Read Online The Dark Side of Desire by Julia James - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia James
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by an old, old memory of a time when few had seen any need to show him politeness.
He thrust the reflection aside. He would not be haunted by it … by memories of his past …
There was a swirl of glittering purple skirts and Lassiter’s mistress, closely followed by Lassiter himself, was approaching the table once more. Anita’s face was animated as she hailed Leon.
‘There you are! I wondered where you’d got to.
Do
come and dance! Alistair says he’s too tired to go on.’
She pouted flirtatiously at Leon and moved to take his hand, but he raised it in negation, giving a slight but definite shake of his head.
‘I never dance with another man’s woman,’ he said.
Anita’s pout turned into a displeased moue. Leon couldimmediately see she was peeved to be thought of as Lassiter’s ‘woman’, but at the same time she clearly wanted to dance with Leon himself. He could understand why. Alistair Lassiter was not looking his best right now. His face was red and puffed, and there was a line of sweat around his collar. As he sat down heavily he looked his age, and he was running to fat.
Anita perched herself petulantly on the vacant chair next to Leon, then busied herself spending the next ten minutes making up to him shamelessly. Leon could see Lassiter—not liking it, but at the same time he was obviously not keen on objecting to it. Cynically, Leon found himself once again considering whether Lassiter would actually go so far in ingratiating himself with him by not objecting if he took matters even further with his mistress.
Or his daughter …
His eyes slid past Anita’s over-made-up face to where Flavia Lassiter was still sitting stiffly, taking small, repetitive sips from her coffee cup, clearly in an attempt to avoid all further conversation. She was pretending she was occupied in staring out across the ballroom, though it was obvious she was paying her surroundings no attention at all.
Except to him. Flavia Lassiter, whatever his uncertainty or speculation as to her disdain for men of lowly foreign origins, was, Leon knew with complete assurance, radiating a totally female awareness of him on all frequencies—she was bristling with it. Once more a grim sense of satisfaction permeated him. She could snub him all she liked, claim whatever that she didn’t think of him at all—but she was lying. Lying all the way down her beautiful slender body …
Making some anodyne reply to whatever it was Anita had just said to him, he turned full face to Flavia.
‘If events such as this one tonight are not to your taste, what
do
you care to do with your evenings? Parties? Clubbing?’ Deliberately he suggested two things that he’d bet she’d loathe.
He could see her start and stiffen visibly as he addressedher. Presumably she’d thought he’d turned his unwanted attentions to Anita and she was off his unwelcome hook.
As if all too aware of his daughter’s intransigence, Alistair Lassiter answered for her. ‘Oh, Flavia’s a real culture-vulture,’ he effused heartily. ‘Offer her a Shakespeare play and she’s perfectly happy.’
Leon lifted an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? And have you seen the current West End production of
Hamlet
?’ He directed his question at Flavia.
‘No.’ The answer was forced from her.
‘Then I would be delighted to take you,’ came Leon’s smooth reply.
‘I don’t like the lead actor,’ Flavia riposted shortly.
‘The National has
Twelfth Night
running,’ countered Leon.
She looked straight at him. ‘I’ve seen it too often,’ she replied, sounding bored.
No way, no
way
was she going to get cornered into going to the theatre with Leon Maranz. Anyway, she reminded herself with relief, this time tomorrow she’d be back home in Dorset.
‘The National’s production is highly innovative,’ Leon came back.
‘I prefer traditional interpretations,’ Flavia returned dismissively.
She knew she was being ungracious and rude, and hated herself for it, but she had to
He thrust the reflection aside. He would not be haunted by it … by memories of his past …
There was a swirl of glittering purple skirts and Lassiter’s mistress, closely followed by Lassiter himself, was approaching the table once more. Anita’s face was animated as she hailed Leon.
‘There you are! I wondered where you’d got to.
Do
come and dance! Alistair says he’s too tired to go on.’
She pouted flirtatiously at Leon and moved to take his hand, but he raised it in negation, giving a slight but definite shake of his head.
‘I never dance with another man’s woman,’ he said.
Anita’s pout turned into a displeased moue. Leon couldimmediately see she was peeved to be thought of as Lassiter’s ‘woman’, but at the same time she clearly wanted to dance with Leon himself. He could understand why. Alistair Lassiter was not looking his best right now. His face was red and puffed, and there was a line of sweat around his collar. As he sat down heavily he looked his age, and he was running to fat.
Anita perched herself petulantly on the vacant chair next to Leon, then busied herself spending the next ten minutes making up to him shamelessly. Leon could see Lassiter—not liking it, but at the same time he was obviously not keen on objecting to it. Cynically, Leon found himself once again considering whether Lassiter would actually go so far in ingratiating himself with him by not objecting if he took matters even further with his mistress.
Or his daughter …
His eyes slid past Anita’s over-made-up face to where Flavia Lassiter was still sitting stiffly, taking small, repetitive sips from her coffee cup, clearly in an attempt to avoid all further conversation. She was pretending she was occupied in staring out across the ballroom, though it was obvious she was paying her surroundings no attention at all.
Except to him. Flavia Lassiter, whatever his uncertainty or speculation as to her disdain for men of lowly foreign origins, was, Leon knew with complete assurance, radiating a totally female awareness of him on all frequencies—she was bristling with it. Once more a grim sense of satisfaction permeated him. She could snub him all she liked, claim whatever that she didn’t think of him at all—but she was lying. Lying all the way down her beautiful slender body …
Making some anodyne reply to whatever it was Anita had just said to him, he turned full face to Flavia.
‘If events such as this one tonight are not to your taste, what
do
you care to do with your evenings? Parties? Clubbing?’ Deliberately he suggested two things that he’d bet she’d loathe.
He could see her start and stiffen visibly as he addressedher. Presumably she’d thought he’d turned his unwanted attentions to Anita and she was off his unwelcome hook.
As if all too aware of his daughter’s intransigence, Alistair Lassiter answered for her. ‘Oh, Flavia’s a real culture-vulture,’ he effused heartily. ‘Offer her a Shakespeare play and she’s perfectly happy.’
Leon lifted an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? And have you seen the current West End production of
Hamlet
?’ He directed his question at Flavia.
‘No.’ The answer was forced from her.
‘Then I would be delighted to take you,’ came Leon’s smooth reply.
‘I don’t like the lead actor,’ Flavia riposted shortly.
‘The National has
Twelfth Night
running,’ countered Leon.
She looked straight at him. ‘I’ve seen it too often,’ she replied, sounding bored.
No way, no
way
was she going to get cornered into going to the theatre with Leon Maranz. Anyway, she reminded herself with relief, this time tomorrow she’d be back home in Dorset.
‘The National’s production is highly innovative,’ Leon came back.
‘I prefer traditional interpretations,’ Flavia returned dismissively.
She knew she was being ungracious and rude, and hated herself for it, but she had to
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