Bought By A Billionaire

Leaving one hand cupping her nape, Vidal dropped the other to seek her breast, encircling her tingling, peaking nipple for a brief moment before moving again to unfasten her shirt buttons with dexterity and slide inside to find bare flesh. His touch was like fire on her skin, fingers penetrating beneath the flimsy lace covering of her bra to close possessively about the firm swell. Leonie gasped at the flooding sensation, clinging to the fast-fading remnants of her will-power like a drowning man clutching a straw.

The shock when he removed the hand and put her abruptly from him was immense. Eyes wide and dark, she gazed at him in mute question.

‘Cover yourself,’ he said brusquely.

She did so, fumbling at the buttons with nerveless fingers. If it had been his aim to arouse her, then reject her the way she had rejected him, he had acted a little prematurely for total humiliation. Unless he’d changed his mind about the whole thing.

‘Is this your way of telling me the deal is off?’ she got out.

Face devoid of expression again, he shook his head. ‘A change of plan. I find myself unwilling to settle for just the one night. When I return to Portugal, you will be coming with me.’

Leonie found her voice, amazed by its steadiness. ‘You really think I’ll consent to becoming your mistress?’

The laugh was short. ‘So there’s a limit to the sacrifice you’re prepared to make for your father?’

She bit her lip, caught between two fires. ‘For how long?’ she managed at length.

Something flickered in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘I want no mistress,’ he said. ‘Two years ago I asked you to marry me. Today, I demand it.’

CHAPTER TWO

LEONIE stared at him in stupefaction. When she did find her voice it sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I was never more so,’ Vidal assured her hardily. ‘For two long years I’ve tried to put you from my mind—to tell myself that no woman is worth losing sleep over. But it’s been of little use. I made you an offer I’d never made to any other woman, only to have it thrown back in my face as though it were an insult. I have the opportunity now to make you eat your words.’ The pause was brief. ‘The final choice still remains with you.’

‘It’s emotional blackmail!’ she accused, in no doubt as to his meaning. ‘You’re asking too much!’

‘No more than you’re asking of me in continuing to employ a man who stole from me,’ came the unmoved return. ‘Of course, you could always allow him to make the decision for himself.’

There would be no question of which way that decision would go, Leonie knew. Her father would be devastated if he knew what she was facing. The question of whether Vidal would actually call in the police if the money was paid back was debatable, but he certainly wouldn’t be prepared to reinstate him, or give him a reference, which would effectively put paid to his career.

Vidal made an abrupt movement. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over.’

Leonie sank to a seat on the edge of the bed as the door closed behind him, her nerves in tatters. Any appeal to his better nature was going to be a waste of time: he didn’t have a better nature. But marriage! How could she possibly go along with that? Especially when offered in a spirit of revenge for past offences.

There 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.’