The Seduction Season

by Helen Bianchin

  Until now.

  Now he was captivated as never before by a smile, the way her mouth curved to tilt at the edges. The sweep of long lashes and the lure of a pair of green eyes which lightened or deepened according to mood.

  She was fire and ice, passion and fury. And he wanted her in a way that he’d never wanted a woman before.

  ‘Thanks for—’ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. ‘Being there for me.’

  He leaned forward and brushed a finger down the slope of her nose. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Really?’ A faint smile teased the edges of her mouth as she moved back a pace. ‘We’ve been at daggers drawn most of the time.’

  It was his turn to smile. There was a dangerous quality evident in the darkness of his eyes, a latent passion which, unleashed, would sweep her way out of her depth. It was there in his expression, the forceful set of his features, the stance that was studiously relaxed. Like the watching eye of a tiger, just waiting to pounce.

  Go, a tiny voice taunted. Don’t linger.

  Without a further word she turned and walked from the room, traversed the hall and let herself out of the back door.

  Shaef shadowed her steps as she crossed the path connecting the two properties, and she leant forward to fondle his ears as she unlocked the cottage, then sent him on his way before she stepped inside.

  The house was quiet, and she took a long, cool shower, slipped on a robe, then she delved into the refrigerator for a light snack.

  Television provided instant visual entertainment, but there was little that captured her attention, even less that held her interest.

  It had been a long day, and she took time to examine each and every incident in the hope that reflection would bring peace of mind.

  Fat chance. All it did was prove she was too wired to simply fall into bed and covet sleep.

  In desperation she selected a book, settled into an armchair, and tried to lose herself in the characters and plot of a favourite author.

  Five minutes later she thrust it down. On impulse she went into the bedroom, discarded the robe and slipped into shorts and top.

  Within seconds she left the cottage and made her way down onto the beach.

  The moon was high in the sky, bathing everything with a pale opalescent glow. Shadows from a clump of palm trees cast long fingers over the sand, and the sea was a mass of silver and dappled pewter that stretched right out to the horizon.

  Anneke walked along the damp sand left by an outgoing tide, and breathed in deeply of the clean night air.

  There was a whimper, a short bark, then Shaef fell in step at her side.

  ‘Unable to sleep?’

  She should have known Sebastian would investigate Shaef’s departure. Yesterday, even this morning, she would have resented his presence.

  ‘I figured a walk might help.’ It was impossible to detect his expression in the moonlight.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, and she was aware of him in a way she found vaguely frightening.

  Somehow she’d known he was trouble from the moment she first caught sight of him.

  At first she’d thought it was just chemistry. Sensual sexual magnetism at its most potent. An electric awareness that was both foolish and capricious.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  Anneke heard Sebastian’s words, examined them, and took solace from the shadow of semi-darkness. How could she say that it was he who was on her mind, him disturbing her thoughts?

  ‘Adam rang me this afternoon.’

  Sebastian’s voice became a silky drawl. ‘Foolish of him.’

  ‘Very,’ she replied in succinct agreement.

  ‘I imagine the conversation went from bad to worse?’

  ‘You could say that.’ She turned her head and looked out over the silver sea. There didn’t seem to be any need to fill the gaps in between, or repeat the vicious personal attack. It was over. That was all that mattered.

  By tacit consent they turned and began retracing their steps.

  ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night.’

  Anneke directed him a faintly humorous glance. ‘You want me to prepare a meal for two, then sit down at your table?’

  ‘I had a seafood restaurant in mind, overlooking Byron Bay. Silver service, wine steward, waiters,’ Sebastian indicated with unruffled ease.

  ‘I get to wear stiletto heels, make-up?’ She laughed, a delightful light sound that held genuine mirth. ‘OK. You’re on. What time?’

  ‘Six.’

  When they reached Aunt Vivienne’s cottage he stood aside while she inserted the key into the lock, then he turned and cut a leisurely stride to his own home.

