A Lesson In Seduction

A Lesson In Seduction
Susan Napier

Was he a shy guy… or playboy?They met at the airport. He wore a suit and carried a briefcase. He seemed quiet, a little shy. Definitely not the type to flirt with a fellow passenger - even if she was famous actress Rosalind Marlow! His name, Roz discovered, was Luke James. She was determined to discover more about him… such as why he appeared to be following her. And was he as innocent as he seemed?What he really needed was a lesson in flirtation - and, on impulse, Roz decided to be his teacher! Luke was a fast learner. In fact, Roz soon discovered that he didn't need lessons at all. He could teach her plenty about the art of seduction!"Susan Napier is a whizz at stirring up both breathtaking sensuality and emotional tension." - Romantic Times

“Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to kiss, as well as how to flirt?” she murmured invitingly (#u748dc5b7-6083-56db-be1a-365de23bf370)About the Author (#u6928f60e-8d32-5bcf-b664-0557a3c7447a)Books by Susan Napier (#ua36d982c-55cc-51f4-8274-411a17ab5706)Title Page (#ub01e2b0d-d45d-5917-b8c1-026b4463ebc1)CHAPTER ONE (#u53485621-8aaf-5839-859f-f5f5eb2c2273)CHAPTER TWO (#u0d7daa82-2ccf-5104-8ed3-df39021704f9)CHAPTER THREE (#u86ed7677-47ce-5d58-a4fc-d27689454641)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to kiss, as well as how to flirt?” she murmured invitingly

Luke was breathing harshly. “What’s to teach? A kiss is just a kiss....”

She laughed. “Oh, Luke, do you have a lot to learn....”

Her condescending mockery was smothered by his urgent mouth. His lips slanted across hers, his tongue smoothing inside the velvety interior of her mouth, sucking at the sweetness he found there. Rosalind’s eyes fluttered shut, unable to cope with the sensual overload.

Finally he broke away. “Well, teacher, I guess you made your point.”

“Did I?” It was Rosalind who had learned a lesson....s

Susan Napier brings us yet another fast-paced, witty, breathtakingly sensuous romance that will captivate you till the very last page!

SUSAN NAPIER

was born on St. Valentine’s Day, so it’s not surprising she has developed an enduring love of romantic stories. She started her writing career as a journalist in Auckland, New Zealand, trying her hand at romance fiction only after she had married her handsome boss! Numerous books later she still lives with her most enduring hero, two future heroes—her sons!—two cats and a computer. When she’s not writing she likes to read and cook, often simultaneously!

Books by Susan Napier

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A Lesson in Seduction

Susan Napier

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

‘LEAVE the country?’

Rosalind Marlow stopped pacing up and down the hearth-rug in her parents’ elegant lounge and stared at her mother in consternation.

‘Just for a little while, darling,’ Constance Marlow murmured placidly, finishing her cup of tea and settling back on the couch, looking quite unruffled by her daughter’s outraged expression. ‘Until some of this dreadful fuss dies down.’

‘Are you suggesting I run away?’ Rosalind demanded incredulously, her slender body stiffening in rejection of the idea of such rank cowardice. She and her five siblings had been brought up on the credo that one must always face up to one’s responsibilities, no matter how painful or embarrassing. Surely her mother wasn’t now suggesting that she compromise her honour for the sake of simple expediency?

Rosalind looked to her father to share her outrage, but he merely gave an expressive shrug, as if to say he was but putty in her mother’s hands. Which, of course, he was...but only when it suited him. As a distinguished director with over thirty years’ stage experience Michael Marlow was gifted with an unerring ability to control the volatile personalities of the egocentric actors and actresses who cluttered his professional and personal life—his famous wife included.

‘Think of it as taking a timely holiday, darling,’ her mother murmured in her beautifully articulated drawl. ‘You must admit it’s absolutely ages since you had a proper one. And after what you went through on that last job you certainly deserve a relaxing break.’

