Sitting in his private office, with its floor-to-ceiling windows with all of Manhattan at his feet, Leonidas gazed sightlessly over the city.
Was there any chance he could keep her?
Daisy Cassidy was in love with him. He’d seen her love in her beautiful face, shining in those pale green eyes, though she’d made some hopeless attempts to hide it. And she believed him to be some salesclerk in a Manhattan boutique. She loved him. Not for his billions. Not for his power. For himself.
If she could love some poverty-stricken salesclerk, couldn’t she love Leonidas, too, flaws and all?
Maybe if he revealed why he’d been so angry about the Picasso, and the horrible secret of his childhood...
He shuddered. No. He could never tell anyone that. Or about his true parentage.
So how else could he convince her to stay?
Leonidas barely paid attention to a long, contentious board meeting, or the presentations of his brand presidents, discussing sales trends in luxury watches and jewelry in Asia and champagne and spirits in North America. Instead, he kept fantasizing about how, instead of losing Daisy with his confession tonight, he could manage to win her.
She would arrive at his cocktail party, he thought, and hopefully be dazzled by his famous guests, along with his fifty-million-dollar mansion. He would wait for just the right moment, then pull her away privately and explain. There would be awkwardness when she realized he’d been the one who’d arranged for his lawyer to press charges against her father. But Leonidas would make her understand. He’d seduce her with his words. With his touch. And with the lifestyle he could offer.
Daisy was living in the borrowed apartment of some middle-aged artist, an old friend of her father’s. But if she came to live with Leonidas, as the cosseted girlfriend of a billionaire, she’d never have to worry about money again. He’d give her a life of luxury. She could quit her job at the diner and spend her days shopping or taking her friends to lunch, and her nights being worshipped by Leonidas in bed. They could travel around the world together, to London and Paris, Sydney, Rio and Tokyo, to his beach house in the Maldives, his ski chalet in Switzerland. He’d take her dancing, to parties, to the art shows and clubs and polo matches attended by the international jet set. He would shower her with gifts, expensive baubles beyond her imagination.
Surely all that could be enough to make her forgive and forget his part in her father’s imprisonment? Surely such a life would be worth a little bit of constructive amnesia about her father? Who had been guilty, anyway!
Daisy had to forgive him, he thought suddenly. Why wouldn’t she? Whatever Leonidas desired, he always possessed. Daisy Cassidy would be no different. He would pull out all the stops to win her. And though he’d never offer love or marriage, he knew he could make her happy. He’d treat her like the precious treasure she was, filling her days with joy, and her nights with fire.
Leonidas had never failed to seduce any woman he wanted. Tonight would be no different. He would make her forgive him. And forget her foolish loyalty to her dead father.
Tonight, Leonidas thought with determination, a sensual smile curving his lips. He would convince her tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
DAISY LOOKED UP at the five-story brownstone mansion with big eyes. There had to be some mistake.
“You’re sure?” she asked the driver, bewildered.
The uniformed chauffeur hid a smile, dipping his head as he held open the passenger door. “Yes, miss.”
Nervously, Daisy got out of the Rolls-Royce. She’d been astonished when the limo had picked her up in Brooklyn. Her neighborhood was prosperous, filled with a mix of artists and intellectuals, plumbers and stockbrokers. But a Rolls-Royce with a uniformed driver had made people stare. She’d been dismayed. The fancy French restaurant had been bad enough. How much had Leo spent renting this limo out? He shouldn’t spend money he didn’t have, just to impress her! She already thought he was perfect!
Although it was true she didn’t know everything about him...
Standing on the sidewalk, she looked back up at the five-story mansion. This tree-lined lane in the West Village of Manhattan was filled with elegant houses only billionaires could afford. She craned her head doubtfully. “Is there a basement apartment?”
The chauffeur motioned toward the front steps. “The main entrance, miss. I believe the party has already started.”
There was indeed a stream of limousines and town cars letting people out at the curb. An elderly couple went by Daisy, the wife in an elegant silk coat and matching dress, the husband in a suit.
/> She looked down at her own cocktail dress, which she’d borrowed from a friend. It was green satin, a little too tight and way too low in the bosom. Her cheap high heels, which she’d worn only once on a humiliating gallery night where she hadn’t sold a single painting, squeezed her feet painfully.
She glanced behind her, longing to flee. But the driver had already gotten back into the Rolls-Royce and was driving away, to be immediately replaced by arriving vehicles, Italian and German sports cars attended by three valets waiting at the curb.
Daisy glanced toward the subway entrance at the far end of the lane, which ended in a busier street. She could make a run for it. Her puppy, who still didn’t have a name, had been left in the care of the same friend, Estie, who’d been her pal in art school. Daisy could still go back home, cuddle the dog and eat popcorn and watch movies.
Except she couldn’t. With a deep breath, she faced the brownstone mansion. She had to talk to Leo and tell him she was pregnant. Because she needed answers to her questions.
Would he help her raise the baby?
Would he marry her?
Could he love her?