Cursing under his breath, Leo stared at Ivy’s retreating back. What the devil was wrong with him? He was losing himself to the pursuit of this mysterious lady, and his best-laid plans were fast unraveling. Mildred had spent the entire evening staring at him. If she only knew the half of it. Whatever had possessed him to stroke Ivy’s hand? It was ungentlemanly, unseemly, yet…he’d felt compelled to reach out and grasp her. Like a ghost drifting through the mists, she was just out of reach, and he was desperate for a way to connect himself to her.
A newspaperman’s daughter with flashing eyes, raven-black hair, and lips made for a man’s pleasure. She was going to be the death of him.
Maybe…if he slept with her, got her out of his head, his blood would cool, and he could resume his plans with
