First-Class Seduction

Cornered, she cried wrathfully, ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

In no way fooled, Andrew smiled sardonically and observed, ‘It would have been a very dull marriage.’

‘How dare you presume that?’

Unruffled, he said, ‘As well as being one of the pleasures of life, good sex is an important part of any complete and happy relationship.’

‘It would have been good. We loved each other.’

‘I doubt if Bentinck ever took your breath away and made your heart beat faster. He would never have been able to lift you to the heights—’

‘I’ve already told you I don’t want to talk about Roderick,’ she broke in jerkily. ‘And I won’t sit here any longer and let you belittle our relationship!’

Only the damage was done.

Already Andrew had raised doubts, and Bel was even more furious to find herself wondering if she might have missed out had she gone ahead and married Roderick.

Contemplating Andrew’s long, lean and no doubt skilful hands, and his mouth—a mouth that sent shivers down her spine—with a strange pang, she realised that she’d also missed out on what would almost certainly have been the most exciting night of her life.

But what was she thinking of? She ought to be mourning the loss of her virginity to a total stranger rather than the inability to remember the experience!

Oh, but she had been right to put him down as dangerous, she thought agitatedly. In less than twenty-four hours he had taken her virginity, wrecked her engagement, dragged her pride in the dust and, worse, made her doubt her own wishes and desires.

Confused, angry both with him and with herself, she said raggedly, ‘Now we’ve had breakfast perhaps we can get on our way?’

‘Is there any reason to hurry back? We could spend a pleasant day in the country.’

He must be joking!

As she began to shake her head he added quizzically, ‘I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.’

With a flash of her old spirit, she retorted, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’

He laughed. ‘Then the answer’s yes?’

‘The answer’s no!’ The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time with him. She needed to be alone, to think. More moderately, but no less determinedly, she added, ‘I want to get home.’

Appearing in no way put out, he rose to his feet, tall and broad-shouldered, overpoweringly male, and agreed, ‘Very well…Would you like to freshen up before we start?’

As they headed into London, mingling with the Saturday morning traffic, he made conversation, forcing her to talk rather than relapse into a brooding silence as she would have preferred.

Avoiding anything too personal, he asked her opinion on a variety of subjects and listened to her answers with intelligent interest, sometimes agreeing with her comments, sometimes putting forward a different point of view that provided grounds for argument.

Roderick had never been one for debating issues, valuing women for their beauty rather than their brains, and Bel found the no-quarter cut and thrust of the present discussion invigorating and absorbing. She was surprised when she realised they had reached Clones Place and were drawing up outside number ten.

But how had Andrew known where she lived? He hadn’t asked, and she was sure she hadn’t mentioned it.

Roderick must have told him.

Her exact address?

Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared to be the only explanation.

Or was there another, more threatening one? she wondered as, having surveyed the narrow, whitestuccoed, three-storey building, he slid from behind the wheel and came round to open her door. Was knowing where she lived part of some campaign?

Shaken by the notion, Bel was telling herself not to be a fool when all at once she recalled their conversation while they were dancing.

She’d said, ‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence…’

And he’d answered, ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned…’

Bel took a deep, uneven breath while every nerve in her body tightened in panic. Though she didn’t understand how he could possibly have planned it, or what his motives were, she knew beyond all shadow of a doubt that he was stalking her, intent on taking her over.

All at once she became aware that he was standing holding open the car door, waiting for her to make a move. Avoiding his proffered hand, she scrambled out and headed for the wrought-iron steps.

By the time he had taken her case from the boot and followed her down she had opened the black-painted door and turned, at bay.

His smile slightly mocking, he asked, ‘I take it you don’t intend to invite me in?’

Ignoring what she recognised as a ploy, she said with cool civility, ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

‘My pleasure,’ he returned formally. Stooping to set her case down just inside the doorway, he added, ‘I’ll have Bridges pick up your car later this afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’ Remembering how she’d been welcomed on her arrival at the Bentincks’, Bel’s voice sounded hollow, and her face mirrored her desolation.

Watching her with his usual piercing regard, his voice casual but edged with an unmistakable concern, Andrew asked, ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Don’t worry, suicide isn’t on the agenda.’

Hearing the bleakness beneath the flippancy, he frowned ‘In time things won’t seem so bad.’

‘You can save the platitudes!’ she snapped.

Unruffled, he observed, ‘It may seem a trite remark, but that doesn’t prevent it being the truth, Bel.’

At the end of her tether, she starred to close the door.

Holding it with his foot, he said, ‘I’ll drop by tomorrow and take you out to lunch.’

