First-Class Seduction Read online

  Unable to control her tongue or her spite, she had made one weekend visit very uncomfortable. Sensibly, Bel had ignored all the gibes and, refusing to enter the fray, had done her best to keep the peace.

  But she wasn’t looking forward to a rematch, especially with a houseful of strangers for an audience.

  Clearly concerned that that shouldn’t happen, Roderick added carefully, ‘I have every intention of having a straight talk with her as soon as she gets here. I’m fond of Suzy, we’ve known each other all our lives, but I won’t have you upset or my parents’ anniversary spoiled.’

  By eight o’clock that Friday evening most of the guests had arrived and been made welcome, including Suzy and her doting middle-aged parents.

  It soon appeared that Roderick had been as good as his word, for when the redhead, looking both older and younger than her years in a black satin mini-dress, joined the party, she gave her rival a small, tight smile and then a wide berth.

  Which suited Bel just fine.

  Wearing a white dress with shoestring straps and a full skirt, her flawless skin a pale gold, her ash-blonde hair in a shining coil on top of her head, Bel looked lovely—cool and elegant and poised.

  Her fiancé, debonair in evening dress, showed her off to his friends and members of the family she hadn’t yet met with undisguised pride.

  A serve-yourself bar and buffet had been set up in the large conservatory and, the evening being fine and warm, there was dancing on the lantern-lit terrace.

  Bel was busy enjoying the evening, and with the party atmosphere drinking more champagne than she was used to, when she felt an uncomfortable prickle of awareness, and sensed that someone was watching her.

  Lifting her gleaming head, she glanced around.

  A short distance away, his back to the light, a tall, well-built man in immaculate evening dress was standing, his eyes fixed on her.

  She saw his hair was crisp and dark, but his face was in shadow. Even so, she was sure there was something about him…something oddly familiar…

  As the thought crossed her mind his white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘How nice to see you again so soon.’ His voice was low and intimate, slightly husky. ‘Come and dance with me.’

  Before Bel could gather her scattered wits, he had drawn her into the throng of dancers.

  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, a
greed, ‘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 beaut
iful 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.