Lee Wilkinson - First-Class Seduction

‘He’s not the man for you, Bel.’

‘In a minute you’ll be telling me you are!’

‘I don’t need to tell you. Your subconscious already knows. When we bumped into each other in that restaurant it was like a spark set to dynamite. Then when we met for a second time that same spark was there, burning fiercer than ever. That’s why you’re scared to let me touch you…why our night together was—’

Alarmed by the undoubted truth of his words, and the feeling that she was being relentlessly taken over, she broke in derisively, ‘Don’t tell me…our night together was wonderful!’

Eyes gleaming, he murmured, ‘So you do remember?’

‘I don’t remember a thing,’ she denied, her cheeks growing pink. ‘For all I know you could have raped me.’

‘I didn’t rape you,’ he said quietly.

‘But you did take advantage of me,’ she accused

‘I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to do…’

Knowing the strength of her reaction to him when her barriers were up, and guessing what it must have been like with all her inhibitions gone, she found herself reluctantly believing him.

‘As I said before, you’re a very passionate woman…’

Bel had never thought of herself that way. She’d had boyfriends since her schooldays, but a certain inborn reserve, a natural self-respect, had prevented her from indulging in casual relationships.

Throughout college, having decided on a career in business rather than art, a determination to succeed had kept her mind on her work when most of her contemporaries were paying more attention to their love life.

‘How did you manage to hold out against Bentinck?’ Andrew pursued. ‘Or wasn’t he that pressing?’

‘Of course he was pressing!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s a red-blooded man.’

Andrew raised a dark brow. ‘So in this day and age how come you didn’t sleep together?’

‘We wanted to wait until after we were married.’

‘Both of you? I get the feeling that you were the one who held back. That you were never seriously tempted…’

It was the truth, and she was unable to deny it. Perhaps, on her side at least, that vital spark Andrew had talked about had been missing from their relationship.

‘Isn’t that so?’ he persisted.

Cornered, she cried wrathfully, ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

In no way fooled, Andrew smiled sardonically and observed, ‘It would have been a very dull marriage.’

‘How dare you presume that?’

Unruffled, he said, ‘As well as being one of the pleasures of life, good sex is an important part of any complete and happy relationship.’

‘It would have been good. We loved each other.’

‘I doubt if Bentinck ever took your breath away and made your heart beat faster. He would never have been able to lift you to the heights—’

‘I’ve already told you I don’t want to talk about Roderick,’ she broke in jerkily. ‘And I won’t sit here any longer and let you belittle our relationship!’

Only the damage was done.

Already Andrew had raised doubts, and Bel was even more furious to find herself wondering if she might have missed out had she gone ahead and married Roderick.

Contemplating Andrew’s long, lean and no doubt skilful hands, and his mouth—a mouth that sent shivers down her spine—with a strange pang, she realised that she’d also missed out on what would almost certainly have been the most exciting night of her life.

But what was she thinking of? She ought to be mourning the loss of her virginity to a total stranger rather than the inability to remember the experience!

Oh, but she had been right to put him down as dangerous, she thought agitatedly. In less than twenty-four hours he had taken her virginity, wrecked her engagement, dragged her pride in the dust and, worse, made her doubt her own wishes and desires.

Confused, angry both with him and with herself, she said raggedly, ‘Now we’ve had breakfast perhaps we can get on our way?’

‘Is there any reason to hurry back? We could spend a pleasant day in the country.’

He must be joking!

As she began to shake her head he added quizzically, ‘I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.’

With a flash of her old spirit, she retorted, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’

He laughed. ‘Then the answer’s yes?’

‘The answer’s no!’ The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time with him. She needed to be alone, to think. More moderately, but no less determinedly, she added, ‘I want to get home.’

Appearing in no way put out, he rose to his feet, tall and broad-shouldered, overpoweringly male, and agreed, ‘Very well…Would you like to freshen up before we start?’

As they headed into London, mingling with the Saturday morning traffic, he made conversation, forcing her to talk rather than relapse into a brooding silence as she would have preferred.

Avoiding anything too personal, he asked her opinion on a variety of subjects and listened to her answers with intelligent interest, sometimes agreeing with her comments, sometimes putting forward a different point of view that provided grounds for argument.

Roderick had never been one for debating issues, valuing women for their beauty rather than their brains, and Bel found the no-quarter cut and thrust of the present discussion invigorating and absorbing. She was surprised when she realised they had reached Clones Place and were drawing up outside number ten.

But how had Andrew known where she lived? He hadn’t asked, and she was sure she hadn’t mentioned it.

Roderick must have told him.

Her exact address?

Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared to be the only explanation.

Or was there another, more threatening one? she wondered as, having surveyed the narrow, whitestuccoed, three-storey building, he slid from behind the wheel and came round to open her door. Was knowing where she lived part of some campaign?

Shaken by the notion, Bel was telling herself not to be a fool when all at once she recalled their conversation while they were dancing.

She’d said, ‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence…’

And he’d answered, ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned…’

Bel took a deep, uneven breath while every nerve in her body tightened in panic. Though she didn’t understand how he could possibly have planned it, or what his motives were, she knew beyond all shadow of a doubt that he was stalking her, intent on taking her over.

All at once she became aware that he was standing holding open the car door, waiting for her to make a move. Avoiding his proffered hand, she scrambled out and headed for the wrought-iron steps.

By the time he had taken her case from the boot and followed her down she had opened the black-painted door and turned, at bay.

His smile slightly mocking, he asked, ‘I take it you don’t intend to invite me in?’

Ignoring what she recognised as a ploy, she said with cool civility, ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

‘My pleasure,’ he returned formally. Stooping to set her case down just inside the doorway, he added, ‘I’ll have Bridges pick up your car later this afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’ Remembering how she’d been welcomed on her arrival at the Bentincks’, Bel’s voice sounded hollow, and her face mirrored her desolation.

Watching her with his usual piercing regard, his voice casual but edged with an unmistakable concern, Andrew asked, ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Don’t worry, suicide isn’t on the agenda.’

Hearing the bleakness beneath the flippancy, he frowned ‘In time things won’t seem so bad.’