First-Class Seduction

Drawing a deep, shocked breath, she pulled herself free and hurried out, refusing to glance back.

To any onlookers they must have appeared to be lovers taking leave of each other rather than total strangers.

She felt shaken and indignant, furious with him, and with herself, because she was forced to recognise that his powerful masculinity had appealed to everything feminine in her.

Trying to push the disturbing little incident to the back of her mind, Bel headed for Hyde Park, where the dusty trees and yellowing grass of late summer baked in the hot sun.

The offices of Grant Filey Cosmetics were situated in an elegant Georgian house in a quiet cul-de-sac close to the park.

‘Made it in the nick of time,’ the young receptionistcum-secretary in the outer office greeted her. ‘The others have already gone through to the boardroom.’

‘Thanks, Rosie.’ Bel smiled at the girl before making her way to the inner sanctum and sliding into her chair with seconds to spare.

It was a hot day, and Harmen, already seated, was mopping his red perspiring face with a silk handkerchief that matched his flamboyant tie.

At the head of the table, Bel’s father, Peter Grant, a grey-haired, nice-looking man, his usually cheerful face set and serious, rose to address this emergency meeting of the board of directors.

‘We seem to have a potentially dangerous situation on our hands. Someone has already bought up a lot of our privately owned shares, and is apparently on the look-out for more. Whoever is buying seems to be working undercover, and all the signs point to the fact that it’s an attempt at a hostile take-over…’

Bel, sitting on her father’s right, already knew the disturbing news he was telling the rest of the board, and was aware that he was blaming himself for not having acted sooner to safeguard the company.

The previous evening, his brown eyes showing his anxiety, he’d admitted, ‘It was a mistake to let Ellen keep those shares.’

Ellen, blonde and beautiful, friendly and ingenuous, closer to Bel’s age than Peter’s own, was his second and recently divorced wife.

At the time of the divorce Peter had been under financial pressure, and as part of the settlement had agreed to let Ellen retain a block of Grant Filey shares, relatively unimportant in themselves, but crucial in the present situation.

Trying to reassure her father, Bel had said with more confidence than she’d felt, ‘Surely she wouldn’t sell them without consulting you?’

The split had been an amicable one, and they had all remained the best of friends, but Ellen had no head for business, and what she wouldn’t do out of malice she might well do out of ignorance, if approached.

‘I wish I could be certain of that,’ he’d answered, frowning. ‘I’ll be happier when I can get hold of her and make sure she doesn’t’

‘How long was she planning to be away?’

‘I don’t really know. She just left a message on the answering machine saying she was looking forward to having a few days in Paris and she’d be in touch.’

Monitoring her father’s face now, anxious on his behalf, Bel sighed. After more than a year of financial problems, he could well have done without this latest worry.

Now, as the meeting continued, her attention gradually drifted away from business matters, and she found herself remembering those extraordinary blue-grey eyes that had looked into hers.

With a shiver of something akin to apprehension, she recalled the flame that had sprung to life in their smoky depths as he’d studied her face, and her own instinctive response to that sexual challenge.

He must have been tall, over six feet, but apart from his eyes, and an impression of lean toughness, she had no real idea what he looked like.

Remembering the feel of his lips on hers, and still feeling flustered and angry, she went hot all over. Though the contact had been fleeting, there had been nothing in the least diffident about his kiss. It had seemed like a declaration of intent, a statement of impending ownership…

Oh, don’t be ridiculous! she told herself sharply. It could only have been an impulse on his part. He’d seen a chance and taken it. Nothing more or less.

But the thing she found most incredible, and disturbing, was that a perfect stranger she probably wouldn’t even recognise if she saw again had been able to affect her so strongly.

In an effort to banish the memory, Bel stared at the diamond solitaire on her engagement finger. If Roderick knew what she was thinking and feeling, he would be astounded.

Just the other night, when she’d called a halt to his lovemaking, he’d said, his smile a shade rueful, ‘You always manage to stay cool and in control. Don’t you find it hard?’

A little guiltily she’d realised it wasn’t hard at all. She found it easy.

Too easy?

Concerned, she’d asked him, ‘You don’t think I’m really cold, do you?’

He’d answered, ‘No, my sweet, I don’t. No one with a mouth like yours could be cold. I just think you know the value of chastity, to use an old-fashioned word, and that makes you very special and precious.’

For a while Bel managed to keep her mind safely on her fiancé, but soon her recalcitrant thoughts strayed to the disconcerting stranger once more.

Scared of the effect that brief encounter still had on her, she told herself it was a relief to know they would never meet again.

Yet somehow, despite the fact that she knew he spelt danger, it felt more like regret.

When the board meeting finally ended, and the directors, talking amongst themselves, had filed out, Bel turned to her father and asked, ‘Sure you won’t change your mind and come to Kent this weekend?’

‘Quite sure.’ Patting her hand reassuringly, he added, ‘I prefer to be in London in case Ellen tries to contact me…Is Roderick picking you up?’

‘He’s out of town on business, so as soon as I’ve showered and changed I’m driving down.’

‘Well, you’d better get off home, then. See if you can beat the rush hour.’

‘Promise me you won’t spend the weekend worrying.’

‘Indeed I won’t,’ he said, a shade too heartily. ‘As long as Ellen hangs onto those shares there’s not that much to worry about.’

‘You’ll let me know if you hear from her?’

‘Of course.’

The house Bel lived in was on the corner of a tree-shaded square less than fifteen minutes’ walk from the office. Number ten Clorres Place, which was fronted by black spiky railings, had been divided into three self-contained flats.

Bel had the basement.

Having descended the wrought-iron steps to a paved area brightened by tubs of flowers and a long windowbox overflowing with orange nasturtiums, she let herself into the small, white-walled flat and kicked off her smart court shoes.

After a cool, refreshing shower, leaving her long hair loose, she changed into a navy sleeveless dress and flatheeled sandals.

These days she seldom wore high heels. Roderick was a bare inch taller than her five feet seven, and she had discovered quite early in their relationship that he hated to be loomed over.

Her weekend case was packed and waiting. She collected it and, after walking round the corner to a sidestreet which bore the sign ‘Tenants Only Parking’, got into her white Cavalier.

She was ahead of the Friday afternoon rush hour and her journey out of London was comparatively easy. While she drove she considered the coming weekend.