No. He wasn’t Leo. She could never think of him as Leo again.
He was Leonidas Niarxos. The man who’d killed her father.
“Oh, my God.” Edgar Ross stared at Daisy, his eyes wide. “You’re Cassidy’s daughter. I didn’t recognize you in that dress. What are you doing here?”
Yes, what? The ballroom, with its gilded glitter, started to swim in front of her eyes.
Daisy’s breaths came in short wheezing gasps, constricted as her chest was by the too-tight cocktail dress. With every breath, her breasts pushed higher against the low neckline. She felt like she was going to pass out.
She had to get out of there.
But as she turned away, Leonidas grabbed her wrist.
“No!” she yelled, and wrenched her arm away. Everyone turned to stare at them in shock, and the music stopped.
For a moment, he just looked down at her, his handsome face hard. He didn’t try to touch her again.
“We need to talk,” he said through gritted teeth.
“What could you possibly have to say to me?” she choked out, hatred rising through her, filling every inch of her hollow heart. She gave a low, brittle laugh. “Did you enjoy your little joke? Seducing me? Laughing at me?”
“Daisy...”
“You took everything!” Her voice was a rasp. She felt used. And so fragile that a single breeze might scatter her to the wind. “How could you have lied to me? Pretending to love me—”
“I didn’t lie—”
“You lied,” she said flatly.
“I never claimed to love you.”
His dark eyes glittered as they stared at each other.
All around them, the glamorous people were frankly staring, tilting their heads slightly to hear. As if Daisy hadn’t been humiliated enough last year by the New York press gleefully calling her beloved, innocent father names like con artist and fraud, and even worse, calling him too stupid to properly commit a crime.
But she was the one who was stupid. All along, she’d known Leo was hiding things from her. She’d ignored her fears and convinced herself he was perfect. She’d trusted her heart.
Her stupid, stupid heart.
Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes stung. She blinked fast, wiping her eyes savagely.
“Daisy.” Leonidas’s voice was a low growl. “Just give me a moment. Alone. Let me explain.”
She was trembling, her teeth chattering almost loud enough to hear. There was nothing he could possibly say that would take away her sense of betrayal. She should slap his face and leave, and never look him in the face again.
But their baby.
Her joints hurt with heartbreak, pain rushing through her veins, pounding a toxic rhythm. Her heart shut down, and she went numb. Whatever he’d done, he was still her baby’s father. She had to tell him.
“I’ll give you one minute,” she choked out.
Leonidas gestured toward the ballroom’s double doors. She followed him out of the glittering, glamorous ballroom, away from the curious crowd, into the deserted foyer of the New York mansion. Wordlessly, she followed him up the wide stone staircase, to the dark quiet of the hallway upstairs.
She felt like a ghost of the girl she’d been. As they climbed the staircase, she glanced up at his dark shadow, and felt sick inside.
Discovering she was pregnant earlier that day, she’d felt so alone, so scared. Her first thought had been that she couldn’t raise a child without him. But now, Daisy suddenly realized there was something even more terrifying than raising a baby alone.
Doing it with your worst enemy.
As Leonidas led Daisy past the security guards in the foyer, up the wide stone staircase of his New York mansion, his heart was beating oddly fast.
He glanced back at her.
Daisy looked so beautiful in the emerald green cocktail dress, with high heels showing off her slender legs. Her long honey-brown hair brushed against her shoulders, over the spaghetti straps, past the low-cut neckline which revealed full breasts, plumped up by the tight satin. Against his will, his eyes lingered there. Had her breasts always been so big? Just watching the sensuous way she moved her hand along the stone bannister, he imagined being the one she touched, and he stirred in spite of himself.
But her eyes were downcast, her dark lashes trembling angrily against her pale cheeks.
Leonidas wondered what she was thinking. It was strange. He’d never cared before about what his lovers might be thinking. And with Daisy, he’d always been able to read her feelings on her face.
Until now.
She glanced up at him, her lovely face carefully blank. She looked back down as they climbed the sweeping staircase.
This was not how Leonidas had hoped this evening would go.
Thinking about it at the office, he’d pictured Daisy being dazzled by his mansion, by the glitter and prestige of his guests, by his wealth and power. He’d convinced himself that she would be in a receptive frame of mind to learn the truth. That Daisy would be shocked, dismayed, even, to learn his identity, but she would swiftly forgive him. Because he was so obviously right.
Daisy loved her father. But she had to see that Patrick Cassidy had been a criminal, protecting his accomplice to the end, refusing to say who’d painted the fake Picasso. What else could Leonidas have done but have his lawyer press charges? Should he have paid millions for a painting he knew was fake, or allowed someone else to potentially be defrauded? He’d done the right thing.
Obviously Daisy didn’t see it that way. He had to help her see it from his perspective. Setting his jaw, he led her down the dark, empty upstairs hallway and pushed open the second door, switching on the bedroom light.
She stopped in the doorway, glaring at him.
He felt irritated at her accusatory gaze. Did she really think he’d brought her into his bedroom to seduce her? That he intended to simply toss her on the bed and cover her with kisses until the past was forgiven and forgotten?
If only!
Leonidas forced himself to take a deep breath. He kept his voice calm and reassuring, just the way Daisy had spoken when she’d held that abandoned puppy in the alley.
“I’m just bringing you in here to talk,” he said soothingly. “Where no one else can hear us.”
She flashed him another glance he couldn’t read, but came into the bedroom. He closed the door softly behind her.
His bedroom was Spartan, starkly decorated with a king-sized bed, walk-in closet and a lot of open space. Through a large window, he could see the orange and red leaves of the trees on the quiet lane outside, darkening in the twilight.