The One-Night Wife

So, what was happening? Goldilocks was getting ready for something and it was making her nervous. He’d seen her hand tremble once or twice when she raised her champagne glass to her lips.

Curiosity had almost gotten the better of him when she began to move.

Sean narrowed his eyes as she stepped from the alcove and started toward him. Yes, the face was beautiful. Definitely Botticelli. But the body reminded him of a classical Greek sculpture. High, firm breasts. Slender waist. Those legs.

And a walk that made the most of all her assets.

Spine straight. Shoulders back. Arms swinging as she strutted toward him, crossing one long leg over the other so that she moved more like a tigress than a woman. It was a model’s walk. He’d dated a German supermodel last year; Ursula had done The Walk for him in his living room, wearing nothing but a sultry pout and a lace teddy.

Goldilocks wasn’t wearing a smile and her dress covered more than a teddy, though not much more. It was a scrap of crimson silk. He liked the way it clung to her breasts and hips. She had great hips, curved for the fit of a man’s hands…

Hell.

He was getting hard just watching her.

Sean downed the last of his bourbon, told himself to concentrate on cold showers and on solving the puzzle of why the blonde had been observing him with such caution.

She was only a few feet away now. She hesitated. Then she lifted her chin, tossed back her hair, took a deep breath and smiled.

He felt the wattage straight down to his toes.

“Hi.”

The tip of her tongue crept out, slicked across her bottom lip. Sean almost groaned but he managed a smile of his own.

“Hi yourself,” he said. “I’d ask where you’ve been all my life, but you’d probably slug me for using such a trite line.”

She laughed. And blushed. Another nice touch. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a woman blush, but her smile still glittered.

“Not at all. Actually, I was wondering how to tell you I was here alone, and that I’ve been alone for too long.”

Her voice was soft. A liquid purr. It reminded him of honey and warm Southern nights. He moved closer.

“Isn’t it fortunate that I finally got here?” he said softly. “What’s your name, sugar?”

“Savannah.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“The name suits you. You have moonlight and magnolias in that sexy drawl. You’re a Georgia girl.”

Another rush of pink to her cheeks. Interesting, that she’d blush and still be so direct in coming on to him.

“Savannah what?”

She touched her tongue to her lips again. Did she know what that was doing to him? The tip of that pink tongue sweeping moistly across her rosebud mouth? He thought she did but when he looked into her eyes, he wasn’t so sure. They were a clear green, but there seemed to be a darkness hidden in their depths.

“Just Savannah.” She closed the little distance that remained between them. He could smell her scent, a seductively innocent blend of vanilla and woman. “No last names tonight. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine.” Sean cleared his throat. “I’m a sucker for a good mystery, Just-Savannah.”

“Just…?” Her eyebrows rose. Then she smiled. “I like that. ‘Just-Savannah.’”

“Good. That gives us two things in common. Honesty and anonymity. That’s a fascinating combination, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I do. What shall I call you?”

“Sean.”

Something flickered in those incredible eyes. Relief? No. It couldn’t have been that. Why would a simple exchange of names inspire relief?

“Just-Sean,” she said, smiling.

“Just-Sean, and Just-Savannah. Two people without last names who meet and set out to discover what the rest of the night holds in store.”

“I like that.” She reached out and laid her hand lightly against his chest. “What game will you play tonight, Sean?”

He felt his body clench like a fist. “It depends on who I’m playing it with,” he said hoarsely. “What did you have in mind?”

She laughed. Her teeth were small, even, very white against the golden tan of her skin.

“I’m not sure.” Her eyes met his, then dropped away. “I’m new at this.”

It was a great line, designed to set a man’s hormones pumping. All of it was designed for that: the face, the body, the scrap of red silk and the sexy, let’s-get-it-on banter…and yet, the only part of it he bought into was her being new at this. Somehow, that rang with truth.

The lady wasn’t a pro.

Like moths to the proverbial flame, high-priced working girls were drawn to places where big money and big players congregated, but no matter how elegantly dressed and groomed they were, Sean could spot them at a hundred paces. Besides, a call girl would never get past the door of a private casino like L’Emeraude.

