Sandra Marton - The One-Night Wife

“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.

He waited until they were alone again, taking the time to get himself back under control. Then he looked at Savannah.

“Champagne,” he said briskly.

“For what?” She’d pulled herself together, too. Her voice was strong, her color normal.

“It’s just what we need. For the cut on my lip.”

“Oh. Oh, of course. Will you—”

“Sure.”

Sean did the honors, twisting the wire muzzle from the neck of the bottle, then popping the cork. The wine sparkled with bubbles as he poured some on the hankie she held out.

“It’ll probably sting,” she said, and before he could reply, she moved in and dabbed the cut with the cold, wine-soaked lace.

An understatement, Savannah thought, as Sean O’Connell rocked back on his heels.

“Sorry,” she said politely. The hell she was, she thought.

She’d made a damned fool of herself. Worse, she’d probably blown her chance at setting him up for the kill, but it was his fault.

Why did he have to ruin things by kissing her? If he hadn’t, everything would still be fine. She hadn’t meant for him to kiss her; she was supposed to be the one setting the boundaries for this little escapade, not him.

“Hey! Take it easy with that stuff.”

“Sorry,” she said again, and went right on cleaning the cut with as little delicacy as she could manage.

Some seductress she was. The mark made a move she hadn’t anticipated, gave her one simple kiss, and…

Except, it hadn’t been a simple kiss. It had been as complex as the night sky. She’d trembled under it. The texture of his mouth. The whisper of his breath. The silken glide of his tongue against hers.

And then—then, it had all changed. His hand on her thigh. The quick bloom of heat between her legs. The pressure of his hard, aroused male flesh, the message implicit in its power.

All at once, the terrace had become the yacht. She’d remembered the way Alain’s friends had taken to looking at her and the way Alain talked to them right in front of her, his voice pitched so low she couldn’t hear his words.

She didn’t have to.

She had only to see their hot eyes, see the little smiles they exchanged, feel the way a beefy hand would brush against her breast, her thigh, always accidentally…

“Are you trying to fillet my lip or leave it steak tartare?”

Savannah blinked. O’Connell, arms folded over his chest, was eyeing her narrowly, his face expressionless.

“I, uh, I just wanted to make sure I disinfected the cut properly.” She dropped her hand to her side, peered at his lip as if she knew what she was doing and flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “It looks fine.”

“Does it,” he said coldly.

Oh, this wasn’t any good! She’d had him right where she wanted him, and now she’d lost him. He was furious and she couldn’t blame him.

Well, that would have to change if she was going to get anywhere tonight.

“Yes,” she said, with a little smile. “I’m happy to tell you, you won’t need stitches. No rabies shots, either.”

He didn’t smile back. All right. One more try.

“I suppose I owe you an apology,” she said, looking at him from under her lashes.

Sean almost laughed. The cute smile. The tease. And, when those failed, the demure look coupled with an apology. All designed to tap into his masculine instincts. He was supposed to say “no, it’s okay,” because that was what a gentleman would do.

Unfortunately for Just-Savannah, he was no gentleman.

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want an apology.”

She almost sighed with relief. He waited a beat.

“I want an explanation.”

She blinked. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that. Now she was mentally scrambling for a response.

“An explanation,” she parroted. “And—and you’re entitled to one. I, uh, I think it’s just that you—you caught me by surprise.”

“You’ve been coming on to me all evening.”

“Well—well, I told you, you’re an attractive—”

She gasped as he caught hold of her wrists.

“And yet, the first move I make, you react as if I dragged you into an alley.”

“That’s not—”

“Game’s over, sweetheart.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Nobody plays me for a fool.” Sean held her tighter, applying just enough pressure to let her know he was taking charge. “I want answers.”

“To what? Honestly, Mr. O’Connell…”

“Let’s start with the ‘Mr. O’Connell’ routine. I was Just-Sean. You were Just-Savannah. How come it turns out you know my last name?”

Savannah swallowed past the lump in her throat. His face was like a thundercloud; his hands were locked around hers like manacles. Missy, she thought, oh, Missy, I’m so sorry.

“I told you,” she said in a low voice. “I saw you and I found you very—”

“Forget that crap.” His mouth thinned; he tugged on her wrists and she had no choice but to stumble forward until they were only a breath apart. “I knew something was up, but you were determined to keep trying the same con so I decided to go along. You’ve been scamming me, sugar, and I’ve had enough. You tell me what’s going on or I’ll drag you to the manager’s office and see to it you’re barred from ever entering this place again.”

“You can’t do that! I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“Maybe you’re a working girl.”

“A working…” She began to tremble. “That’s a lie.”

“Is it? Once I describe your behavior, who’s going to argue with me?”

“You can’t do that!”

His grin was all teeth. “Try me.”

Savannah opened her mouth, then shut it. For all she knew, he could do anything. He was known here. She wasn’t. Everything was coming apart. She’d have to go back to Alain and tell him she’d failed, that his year of planning had led to nothing.

“Well? I’m waiting for that explanation. And I’ll tell you right now, sugar, it damned well better be good.”

Desperate, she searched for anything that might get her out of this mess. What could she possibly say that would change things? O’Connell was right. He wasn’t about to believe she was interested in him, not after she’d almost bitten his face off when he touched her.

She wouldn’t react that way if he did it again.

The realization shocked her. It was true, though. Now that she knew what to expect, if it happened again—which it wouldn’t—but if it did, if she ever felt all that heat, saw the hunger in his eyes, she might just—she might just—