The Purest of Diamonds(7)

                ‘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.