,’ he warned. ‘I may find it necessary to exact penalties.‘
Flirting with a man of Vidal’s calibre was hardly to be recommended, but it was too enjoyable a pastime to be abandoned. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said demurely.
She’d fully intended to plead other commitments after lunch, but when the time came she found herself agreeing without demur to his suggestion that they take a ride on the river.
‘You may not believe it, but this is the first time I’ve ever done this,’ she remarked when they were afloat.
‘I find it very easy to believe,’ Vidal returned. ‘Few of us appreciate the readily available. There are parts of Lisbon I’ve never visited.’
‘I know the Dos Santos headquarters are in Lisbon, but is it your main home too?’ Leonie ventured.
‘Not the city itself. I live at Sintra, some thirty or so kilometres to the northwest.’
‘Your own place?’
‘Of course. Reconstructed from the remains of a fourteenth century monastery.’
Her eyes lit with interest. ‘Really?’
‘And truly,’ he mocked. ‘Not that you’ll find any ghosts from the past still in residence. They were all driven out by the clamour of modern machinery.’
‘You planned the restoration yourself?’
‘With the invaluable aid of an architect friend who was able to tell me what was and wasn’t possible. It was finished three years ago, so the new stonework has weathered in. I employed a landscaping company to design the grounds surrounding it.’
‘Does your family live in the same area?’
‘The Dos Santos estates are in the Douro Valley. Beautiful, but too isolated for my tastes. There’s more than one branch of the family surviving,’ he added, anticipating her next question.
‘My father’s cousin has land adjoining. There are relatives on the island of Madeira too. They own several hotels there.’
‘So you’re not the only one who chose to go into business rather than sit around enjoying the fruits of inheritance?’ Leonie remarked lightly.
The comment drew a quirk to his lips. ‘A very poetic way of putting it, though correct in essence. I leave the latter way of life to my cousins.’
Leonie would have liked to know more, but the warning flags were out. She would be doing herself no favours by delving any deeper into the life of a man she was unlikely to be seeing after today.
The thought alone brought a rare despondency. He came across as so very different from the image she’d formed via media reports. She was drawn to him in more than just the physical sense.
They left the boat at Greenwich, and took a taxi back to where they’d left the car. By then Leonie was even less inclined to call time on the day. She’d never gone short of male attention, but none of the men she’d met had radiated the same charm. Vidal made her feel she was the one person in the whole world he wanted to be with. Deep down, she knew it was all part