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‘Your father made it clear you were supposed to be “nice” to me—’

‘Yes. ’

‘And so, without him, you’d never have had an affair with me? You would have been totally, totally indifferent to me?’

‘Yes—’

‘Liar,’ Leon said softly. ‘If you had met me, with no connection to your father, I’ll tell you what you would have done, Flavia. ’ He stepped towards her, cupped his hands around her face, and she could feel her skin flush with heat. ‘This …’ he said.

His kiss was soft. As soft as velvet. His lips caressed hers and she could feel her limbs dissolve, feel her heart leap, her mouth open to his, her arms wind around him, clinging to his strong, hard body.

About the Author

JULIA JAMES lives in England with her family. Harlequin Mills & Boon^® were the first ‘grown-up’ books she read as a teenager, alongside Georgette Heyer and Daphne du Maurier, and she’s been reading them ever since. Julia adores the English and Celtic countryside, in all its seasons, and is fascinated by all things historical, from castles to cottages. She also has a special love for the Mediterranean—’The most perfect landscape after England!’—and considers both ideal settings for romance stories. In between writing she enjoys walking, gardening, needlework, baking extremely gooey cakes and trying to stay fit!

Recent titles by the same author:

FROM DIRT TO DIAMONDS

FORBIDDEN OR FOR BEDDING?

The Dark Side

of Desire

Julia James

CHAPTER ONE

LEON MARANZ lifted a glass of champagne from the server standing just inside the entrance to the large, crowded first floor salon of the exclusive Regent’s Park apartment that he’d just been shown into by one of the household staff and surveyed the scene before him. It was the type of social gathering he was very familiar with. A cocktail party in one of London’s premier residences, ITS guests, however disparate, unified by one common factor.

Wealth.

A great deal of it.

A casual flick of Leon’s opaque eyes could tell him that, simply by seeing the unbroken sea of designer outfits the women were wearing, let alone the glint of precious gems at their throats, ears and wrists. The women uniformly had a look about them of pampered, sleek felines, and the men were also uniformly alike in their projection of self-assurance and self-worth in the eyes of the world.

Leon’s mouth tightened infinitesimally. That projection was not always a guarantee of the solidity of the worth behind it. Probingly, his dark eyes lanced through the throng, seeking its target. Alistair Lassiter’s back was turned to the entrance of the salon, but Leon recognised him instantly. Recognised, too, what he wanted to see. Probably invisible to the rest of the guests, but not to him: a discernible tension in his stance. For a moment longer he held his gaze. Then, his assessing surveillance done, he lifted his glass of champagne to his mouth. But even as he did so he stilled.