Purchased for Passion. Julia James

her. Not for any of them. Their clothes stay on—all of them,’ he spelt out, for good measure.

      His eyes moved over the four girls, resting momentarily on the redhead. A smile almost flickered on his mouth. He could just imagine his cousin Markos’s reaction to seeing his mistress’s naked charms paraded in the publicity shots accompanying the launch of the rediscovered Levantsky collection—long-hidden in a secret Tsarist cache in the depths of Siberia and recently returned to the commercial world courtesy of a shrewd acquisition by Makarios Corp.

      Markos would have beaten him to a pulp for allowing it!

      If he could land a punch, that was, thought Leo, with dark humour.

      Not that he would give him cause to—or any man who had an interest in the girls here.

      His eyes flicked back to the sable-haired model. Was she taken? Just because she’d responded to him it didn’t mean that another man didn’t have his marker on her. She wouldn’t be the first female to think she’d do better trading up to a Makarios.

      Those that thought that way, however, he promptly lost interest in.

      Such women made poor mistresses. Their minds were on his money—not on him.

      And when he had a woman in bed with him he wanted her mind totally and utterly on him.

      As the sable-haired model’s would be when he bedded her. He would see to it.

      He strolled to the side of the vast hall, nodding briefly to the senior security personnel hired to guard the Levantsky collection, leaned back against the edge of a heavy oak table, crossed one ankle over the other, folded his arms, and watched, wanting to see more of the girl he had selected for himself.

      The shoot went on.

      It was the turn of the sable-haired model next. Both to be shot and picked on.

      Tonio Embrutti was clearly taking out his spleen on her. Nothing she did was right. He snapped and snarled and sneered at whatever she did, however she posed.

      Leo felt an intense desire to stride across to the photographer and wring his scrawny neck. And he also felt a grudging admiration for the model.

      She might be bored wearing a Levantsky parure, she might be the kind of troublemaker who quoted contractual conditions at the first sign of rough water, but when it came to putting up with what was being handed out to her she had the patience of a saint.

      Which was curious, thought Leo, watching her assessingly, because she didn’t look saint-like at all.

      Not that she looked sexy.

      Nothing that crass.

      No, her intense sexual allure came from something quite different.

      It came from her being supremely indifferent to it.

      It really was, he mused, very powerful.

      Very erotic.

      His eyes swept over her. The black hair like a cloak, the milk-white shoulders and generous curve of her corseted breasts, her tiny waist and her accentuated hips, her slender but moulded arms—and then her face, of course. Almost square, with a defined jaw, and yet the high cheekbones, the straight nose, the wide, unconsciously voluptuous mouth—and the emerald eyes…

      Oh, yes, she really was very, very erotic.

      He felt his body stir, and he relaxed back to enjoy the view.

      And anticipate the night’s entertainment to come.

      Courtesy of the sable-haired model.

      Idly, he wondered what her name was…

      Anna sank her exhausted body into the hot, fragrant water. It felt blissful. God, she was tired. The shoot had been punishing. Not just because of that jerk Embrutti—though keeping her cool with him had taken more effort than she enjoyed exerting—but simply because it had taken so long.

      But in the end it had been a wrap. Every girl had been photographed wearing every different colour stone, with both matching and contrasting gowns. They would be wearing the jewels again tonight, at the grand reception Leo Makarios was holding to launch his revival of the Levantsky jewellery marque. Vanessa in emeralds, Kate in rubies, herself in diamonds and Jenny in sapphires.

      Anna’s eyes were troubled suddenly. She’d had her little chat with Jenny, following her into her room when they’d all finally been dismissed. She’d plonked her down on the bed, sat down beside her, and got the truth from her.

      And it had shocked her totally.

      ‘I’m pregnant!’ Jenny had blurted out.

      Anna had just stared. She hadn’t needed to ask who by, or just why Jenny was so upset about it.

      She’d warned her all along not to get involved with someone whose culture was so different from Western norms, that it could only end in trouble.

      And it certainly had.

      ‘He told me!’ Jenny had rocked back and forth on the bed, clutching her abdomen where, scarcely visible, her baby was growing. ‘He told me that if ever I got pregnant I faced two choices. Marrying him and living as his wife to raise the child. Or marrying him, giving him the child, and being divorced. But I can’t. I can’t do either! I can’t!’

      She’d started crying, and Anna had wrapped her up in her arms and let her cry.

      ‘I can’t marry him!’ Jenny had sobbed. ‘I can’t live in some harem and never get out ever again. And as for giving up my baby…’

      Her sobs had become even more anguished.

      ‘I take it,’ Anna had said, when they finally died away, ‘that he doesn’t know about the baby?’

      ‘No! And he mustn’t find out! Or he’ll come and get me and drag me back to his desert. Oh, God, Anna, he mustn’t find out. Don’t you see why I was so terrified when Tonio wanted me to strip down? In case it showed—the pregnancy. Supposing someone noticed—they would; you know they would—and it started circulating as a rumour. He’d pick up on it and he’d come storming down on me! Oh, God, I’ve got to get away. I’ve got to.’

      Anna had frowned.

      ‘Get away?’

      ‘Yes. I’ve got to hide. Hide before anything starts really showing. And I mean hide for good, Anna. If he ever hears I’ve had a baby he’ll know it’s his. He’ll have tests done and all that. So I’ve got to get away.’

      She’d turned a stricken face to her friend.

      ‘I’ve got to get really, really far away—and stay there. Totally resettle. Somewhere he’ll never think of looking.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was planning on Australia. One of the obscure bits, round the northwest. Where the pearls come from. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s the last place he’d look.’

      Anna had looked sober.

      ‘Can you afford to move out there, Jenny?’

      She knew Jenny earned good money, but it was patchy. Neither of them were in the very top league of supermodels, and agency fees and other expenses ate into what they were paid. Besides, Jenny’s ill-advised affair with the man she was now desperate to flee from had kept her out of circulation for too long—other, younger models were snapping up work she’d have now been grateful to get.

      Jenny hadn’t answered. Just bitten her lip.

      ‘I can lend you—’ Anna began, but Jenny had shaken her head.

      ‘You need your money. I know how expensive that nursing home is for your gran. And I won’t have you selling your flat. At our age we’re both looking extinction in the face—you need your savings for when you quit modelling. So I’m not borrowing from you. I’ll manage. Somehow.’

      Anna hadn’t bothered to press her offer. Somehow she would make sure