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Authors: Julia James
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do whatever was necessary to get Leon Maranz’s attention off her. It was like being caught in a searchlight, pinning her down, trying to disarm her to get past her guard, her desperate defences.
It was imperative that she hold him at bay. Now even more so. Her father’s ingratiating suggestion about the theatre had sent alarm bells ringing yet again. He evidently wanted her to go out with the man, and the only reason he wanted that must be that he’d decided it would further his ambitions to do lucrative business with Leon Maranz.
I won’t be used like that! I won’t!
The rejection was vehement, adamant. She had never letherself be set up by her father in such a way, and she wouldn’t start now! Not even with a man she was so attracted to.
That
was why she had to cut Leon Maranz—even if it meant she had to resort to open rudeness the way she was doing. He wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t accept that she was refusing to have anything to do with him, refusing to give an inch, a centimetre to him.
And if she didn’t …
Like a traitor to her resolve, her gaze refocussed, for a fleeting moment, on his face. She could feel her pulse surge treacherously even as she hated herself for succumbing. Feel her eyes flare, her breath quicken.
Why this man?
That was the impossible question. The one she had no answer to. The one that confounded everything.
But it doesn’t matter!
The cry sounded in her head, silencing the question she could not—would not—answer. It didn’t matter why this man? Because the only salient thing about him was that he was all bound up with her father and his endless attempts to use her to his own advantage. And because of that it didn’t matter a damn what she thought of Leon Maranz, or what she might otherwise do about the way he looked at her, the way he got under her skin, the way he got past her guard, the way he made her feel. It just didn’t matter!
And this evening didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter that she was being rude to him. It didn’t matter that her father was clearly hopping mad at the way she was behaving, and that Anita was throwing dagger-looks at her. Or that Leon Maranz’s eyes were resting on her as if he had just lifted a stone and seen something crawl out from underneath it
It just didn’t matter …
For a moment sheer, raw misery filled her, intermingled with the self-contempt she could feel flushing through her for the way she was being right now—the way she had been ever since she had realised that it was
this
man her father wantedher to be nice to. He wanted her to accept his company, his attentions, his invitation to go the theatre with him.
Resentment spiked through her misery. Resentment at her father for putting her in this invidious position in the first place, for not giving a damn about her at all and never having done, for not caring about her mother, or her grandmother, or anyone else except himself and what he wanted. Resentment of Leon Maranz, who wanted to do business with a man like her father and who assumed she was nothing more than a pampered, workshy snobbish socialite!
And yet underlying all those layers of resentment was a deeper layer still—resignation. Resignation because with her grandmother to care for any relationship with anyone was impossible … just impossible …
Emotion twisted inside her, like wires around her throat.
‘I
adore
the theatre!’ Anita’s breathless gush was a welcome invasion of her inner turmoil. ‘And cabaret especially.’ Her eyes widened as if she’d had a sudden idea. ‘There’s a really good new cabaret club opened recently—it’s got rave reviews. How about if we all go on to it now?’ She beamed.
‘Great idea,’ Alistair Lassiter enthused, getting heavily to his feet. ‘I think we’ve done our bit here,’ he said portentously, nodding at the charity signage.
Anita stood up eagerly. ‘Brilliant!’ she breathed, and radiated her fulsome smile at Leon.
Flavia’s
It was imperative that she hold him at bay. Now even more so. Her father’s ingratiating suggestion about the theatre had sent alarm bells ringing yet again. He evidently wanted her to go out with the man, and the only reason he wanted that must be that he’d decided it would further his ambitions to do lucrative business with Leon Maranz.
I won’t be used like that! I won’t!
The rejection was vehement, adamant. She had never letherself be set up by her father in such a way, and she wouldn’t start now! Not even with a man she was so attracted to.
That
was why she had to cut Leon Maranz—even if it meant she had to resort to open rudeness the way she was doing. He wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t accept that she was refusing to have anything to do with him, refusing to give an inch, a centimetre to him.
And if she didn’t …
Like a traitor to her resolve, her gaze refocussed, for a fleeting moment, on his face. She could feel her pulse surge treacherously even as she hated herself for succumbing. Feel her eyes flare, her breath quicken.
Why this man?
That was the impossible question. The one she had no answer to. The one that confounded everything.
But it doesn’t matter!
The cry sounded in her head, silencing the question she could not—would not—answer. It didn’t matter why this man? Because the only salient thing about him was that he was all bound up with her father and his endless attempts to use her to his own advantage. And because of that it didn’t matter a damn what she thought of Leon Maranz, or what she might otherwise do about the way he looked at her, the way he got under her skin, the way he got past her guard, the way he made her feel. It just didn’t matter!
And this evening didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter that she was being rude to him. It didn’t matter that her father was clearly hopping mad at the way she was behaving, and that Anita was throwing dagger-looks at her. Or that Leon Maranz’s eyes were resting on her as if he had just lifted a stone and seen something crawl out from underneath it
It just didn’t matter …
For a moment sheer, raw misery filled her, intermingled with the self-contempt she could feel flushing through her for the way she was being right now—the way she had been ever since she had realised that it was
this
man her father wantedher to be nice to. He wanted her to accept his company, his attentions, his invitation to go the theatre with him.
Resentment spiked through her misery. Resentment at her father for putting her in this invidious position in the first place, for not giving a damn about her at all and never having done, for not caring about her mother, or her grandmother, or anyone else except himself and what he wanted. Resentment of Leon Maranz, who wanted to do business with a man like her father and who assumed she was nothing more than a pampered, workshy snobbish socialite!
And yet underlying all those layers of resentment was a deeper layer still—resignation. Resignation because with her grandmother to care for any relationship with anyone was impossible … just impossible …
Emotion twisted inside her, like wires around her throat.
‘I
adore
the theatre!’ Anita’s breathless gush was a welcome invasion of her inner turmoil. ‘And cabaret especially.’ Her eyes widened as if she’d had a sudden idea. ‘There’s a really good new cabaret club opened recently—it’s got rave reviews. How about if we all go on to it now?’ She beamed.
‘Great idea,’ Alistair Lassiter enthused, getting heavily to his feet. ‘I think we’ve done our bit here,’ he said portentously, nodding at the charity signage.
Anita stood up eagerly. ‘Brilliant!’ she breathed, and radiated her fulsome smile at Leon.
Flavia’s
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