‘Don’t you mean “cold” Helen?’
‘Oh no,’ he said huskily, intimately. ‘Cool is a temperature only just off normal, I’d like to think you could become the latter.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Masters, but I think cold is a more suitable description.’
Leon frowned. ‘Has some man hurt you, is that it?’
Helen stiffened. ‘Men don’t get close enough to me to be allowed to cause pain. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ she brushed past him.
His hand snaked out and caught her upper arm, his lazy indolence belied by the unexpected strength of his grip. He was in the peak of physical condition, another thing that surprised her about him. His tawny eyes were narrowed and assessing now. ‘How old are you?’ he queried softly.
Her violet eyes flashed her dislike. ‘My age is irrelevant to the way I feel.’
‘Twenty? Twenty-one?’ He ignored her outburst.
‘Twenty-two, actually,’ she snapped.
‘Such a great age,’ he mocked. ‘What happened, did he walk out on you?’
‘He?’ she said sharply, a nervous pulse in her throat.
His hand slid caressingly down her arm to catch her hand, turning it over to look at the narrow gold band on the third finger. ‘Your husband.’ He lifted her head, the startling tawny eyes all-seeing. ‘Did he leave you?’
Her breath caught in her throat at the directness of the question. ‘You could say that, Mr Masters,’ her mouth turned back. ‘He died.’
Leon frowned. ‘Your husband is dead?’ He didn’t sound as if he believed her.
‘I would hardly lie about something like that,’ she answered waspishly, shaking off his hold on her. She brushed past him and this time he made no effort to stop her.
She had to get out of here, had to leave. Talking about Michael had brought back memories she would rather forget, memories that could prove too painful for her peace of mind. She left the apartment and the building in a daze, just wanting to get away from taunting tawny eyes and a cruel mocking mouth.
Leon Masters had no right to intrude on her private hurt, no right to pierce the armour she had wrapped about herself. It was months since anyone had questioned her about Michael, mainly because of Jenny interceding on her behalf. She obviously hadn’t thought it necessary where Leon Masters was concerned, which wasn’t surprising. Who would have thought he would even speak to her, let alone get so personal?
Unless of course Jenny had just decided it was time she stopped protecting her as far as Michael was concerned. After all, it was two years since it had happened, two years in which the pain should have lessened. And yet it hadn’t! If only she had been able to cry about it she might have been able to snap out of this numbness, but tears had eluded her, leaving her with her bitterness.
She shivered as she felt a velvet jacket slipped about her shoulders, a familiar smell of tangy aftershave drifting up from the soft grey material. Gentle hands moved her hair from its confinement in the jacket collar, and she looked up to meet searching tawny eyes.
‘I didn’t think you were lying, Helen,’ Leon told her softly, pulling the lapels of the jacket more firmly about her. ‘You’re just very young to have been married and widowed.’
‘I was twenty when he died,’ she said in a stilted voice.
Leon walked along beside her, pacing himself to her smaller steps. ‘Had you been married long?’
She came to an abrupt halt. ‘I wish you hadn’t followed me,’ she said curtly, handing him back his jacket. ‘I left my coat behind, perhaps you could ask Jenny to bring it home with her.’ She turned on her heel and walked off.
She sensed rather than saw him still at her side, and a burning anger began to well up inside her. Why didn’t he just go away and leave her alone!
Leon put the jacket back around her shoulders. ‘You’ll catch cold in what little you’re wearing.’
‘Oh, so that’s it,’ she sighed. ‘Borrowed plumage, I’m afraid, Mr Masters. This dress isn’t me at all, not my style. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression from it, but I’m really not out for a cheap affair, not with you or anyone else.’
Steely fingers clamped on her arm and spun her round, the other hand moving to wrench up her chin, forcing her to meet the anger in his narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself that I want an affair with you either!’ he snapped. ‘Frigid women aren’t my type.’
The colour drained from Helen’s face, leaving her chalk-white. ‘I’ll never forgive you for saying that!’ she told him vehemently. ‘Never, as long as I live. Get your hands off me!’ she ordered in a controlled voice.
‘Like hell I will!’ He pulled her so hard against him she lost her balance and would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her. ‘At least, not before I’ve thawed some of that ice!’ His lips ground down savagely on hers.
Helen felt the taste of blood as he split her bottom lip against her teeth. And all she could feel was nausea—nausea for his mouth on hers, nausea for his hands pressing her body against his. She twisted her head from side to side in an effort to escape that punishing mouth, but he kept right on kissing her.