Seduction Assignment

By mid-afternoon shortbread, cut in fingers, lay cooling on baking racks. There was one tin filled with rumballs, another with fudge brownies. Tomorrow she’d bake Christmas cakes.

A quick glance at her watch determined it was time to begin preparing Sebastian’s evening meal.

A secretive smile teased the edges of her mouth. She almost wished she could see his expression when he uncovered a platter containing miso soup thick with seaweed and tofu, grilled eel in a rich oyster sauce, sushi with slices of raw fish and seaweed delicacies, and faux caviare. Flavoured tofu with fruit comprised dessert.

Sebastian heeded her knock, caught her carefully composed expression, and was immediately on guard.

He mentally conjured the thick T-bone steak he’d removed from the freezer earlier in the day, the makings for a salad he could put together in minutes, and sought to protect his palate.

‘Why not join me tomorrow night?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your work,’ she responded with extreme politeness.

‘An hour or two won’t cause much damage.’

‘Damage’ was the operative word, and she didn’t covet an hour in his company, much less two. Besides, if she shared a meal with him she’d have to resort to conventional cooking, and that would definitely spoil the fun.

‘Maybe another time.’ Without a further word she turned and retraced her steps.

It was as well he liked Japanese food, although he conceded her choice of dishes was probably as deliberate as it was unusual. The dessert joined the chocolate bombe and the strawberry sponge sitting in his refrigerator.

Anneke checked the dried fruit, stacked shortbread into one of her aunt’s cake tins, then cleaned up the kitchen.

After a day of preparing food, she opted for something simple for her own meal, and followed it with a bowl of fresh fruit. She added ice to a glass, filled it with water, then carried it through to the lounge and switched on the television.

The phone rang at nine. She remembered the time, as she glanced at her watch. Even as she picked up the receiver she had the instinctive feeling this was going to be a repeat of yesterday’s nuisance call.

Bingo, Anneke registered as no one answered her greeting, and within seconds she could hear audible breathing on the line.

Who would do something like this? It couldn’t be aimed at Aunt Vivienne, surely? Yet who knew Anneke was here?

She cut the connection and replaced the handset, then stood staring at the telephone as if willing it to divulge relevant information.

For five minutes she hovered in the kitchen, wiping down bench surfaces that had already been wiped, checking cupboards, the refrigerator, the pantry. Just in case the call was repeated.

The thought crossed her mind that perhaps she should report it. But what could the police do, except relay advice she was already aware of?

CHAPTER FOUR

SEVERAL friends were aware of Anneke’s mobile listing, but she hadn’t told anyone of her whereabouts or given out Aunt Vivienne’s number. And no one she knew would make a nuisance, heavy breathing, non-speaking call then hang up.

She had no enemies, and no one she knew would wish her harm. So who? A frown creased her forehead. A misdialled number? Once, maybe. But twice indicated it to be premeditated.

The microwave digital display indicated a few minutes before six. Damn. There was no reason to front the day at such an early hour, and yet she felt too unsettled to simply sit around and do nothing.

A jog along the length of the beach followed by a swim in the cool, clear ocean would clear her mind, then she’d drive into Byron Bay and explore the shops for an hour or two. After lunch she’d mix the Christmas cakes and consign them into the oven.

This early there was a fresh newness to the day, apparent in the warmth of the sun’s rays, the golden sand crisp from its tidal cleanse.

Anneke set a leisurely pace along the Bay’s gentle curve to the outcrop of rocks before turning to retrace her steps.

It was then she saw a lone male figure closing the distance between them, his pace measuring hers in relaxed style but covering the sand more quickly due to a longer stride.

There was no disguising the tall, muscular frame, and if there was any doubt the dark hair sleekly bound at his nape provided recognition.

Sebastian.

Clad in dark sweat-shorts and singlet, he looked like something out of a health and fitness magazine. The sweatband round his head lent a credible likeness to an Apache brave.

The mental switch in image brought a smile to her lips and lit her eyes with a mischievous sparkle.

She watched with detached admiration as he drew close: the fluid flex of well-honed muscle and sinew, the lithe, animalistic grace of perfectly co-ordinated body movement.

