First-Class Seduction

‘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.

There was no sign of Roderick.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ Andrew Storm queried, steering her to one of the small empty tables.

Her only wish to get away, she shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’ A shade desperately, she added, ‘In fact I’m about ready for bed. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

As though he knew exactly what had kept her awake and restless, Bel’s companion suggested smoothly, ‘Worried about something?’

Apart from the few who had to know, her father wanted news of any attempted take-over kept under wraps. Hurriedly she shook her head. ‘I expect it was this heatwave. I’m hot now…’

‘Then I’ll get you a drink. Some champagne perhaps?’

The thought of a drink was welcome, but she was not a lover of alcohol and she’d had more than enough for one night. ‘I’d prefer a fruit juice, please.’

Watching his broad back disappear into the throng, Bel cursed the ingrained good manners that had prevented her from saying a firm no thank you, and walking away.

Though she could come to no harm here, in the midst of all these people, Andrew Storm was the most disturbing, dangerous man she had ever met, and she felt wrung out.

One of the guests she’d been chatting to earlier said, ‘Roderick has been looking for you. He wondered if you’d gone to bed.’

‘Oh…’ Bel felt herself flushing. ‘I’ve been in the garden. Perhaps I’d better go and find him.’

But even as she started to rise Andrew Storm was back, carrying a jug of iced fruit juice and two glasses, which he proceeded to fill.

‘I chose the tropical. I hope that’s all right?’

‘Oh, yes, fine, thank you.’ The concoction was cool and refreshing, and she drank thirstily before remarking, ‘Something tastes quite strong.’

Taking a sip of his own, he considered. ‘The mango? Or possibly the lime?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Finishing the juice, she said awkwardly, ‘Well, I’d better go, Roderick has been looking for me.’

Andrew refilled her glass. ‘There’s quite a crowd still milling about, but if you sit here for a while he’s bound to find you. Or are you scared of me?’

‘Why on earth should I be?’ She managed to sound coolly amused.

He smiled a little, but said nothing.

Picking up her glass, she remarked, ‘You said you were a business acquaintance of Roderick’s…’

Having accepted the challenge, it seemed safer to take the initiative and make polite conversation while they finished their drinks. Then, if Roderick hadn’t ap peared, she could go in search of him without losing face.

‘Do you live in London?’

‘I have an apartment on Park Lane,’ Andrew Storm answered smoothly.

If he lived on Park Lane he certainly had money. Lots of money. Was it possible to be wealthy, successful, stunningly attractive and still single at his age? He must be in his early thirties…

‘Are you married?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.

‘Is that a proposal?’ he enquired interestedly.

Feeling gauche, and cursing her wayward tongue, she said as calmly as possible, ‘As you well know, I intend to marry Roderick.’

‘Pity. I’m firmly convinced that you and I are much better suited…And, in case you want to change your mind, I’m not married and never have been.’

In no mood for jokes, starting to feel a bit dizzy, she made an effort to gather her wits and get back on track. ‘Are you a banker?’

‘I own a merchant bank. Though I would class myself as a businessman rather than a banker.’

‘What line of business are you in?’

‘You could say I have varied and worldwide interests.’

She watched while he topped up her glass again, and, her words slightly slurred, asked, ‘Such as?’

His excellent teeth gleamed in a smile. ‘An oil well in Texas, a champagne house at Épernay, an opal mine in Coober Pedy, and an electronics company just outside Rome…Amongst other things.’

‘How interesting.’ For some reason she found it difficult to get her tongue round the word ‘interesting’, and her head began to droop, too heavy for her slender neck.

‘You’re looking rather tired,’ he observed solicitously.

Enunciating with great care, she said, ‘I am tired.’ Swallowing the last of her drink, she rose unsteadily. ‘Must say goodnight to Roderick…’

Andrew was on his feet and by her side. ‘He’s nowhere to be seen. Neither are our host and hostess.’

‘Oh…’ She swayed a little.

He put a steadying arm around her waist. ‘I was thinking of turning in myself. I’ll see you upstairs. Which room are you in?’

‘The rose room.’

‘Ah…That’s convenient. I’m in the jasmine room, which I believe is just next door.’

Blinking at him owlishly, she asked, ‘Are you staying the weekend?’

‘I’m staying for tonight, at least. If everything goes according to plan I shall probably leave for town in the morning…’

As he spoke he was steering her through the remaining revellers and, proving his familiarity with the house, taking the shortest way up the back stairs.

Opening her bedroom door, he paused, half supporting her, and bent to cover her mouth with his. Tiredness rolling over her in dizzying waves, washing away all her inhibitions, she clung to him while he kissed her.

She was still clinging blindly to him when he raised his head and, unwinding her arms from around his neck, pushed her gently into the rose room.