No, Savannah wasn’t a pro. She had the looks and the lines, but her delivery was off. It was like listening to an actress who was still learning her part. And there were those moments he’d seen her hand tremble…as the one she’d put against his chest was doing now.

She was working at turning him on and she was succeeding, but she wasn’t lying. She was, he was sure, a novice at this game. As flattering as it was to think she’d turned into a lust-crazed creature at the sight of him, he didn’t buy it. There was the way she’d been watching him. Besides, he was too much of a realist to believe in bolts of lightning that struck with no warning.

Something else was going on here. He didn’t know what, but he was damned well going to find out.

“Sean?”

He focused his gaze on the blonde’s upturned face. The smile was still there but the pretty flush in her cheeks was back. Was she flustered? Embarrassed? Or was it part of the act?

“Sean. Have I been too…I mean, I’m sorry if—”

“Savannah.” He smiled and covered her hand with his. Her skin was icy. Instinctively, he closed his fingers around hers. “A beautiful woman should never apologize for anything.” Sean raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Let’s make a pact.”

“A pact?”

“You won’t say you’re sorry again, and I’ll buy you a glass of champagne. Okay?”

She took a long time before she answered. Then, just when he’d decided she was going to turn him down, she nodded.

“That would be lovely.”

“Good.” Sean’s hand tightened on hers. “You have any thoughts on how to seal our agreement?”

Another rush of color swept into her face. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple. We have a contract.” Sean lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Now we need some way to guarantee it.” He looked at her slightly parted lips, then into her eyes. “You know. Sign in blood. Swear before witnesses. Cross your heart and hope to die.” He flashed a quick smile. “Something to make it official.”

He watched her face, saw the exact second she decided she’d had enough. Or maybe she’d decided to change tack. Try as he might, he couldn’t tell which.

“You’re making fun of me,” she said.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. You think this is funny, and you’re teasing me.”

“Teasing. Not making fun. There’s a world of difference.”

“Let go of my hand, please.”

“Why? I turn you on. You turn me on. That hasn’t changed. Why walk away from it before we’ve discovered what comes next?”

He didn’t know what he’d expected, though he’d gone out of his way to provoke a reaction. Would she blush some more? Lean into him and lift that luscious mouth to his? The combination of brashness and modesty was charming, even exciting, but it only made him more suspicious.

Whatever he might have anticipated, it wasn’t the way she suddenly stood straighter, or the way her chin lifted.

“You’re right,” she said. “Why walk away now?”

Sean nodded. “That’s better.” It wasn’t. She sounded as if she’d decided to go to the dentist after all. What in hell was happening? Acting on impulse, he reached out, put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. “As for that contract,” he said softly, “I know exactly how to seal the deal.”

All of her was trembling now, not just the hand pressed to his chest. For a woman who’d tried to convince him of how eager she was to jump his bones, the lady was strangely nervous.

Sean smiled into her eyes, deliberately dropped his gaze to her mouth.

“No,” she said quickly, the word a breathless whisper. “Please, don’t—”

He hadn’t intended to go through with it. The idea was to see how she’d react to the prospect of a kiss but when he saw her lips part, her eyes turn into the fresh green of a meadow after a spring rain, a shudder ran through his body. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her, take her in his arms, carry her out of the noise and the light to a place where they’d be alone, where he could kiss her again and again until she trembled, yes, but trembled with need for him.

Sean stepped back, his pulse hammering, every muscle in his body tight as steel.

“Don’t toast a deal with a bottle of champagne?” he said with forced lightness. “Now, that’s definitely something no woman’s ever asked of me before.”

“Champ…” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He tried not to imagine it was his lip those perfect teeth were worrying. “Oh. I didn’t…I mean, that would be nice.”

“Besides, how could I let you go until I know why you stood in that alcove watching me for so long?”

Her face whitened. “I was not watching you.”

