Mary Baker - The Honey Trap

Suppose she went through with it. Suppose she couldn’t stop herself. Got the pictures, covered the camera and then just… let herself be with him. Could she do that? A complete stranger… a married complete stranger?

Although, of course, she’d have to get him there first.

She gave a visible jerk as Seb pressed the bag’s silver clasp shut with a click and handed it up to her, dragging his gaze appreciatively along the line of her legs while he pulled himself upright.

‘Thank you.’ She hoped he wouldn’t notice how flustered she was; the feverish cheeks, the slight breathlessness in her voice.

‘No problem. Well, I guess this is goodnight then. Nice to have met you… Angel.’ She felt a jolt of electricity as he tried out her name for the first time, let it linger on his tongue while his eyes, alive with golden fire in the lamplight, probed hers.

‘Wait.’ Okay, one last try. If this didn’t work, Steve could sod his story and she’d go home and drown her humiliation in a bottle of wine. ‘Look, I’ve got a suite upstairs and there’s a pretty well-stocked mini bar in the lounge. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come up for a nightcap before bed? I mean, no worries if you’re tired; there’s always another time…’

She looked straight at him with an expression half pleading with him, half daring him to accompany her.

Seb was silent for what seemed like an age. Head slightly cocked, lips curving at one side, he appraised all her tiny dress revealed until she felt almost naked before him.

‘Yes,’ he said, giving in. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

Whatever it takes…

The hotel suite was heavy with art-deco-style white bevelled panelling and opulent silver detail. The designer had obviously channelled the Roaring Twenties and the room shrieked decadence, from the grey crepe curtains to the massive Salvador Dali print on the wall. Two huge windows across one wall offered panoramic views over the lights of the city, dotted against midnight blue. A sliding panel of frosted glass led to the quilted-ivory bedroom, with its emperor-sized bed and sunken corner bath.

It probably cost more for one night’s stay than Angel earned in weeks on the internship scheme. Thank God she wasn’t paying!

She delved into the mini bar, hidden away inside an inlaid wood cabinet.

‘Champagne okay?’ she called to Seb, who was sat with one leg crossed over his knee on the plush velvet corner suite, admiring the view over the city. What the hell, the Investigator was picking up the bill.

He nodded assent and she dug a couple of crystal flutes out of the cabinet’s lower compartment. She opened the champagne bottle with a dramatic pop that made her jump and poured them a chilled glass of golden bubbles each.

Angel handed Seb his drink and sat down a little apart from him on the sofa, the memory of the heat she’d felt in the bar still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t afford to lose control again, not yet. She had to make sure Steve got those pictures.

His brow puckered slightly. It was clear the distance didn’t please him, but he quickly smoothed his frown.

‘So what do you do when you’re not getting stood up in hotel bars, Angel?’ His cheeks dimpled with the hint of a smile while he sipped the sparkling liquid, which irritated her. Nice to know he found her lack of success with men so amusing. Even if they were imaginary ones. ‘Do you work?’

Did she work? What a question! Obviously she bloody worked. She had to pay the rent like all the other average joes, didn’t she?

‘Yes, I –’ She scrambled around for a job that might sound vaguely plausible, mentally slapping herself for not thinking up a backstory in advance. ‘I’m a, er, reflexologist. Staying in town for a conference,’ she added helpfully.

She hoped that sounded obscure enough to be believable. Reflexology was Emily’s chosen career and it had been the first thing that popped into her head.

‘You don’t look like a reflexologist.’

She laughed. ‘Why, how are reflexologists supposed to look?’

Seb crinkled his eyes. ‘I don’t know, just… not like you. Not quite so…’

‘Ginger?’

His voice was soft when he answered, tangling her gaze in his. ‘I was going to say hot.’

Angel’s stomach lurched in pleasant surprise as the words sank in. She felt a deep-pink blush creeping up from her toes, crawling along her neck and into her cheeks.

She took a deep breath, struggling to compose herself. ‘Well, I’ll just have to prove it to you,’ she said, attempting the bright and flirty. Putting her drink down on the glass-topped coffee table, she shuffled closer and took his free hand in hers.

A crackling pulse of energy slammed through her body when she touched him. She caught her breath sharply and looked up at him, but his eyes were cast down and he didn’t raise them to meet hers. If he’d felt anything, he wasn’t letting on.

Okay, down girl. Rein it in…

His hand was large, tanned and smooth, with a sprinkling of downy hair. Angel turned it over so his palm was facing upwards and started circling gently with the tip of her thumb, just where his hand joined his wrist.

‘You see, this is what we call a pressure point. When I rub just there, it’s guaranteed to relieve stress and cure all known symptoms of jet lag.’

He laughed, revealing perfect straight, white teeth. God, it was an incredible laugh. Deep, bold and unrestrained.

‘What I could really use for that is a shower. I’ve been travelling all day and this suit is starting to feel decidedly lived-in.’ He closed his fingers around her hand and fixed her with a significant gaze. ‘Is it okay if I use yours, Angel? Saves me having to leave you.’

She flushed, looking down at the hand now holding hers. Should she pull her fingers away? She had to find an excuse to leave the room, cool off for five minutes…

‘Um, there’s a pretty fancy bath in the suite. I can run it for you if you want?’

‘Thanks, I’d appreciate it.’

Angel felt a surge of relief as he loosed her fingers. Standing up, she slipped through the sliding glass panel to the other room.

Okay, this certainly made things easier for her. A bath meant he’d be naked in front of the camera without her having to get too close. Too easy. All she had to do was follow him in and make sure he looked good and compromised.

Whatever that meant…

In the bedroom, she turned on two polished brass taps and watched dreamily while jets of water started to fill the corner bath. The round porcelain tub was surrounded by tiles of white marble, with small lights embedded into the stone. She flicked a switch and they illuminated the room with a candle glow.

There was a little bottle of hotel bubble bath on one side, so she threw some of that in too. The room began to cloud with fragrant, spicy ribbons of steam.

That wouldn’t do: the cupboard mirror would mist over and block the camera feeding back to Steve at home. She turned the cold tap up a little and dabbled in the water with her little finger to check the temperature. Perfect.