At this stage most men would have bunched up their pectoral muscles, flung back their shoulders in an effort to impress a female of the species.

Sebastian merely slowed his stride and came to an easy halt. Lacking was the expected sheen of sweat; nor was there any evidence of shortness of breath.

’Bonjour.’

‘Hi.’

The easy smile deepened the vertical crease in each cheek, and there was an appreciative gleam in those dark eyes.

‘I didn’t expect to see you out this early.’

Dammit, why did it take one glance at his mouth to bring vividly to mind how it felt to have it cover her own? And why, a silent voice taunted, should some internal flame ignite and flare into deep, pulsing life with anticipation that it might?

‘I rarely sleep in.’ She hadn’t meant to sound defensive.

Touchy. Definitely touchy. And he wondered why. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d implied that you do,’ he said quietly.

Oh, hell. She had the distinct feeling he could see inside her mind, and meaningful conversation at this hour of the morning wasn’t her intention.

‘Must keep the heart-rate up,’ she indicated, preparing to sprint away from him.

‘We could run together.’

‘Sorry,’ Anneke declared without compunction. ‘I run for fun. You,’ she said with certainty, ‘adhere to a more professional pace.’ She even summoned a slight smile. ‘And I wouldn’t suggest you alter it solely for my benefit.’ She broke into a light sprint, then slowed her pace when she had put some distance between them.

It wasn’t easy to ignore the faint prickle of awareness teasing the hairs on her nape.

His very presence irked her. He made her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t like it any more than she liked him.

There were no messages on the answering machine, but her mobile showed one missed call, and when she checked voice mail all she heard was an indistinct whisper followed by the silent click of a replaced receiver.

Her stomach gave a small lurch, then settled.

Adam? Even as the thought intruded, she dismissed it. Adam Lloyd Chambers was a legal eagle of impeccable lineage, admired by his associates and a pillar within his social community.

The fact he had a penchant for sexual dalliances didn’t alter the fact he was an unlikely candidate to make nuisance calls. Besides, she couldn’t see him doing anything to jeopardise his career or his partnership.

Anneke made for the bathroom, showered and washed her hair, then dressed in tailored shorts, added a cotton top. She cut up a selection of fruit, added cereal, then followed it with a poached egg on toast for breakfast.

She put a small load of washing through the machine, and after completing some essential housework she caught up her keys and drove into Byron Bay with the intention of browsing through the many craft shops, maybe taking time out to sip a cappuccino at one of several outdoor cafés before purchasing a selection of fresh fruit and a few staple vegetables.

The aroma of freshly baked bread was irresistible, and she entered the shop, purchased a baguette and a few savoury scrolls, then emerged out onto the pavement.

Some ham, a wedge of Brie, and a delicious salad would suffice as lunch. Then she’d curl up in the capacious cane chair on her aunt’s porch and lose herself in a book until it was time to prepare dinner.

‘Well, now, girl, what’s that you’ve got there?’

She heard the voice, took in the thin face, the long, unkempt hair, the nose-stud, the eyebrow-ring, and a range of studs and earrings attached to each ear. The loose-flowing shirt looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks, likewise the frayed and slashed jeans.

One glance at those eyes was enough for her to determine this was no peace-loving New Age devotee. They were dark, beady, and mean.

Trouble. Unless she handled him carefully.

Anneke lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. ‘Bread, fruit and vegetables.’ She made to move past him, and saw the subtle shift of his body as he stepped close.

Damn. ‘You’re in my way,’ she stated calmly.

‘That’s a problem?’

‘It could be.’

‘So, what you gonna do, pretty girl?’ he mocked.

‘Any one of a number of things.’

He leered at her, and ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. ‘Such as?’ His mouth parted in a soundless laugh. ‘Scream?’

‘How’s your pain level?’ Anneke countered matter-off-actly.

An arm curved along the back of her waist while another deftly removed a carry-bag. ‘Chérie. My apologies.’ She felt the heat of Sebastian’s frame as he leaned in close and brushed his lips to her cheek in a warm caress. ‘Have you been waiting long?’

