The Purest of Diamonds(8)

                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—’