CHAPTER TWO

BEL came back to consciousness slowly, painfully, mouth desert-dry, head pounding like a trip-hammer.

Unwilling to wake, reluctant to face the day, she kept her eyes closed tightly. Surely it wasn’t morning yet?

But it was undoubtedly morning. She could see the sunlight like a red haze and feel the warmth on her face and eyelids.

While her brain stirred into confused life her eyes remained shut against the light that threatened to dazzle her.

She felt terrible! Headachy and nauseous.

Was she suffering from flu? A migraine?

Whichever, and though proud of her full attendance record, she seriously doubted if she could make it into work today.

Maybe it was a weekend? she thought hopefully.

An attempt to remember proved unsuccessful. She hadn’t the faintest notion what day it was.

Had she felt ill the previous evening?

With no recollection of the previous evening, or of going to bed, she couldn’t answer that.

But wasn’t she at the Bentincks’? Wasn’t it their ruby wedding anniversary?

Yes, there had been a Friday night party…Dancing…Champagne…Too much champagne? She didn’t drink much as a rule…

It had been silly of her to drink more than one glass of champagne on an empty stomach, but she had never envisaged such drastic results.

So how had she got to bed?

Perhaps Roderick had rescued her? She only hoped her state hadn’t been too obvious. While he was broadminded where other people were concerned, he wouldn’t like his fiancée making a spectacle of herself in front of his parents’ guests.

Nor would she!

The thought that she might have looked or acted inebriated made her feel even worse, and she moaned aloud.

‘Feeling rough?’ a sympathetic male voice asked, close to her ear.

Her eyes flew open.

Blinded by the sun streaming through the window, for a moment Bel could see nothing but brightness, then, as her vision adjusted, a lean, attractive face, the jaw rough with morning stubble, came into focus.

His brows were well-marked, his nose strong, almost aquiline, and above a squarish chin he had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on a man.

He was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, a sheet pulled up to his middle. His muscular shoulders and tanned chest, with its sprinkling of crisp dark hair, were bare.

So, undoubtedly, was the rest of him.

As she gaped brilliant eyes between thick, sooty lashes smiled into hers.

Bel sat up with a jerk. She too was naked, her pale, silky hair tumbling over smooth shoulders and small, beautifully shaped pink-tipped breasts.

His appreciative gaze strayed over her and lingered on her mouth. ‘You’re even lovely first thing in the morning with a hangover.’ He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

She recoiled and, pushing back the sheet, attempted to get out of bed. The sudden movement sent her head spinning and made her sink back against the pillows with a groan.

It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the man beside her had been the man she was going to marry, but for it to be Andrew Storm…!

The full horror of the situation was just beginning to dawn on her when, without warning, the bedroom door was flung open, and Suzy, wearing a short tennis dress, erupted into the room, Roderick at her heels.

‘There! What did I tell you?’ No one could have doubted the redhead’s malicious triumph, while Roderick, still in his maroon cotton pyjamas, stood as if stunned, his eyes popping, his jaw slack.

There was a terrible silence before, his voice anguished, Roderick demanded of Bel, ‘How could you?’

When, her oval face white as paper, her throat blocked, she only stared at him in abject misery, a hard flush of colour appeared along his cheekbones and he cried furiously, ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my parents’ house, the pair of you!’

He was turning to follow Suzy when Andrew said calmly, ‘Just a minute.’ Reaching across Bel, his arm brushing her bare breasts, he picked up an object from the bedside cabinet and, a look of quiet satisfaction on his dark face, tossed it across to the other man. ‘You’d better have this back.’

Only when Bel looked from the glittering object in Roderick’s palm to her own bare hand did she realise it was her engagement ring. She must have taken it off, sober enough to feel some sense of shame.

Thrusting the ring into his pocket, Roderick had swung on his heel when he caught sight of the Jesse Harland figurine on the dressing table.

As he picked it up, guessing his intention, Bel cried in horror, ‘Oh, no! Please don’t!’

But, ignoring her appeal, he hurled it savagely against the wall, shattering it into a dozen pieces.

Covering her face with her hands, Bel burst into tears just as the door slammed shut behind him.

As though it was the most natural thing in the world, Andrew took her in his arms and held her close, cradling her head against his broad chest while she wept unrestrainedly.

For a while her response to his tenderness, to the strength of his arms and the soothing murmur of his low, attractive voice, was total.

Then, horrified by the dawning realisation that she was accepting comfort from the man who, by taking advantage of her stupidity, was largely responsible for the situation, she managed to choke back the tears and wrench herself free.

Her pounding head protesting at the violence of the movement, she moaned, pressing slim fingers to her temples.

‘You need something for that hangover.’