  She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed he’d made no attempt to touch her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNEKE’S wardrobe of formal and semi-formal wear was reasonably extensive. The only problem being that most of that particular range of her clothes hung in the closet of her Sydney apartment.

  In her rush to escape her job, Adam and the city, she’d simply dragged down a suitcase and pulled clothes off hangers, out of drawers, and flung them willy-nilly into the case.

  Her proposed sojourn on an isolated beach had lent itself to including casual shorts and tops, jeans. Not elegant after-five wear, or extravagant high-heeled pumps.

  It was a clear choice between a classic black dress, or a long floral slip.

  The black dress won out, and she tended to her make-up with care, left her hair loose, and was about to catch up her purse when she heard Sebastian’s Range Rover pull into the driveway.

  Anneke reached the door as Sebastian trod the path, and the breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

  Attired in dark tailored trousers, matching jacket, and white shirt and tie, he was the antithesis of the man she was accustomed to seeing every day.

  The image unsettled her. It was crazy to feel nervous, but she couldn’t prevent the heavy thud of her heart, or the unwarranted apprehension which curled round her nerve-ends.

  ‘Hi,’ she greeted brightly. Too brightly?

  Polite conversation had never been more difficult, and she waited until Sebastian reached the highway before querying, ‘How long have you lived next door to my aunt?’

  ‘Five years.’

  ‘Yet during each of my visits I’ve never caught sight of you.’

  He turned his head and cast her a quick glance. ‘I travel around a bit in between finishing one book and starting the next.’

  ‘Publicity tours?’

  ‘Yes. And research.’

  ‘You’d represent a publishing promoter’s dream. The height, the arresting looks, combined with more than a hint of the dark and dangerous. The women would flock to the literary luncheons, the book-signings.’

  ‘A compliment, Anneke?’ he queried with deceptive mildness. ‘Or a condemnation?’

  She subjected him to a detailed appraisal, and took her time giving a considered opinion. ‘Oh, a compliment.’ Her eyes travelled up and met his briefly. ‘I don’t doubt you handle it all with consummate charm.’ Except there would be an absence of ego, she determined silently.

  She watched as he entered town and eased the vehicle into a car park. He cut the engine and removed the key from the ignition. ‘Shall we go?’

  The restaurant Sebastian had chosen specialised in seafood, and she ordered prawn cocktail as a starter, sea perch as a main course with vegetables, and she declined dessert.

  Sebastian merely doubled her order, added prawns and scallops to his dish, then requested the wine steward bring champagne.

  ‘We’re celebrating?’

  He dismissed the tasting ritual, and indicated both flutes be filled. Then he touched the rim of his flute to her own. ‘To friendship.’

  Friendship? Could a woman be friend to a man such as Sebastian Lanier? Somehow Anneke doubted there would be any half-measures. Sebastian might observe the courtship dance, with its seeking manoeuvres, but when he’d staked hi
s claim it would be all or nothing.

  She had the strangest feeling that dinner this evening in semi-formal surroundings was the first step he intended she take to…what? His bed?

  Their starter arrived, and she bit into the first of three succulent prawns doused with a delicate sauce and set on a bed of shredded lettuce.

  It was difficult to sit opposite a man at a dinner table and not subconsciously observe the way he ate. Whether he stabbed his food with the fork, how he employed the knife. If his use of the cutlery was precise, or merely utilitarian. Body language, despite an adherence to good manners, tended to be revealing.

  ‘Where will you spend Christmas?’

  Anneke lifted her head and was unable to discern much from his gaze. ‘I haven’t made any definite plans.’ She lifted her flute and sipped some champagne, then replaced it down onto the table. ‘What about you?’

  He pushed his entrée plate to one side and leaned back in his chair. ‘Paris.’

  The city of love. The Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysées, the Eiffel Tower, the Left Bank and the River Seine. Misty grey skies, drizzling rain, the cold. But the ambience…

  Anneke stifled a sigh. ‘You have family there?’

