‘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.
Raffa knocked that idea on its head the moment he turned back to her. No headmaster on earth looked like this—such compelling dark eyes with that touch of humour, and a wickedly curving mouth.
‘I’m looking forward to a refreshing drink, without having it knocked out of our hands,’ he said, turning up the voltage on his smile.
It took her a moment to speak, she was so captivated, and then she experienced a moment of panic. What could she possibly say to him? How did you launch into a conversation with a notorious billionaire? How’s your yacht? Would that do?
‘What are you smiling at, Leila?’ he enquired, raising one sweeping ebony brow in a way that made her heart stop.
‘Am I smiling?’ She stopped smiling immediately. ‘I was just thinking, this is a great place, isn’t it? Such a good idea of yours.’ She made a point of staring round. Anything was safer than looking at Raffa.
‘It’s good to see you relax,’ he said, his eyes dark like the night and just as full of danger.
Relaxed? Was that what he thought? She doubted any woman could relax around Raffa Leon. He had this way of staring directly into your eyes that made it hard to look away. Impossible to look away, she amended.
So come out of your shell. Live boldly for once.
‘Here’s your juice,’ he said. ‘With a splash of lemonade as requested.’
As he handed it to her he was doing that eye thing—the curving smile, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. It was all too easy to fool herself into thinking he was interested in her, when this was just his way. Raffa Leon was a charming and accomplished seducer, both in business and with women, and she had to get it into her head that this was just an innocent encounter and a refreshing drink. She had never been the type of girl men took up to their room. She was the kid sister they brought into the very public hotel lounge to share an orange juice with before the party.
And she should be pleased about that.
She was pleased. But she would be lying if she tried to pretend it wouldn’t be thrilling to have Raffa look at her with something other than humour in his eyes.
When she leaned forward to pick up her glass, her senses filled with the faint scent of his cologne. It was one of those intoxicating scents, hard to identify, but undoubtedly exclusive. She sat back again, wondering. What now? Raffa seemed content to let the silence hang between them, so maybe it was up to her to break the silence. Live boldly, for once! Pointing through one of the tall arched windows, she drew his attention to the park, picked out in lights at this time of night. ‘My mother used to take me over there to the park when I was a little girl so I could terrorise people on my three-wheeler.’