First-Class Seduction

He was a good six inches taller than she was, Bel noted abstractedly, with shoulders wide as a barn door and narrow hips.

‘I really don’t…’ The protest died on her lips as they moved into the light and she saw his handsome, strongboned face, with its chiselled mouth, well-marked brows and thickly-lashed eyes.

Eyes that, ever since they’d looked into hers that lunchtime, had haunted her.

Though she felt as if she’d fallen down a lift shaft, somehow her legs kept moving to the rhythm of the slow foxtrot. In a strangled voice, she exclaimed, ‘You! What are you doing here?’

He looked sardonically amused. ‘I was invited.’

‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence.’ Gazing into that lean, compellingly attractive face, she spoke her confused thoughts aloud.

‘Not at all,’ he corrected calmly. ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned.’

‘I really don’t know what you mean…’ What had been intended as a cool put-down somehow sounded merely petulant. Taking a deep breath, she went on more hardily, ‘But I do know you have no right to kiss me like—’

He bent and covered her mouth with his, stopping the indignant flow of words and sending her head spinning. ‘Like that?’

His kiss, though brief, had been shattering, and even when her lips were free again, her head continued to spin for a moment.

As it cleared she caught a glimpse of Suzy’s startled gaze fixed on her, before the redhead and her partner were lost amongst the other dancers.

Scared, both of this man’s arrogant demonstration of possessiveness and her own helpless reaction to it, Bel stopped dancing and made an effort to pull herself free.

He merely tightened his hold.

‘Let me go,’ she said in a fierce undertone.

‘I want to talk to you. But first we’ll get away from this crowd.’

Clasping her right wrist, he led her down the terrace steps and across the smooth expanse of gently sloping lawn to a wooden bench beyond the range of the lanterns.

She should have resisted, even if it meant making a scene, but, knocked completely off balance, her common sense swamped by too much champagne, she found herself going without further protest.

It was a glorious evening—the sky a clear dark blue pricked with stars, a pale, shining disc of moon hanging like an angel’s cradle just above the treetops. The air was warm, soft as velvet, perfumed with honeysuckle and gillyflowers and the sharper, lemony scent of geraniums.

But, finding it difficult to breathe, all Bel was conscious of was the man who was holding her so lightly but inexorably.

Sitting on the bench, he drew her down beside him.

In spite of the background of lights and music, she felt curiously alone, isolated, as if no one else existed.

His handsome eyes silver in the moonlight, her captor studied her face with an unnerving scrutiny.

His long fingers still held her wrist and, knowing he must be aware of her racing pulse, she strove for calm. But her usual self-possession had deserted her entirely.

As though he knew exactly how he affected her, and was pleased, he smiled and said softly, ‘Without that air of cool composure you’re even more bewitching.’

Ignoring the compliment, she demanded, ‘Who are you?’ and was annoyed to find she sounded as agitated as she felt. ‘Are you a friend of Roderick’s?’

‘A business acquaintance…Andrew Storm.’

‘Andrew Storm,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Somehow it suits you.’ Once again she spoke her thoughts aloud.

‘And your name suits you, ma belle.’

Wondering how he knew her name, presuming Roderick must have mentioned it, she shook her head. ‘I was christened Annabel, but it was always shortened to Bel.’

His free hand came up to touch her cheek. Flinching away from that caressing touch, and trying desperately to find some stable ground, she said jerkily, ‘I’m Roderick’s fiancée. We’re getting married in October.’

‘Really?’ He sounded as if he doubted it.

To add weight to the declaration, she lifted her left hand and displayed her engagement ring.

‘Why did you choose a diamond?’

‘I didn’t. Roderick chose it.’

With a shake of his head, Andrew Storm dismissed the solitaire. ‘A diamond is too cold. You need the warmth of a topaz, or the green fire of an emerald. Beneath that air of cool reserve there’s a passionate woman…’

Startled by his assertion, striving to sound amused, derisive, she queried, ‘Do you think so?’

His arm went around her. ‘Would you like me to prove it, Bel?’

‘No!’

‘Scared?’

Terrified. ‘No, I’m not scared. But I am Roderick’s fiancée.’

He shrugged, discounting the fact as coolly as he’d discounted the ring. ‘So you’ve just told me. How long have you been engaged?’

‘Three months.’

‘Do you and Bentinck sleep together?’

The question took her by surprise. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said indignantly.

‘It could be relevant to our discussion,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘If you do—’

‘We don’t.’ The moment the words were out she could have bitten her tongue, realising she’d fallen into his trap.

He laughed softly at her discomfort.

Knowing she must put an end to this dangerous têteà-tête, she gathered herself and, jumping to her feet, said abruptly, ‘I’d like to go back to the party.’

Rather to her surprise he rose and, with an air of satisfaction, as though he’d achieved his object, agreed, ‘Very well.’

Tucking her hand through his arm, he walked her back to the terrace, where lantern-light took the place of moonlight and the party was still going strong.