“Telling fibs isn’t nice, sugar. Sure you were. And now you’re as nervous as a cat in a dog pound. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. I like getting beautiful women flustered—but I like to know the reason for it. Somehow, I don’t think your nerves have all that much to do with my masculine charms.”

She looked up at him, conflicting emotions warring in her eyes. For a heartbeat, Sean felt as if she were on the verge of telling him something that would set him on a white charger like a knight ready to do battle with a dragon.

But she only smiled and angled her chin so she was gazing up at him through thick, honey-brown lashes.

“You’re right about my watching you,” she said softly, “but wrong in thinking it had nothing to do with your masculine charms.” She smiled again, just enough to give those words the light touch they deserved. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“There’s not a man in the room wouldn’t notice you, if you were looking at him.”

She laughed. It was a flirty, delicious sound. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s the truth.”

Her hand was on his chest again, her fingers toying lightly with the lapel of his jacket. Her lips were slightly parted; she tilted her head back and now he could see the swift beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.

Sean almost groaned. He’d played games like this before but he’d never felt as if every muscle in his body was on full alert until now.

“I think it’s time we got to know each other better, Just-Savannah.”

“That sounds nice. What do you have in mind?”

Taking her to bed. That was what he had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do that until he knew exactly what was going on here.

“The champagne I promised you, for starters.” He linked his fingers through hers. “And some privacy.”

“I’d like that.”

Warning bells rang in his head. The words were right. So was the come-and-get-me smile, but the look in her eyes was wrong.

Maybe it was time to up the ante.

He turned her hand palm-up and lifted it to his mouth. He felt her stiffen as he pressed his lips to her flesh, felt her start to jerk her hand from his.

“Easy, sugar. I haven’t taken a bite out of a woman in years. Not unless she wanted me to.”

“I know. I just—I told you, this is all—”

“—new. Yeah, so you said.” Sean’s smile was deliberately lazy. “Unless, of course, there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

“What more could there be, Mr. O’Connell? You’re a very attractive man. I’m sure I’m not the first woman to show an interest in you.”

The warning bells were going crazy. Mr. O’Connell? How could she know his name? He was Just-Sean. She was Just-Savannah. Definitely, there was more on her agenda. Should he call her on it? Should he play along?

He looked deep into the green eyes fixed to his. Hell. He was a gambler, wasn’t he? What did he have to lose?

“Now, sugar,” he said softly, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I answered that question?”

A slow, easy smile curved his mouth.

Seeing it, Savannah almost sagged with relief. For one awful minute, she’d been afraid she’d given everything away. She’d come awfully close, saying the wrong things, letting her nerves show, but then she’d turned the situation around by using her mistakes to convince Sean O’Connell she’d never come on to a man before.

That, at least, was the truth.

She couldn’t afford any more screw-ups.

She’d thought this would be easy, but it wasn’t. Using a deck of cards to scam a dumb mark on a dingy street corner was not the same as using your body, your smile, your words to scam an intelligent man in an elegant casino.

Besides, O’Connell was more than intelligent. He was street-smart. She hadn’t expected that. He kept looking at her as if she were a candy bar he wanted to unwrap, but always with a wariness that made her uneasy.

Not that it changed anything.

She was in too far to stop. Either she went forward or she failed. And failure wasn’t an option.

He was still smiling, but was there something in his eyes that shouldn’t be there? Time to come up with a clever move that would shut down his brain.

A squeeze of her fingers in his might do it. A sexy smile. A flick of her tongue across her bottom lip. He’d reacted to that before.

Yes. It was working. His eyes were darkening, focusing on her mouth.

“If you told me about those other women,” she said huskily, “you’d be the kind of man I’d run from. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me tonight.”

“There’s no way I could,” he said softly. Another light brush of his lips against her palm and then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Have you seen the terrace, Just-Savannah?”

“No.” Her voice sounded thready. She cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated, and smiled up at him, almost weak with relief. Things were back on track. “No, I haven’t. I’ve never been here before.”

