The Purest of Diamonds? Read online

  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 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, he was taller than most of the other men present, and exuded energy like a fighter jet amongst a fleet of biplanes.

  ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting so long.’

  ‘It was worth the wait, Leila. You look sensational.’

  What? She stopped just short of rolling her eyes. Then, remembering this was another example of his practised charm, she filed his compliment away under Trivia.

  ‘Well, at least I’m mud free,’ she agreed, glancing down at her clothes. Unfortunately, under the lights they still looked a bit ropey. ‘I had to take my tights off—’

  Uh? What kind of message did that send?

  There was laughter in Raffa’s eyes, but now she couldn’t stop herself and nerves were starting to make her babble. ‘Bare legs... Well... White legs, actually—’

  Good of you to point it out, she could imagine him thinking.

  Great legs, he thought. And the rest was very nicely packaged too. Leila was wearing the same dress she’d worn at Britt’s wedding when she had been playing with the children. He remembered it now.

  ‘Britt’s dress,’ Leila said, seeing him look at it. ‘I wore it at my sister’s wedding.’

  ‘I remember.’ And Leila would win any Who-looks-best-in-this-dress? contest hands down.

  ‘It’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen,’ she rattled on as if she had to excuse the fact that she was wearing something that suited her so well. ‘I begged Britt not to go to the expense of buying some silly bridesmaid’s dress I’d never wear again—and, look! Here I am, wearing it again! That’s what I call getting your money’s worth...’

  As Leila’s hectic explanation petered out, he hummed, wondering why she didn’t have any pretty dresses of her own to wear.

  And why should he care?

  ‘It’s a bit too tight,’ she said, getting her second wind. ‘Britt’s so slim—’

  The tighter the better, as far as he was concerned. He’d never gone for the half-starved look. The dress would always look better on Leila because she was voluptuous.

  ‘I don’t go to many parties. Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she insisted before he had chance to say a word. ‘I usually hang out somewhere quieter than this—’

  ‘My preference too,’ he said, shielding Leila with his arm as more guests piled into the lobby. Quiet rooms and hot women would be his preference every time. ‘Here’s an idea—’ He had stopped in front of the elevator. ‘There’s a quiet lounge just down this corridor. Why don’t we take five? It would give you chance to recover your composure.’ And calm down a bit, he thought.

  ‘You mean, I look a mess?’

  She looked adorable and so trusting as she turned her face up to his. Well, she was safe tonight. He had already reined in his thoughts from champagne and seduction to soft drinks and a few very necessary moments of calm for Leila. She needed to relax before facing the bright lights of the party, and, surprising even himself, he wanted to get to know her a little better. ‘Come on—let’s get out of this crush. The party isn’t due to start for another half hour,’ he reassured her when she looked doubtful. ‘We won’t be missed.’

  ‘But my sisters are expecting me.’

  ‘Your sisters will be so busy doing what they do well, they won’t miss either of us.’

  Opening the door on the tempting setting of a quiet lounge, he stood back. They wouldn’t be alone. There were quite a few residents who weren’t going to the party sitting around reading newspapers and chatting quietly, and there was a big, welcoming log fire burning lustily in the grate. There were still plenty of cosy armchairs where they could sit and chat without being overheard. It was the perfect spot for a girl who wasn’t sure of herself yet, or of her companion.

  ‘This is lovely,’ Leila said with relief, gazing round.

  ‘Orange juice?’ he suggested.

  ‘With a splash of lemonade, please. How did you know?’

  He loved the way Leila’s smile lit up her face. ‘Lucky guess.’ Not such a stretch. It was going to be a long night, and, though Leila was reputedly the shyest of the Skavanga sisters, there was a hint of steel about her that suggested she would face the party clear-headed or not at all.

  Leila intrigued him, if only because she was so different from her sisters. The middle sister, Eva, whose eve-of-wedding party this was, could be a headstrong handful, while Britt was a hard-nosed businesswoman who only softened f
or her sheikh. Leila’s sisters and her brother, Tyr, had clearly protected her when their parents died, as Leila had been so very young when the tragic plane crash happened, but the intuition that had never let him down so far said there was more to Leila Skavanga than simply a sheltered girl who worked in the archive department of the Skavanga mining museum, and he was keen to find out what that was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHAT EXACTLY WAS she doing with Raffa Leon? What could they possibly have to talk about?

  Anybody?

  She had never done anything so out of character in her life. Yes, Raffa was charming, but he was practically a stranger—and a dangerous one at that, according to her sisters and the rather more scandalous tone of the press. Leila had always been glad she worked in a separate building from the mining company, if only because it put some space between herself and these high-powered, fast-living types.

  But didn’t this unexpected encounter with a leading player in the consortium dovetail nicely with her determination to make this her breakout year?

  Roar mouse?

  Great idea, if she had the courage to summon up something more than a squeak. And what was Raffa up to? Why choose to spend time with her?

  ‘Shall we sit here?’ he suggested, indicating two comfortable armchairs facing each other across a sleek glass table.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Even this close to such a powerhouse of testosterone made her feel incredibly aware and wary. His deep, velvety voice with that intriguing accent played in her head, and she had to remind herself that sweeping a woman away with whatever means he chose to employ was Raffa Leon’s stock in trade. Though he was hardly out to seduce her with so many other attractive women at the party.

  Out of the archive department into the fire, she concluded with amusement as Raffa turned to give their order to the waiter. He looked so relaxed, while she was more like a schoolgirl on parade, sitting stiff and upright in her chair, waiting for the pronouncements of the headmaster.