Rosalind shuddered at the memory of her recent, depressing foray into film. The disaster-plagued production had merely served to confirm her inner conviction that, like her mother, she was born for the stage rather than the screen. She liked to think of herself as versatile enough to tackle anything but she had never really enjoyed the disjointed, repetitive nature of acting for the camera, where everything was done in short snatches and some nameless editor in a booth somewhere controlled your ultimate interpretation of a role.

She should never have allowed herself to be flattered into accepting the female lead in the art-house production but the director, an old drama-school friend, had caught her at a weak moment and persuaded her that it would be ‘fun’ to work together again.

Some fun. Rosalind had cracked a wrist doing her own stunts and had almost been eaten by sharks!

‘That’s not the point,’ she argued, raking her fingers through her short-cropped red hair, making it stand fierily on end, a vibrant contrast to her pale skin and black roll-necked sweater. ‘It’s the principle of the thing. Why should I let myself be driven into exile, for goodness’ sake? I haven’t done anything wrong!’

‘Of course you haven’t, darling,’ her mother soothed, looking hurt at the implication that she didn’t trust her own daughter.

Rosalind simmered with frustration. She knew that her mother was playing shamelessly on her sense of guilt but she had made a promise and not even for her family’s peace of mind was she prepared to break it. However, she couldn’t blame those she loved for trying to winkle out the truth.

‘Even if you had, you know you’d have our unqualified support,’ commented her father quietly, making her feel even worse.

‘I’d tell you if I could,’ she burst out. ‘You’ll just have to accept my word that I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of!’

Her eyes avoided the coffee-table, which was strewn with tabloids bearing lurid headlines that variously branded her as a promiscuous sex-kitten, a butch, feminist home-wrecker, a pathetic, mixed-up waif with an insatiable craving for the love denied her by her disapproving family, and a helpless tool of an alien conspiracy to topple the governments of earth!

‘I thought we’d already agreed on that,’ murmured her eldest brother from the window-seat, turning his broad back on the entertaining sight of his wife trying to keep up with their three aggressively active toddlers in the rambling back garden of the large town house. Hugh pinned Rosalind with his thoughtful gaze. ‘But unfortunately the Press aren’t quite so trusting. By refusing to answer questions, you’ve left them free to speculate without the hindrance of having to conform to the known facts.’

Rosalind scowled, her thick, dark-dyed eyebrows drawing sharply together. ‘I gave them a statement; that should have been enough. You’re a lawyer; can’t I take out an injunction or something, to stop them harassing me?’

She slouched with unconscious grace over to the front window and peeked through the curtains. Sure enough, the gaggle of reporters who had been tailing her relentlessly for the last week was still clustered around the gate. Her wide mouth firmed. She was damned if she was going to allow them to hound her into giving them what they wanted.

At least they were no longer knocking on the door and shouting questions through the keyhole, thanks to Hugh’s threats to have them arrested for trespass. His hefty size and cold grey stare had added to the deterrent and not for the first time Roz had blessed her parents for having the lucky foresight to adopt a child who had developed into such an impressive specimen of adult masculinity. The natural Marlow offspring were all tall and slender, more accustomed to using charm than muscle to extricate themselves from trouble.

Hugh shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Possibly, although even if successful all a court order would do would keep reporters at a certain physical distance; it wouldn’t stop them digging around for information or photographing you in public. In fact it would probably be counter-productive—make the Press even more tenacious. They could counter-claim that the public interest in this case transcends your need for personal privacy because of the political implications—’

‘But what happened had nothing to do with politics!’ Roz wailed, infuriated by the unfairness of it all.

‘A politician’s wife is involved; that makes it political,’ Hugh corrected her with his precise, pedantic logic. ‘With an important by-election coming up, all sides are going to be quick to try and use the publicity to their advantage, and while I don’t doubt that the Government is as keen as you are to see the story die a discreet death it certainly can’t be seen to be interfering with the freedom of the Press.’