When Andrew swung his feet to the floor and reached for his clothes, even through her distress and discomfort Bel saw that his naked, bronzed body was lithe and graceful, with a masculine beauty that drew and held her attention and made her oddly breathless.

Pulling on his trousers and tucking his unbuttoned shirt into the waistband, he headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

As if he’d had the remedy to hand, he reappeared almost immediately, shaking a sachet of something that looked like sugar granules into a tooth glass half full of water.

‘Drink that,’ he instructed. ‘It’s not particularly palatable but it will lift your head and settle your stomach in no time at all.’

She obeyed, grimacing at the revoltingly bittersweet saltiness of the effervescent concoction.

Taking the empty glass, he added briskly, ‘Now I suggest you shower and dress. I’ll go and do the same, then we’ll get the hell out of here. We can stop for some breakfast on the way.’

The very thought of food made Bel’s stomach turn over sickeningly.

His glance knowing, sympathetic, he assured her, ‘In an hour or so you’ll be able to tackle a plateful of bacon and eggs.’

‘I doubt it,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t have that kind of breakfast normally.’

‘Then you’ll need to get into training,’ he said quizzically. ‘I love bacon and eggs, and sharing pleasures is part of the fun of living.’

Before she had time to take in and react to the mocking arrogance of that statement, the door had closed quietly behind him.

She stifled a groan. How could he seem so lighthearted in such an intolerable situation? Being caught in bed with his host’s fiancée and ordered out of the house was hardly something to be proud of.

Yet he seemed positively triumphant.

Feeling like death, shaken to the core by the backlash of Roderick’s anger and her own culpability, Bel stared into space with sightless eyes.

It hardly seemed possible that a weekend she’d looked forward to with such pleasure could have ended so ignominiously.

For a while she stayed where she was, her head in her hands, her mind in utter confusion, unable to untangle and deal with the immediate problems, let alone the wider implications.

Then, knowing some action was needed, she got out of bed and, on legs that seemed unwilling to support her, made her groggy way to the bathroom.

By the time she had cleaned her teeth and showered the potion was working and, physically at least, she was starting to feel somewhat better.

She had donned a cotton dress and sandals and was pinning her hair into a smooth coil when, with a perfunctory knock, Andrew returned.

He had showered and shaved and his crisp dark hair was a little damp. He was dressed in well-cut casual clothes and carrying an overnight grip.

‘About ready to go, Bel?’ he asked as she pushed in the last hairpin.

‘I still have to pack,’ she said helplessly. ‘And I can’t just walk out without seeing Roderick’s parents and trying to explain…to explain how…’ She faltered to a halt.

‘How you came to sleep with one of their guests?’ Dropping his grip by the door, he watched the hot colour pour into her face before adding wryly, ‘I hardly think an explanation will help matters.’

He was right, of course.

Her voice sounding flat, beaten, she said with what composure she could muster, ‘In any case I won’t be leaving with you. I’ve got my own car here.’

‘My dear girl, you’re in no fit state to drive. I’ll take you back to town and arrange to have your car picked up.’

As he spoke he was opening drawers and tossing her belongings into her small suitcase with cool efficiency.

Zipping it shut, he put a hand at her waist and urged her towards the door, sidestepping neatly to avoid a shard of porcelain.

‘Why did the fact that Bentinck vented his anger on the figurine upset you so much?’ he queried, glancing down at the broken pieces.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she told him, ‘It was a Jesse Harland original I’d bought for his parents. I thought it was beautiful.’

Andrew nodded without comment, then, taking both bags in one hand, he closed the door behind them and, an arm around Bel’s waist, propelled her along the corridor.

Ignoring the back stairs, he turned towards the main staircase, saying firmly, ‘Keep your head high. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’

If only that were true!

Her chin up, a flag of bright colour flying in each cheek, she allowed herself to be escorted down the stairs, across the hall and out of the front door.

To her very great relief they met nobody.

Andrew’s sleek blue Jaguar was parked in front of the stable block, and in less than a minute they were purring through the pleasant Kent countryside.

Bel took in nothing of the scenery. Gazing blindly through the windscreen, all she could see in her mind’s eye was a replay of her wakening to find him beside her, and the ugly little scene that had followed.

As though giving her a chance to come to terms with what had happened and regain her equilibrium, apart from an occasional glance at her pale, set face, her companion drove without speaking.

Just outside Mitford he stopped at the King’s Head for something to eat. It was still quite early, and the clean, comfortable bar was empty. Bel took a seat on an upholstered bench in front of the open casement windows.

When he’d slipped off his corduroy jacket, Andrew sat down beside her. He was wearing a short-sleeved navy silk shirt, and his tanned arms were smoothly muscular, with just a sprinkling of dark hair.