She turned her head and met a pair of steady dark eyes, glimpsed their warning flare, and controlled the unexpected flip her stomach executed as she became lost in the devastating warmth of his smile.

Only a fool would have ignored the hard-muscled body beneath the open-necked shirt and stonewashed jeans, or dismissed the ruthless intensity behind his deceptively mild expression.

Anneke had the distinct feeling he was poised for action. It was evident in his stance, the sharp stillness apparent in his eyes. For one infinitesimal second she almost felt sorry for her aggressor.

‘Sebastian. C’est opportun.’

A split second to think. So, not fluent, he acknowledged. The accent was passable. His smile widened. Good. She would understand what he said when he made love to her.

His eyes were carefully bland. ‘Should we effect an introduction?’ He thrust out his hand and enclosed the young man’s palm in a firm grip. ‘Lanier. And you?’

‘Go to hell.’

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. ‘What a shame, my friend,’ he intoned with deadly softness. ‘We’re not going there.’

Anneke didn’t blink at the blistering and very pithy response. ‘Charming,’ she murmured facetiously as her aggressor turned and ambled off along the pavement. ‘Pity his suggestion was anatomically impossible.’

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘He intended to relieve you of whatever money you had in your wallet.’ To fund the next fix.

‘It would have been interesting to discover his threshold of pain.’

He cast her a sharp glance. ‘What particular method did you have in mind?’

She told him, concisely, analytically, and had the satisfaction of evidencing a measure of respect.

‘Reassuring,’ he conceded, ‘to learn you can take care of yourself.’

Anneke inclined her head. Dealing with the scruffy young creep wouldn’t have posed a problem. However, she would have had to discard the carry-bags in a hurry, and to have her carefully selected purchases crushed or broken in a physical fracas would have been a terrible waste.

She turned towards him and raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘And your field of expertise?’

He had trained beneath a well-respected master, practised in many a dojo, and occasionally fought in places no civilised self-respecting person would consider while serving his country for a time.

It was simpler to name one. ‘Karate.’

Anneke considered him thoughtfully. Most men would have launched into a string of achievements. However, Sebastian Lanier was not ‘most men’, and his simplicity intrigued her.

There was more to him than met the eye, she perceived. Entrepreneur, writer. What other vocation and skill did he possess?

Sebastian indicated the carry-bags. ‘Anything likely to spoil in there for the next hour?’

‘No. Why?’

He deftly turned her in the opposite direction. ‘You can join me for lunch.’

She regarded him solemnly. ‘It’s polite to ask.’

His mouth curved to form a wolfish smile, and there was a gleam in those dark eyes she didn’t quite trust. ‘I feel it’s the least I can do in light of the gastronomic feasts you’ve prepared for me over the past few nights.’

‘Gastronomic’ indeed. ‘Feast’ depended entirely on the interpretation, she decided with irreverent suspicion. ‘Thank you.’

There were any number of cafés and restaurants from which to choose. Instead, he led her into a modern pub, the owner of which had gained recognition in the area for his brush with fame and the garnering of considerable wealth. A man’s man, and one of the boys, local legend had it, who could sup beer at the bar with his friends equally as well as he’d cemented business deals in Hollywood and London.

‘You don’t object to a counter lunch?’

She searched Sebastian’s features in an attempt to discern whether his choice was deliberate, and found nothing to indicate that it might be.

‘It’s ages since I had fish and chips.’

He cast her a musing glance. ‘I think you’ll find they manage something less basic.’

They did, and, although relatively simple fare, the freshly caught grilled schnapper was delicious, the salad superb, and it was obvious the licensee patronised the local bakery.

Sebastian noted her enjoyment, observed her healthy appetite, the precise but intensely feminine movements of her hands, the manner in which she sampled each mouthful.

Poetry in motion. There was no guile, no studied orchestration. He wondered what she would look like with her hair loose, and spread over his pillow as she slept. Or tossed and dishevelled in the throes of passion as she rode him hard and fast.

She possessed a beautiful mouth, even white teeth. Was she well versed in using both to drive a man wild and hold him on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain?

Confrontational, no artifice, he mused thoughtfully. What you saw was what you got.