“Then you’re in for a treat.” He began walking slowly through the casino. Because of the way he’d captured her hand, she was pressed close to his side, aware of the warm length of his body, aware of the muscles in his thigh as it shifted against hers. “Let’s have a drink on the terrace and I’ll show you the most beautiful sight in these islands.” He glanced at her, angled his head down to hers and put his lips to her ear. “I take that back, sugar. The second most beautiful sight in these islands.”

The warmth of his breath, the promise in his words sent a tingle of anticipation through her. For a moment, Savannah let herself imagine what it would be like if the story she’d spun were true. If she’d come here to gamble, noticed this tall, incredibly good-looking stranger, taken her courage in her hands and gone up to him with seduction, real seduction, in mind.

But she hadn’t. She was here for a purpose.

Was O’Connell really as good a poker player as people claimed? Alain said he was.

Maybe. But she was better.

Tonight, that was all that mattered.

CHAPTER THREE

SEAN PAUSED just before they reached the terrace and signaled for a waiter, who hurried to his side.

“Sir?”

Sean drew Savannah a little closer. “What were you drinking, sugar? Cristal?”

She smiled. “Good guess.”

“A bottle of Cristal Brut,” Sean told the waiter. “Nineteen ninety. Will that be all right, Savannah?”

“It’ll be lovely.”

The waiter acknowledged the order with a discreet bow, and Sean opened the double glass doors that led onto the terrace.

“Here you are, sweetheart. The most beautiful night sky of the season, for the most beautiful woman in the Bahamas.”

He put his hand lightly in the small of her back as they walked to the edge of the terrace. Her dress plunged in a deep vee to the base of her spine and her bare skin was as warm and silky as the tropical breeze drifting in from the sea.

“Oh,” she said in a delicate whisper. “Oh, yes. It’s perfect!”

“Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes not on the softly illuminated pink sand beach or the star-shot black sky, but on her.

“It’s so quiet.”

“Yeah.” A breeze lifted a strand of her golden hair and blew it across her lips. He caught it in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear, letting his touch linger. “Quiet, dark and private.”

Did she stiffen under his caress? No, it was his imagination. He was sure of it when she looked at him, her lips upturned in a Mona Lisa smile.

“Quiet, dark and private,” she said softly. “I like that.”

He felt his body stir. “Me, too,” he whispered, and bent his head to hers.

Her mouth was sweet and soft. One taste, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the hunger building inside him. Sean swept his fingers into Savannah’s hair and lifted her face to his.

He sensed this could be dangerous. She wanted something from him and he still didn’t know what it was, but kissing her was irresistible. Even as he let himself sink into the kiss, he told himself it was okay, that playing along was the only way to find out what she was up to.

It was a great plan…except, he had miscalculated. He couldn’t think, couldn’t find out anything when deepening the kiss almost drove him to his knees.

God, her mouth! Soft. Honeyed. Hot. And the feel of her hair, sliding like silk over his fingers. The sigh of her breath as it mingled with his.

Sean forgot everything but the woman pressed against him.

“Savannah,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her throat, her shoulders, lifting her to him, drawing her tightly into his arms.

She made a little sound. A whisper of surrender. Her lips softened. Parted. She was trembling, as if the world were shifting under her feet just as it was under his, and he gathered her against his body until her softness cradled the swift urgency of his erection.

She stirred in his arms, moved against him, and the blood pounded through his veins. Groaning, he moved his hand over her thigh, swept it under that sexy excuse of a skirt…

Just that quickly, she went crazy. Gasped against his mouth. Writhed in his arms. Twisted against him.

Sean thought she’d gone over the edge with desire. Thought it, right until she sank her teeth into his bottom lip.

“Goddammit,” he yelped, and thrust her from him.

Stunned, tasting his own blood, he grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his lip. The snowy-white linen square came away smeared with crimson. He stared at Savannah, his testosterone-fogged brain struggling for sanity. Her eyes were wide and glittering, her face drained of color, and he realized, with dawning amazement, that she hadn’t moaned in surrender but in desperation.

She hadn’t been struggling to get closer but to get away.

“Oh God,” she whispered. She took a step toward him, hands raised in supplication. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell kind of game are you playing, lady?”

