Kate Hardy - Seduced By The Boss

‘Mmm.’ He wasn’t convinced.

She stroked his face. ‘Hugh. Let’s just forget it for now and enjoy the party.’

Her touch made every nerve-end sit up and pay attention. He had to stop himself from turning his head and pressing a kiss into her palm. Distance. He needed a tiny bit of distance between them, before he lost his head completely and gave in to his body’s urging. He snagged a couple of glasses from one of the waiters and toasted her. ‘I still can’t believe you stood up there in front of those curtains, in that dress, and sang “Do Re Mi”.’

‘Says Captain von Trapp,’ she retorted with a grin.

‘Oh, please.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Ma loves The Sound of Music.’

‘So do I. It’s one of the best films ever.’ She hummed a snatch of ‘My Favourite Things’.

‘I hated that film,’ Hugh said.

She blinked at him, clearly taken aback. ‘Why?’

‘The way the guy just ignored his kids made me so angry. And it wasn’t so much a stick the guy had up his backside as a whole tree.’

‘And you don’t?’ she teased.

What? Hugh stared at her in surprise. Was she saying that she thought he was stuffy? ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, faintly put out.

‘Prove it,’ she challenged.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘How?’

‘Dance the samba with me.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘After all, this is a party, and the samba is the best party dance I know.’

‘Sorry.’ He spread his hands. ‘I would, but I’m afraid I don’t know the steps.’ It was a feeble excuse, but a valid one. If the samba meant dancing close to her and touching her... That would be way too risky. He needed to be sensible about this, not getting closer to her.

‘It’s easy. I’ll teach you. Gracie and I go to a dance aerobics class where half the moves are based on samba.’ She grinned. ‘Just follow my lead.’ Then she paused, batted her eyelashes at him, and drawled, ‘Unless you can’t take direction from a woman?’

He had the distinct impression that she was flirting with him. Even though he knew he ought to resist, he found himself flirting right back. ‘I can take direction.’ He stared at her mouth. ‘When it’s appropriate.’

Her skin heated, then, clashing spectacularly with her hair. ‘Hugh!’

And her voice was all breathy. He was about to tease her when he realised that he couldn’t speak, either, because right now his head was full of the idea of kissing her. And that breathiness in her voice was incredibly sexy. His mouth was actually tingling. All he had to do was lean forward and touch his lips to hers...

They ought to stop this.

Right now.

As if she was channelling his thoughts, she muttered, ‘Back in a moment.’

But what she did next was to go and speak to the band. He recognised the song from the first couple of bars: ‘Livin’ la Vida Loca’.

So Bella wasn’t going to let him off. To pay him back for making her blush, she taught him how to samba, making him repeat the basic steps and arm actions until his movements were fluid. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed the bouncy, shimmery nature of the steps.

Other people were watching them, but when Bella realised that she was having none of it. As the band continued to play songs with a similar beat, she went round and taught everyone else in the room how to do the basic steps. The women seemed to cotton on much quicker than the men—which didn’t surprise him that much, because hadn’t Bella said something about learning this kind of thing at an aerobics class?—but finally the whole room was dancing. Including relatives Hugh had never actually seen get up on the dance floor before.

How on earth had she managed that?

‘You certainly know how to get a party going,’ he said when she came back over to him.

She laughed and tossed her hair back. ‘I love parties.’

He could tell. She was really lit up from the inside, and it was infectious. Being with her made him smile and forget just about everything else. How long had it been since he’d last felt this happy and carefree?

Then the band slowed it all down again. He held out one hand to her. ‘May I have this dance, Ms Faraday?’

She gave him a shy smile and took his hand. ‘Of course, Mr Moncrieff.’

He drew her into his arms and held her close, swaying with her. Weird how she fitted perfectly into his arms, all warm and soft and sweet. Maybe the romance of the engagement party had got to him, or maybe he’d drunk too much champagne, but he couldn’t resist holding her just that little bit closer, dancing cheek to cheek with her. He could smell the soft floral scent she wore—gardenia, perhaps? It was enchanting: much like Bella herself.

And from dancing cheek to cheek it was the tiniest, tiniest move to kissing her. All he had to do was twist his head ever so slightly and brush the corner of her mouth with his lips.

Should he?

And what would she do if he did?

If she moved away, he’d stop, he promised himself.

Except she didn’t move away. When he kissed the corner of her mouth, she twisted her head ever so slightly towards him, so her mouth brushed against his properly.

And Hugh was completely lost.

He tightened his arms round her and kissed her again, teasing her mouth with tiny, nibbling kisses until she let her lips part and he could deepen the kiss. It felt as if he were floating on air. Every sense was filled by her. And it had been a long, long time since he’d felt anything even approaching this.

He wasn’t sure how long it was until he broke the kiss. But her mouth was reddened and her eyes were wide and bemused; he was pretty sure he looked in a similar state.

They needed to get out of here, before someone noticed or commented.

‘Come with me?’ he asked softly. ‘Away from the crowd?’

She nodded, and he tangled his fingers with hers and led her quietly out of the ballroom and down the corridor to a room he knew would still be in darkness.

‘Where are we?’ Bella asked when Hugh led her into a darkened room.

‘The orangery,’ he said.

Once her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she realised that one whole wall was made of glass, and the moonlight shone through onto an ancient chequered red and cream flagstone floor. All along the walls were massive terracotta pots containing what she presumed were citrus trees; there were a couple of what looked like wrought-iron benches between the pots.

‘Wait,’ he said, and let go of her hand.

A few moments later, she heard a soft click, and then suddenly the room was glowing softly with dozens of tiny fairy lights twined round the stems of the trees.

‘Hugh, this is amazing,’ she said in delight. ‘It’s magical.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ he said. ‘We had a film crew here when I was in my teens, and the set designer said this was where people would sneak off for some privacy at a Regency house party, among the lemons and limes and oranges. She reckoned they’d have had candles and it would’ve been beautiful.’

‘Just like this.’

He nodded. ‘Someone suggested fairy lights as a modern take on it without the fire risk. Since then, we’ve often sat out here after the sun sets, just watching the stars, with the fairy lights on. And a heater, in winter, because otherwise it’s absolutely freezing.’ He came back to hold her hand, and drew her over to one of the benches. ‘This is probably my favourite place in the house. Even in the daytime, it’s lovely.’

He’d promised her a guided tour of the house tomorrow, and she intended to hold him to that. But right now, when he sat down on one of the wrought iron benches and drew her onto his lap, she couldn’t think straight. All she could do was to put her arms round his neck for balance. And from there it was one tiny step to kissing him again.