Master of Her Virtue - By Miranda Lee Page 0,46

have any intention of getting married again!’

‘Okay, fine; no need to shout at me. I believe you. But I hope you made that clear to your new girlfriend. How old is she, by the way?’

‘I don’t think Violet’s age is any of your business, do you?’

Mandy’s laugh was dry. ‘Oh, I see. She’s young. Very young, I suspect. And beautiful, no doubt.’

‘She’s not that young,’ he bit out. ‘But yes, she’s beautiful, inside and out.’

‘Oh dear. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? Perhaps you’d better fly back to Sydney and take this Violet to bed for at least a month. Get her well and truly out of your system, otherwise you might just do something seriously silly like propose.’

Now it was Leo who laughed. ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

‘I thought I did, too. I won’t say there’s no fool like an old fool, because you’re not that old. But be careful, Leo. Love makes fools of all of us. Anyway, do give me a ring if and when you come to your senses. Or you get bored with having phone sex. Meanwhile, good luck. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

VIOLET TOLD JOY the truth. Not the total truth, of course. She left out the bit where she’d gone to bed with Leo instead of to see the show at the Lyric. But she told Joy about the phone call Leo had made from the airport, his request that she have a look at a screenplay he’d acquired and that he would ring her about it on Sunday night.

Consequently, when Sunday night rolled around, she didn’t have to hide anything from Joy—only her nerves, which were considerable. After all, this was her one and only chance to convince Leo that he should continue to ring her. The way she handled this call would mean success or failure. It was a touchy situation, given she had to tell Leo that there was a major flaw in his screenplay.

Would he be annoyed with her? Would he even believe her?

Violet knew how unresponsive a lot of authors were to criticism over their precious work. Some gave full-on aggravation. She hoped Leo wouldn’t be like that. She hoped he would listen. Because, if he didn’t listen to her opinion, if he wasn’t prepared to make the change she was going to suggest, then there would be no reason for him to continue contact with her, and any chance of being with him again in the foreseeable future would be gone.

And Violet could not bear that thought. She could not wait till next Christmas. After all, he might not even return next Christmas. It had taken him eight years to make this last visit. She also wasn’t sure she could wait till Wimbledon, which she’d discovered was in late June. That was nearly six whole months away. Twenty-six weeks. Almost two hundred days and nights.

The last two nights had been bad enough. She’d been plagued by dreams, wildly erotic, extremely kinky dreams where she’d done things with Leo that she’d only read about in books; things with fur-lined handcuffs, exotic oils and other assorted sex toys.

She’d woken each morning in a lather of longing, making her wonder again if she was just suffering from a severe case of lust. Surely love wouldn’t want to indulge in such activities? And she did. Very much so. But only with Leo, of course, so maybe it was still love.

‘You’ve got St Vitus’ dance, Violet,’ Joy said when she got up from the sofa for the umpteenth time.

‘I hate it when people don’t ring on time.’ In truth, Leo was only five minutes late.

Just then her phone rang. Violet struggled to maintain her composure in the face of her stomach contracting around the host of butterflies which had been swirling in there for the last half hour. With clenched teeth she took her time walking over to where she’d left her phone, casually sweeping it up to her ear as she left the living room and headed for the privacy of her bedroom.

‘Hello, Leo,’ she said on the way, pleased with how cool she sounded.

‘Violet,’ he replied. ‘Have you had time to read the screenplay?’

Violet tried not to be dismayed by his lack of social pleasantries. He could at least have asked her how she was.

‘Yes,’ she returned crisply. ‘I’ve read it a couple of times.’

‘And?’

‘It’s quite a good story.’ Basically, it was about an ordinary man, an accountant, whose less-than-ordinary twin brother—a