Lucy Gordon - Accidentally Expecting!

They were accompanied by Mark, Justin’s son by his first marriage. He was twenty, handsome, with dark wavy hair and brilliant eyes that made both the young maids give him yearning looks.

‘He’s just discovering his powers as a ladykiller,’ Justin said with a groan, yet also a touch of fatherly pride. ‘It makes him very difficult to live with.’

‘Don’t be hard on him,’ Evie protested. ‘It’s not his fault he’s good-looking. He’s just finished his first love affair with a girl who teaches ballroom dancing. He started learning as a way of getting close to her, and now he’s really good.’

The young man’s presence changed the atmosphere, making it livelier. Later, when the meal was over, Toni rummaged through some old tapes, made in the days before rock ’n’ roll, and played them on an ancient tape recorder.

‘Go on,’ he told Mark. ‘Let’s see how good you are.’

Without hesitating, Mark extended a hand to Ferne, whom he’d been admiring across the table all through supper.

‘Dance with me?’

Pleased, she accepted. She was a good dancer, and Mark was an expert. Soon they were spinning around in perfect time.

‘Let’s go really fast,’ he said suddenly, swinging her around and around.

Gasping, she just managed to keep up. When they finished there was applause from the others, who had retired to sit down and watch them with admiration.

‘What is that dance?’ Dante asked, coming forward hastily. ‘Could you teach it to me?’

‘It’s basically the quick-step,’ Mark told him. ‘You do it like this.’

Someone switched the music on again, and there were more cheers and applause as Mark gave a dazzling demonstration, with Ferne as his partner. Then Dante took possession of her and proceeded to show how well he’d learned.

Ferne had to admit that he was a natural, mastering the fastest steps with ease, and taking her flying across the floor as if they had been doing this all their lives.

With this partner the most intricate steps became easy to her, and her feet flashed in and out, sometimes between his own feet, so that she felt they must surely trip each other, yet never did. She had the glorious sensation that no mistake was possible while Dante held her. He was a powerful man, but that power lay not in muscles and brawn but in quicksilver.

That was how he lived his life, she was sure. If trouble loomed, he would dance around it, or over it, or past it, then vanish into the shadows, leaving everyone wondering if he’d ever really been there. It made him both enchanting and dangerous.

At last Toni changed the tape, and they slowed into a waltz.

‘I’m impressed,’ she gasped. ‘Have you really never done the quick-step before?’

‘No, but I love dancing; the faster, the better.’

‘Waltzing’s too dull for you, huh?’

‘Much. Who needs it? You have to hold her close.’

‘As you’re doing with me?’

‘Naturally. And you have to pay her compliments, like she’s the loveliest woman in the room.’

‘But you’re not doing that!’ she protested indignantly.

‘Why should I bore you with what you’ve heard a hundred times before? Besides,’ he added more slowly, ‘you know exactly what you look like.’

He was right. She’d taken time over her appearance, and was pleased with the result. The honey-red of her hair was perfectly set off by the floaty chiffon dress with its mixture of autumnal colours. It was knee-length, revealing that her legs were long and elegant, her ankles perfect, and she had a natural balance for the high-heeled sandals that many women couldn’t have risked wearing.

In the arms of this tall man, those heels were an advantage, helping her match his height and see his face more closely.

‘Maybe I know and maybe I don’t,’ she teased. ‘That’s for me to say.’

‘So you want me to tell you that you’re a dream of beauty, a goddess of the night?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ she chuckled.

‘I’m just trying to do the proper thing here.’

‘And you’re always so proper, aren’t you?’

‘Well, somebody did once say that I wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked me. I can’t recall her name just now.’

‘Ah! One of those instantly forgettable females. She was probably just trying to provoke you to get your attention.’

He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I wish I could believe she wanted my attention.’

‘Or she might be playing cat-and-mouse with you.’

‘I’d like to believe that too. You don’t know what fun cat-and-mouse can be.’

‘You think I don’t?’ she asked, eyebrows arched sardonically.

‘No, forget I said that. Of course you do.’ He added hopefully, ‘You could probably teach me a thing or two.’

‘No, I don’t think I could teach you anything about playing games.’

‘The game of love has many different aspects,’ he suggested.

‘But we’re not talking about love,’ she whispered. ‘This is a different game altogether.’

It was a game that made her pulses race and her whole body sing from the close contact with his. Reason argued that her physical excitement was due to the movement of the dance, but reason fell silent before the pleasure of his clasp about her waist and the awareness of his mouth near hers.

‘What do you call the game?’ he whispered.

‘I’m sure we each have our own name for it.’

‘Tell me yours.’

She glanced up, murmuring, ‘I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’

‘I asked first.’

This time she didn’t reply, but her look was full of mischief.

‘You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’

‘I know. I work at it.’

‘No need. I reckon a certain kind of wickedness comes naturally to you.’

‘True. It’s one of the great pleasures of life.’ Exhilarated, she provoked him further. ‘Almost as much fun as cat-and-mouse.’

A gleam of appreciation came into his eyes. ‘Cat-and-mouse; I wish I knew which one I was.’

‘I’ll leave you to work that one out.’

He gave a shout of laughter that made everyone stare at them, and began whirling her fast again until they spun out onto the terrace, where she broke from him and darted away, running down the steps and under the trees. She was high on excitement, and the sound of him pursuing her was a delight. She ran faster, challenging him to follow her, and he accepted the challenge.

‘Woman, are you crazy?’ he demanded, winding his arms around her waist in a grip of velvet and steel. ‘Just how much do you think a man can take?’

She responded not with words but with laughter, that rang up to the moon until he silenced her mouth with his own. Somehow the laughter continued, because it was there in the kiss, passing from her to him and back again. It was there too in the skilful movements of his hands that knew how to coax without demanding, persuade without insisting.

He had the gift which so many men lacked, of kissing gently. Her return kiss was joyful, curious, teasing just a little.

‘I’m not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘And perhaps a man should exercise a little self-control.’

‘Not while you’re making it hard for him,’ he growled, moving down her neck.

She was unable to say more, because his lips had found the spot where she was most sensitive. Shivers went through her, defying her efforts to control them as his mouth caressed the hollow at the base of her throat, touching it softly again and again while she clung to him and her head whirled.

He was wicked. Even with all her nerves shouting warnings, he could still make her want him. Her hands had a will of their own. They clasped his head, drawing him closer against her so that his lips continued their skilled work. She should push him away, but, just another minute…