Yet she wasn’t above playing a diverse game. For the sheer hell of it, he suspected, as he mentally reviewed the exotic meals she’d delivered all three evenings. He’d expected unimaginative fare. Not the dishes she’d gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare.

His eyes acquired a gleam of dancing amusement. What did she have in mind for tonight?

Anneke sensed his gaze, caught the musing glint apparent, and spared him a level look. ‘Nice to know I amuse you. Perhaps you could be specific?’

Sebastian banked down the laughter, broke off a piece of bread and ate it, then offered her a warm smile. ‘How specific would you like me to be?’

She watched the powerful movement of his jaw, the way his facial muscles clenched and relaxed, the smooth column of his throat. His hands fascinated her. Broad palms, strong wrists, tanned skin stretched over fluid sinew, long, tapered fingers that belied their strength, clean, well-shaped nails.

‘Oh, the whole truth and nothing but the truth will do.’

‘I’m curious to know where you learnt to cook.’

She effected a light shrug. ‘A young chef rented the apartment next to mine for a while. I helped him perfect his English, and in return he shared his culinary skills.’

‘Among other skills?’

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his meaning. ‘He wasn’t my lover.’ She replaced her cutlery, then carefully pushed her plate aside and stood to her feet. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

He’d offended her. Interesting. ‘Sit down.’

‘No.’ Her eyes flared, darkening to the deepest emerald flecked with gold. Without a word she turned and walked from the room, out onto the pavement and into the sunshine.

She lifted a hand and slid her sunglasses down from atop her head, and walked along the street towards her car.

‘You left these behind.’

Anneke heard Sebastian’s faintly accented drawl, paused, then turned and threw him a fulminating glare.

He had her carry-bags secured in each hand, but made no effort to pass them to her.

‘I’ll take them.’ She reached out, only to scream in silent frustration as he fell into step beside her. ‘Don’t,’ she warned in a deadly quiet voice, ‘think you’re safe, just because we’re in a public place.’

He looked at her with studied ease, aware from the set of her shoulders, the slightly clenched fists, that she meant what she said.

‘We’re almost at the car park.’

‘You don’t need to play the gentleman,’ she retaliated with heavy sarcasm.

‘In this instance, I choose to.’ He scanned the wide apron of bitumen with its lines of parked cars, identified hers, and crossed towards it.

Anneke walked ahead of him and unlocked and opened the passenger door, then stood aside as he placed the carry-bags onto the seat.

He straightened, and she was suddenly intensely aware of his height, his proximity, and the faint musky aroma of cologne and man.

He looked down at her, saw the tilt of her chin, the residue of anger that tightened her expression. Without a word he lifted a hand and trailed the tips of his fingers down one cheek and splayed them along her jaw.

Then he smiled and lowered his head down to hers, capturing her mouth with his own in a gentle evocative kiss that was all too brief.

‘Drive carefully.’ Without a further word he turned and navigated a line of cars to his own powerful Range Rover.

Frustrating, irritating man, she accorded, adding a few descriptive and vividly pithy curses as she crossed round and slid in behind the wheel.

She reversed, then eased her sedan out onto the street. By the time she arrived at her aunt’s cottage she had devised numerous ways to render him grievous bodily harm, as well as concocting the most bizarre series of menus that she could summon to mind.

Anneke unpacked the carry-bags, poured herself a cold drink, and checked her watch. Three hours until she needed to begin dinner preparations.

Housework, she decided. She’d clean and dust and polish. Busy hands, healthy mind. Well, hers was filled with vengeful thoughts, which somehow made a mockery of that particular saying.

When she’d finished, everything sparkled and the cottage was redolent with the smell of beeswax. And the richness of freshly baked fruit cake.

It was after five when her mobile rang, and without thinking she wiped her hands, then reached for the unit and activated it.

Nothing. Only an eerie silence echoed her customary greeting. Her fingers shook slightly as she disengaged the phone.

Rationale dictated it was just a crank call. She doubted it was Adam. Although she couldn’t discount the possibility he might take a perverse delight in causing her a degree of nervous anxiety.

It was just after six when she delivered Sebastian’s evening meal.

