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?
Or would she face her future all on her own?
Swallowing hard, Daisy followed the elderly couple up the steps to the open door, where they were welcomed by a butler. As he looked over Daisy’s ill-fitting cocktail dress and cheap shoes, the butler’s eyebrows rose. “Your name, miss?”
“Daisy Cassidy.” She held her breath, half expecting that, whatever the chauffeur had said, she’d been dropped at the wrong house and would be tossed out immediately.
Instead, the butler gave her a warm smile.
“We’ve been expecting you, Miss Cassidy. Welcome. Mrs. Berry,” he glanced at a plump, white-haired woman nearby, “will take you inside.”
“I’m Mr. Niarxos’s housekeeper, Miss Cassidy,” the older woman said kindly. “Will you please come this way?”
Bewildered, wondering who Mr. Niarxos was—perhaps the butler?—Daisy followed the housekeeper through a lavish foyer. She gawked at the brief vision of a gold-painted ceiling above a crystal chandelier, high overhead, and a wide stone staircase that seemed straight out of Downton Abbey. They followed a steady crowd of glamorous guests through tall double doors into a ballroom.
Daisy’s jaw dropped. A ballroom! In a house?
The ballroom was big enough to fit three hundred people, with a ceiling thirty feet high. The walls were gilded, and mirrors reflected the light of chandeliers that would have suited Versailles. Waiters wearing black tie walked through holding silver trays with champagne flutes on them. On the small stage, musicians played classical music.
Daisy felt like she’d just fallen through the floor to Wonderland. And there, across the ballroom—
Was that Leo in a tuxedo? Talking to the most famous movie star in the world?
“I’ll tell him you’re here, Miss Cassidy,” Mrs. Berry said. “In the meantime, may I get you a drink?”
“What?” It took her a minute to understand the question. Yes. A stiff drink was an excellent idea. Then she remembered she was pregnant. “Uh...no. Thank you.”
“Please wait here, Miss Cassidy.” The white-haired woman departed with a respectful bow.
Across the crowds, she watched the housekeeper speak quietly to Leo on the other side of the ballroom. He turned, dark and powerful and devastatingly handsome. His eyes met Daisy’s, and she felt a flash of fire.
Nervously, Daisy turned away to stare at a painting on the wall. It was a very nice framed print, a Jackson Pollock she didn’t immediately recognize. Then her lips parted as she realized it probably wasn’t a print. She was looking at a real Jackson Pollock. Just hanging in someone’s home.