‘You needn’t bother,’ she told him sharply, too harassed to be gracious. ‘I don’t want to see you again.’

He spoke soothingly, as though to a child. ‘Perhaps after a good night’s sleep you’ll have changed your mind.’

‘No way!’

Smiling a little at her vehemence, he bent his dark head and kissed her lips. ‘We’ll see, shall we?’

A moment later he was ascending the steps with that easy masculine grace which seemed to characterise all his movements.

Though light, his kiss had had its usual earth-shattering effect, and she found she was trembling as she closed the door and leaned against it while she listened to his car drive away.

After a moment, knees still shaky, Bel made her way to the nearest chair and sank into it.

Andrew Storm had proved himself to be a determined man, and even if she kept the door locked tomorrow and refused to answer he could, and probably would, lay seige to the place…

Hands clenched into fists, she strove for calm. For the moment at least she was safe in her own home, and if he did lay siege to the place she’d just have to move in with her father for a while…

Her father… She groaned aloud. Somehow she had to tell him what had happened…No, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him everything; he’d be too shocked and ashamed…

But she must tell him something. And quickly. If he tried to get in touch with her at the Bentincks’…Galvanised into action, Bel picked up the receiver and dialled her father’s number.

He answered almost immediately, as if he’d been sitting over the phone, and she knew he had when he said, disappointment edging his voice, ‘Oh, I thought it might be Ellen.’

‘Then you haven’t heard from her?’

‘No, not yet. But you shouldn’t be worrying about business matters while you’re with Roderick.’

‘I’m not with Roderick,’ she broke in abruptly. ‘I’m back in town.’

‘Back in town? What on earth for? Surely you’re not—?’

‘I’m back in town because Roderick and I have split up. He has his ring back and our engagement’s over.’

‘Over?’ Her father sounded thunderstruck. ‘Are you sure it’s not just a storm in a teacup?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘What on earth did you quarrel about?’

‘Please, Dad…’ Suddenly she was close to tears, ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘But is there anything I can do? You sound terribly upset.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s nothing anyone can do. I just need some time to collect myself. A breathing space.’

‘Then go away for a while. Leave all the hassle behind you. You’ve more than earned a break…’

She hadn’t had a proper holiday since joining the firm, working all out to consolidate her career, and this year her father had several times urged her to take one. But Roderick had been already committed to an allmale sailing trip in the West Indies, and she had felt little inclination to go away alone…

Now the thought of getting right away was a welcome one. Even more welcome than her father realised.

‘Why not go to Rome?’ he was suggesting. ‘The flat is empty—’ a pleasant second-floor flat was kept for any Grant Filey staff visiting the Rome offices, which were only a short walk away ‘—so you could see all the things you didn’t have a chance to see last time…’

She liked the idea. Her first visit to Rome, after being appointed European Marketing Director, had been a brief one, and there had been no opportunity to do any sightseeing.

‘Enjoy the ambience—’ her father was into his stride ‘—and find yourself a spot of la dolce vita. Make it a real holiday…’

Recalling the other dark cloud that hung on the horizon, Bel demurred, ‘I don’t like the idea of being away with the threat of a take-over looming.’

‘If I thought your being in London would make a scrap of difference I’d ask you to stay. But, as it won’t, I’d feel happier if you went. So for goodness’ sake go and practise your Italian.’

‘I think I just might.’ ‘Now you’re talking!’

‘I’ll try to get a flight out today.’ All at once she couldn’t wait to get away.

‘Being Saturday, the flights might be full, so if you don’t manage it we’ll have dinner together tonight. Ring me at the office. I’m going in for a couple of hours. There’s something I need to discuss with Harmen…’

After phoning several airlines, Bel was about to give up when she was lucky enough to find a single seat on a plane leaving for Rome that very afternoon.

Having no car, she rang for a taxi and, while she waited for it to arrive, demonstrated her state of mind by hauling out a large suitcase and throwing things into it with a disregard for order that would have horrified the old Bel.

Just as a knock signalled the arrival of her taxi, the phone rang. For a second she hesitated, wondering whether to ignore it. But it was probably her father. Snatching it up, she said, ‘Dad?’

‘No, it’s me.’

‘Ellen! Thank goodness! Where are you?’

‘I’m still in Paris.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Hotel Colbert…it’s not far from the ChampsÉlysées. I’m having the most marvellous time—’

‘Have you been in touch with Dad?’ Bel broke in.

‘Not for a day or two.’

‘He needs to talk to you—’ Another knock cut through her words.