‘Stay and have a drink with me.’

Anneke looked at him, saw the unbound hair and noted its unruly state—almost as if he’d raked his fingers through the length on more than one occasion.

Maybe the plot wasn’t working out, or the characters weren’t performing as they should. Or he was struggling through a bout of writer’s block.

‘Thanks, but I don’t drink.’ Not entirely true. She adored good French champagne, and reserved the partaking of it for special occasions. As this wasn’t one of them, and she seriously doubted he had a bottle of Dom Perignon or Cristal on ice, it was simpler to decline. ‘Your meal will get cold, and so will mine,’ she said easily, and turned towards the door.

He made no attempt to dissuade her, and when the door closed behind her he crossed to the table, removed the cover and examined the contents of the tray.

It could have been worse. He moved to the bank of cupboards, took out a skillet and reached into the refrigerator for a large T-bone steak.

When it came to the dessert, he scraped off the cream, took a tentative bite, then opted for fresh fruit. He washed it down with bottled mineral water, then spooned freshly ground beans into the coffee-maker, poured water into the cylinder and switched it on.

The glass carafe had just begun to fill when there was a crashing sound from the adjoining cottage.

He was out of the door and running, Shaef at his side, adrenalin pumping, his mind actively selecting one scenario after another as he covered the set of steps in one leap and pounded on the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

A MUFFLED and very explicit curse fell from Anneke’s lips as she surveyed the mess at her feet.

Cut flowers were strewn in an arc across the floor, water pooled in a widening puddle, and Aunt Vivienne’s prized Waterford crystal vase lay shattered in a hundred shards on the laundry’s ceramic-tiled floor.

There was no one to blame but herself. Unless she counted a fractional second’s distraction at the insistent and distinctive peal of her mobile telephone.

‘Anneke.’ Forceful, authoritative, demanding. Sebastian’s voice penetrated the evening’s stillness, accompanied by the heavy, insistent rap of knuckles on wood.

‘OK, OK,’ she responded in resigned exasperation. ‘I’m in the…’ Her voice trailed to a halt as he appeared at the screened laundry door.

‘Hell,’ he cursed quietly, taking in the scene at a glance. Her legs were bare, so were her feet.

‘Apt,’ she responded drily.

‘Don’t move. I’ll be back.’

He was, within minutes, with a bucket, pan and brush.

‘Don’t throw out the flowers.’

‘They’re likely to contain hidden pieces of glass.’

‘Crystal,’ she corrected without thought, and incurred a dark, sweeping glance.

‘Waterford, thirty-five years old, wedding gift. You want the pattern detail?’

‘There’s no need to be facetious.’

‘Likewise, you don’t need to be so particular.’

‘Oh, go soak your head in a bucket!’

His smile held a certain grimness. ‘Nice to have your gratitude.’

She wanted to burst into tears. She treasured beautiful things. Loved the art and symmetry of exquisite crystal and porcelain. To have a piece break by her own hand was almost akin to killing a living thing.

He glimpsed the momentary desolation, caught a flash of something deeper, and fought the temptation to pull her into his arms. Such an action, he knew, would only earn him the sharp edge of her tongue.

‘Vivienne has plenty more flowers in the garden,’ he offered mildly, ignoring her protest as he deftly swept everything into the bucket, then dealt with the water.

‘Vacuum cleaner. Hall cupboard?’ Had to be. Both cottages were similar in design.

Twice the vacuum hose rattled as the cleaner sucked up undetected shards of crystal, and she stepped onto a towel he spread on the floor while he completed the task.

‘Thanks,’ she added, aware she owed him that, at least. She could have coped, dispensing with the mess, but it was likely she’d have cut herself in the process.

Dammit, she didn’t want to owe him. Nor did she particularly covet his company. He made her feel…uncomfortable, she conceded reluctantly.

As if he was all too aware of the sexual chemistry between them, and content to wait and watch for the moment she felt it.

Well, she had news for him. She could pin it down to the precise moment she’d walked into Aunt Vivienne’s kitchen the first night she arrived and found him there making tea. For her.

Sebastian watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features, divined the reason for them, and kept his own expression deliberately bland.