But Joss kept his gaze on her face, trying to read what lay behind her calm countenance. For there was something. The frisson of energy that charged down his spine when his gaze locked with hers proved it.

He could almost hear the words she wasn’t saying.

Almost, but infuriatingly not quite.

He followed her, stopping abruptly as she halted in the doorway.

Her scent invaded his nostrils, not the heavy attar of roses from the wedding, but something light and fresh, barely discernible as he tilted his head towards her neat chignon.

This close he felt it again as he had on the runway yesterday: tension crackling in the air as if she generated some unseen power that magnetised his skin.

What was it about Leila that drew him?

‘Which is the small sitting room? You have several.’

‘To the right,’ he said. ‘Third door along.’

Following, Joss allowed his gaze free rein, cataloguing each dip and sway as she moved. His wife didn’t flaunt herself with an exaggerated strut. Yet with each slow step the slide of silk over her backside and flaring around her legs screamed ‘woman’ in a way that had all his attention.

Was his wife sending him an invitation?

The possibility intrigued him. Yet remembering her cool look in the kitchen it didn’t seem likely.

Besides, this was a marriage of convenience. She’d be an excellent society hostess and her connections would be invaluable. For her part Leila would acquire prestige, an even more luxurious lifestyle and unprecedented spending power.

A win-win deal. Only a fool would mess with that for the sake of sex. It would complicate everything.

With a wife he couldn’t cancel all calls or silence protestations of devotion with an expensive farewell gift. Nor did he intend to face a moody spouse, smarting over some apparent slight, when they hosted an important dinner.

Sex with his wife might raise her expectations of a family one day; though he’d made it clear children weren’t on his agenda.

His flesh chilled. No, this arrangement would remain simple. Impersonal.

Yet Joss’s gaze didn’t shift from Leila as she entered the sitting room and took a seat, the picture of feminine grace. He had the unsettling suspicion he’d got more than he’d bargained for in this marriage of mutual convenience.

Leila chose a deep chair. The soft leather cocooned her and the frisson of disquiet she’d felt since Joss had arrived eased a fraction. She didn’t feel ready to deal with him when there was so much else on her mind.

Waking disorientated in an apartment that was all minimalist luxury she’d felt a wave of relief, finding herself alone. No one else had shared the huge bed, and the wardrobe was devoid of Joss’s clothes. Yet she’d barely had time to register thankfulness that he’d kept his word and his distance.

Too quickly her thoughts had turned to yesterday’s suffocating fear at the airstrip.

It was something she’d never experienced before. When she’d stepped onto the airfield the vastness of the open air had pressed down as if squeezing the life out of her.

Was it something to do with the sudden change after being forcibly kept indoors, confined for long periods?

She could only hope yesterday had been a one-off. She had no intention of letting the past dictate her future.

‘Your room is comfortable?’ Joss sat, stretching his long legs with the assurance of a man supremely comfortable with their glamorous setting. The place screamed wealth from the stunning views down the Thames, to the original artworks and designer furniture that impressed rather than welcomed.

With his back to the window it was hard to read his expression but she’d bet it was satisfied.

‘Very comfortable. Thank you.’ Leila had grown up with wealth, but nothing like this place. And the last few years she’d led a spartan existence, until her stepfather had pulled out all the stops to impress Joss Carmody.

Even the feel of silk against her skin was an unfamiliar sensual delight. As for wearing heels…she’d chosen stilettos today, hoping to get used to the feel of walking on stilts. She intended to take every opportunity to break with the past.

Silence descended. Did her husband have as little idea of what to say to his stranger-spouse as she did?

‘Have you lived here long?’

Broad shoulders shrugged. ‘I bought the penthouse a couple of years ago but I haven’t been here much. I tend to move wherever business takes me.’

She nodded. Mrs Draycott had intimated it was a pleasure having people to look after. Leila understood it was rare for Joss to be on the premises.

That suited her. She’d rather be alone to take her time sorting out her new life.

‘How long will you be here?’

His long fingers drummed on the armrest. ‘We’ll be here at least a month.’

No mistaking the subtle emphasis on the pronoun. Leila’s heart skipped a beat. ‘We?’

‘Of course. We are just married, after all.’

Leila pushed aside panic at the thought of sharing even such spacious premises with Joss Carmody. Despite their agreement to pursue separate lives, her hackles rose defensively at the idea of being close to him for even a short time. He was powerful, self-satisfied and used to getting his own way. Characteristics that reminded her too forcefully of Gamil.

Yet she understood Joss wouldn’t want to broadcast the fact their marriage was a paper one only. No doubt their separation would be arranged discreetly later.

She’d use the time to investigate her study options and find the perfect home. She longed for a house with a garden, but maybe a flat would be more practical till she found her feet.

But a whole month here? Surely that wouldn’t be necessary. Once she had her money—

‘Leila?’ She looked up to find him staring. ‘What is it? You don’t like the penthouse?’

‘On the contrary, it’s very pleasant.’

‘Pleasant?’ One dark eyebrow shot up. ‘I’ve heard it called many things but not that.’

‘I’m sorry if I offended you,’ Leila said slowly. ‘The apartment is spectacular.’ If you enjoyed cold modern minimalism that broadcast too ostentatiously that it cost the earth.

‘Here you are, sir, madam.’ Mrs Draycott entered with a vast tray. ‘There are sandwiches and—’ she shot a smiling glance at Leila ‘—Middle Eastern nut rolls in syrup and cakes flavoured with rosewater. I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of home, madam.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ Even though memories of home were now fatally tainted.

Leila accepted a plate heaped with delicacies and smiled at the housekeeper as she left the room.

‘These are good,’ Joss said after polishing off one of the pastries and reaching for a second.

‘You have a sweet tooth?’ Leila put her plate down on a side table and reached for her tea. ‘Did your mother make you sweet treats as a child?’ Though they’d always had a cook, Leila remembered her mother’s occasional baking as the best in the world.

‘No.’ The word seemed shorter than ever in that brusque tone. ‘My mother didn’t sully her hands with anything as mundane as cooking.’

‘I see.’ His tone didn’t encourage further comment.

‘I doubt it.’ Joss’s voice was cool but the fierce angle of his pinched eyebrows told of harnessed emotions.

‘My mother abhorred anything that might interfere with her girlish figure or delicate hands.’ His gazed raked her and Leila’s skin prickled as if he’d touched her. ‘Plus she believed the world revolved around her. She had no inclination for anything domestic if it involved dirtying her hands. That’s what other people were for.’

Leila frowned at his scathing assessment. Or perhaps it was the burn of ice-cold fury in his eyes.

She looked away, uncomfortable with the sudden seismic emotion surging beneath his composure.

They were strangers and she’d prefer they stayed that way. The trembling hint of sympathy she felt at what sounded like an uncomfortable home life wasn’t something she wanted to pursue.