‘I’ll give him a ring,’ Ellen promised carelessly. ‘But I must tell you about Jean-Claude. He’s six feet tall and drop-dead handsome, with silvery blond hair and blue eyes. Honestly, Bel, he has to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, as well as having the sort of manners you only read about…’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Bel apologised, ‘but I can’t talk now.’

‘He’s invited me to his villa at Épernay—’

There was a louder knocking and a shout of, ‘Taxi!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bel repeated, ‘but I have to go. I’ve a taxi waiting to take me to the airport.’

‘Where are you off to?’

‘Rome.’

‘Oh, business…’ Ellen said flatly.

‘No, this time it’s a holiday. And I really must fly. You won’t forget to ring Dad? If he’s not at home he’ll be in the office.’

‘No, I won’t forget. How long are you—?’

As well as being a scatterbrain, Ellen was an inveterate talker. Hardening her heart, Bel replaced the receiver and hurried to open the door.

Less than two hours later she was on the Saturday afternoon flight to Leonardo da Vinci Airport, hoping against hope that she might be leaving at least some of her troubles behind.

CHAPTER THREE

HEAVY-EYED after a restless night, Bel sat on the flower-filled balcony and ignored her breakfast while she gazed across the sunny piazza.

Somewhere close at hand a dog barked, and, above Rome’s background noise of traffic, Sunday church bells from all over the city called the faithful to mass, making what Bel, after her first visit, had described to Roderick as a melodious cacophony of sound.

At the thought of her former fiancé she had to bite her lip to stop the tears welling up. Poor Roderick. He dadn’t deserved to be hurt and humiliated in that way.

Not even the fact that she’d drunk too much could excuse the stupidity and wantonness of her behaviour, and it was the realisation of what he and his parents must think of her that hurt most. There was one thing to be devoutly thankful for, though: she had successfully escaped Andrew Storm.

Refusing to consider why the unmitigated relief she should have felt was somehow mingled with a kind of unreasonable depression, she wondered how long he would keep calling at her empty flat before he finally got the message that she had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Probably not long. He wasn’t the sort of man who would waste his time.

Despite the warmth of the sun she shivered, and, making an effort to banish the image of that strongboned, ruthless face from her mind, began to eat her breakfast.

As soon as she’d finished the fresh rolls and fruit pressed on her by Signora Paplucci, the plump, smiling wife of the mustachioed custode di casa, Bel tried again to ring her father but no one answered.

She’d also tried to phone him when she’d arrived at the flat the previous evening, only to find she was unable to get through because of a fault on the line.

By the time Bel was ready to go out, wearing a silky skirt and button-through camisole top with spaghetti straps, it was almost mid-morning.

Armed with camera and a map, she made her way down the cool marble steps, across the bare dimness of the entrance hall and out into the bright oven-heat of Rome.

Being Sunday, the shops on the Via Cordotti were closed, and the picturesque buildings, with their peeling shutters and flaking ochre stucco, had a deserted air.

A bus-load of camera-hung tourists, already pink and perspiring in the hot sun, strolled along the narrow pavements while pairs of local youths, riding motor scooters that sounded like enraged hornets, turned the smooth cobblestones of the roadway into a racetrack.

Bel was enjoying the colourful scene when a sudden wrench on the strap of her shoulder-bag made her stumble and fall, grazing her elbows and knees and sending her sunglasses flying.

Scrambling up, dazed and dazzled, she glimpsed a tall, dark-haired man dressed in fawn trousers and a two-tone shirt sprinting after the last pair of scooter riders, who were making off with her bag.

As he drew level he seized the man by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off the scooter, which, after one drunken swerve, kept going.

The ensuing scuffle was brief but fierce. A moment later a blow to the jaw had sent the burly youth sprawling on the pavement and the tall dark man was returning with her bag. A man who was no stranger.

‘Are you all right?’ Andrew demanded urgently.

When she merely goggled at him, he repeated the question, stooping to retrieve her sunglasses and hand them, and her bag, to her.

Somehow she found her voice and stammered, ‘Y-yes, I’m quite all right,’ just as rapidly retreating footsteps indicated that the youth was making good his escape.

The passersby who had seen what was taking place and had stopped to stare began to walk on, and the next second it was as if nothing untoward had happened.

His eyes travelling over her with the proprietorial air that was becoming only too familiar, Andrew remarked, ‘You’ve cut your knee.’

Removing a spotless white handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he crouched on his haunches to stanch the warm trickle of blood that was running down her slim tanned leg.

Staring at the top of his dark head, she wondered with a kind of stunned disbelief what he was doing in Rome, and how, in a city of over three million inhabitants, she’d been unlucky enough to run into him.

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