  ‘Grandmère.’ His expression softened, his mouth relaxed and his eyes held reflective warmth. ‘Her eightieth birthday falls on Christmas Day.’

  She could imagine the gathering, and felt vaguely envious. To be involved, to be part of it… The laughter, love. Gifts and giving.

  ‘When do you fly out?’

  ‘Friday week.’

  A lump settled inside her stomach. In eight days he would leave, and when he returned she’d be gone.

  The waiter appeared with their main course, and she viewed the grilled sea perch with its artistically displayed vegetables with perfunctory interest. All of a sudden her appetite seemed to have fled.

  How long had she known this man? A week? Yet, while his presence had alternately annoyed and inflamed her, there was a pull of the senses, almost as if something was exigent, forcing recognition on some deep, primal level.

  There was a part of her that urged compliance, a devilish spontaneity uncaring of anything except now.

  And that was dangerous. Infinitely dangerous. Somehow she couldn’t imagine it being easy to sample what Sebastian Lanier had to offer, then calmly turn and walk away.

  It was better, far better not to engage in anything at all. Besides, what could happen in a week?

  Anneke picked at the fish, sampled each of the vegetables, returned to the fish, then replaced her cutlery down onto the plate.

  ‘The fish isn’t to your liking?’

  She glanced up and met Sebastian’s perceptive gaze. ‘No, it’s fine. I’m just not that hungry.’

  He speared a small scallop from his plate and held it temptingly close to her mouth. ‘Try this. It’s perfection.’

  There was an implied intimacy in the gesture, and her eyes widened slightly, then stilled as she was held mesmerised by the sensual warmth apparent in the dark grey eyes of the man seated opposite.

  Anneke felt as if she was damned if she took the morsel, and equally damned if she didn’t.

  ‘It’s easy,’ Sebastian said gently. ‘Just open your mouth.’

  She hesitated another second, then leant forward and took the scallop from his fork with her teeth.

  Act, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Superb texture,’ she commented, and glimpsed the latent humour apparent.

  ‘More?’ The query was a soft, sensual drawl, and she shook her head as she reached for her glass.

  What was the matter with her? Even the champagne tasted different.

  The waiter appeared and removed both plates, queried their preference for tea or coffee.

  ‘Tea—Earl Grey,’ Anneke qualified, while Sebastian chose black coffee.

  There was music, and a small dance floor, with two couples moving together as a slow ballad emitted from strategically placed speakers.

  ‘Dance with me.’

  She looked at him carefully, and knew she should refuse. There was something evident in his expression she couldn’t quite define. Sensuality, intoxicating and mesmeric. Bewitching chemistry at its zenith.

  Anneke gathered her napkin and placed it on the table, then stood to her feet and allowed Sebastian to lead her to the dance floor.

  He caught her close with natural ease, his steps fluid as he led her slowly round the small square.

  She could close her eyes and pretend there was no one else around. Slide her hands up over his shoulders and link them together at his nape. Undo the leather clasp that bound his hair, then thread her fingers at will through its length.

  The image remained with her of how he’d looked the first night she’d caught sight of him in her aunt’s kitchen. A five o’clock shadow that had deepened into dark stubble, his hair loose and tousled. Even then she’d thought him lethal. Shameless, when he’d captured her head and bestowed a plundering kiss.

  One ballad led on to another, and it was more than five minutes before the pace changed to something upbeat.

  Sebastian led her back to the table. ‘More tea?’

  ‘No.’ It was after ten. They’d eaten a leisurely meal, enjoyed a dance. There was no reason to linger. ‘Would you mind if we leave?’

  Sebastian settled the bill, and they walked to the car park. Within minutes the Range Rover eased its way onto the road, then picked up speed as they left the town behind.

  Headlights shone twin beams into the encroaching darkness, and Anneke leaned her head back and focused on the road.

  At this time of night there wasn’t much traffic, and all too soon Sebastian reached the turn-off leading down to both cottages.

  Anneke reached for the door-clasp as soon as he switched off the engine.