“No game. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—to—”

Her hair was wild, the golden strands tumbling over her breasts. Her mouth was pink and swollen from his. Even now, knowing she was crazy, he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was—and how crazy he’d be, if he spent a minute more in her company.

“Sean. I really am terribly sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He held the handkerchief to his lip again. The wound was starting to throb. “It’s been interesting,” he said, brushing past her. “I just hope the next guy you zero in on has better luck.”

“Sean!” Her voice rose as she called after him. “Please. If you’d just give me a minute…”

He kept walking, but he was tempted. The bite hadn’t been passion but what? Anger? Fear? He didn’t know and told himself he didn’t care. He wasn’t a social worker. Whatever this woman’s problem was, he wasn’t the solution.

But she’d felt so soft. So vulnerable. When he’d first kissed her, she’d responded. It wasn’t until he’d put his hand under her skirt that she’d panicked, if that was what she’d done, and that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, not when she’d been damned near asking him to screw her for the past hour.

“Mr. O’Connell! Please!”

He stopped and swung around. She was running toward him. Mr. O’Connell, huh? Sean narrowed his eyes. Two times now, she’d called him that. Pretty surprising, since they hadn’t introduced themselves with last names.

So much for walking away.

Why had she pretended not to know who he was? Why act as if she wanted to sleep with him when she’d gone from soft sweetness to what sure as hell seemed to be terror at the touch of his hand?

She stopped a few feet away.

“Please,” she said again, her voice a shaky whisper. “I didn’t meant to—to—” She swallowed dryly. “Your lip is still bleeding.”

“Yeah?” He forced a thin smile. “What a surprise.”

She closed the distance between them, that elegant feline walk gone so that she wobbled a little on her sky-high, do-me-baby heels.

“Let me fix it.”

“Thanks, but you’ve done enough already.”

She wasn’t listening. Instead, she was burrowing inside her ridiculously small evening purse. What’d she expect to find? he thought grimly. A bottle of antiseptic and a cotton swab?

“Here. Just duck your head a little.”

A froth of white lace. That was what she pulled from the purse. Sean glowered at her. She stared back. He could see her confidence returning, the glitter of defiance starting to replace the fear in her eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. O’Connell.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “That’s what they all say.”

That brought a twitch to her lips. Sean told himself he was an idiot, and did as she’d asked.

Gently, she patted the handkerchief against the wound she’d inflicted, concentrating as if she were performing open-heart surgery. The pink tip of her tongue flicked out and danced along the seam of her mouth, and Sean felt his traitorous body snap to attention.

“There,” she said briskly. “That should do—”

He hissed with pain as she pulled the hankie away. A bit of lace had clung to the congealing blood; yanking it free had started a tiny scarlet trickle oozing.

Savannah raised stricken eyes to his.

He’d gotten it right the first time. Her eyes really were as green as a spring meadow. And her mouth was pink. Like cotton candy. Maybe that wasn’t very poetic, but he’d always loved the taste of cotton candy.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a note of despair. “I know I keep saying that but—”

“You have to moisten it.” His voice rumbled and he cleared his throat. “The handkerchief. If it’s damp, it won’t stick to the cut.”

“Oh.” She looked around. “You’re right. Just give me a minute to find the ladies’—”

“Wet it with your tongue,” he said. Hell. Now he sounded as if he’d run his words through a bed of gravel. Her eyes rose to his again. “The hankie. You know. Just—just use your mouth to make it wet.”

Her face turned the same color as her dress. Time stretched between them, taut as a wire.

“Sean,” she said quietly, “I didn’t—When you kissed me, I didn’t expect—I didn’t know—”

“Know what?” he said roughly, moving closer. He reached out, cupped her face.

“Sir?”

Sean swung around. The waiter stood a few feet away.

“Your champagne, sir. Shall I…?”

“Just—” Sean cleared his throat. “Just put it on that table. No, don’t open it. I’ll do it myself.”

Saved by the proverbial bell, he thought as the waiter did as he’d asked. Kissing this woman again made about as much sense as raising the ante with a pair of threes in your hand.