He was much too close for comfort and, her breathing already impeded, Bel was careful not to let her own arm brush against his as they drank the excellent coffee.

Neither spoke, and, though conscious that Andrew watched her every move, as though trying to deny his existence, Bel avoided looking at him.

When breakfast arrived, Bel averted her eyes from the plateful of food set in front of her, her appetite nonexistent

‘Try to eat a little,’ her companion urged. ‘You won’t feel yourself again until you’ve got something inside you.’

She was doubtful if she would ever feel herself again. But, realising he was probably right, she picked up her knife and fork and cut into a piece of crisply grilled bacon.

Some twenty minutes later her plate was empty, and she was finishing a slice of crisp golden toast and tangy marmalade while Andrew poured fresh coffee for them both.

Young, fit and resilient, physically she was almost herself again, but her thoughts were still in chaos.

Watching her face, he observed, ‘What’s happened must still seem something of a nightmare?’ His voice was low and husky and sounded genuinely sympathetic.

But, unwilling to be dissected for what she told herself was his idle amusement, she said curtly, ‘As it’s a nightmare of my own making—’

He broke in swiftly, ‘Don’t blame yourself too much, Bel.’

‘So who should I blame?’ she demanded.

‘Me, if it makes you feel any better.’

‘It doesn’t. If I hadn’t drunk too much champagne in the first place…’

He frowned a little. ‘Drinking too much isn’t a crime. Nor is sleeping with someone.’

‘It may not be a crime, but it’s ruined Roderick’s life as well as my own.’

‘Rubbish!’ Andrew said decidedly. ‘My guess is that in less than six months he’ll have forgotten about you. The possessive redhead will make sure he does.’

‘She’ll certainly do her best,’ Bel agreed bleakly. And for the first time found herself wondering how Suzy had become involved.

Had the redhead seen Andrew accompany her into her room the previous night? If so, why hadn’t she alerted Roderick then, instead of waiting until Saturday morning?

There seemed to be only one answer. Suzy had wanted them to spend the night together, wanted to be sure there would be no grounds for forgiveness or reconciliation…

And in that she had succeeded admirably, Bel thought bitterly. Not only would Roderick never forgive her, but she would never forgive herself.

Watching her expressive face, Andrew asked quietly, ‘I suppose you must hate the girl?’

Bel shook her head wearily. ‘No, I don’t hate her. I can’t even blame her for seizing the opportunity. Suzy’s in love with Roderick and—’ She broke off abruptly as tears threatened.

Andrew made as if to put his arm around her, but she flinched away, frightened of his touch, muttering, ‘Keep your hands off me. You’ve done enough harm.’

His voice soothing, reasonable, he said, ‘When you’ve got over the shock, and had time to think, you’ll be willing to admit you’ve had a lucky escape.’

‘A lucky escape! I happen to love Roderick.’

‘Not passionately.’

‘Enough to want to spend the rest of my life with him.’

‘He’s not the man for you, Bel.’

‘In a minute you’ll be telling me you are!’

‘I don’t need to tell you. Your subconscious already knows. When we bumped into each other in that restaurant it was like a spark set to dynamite. Then when we met for a second time that same spark was there, burning fiercer than ever. That’s why you’re scared to let me touch you…why our night together was—’

Alarmed by the undoubted truth of his words, and the feeling that she was being relentlessly taken over, she broke in derisively, ‘Don’t tell me…our night together was wonderful!’

Eyes gleaming, he murmured, ‘So you do remember?’

‘I don’t remember a thing,’ she denied, her cheeks growing pink. ‘For all I know you could have raped me.’

‘I didn’t rape you,’ he said quietly.

‘But you did take advantage of me,’ she accused

‘I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to do…’

Knowing the strength of her reaction to him when her barriers were up, and guessing what it must have been like with all her inhibitions gone, she found herself reluctantly believing him.

‘As I said before, you’re a very passionate woman…’

Bel had never thought of herself that way. She’d had boyfriends since her schooldays, but a certain inborn reserve, a natural self-respect, had prevented her from indulging in casual relationships.

Throughout college, having decided on a career in business rather than art, a determination to succeed had kept her mind on her work when most of her contemporaries were paying more attention to their love life.

‘How did you manage to hold out against Bentinck?’ Andrew pursued. ‘Or wasn’t he that pressing?’

‘Of course he was pressing!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s a red-blooded man.’

Andrew raised a dark brow. ‘So in this day and age how come you didn’t sleep together?’

‘We wanted to wait until after we were married.’

‘Both of you? I get the feeling that you were the one who held back. That you were never seriously tempted…’

It was the truth, and she was unable to deny it. Perhaps, on her side at least, that vital spark Andrew had talked about had been missing from their relationship.

‘Isn’t that so?’ he persisted.