  ‘Come in and share a drink with me.’

  Every nerve in her body screamed an emphatic no. ‘It’s late, and I’m tired.’ Did she sound as breathless as she felt? Dear heaven, she hoped not!

  He caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘You can sleep in tomorrow.’

  ‘Sebastian—’

  He stilled her voice by the simple expediency of pressing a hand over her mouth. ‘Anneke.’ His voice held a teasing quality. ‘Are you afraid of me?’

  She hesitated a fraction too long. ‘No, of course not.’

  His smile was warm and infinitely sensual. ‘Then come share a coffee with me.’

  Ten minutes, she compromised. She’d drink the coffee, then she’d go home.

  Shaef greeted them at the door with restrained delight, and sank down at Anneke’s feet as she chose the informality of the kitchen in preference to the lounge.

  Sebastian shrugged off his jacket and discarded his tie, then he crossed to the sink and filled the coffee-maker with water, ground fresh beans and spooned them into the filter, then depressed the switch. ‘Milk or cream?’ He crossed to a cupboard and extracted two cups and saucers.

  ‘Milk.’

  He opened the refrigerator door, and she saw what looked suspiciously like her bombe au chocolat. Beside it was the sponge stuffed with strawberries and cream.

  ‘You should throw them out.’

  He shot her an amused glance. ‘Not yet. I like to look at them.’

  Her voice came out as a strangled sound. ‘Why?’

  He extracted a carton of milk and closed the refrigerator door. ‘Because it reminds me of how much trouble you went to trying to kill me with indigestion.’

  Of course he knew. How could he not?

  ‘I was intrigued to know what you’d dream up to serve me next.’

  The coffeemaker completed its cycle, and Sebastian took hold of the carafe and filled both cups.

  ‘It was a challenge,’ she conceded with a tinge of humour. She spooned in sugar, stirred, then sipped the contents. ‘I owe you a meal. A decent one,’ she qualified.

  ‘An attempt to redeem yourself?’

  ‘I’ll go one better,’ sh
e said solemnly. ‘Give me a menu, and I’ll prepare the food. Do you prefer vegetables or salad?’

  ‘Vegetables. Buttered baby potatoes in their jackets, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, honeyed carrots.’

  ‘Dessert?’

  ‘You.’

  Anneke’s eyes flew wide. ‘Sorry, I don’t decorate body parts. Suggest something more conventional.’

  He replaced his cup, removed hers, then captured her hands and pulled her towards him. ‘Will this do?’

  She didn’t have a chance to answer. His mouth closed over hers in a gentle exploration that melted her bones.

  Hands moulded her close as he deepened the kiss, and she opened her mouth to him, slid the tip of her tongue beneath the hardness of his own, and felt his breath catch.

  Anneke wasn’t quite ready for the long, sweeping response as he took her from pleasure to possession, then staked a claim.

  It was all she could do to hang on and ride the storm of his passion.

  No one had kissed her with quite this degree of hunger, and her whole body throbbed beneath his explosive touch as he began a trail of discovery of each and every pleasure pulse.

  His mouth left hers and sought the vulnerable column of her throat, the delicate hollow, the edge of her neck, before slipping low to the soft curve of her breast.

  Somehow the zip fastening at the back of her dress slid free, and the tiny shoestring straps were eased over each shoulder.

  An indistinguishable moan died in her throat as deft fingers teased a sensitive peak to hardness, then rendered a similar supplication to its twin.

  He took her to the brink between pleasure and pain, then trailed his mouth down to suckle each tender nub until she moved restlessly against him.

  It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and a soundless gasp escaped her lips as one hand slid to the apex between her thighs, teased the thin silk barrier of her briefs, only to retreat.

  Anneke whimpered in protest, then she caught hold of his head and brought his mouth to her own in fierce possession, testing his control.

  She’d thought to delight in his loss of it, but nothing prepared her for the deep, penetrating invasion that took hold of her emotions and tossed them high.