SARA WOOD – The Kyriakis Baby (страница 9)
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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