Seduction on the Cards

by Kris Pearson

  “No...” she moaned.

  “Yes,” he growled, raising his lips from hers for an instant. “Hmmm? Nice? Right there?”

  Kerri jerked as his clever fingertips ran over the flimsy fabric, rubbing, caressing. Waves of incredible heat washed over her as he explored... as his big warm palm cupped her. Then one long finger returned to the lace again, settled on the swollen nub of her clitoris, and started to circle.

  Her thigh muscles went weak as water. Her heart pounded behind her ribs, and the insistent beat repeated and repeated as a tiny delicious tug right under his fingertip. The summer-bright room became darker and darker as all her attention diverted to absorbing every detail of the sensory overload he created.

  He gentled his kisses to match the delicate dance of his finger.

  Kerri burned, licking into his mouth, dying of lust, coming apart in his arms with whimpers and muffled squeals, and helpless thrusts of her hips against his hand, embarrassed, astounded, and pulsing with unbelievable pleasure. The heat rushed through her like a shower of sparks released from a bonfire, and she gasped and fought for breath to ride the sensation up and up, and then through its inevitable slide back to reality.

  Alexandre continued to kiss her—but ever more softly as he soothed her down. His arm stayed locked around her, holding her secure.

  Kerri had never been aroused so fast or so thoroughly.

  Never come with such violent intensity.

  Never imagined her body was capable of such extreme sensation.

  “Oh God,” she groaned, at last wrenching her mouth away from his and burying her face against his crisp blue shirt. “I’m so sorry. This is awful.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  She heard the rumble of amusement through the wall of his chest. Heard his strong steady heart-beat. Heard him draw breath to say, “Not awful for me. And surely not awful for you? I gave you pleasure—yes?”

  “In an office?” she squeaked, scrunching her eyes closed because she couldn’t bear to look at him with such acute embarrassment flooding through her. “With the door half-open so anyone could see or hear?”

  “You worry too much, cherie. My next appointment is still half an hour away. It seems a shame to waste that time?” His finger stroked over the lace again, and with a startled yelp Kerri’s eyes shot open and she pushed his hand away and glared at him. His deep blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “That’s what you get for teasing me about what I’m thinking,” he said, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. “I was thinking what fun it would be to give you an orgasm.”

  Surely her blushing face was growing even pinker?

  “Mine don’t usually seem to...happen,” she blurted, averting her eyes again and burying her face in his shirt-front.

  “Don’t seem to happen?” he murmured. “That felt to me as though it undoubtedly happened. As though you enjoyed it? Drink your coffee and we’ll do it again.”

  “Again?” she croaked, scrambling off his lap and praying her wobbly knees would hold her up while she tugged her terribly creased skirt down to a decent level.

  She gazed at him in panic, and clutched the desk for support. Where the hell was her shoe? “No—I couldn’t possibly do it again.”

  Alexandre grinned and touched a finger to her lips—the same finger he’d pleasured her with. Kerri reared back. She could smell her own scent on his hand—mysterious and salty.

  He lifted his coffee to her in an ironic toast, and she grabbed her bag and bolted from the room, wearing only one shoe.

  She leaned against the wall in the corridor to steady herself enough to push her foot into the other hastily-snagged red sling-back, hitched the strap up over her heel, and groaned with embarrassment.

  How had he done that? And worse—why had she let him?

  More than just ‘let’ him—out-and-out encouraged him.

  She caught sight of the ladies’ rest-room, slunk inside, and closed the door behind her, thankful no-one else was there. She lowered the lid on one of the two toilets, latched the door locked, and sat. Her legs still trembled. Her breathing was way too fast. Her panties were uncomfortably wet. She felt more alive than she could ever remember. And she finally knew what all the fuss was about.

  Alex continued to sit, silent and astounded.

  What the hell had he just done? He hadn’t intended to grab her like that. Had never laid such fast hands on any other woman. But he’d simply had to pull her close. Had to brand her with that first fiery kiss. And, it seemed, had to take it through to its logical conclusion.

  Conclusion for Kerri, anyway. She’d gone off like a sky-rocket—soaring so high he could only marvel at her capacity to accept pleasure, and his own to provide it.

  ‘In an office’, as she’d said.

  What had he been thinking? Anything at all? Possibly not. Maybe pure animal instinct had taken him over.

  Civilized Alex hated the thought of that. He called the shots in every facet of his present life. After a desperately unstructured childhood, his adult peace of mind came from being in control. And his wandering fingers had been way out of his conscious control.

  Wandering? Wandering sounded entirely too leisurely for the super-fast trip his hand had taken up Kerri’s silky leg. He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the buzzing confusing mess from it and return his brain to businesslike sanity. Then another wave of appalled confusion and guilt swamped him.

  What if Lydia Herbert had walked in on them? If she’d seen and heard him treating Kerri to lunchtime fully-clothed sex? All his current kudos and credibility would have hurtled down the drain in an instant.

  He groaned and reached for his coffee, sipping it in a haze of self-recrimination and ever-burgeoning lust.

  Kerri dropped her head into her hands and massaged her temples with savage strokes of her thumbs.

  She sighed and sat up straighter, and waited for her feverish heartbeat to slow down. How was she going to escape? If anyone was stationed at the reception desk she’d stride by with a cheery wave and exit fast. But what about escaping from Alexandre?

  She stood and twisted her skirt around until it sat properly again. How mortifying—it had performed at least a quarter turn, and no doubt exposed the stretch-lace tops of her stay-up stockings if he’d cared to look. Kerri felt he hadn’t been looking much—he’d been too busy kissing her. But as his long fingers had glided up her thigh toward you-know-where he would have found there were no pantyhose to impede his progress. Drat the man! She should have put up much more of a fight.

  More than what? Small shudders of shame and excitement still ran up and down her spine. Had she put up any fight at all after her initial moan of ‘no’?

  A gentleman should have taken no for an answer, surely?

  Especially when the woman in question was enthusiastically hauling him as close to her as possible.

  Groaning, she unlocked the door, raked her hands though her hair, applied more lip-gloss, and regarded her renovated self in the mirror over the wash-basin.

  You couldn’t actually see sex on a person, could you? She’d never seen it on anyone else, but it did seem as though there were glimmers of lustful enjoyment in her eyes, streamers of joy wafting out of her hair, and an air of lazy satisfaction drifting all around her body.

  Had he seen that? Or was he such an arrogant confident alpha-male type he simply grabbed any woman he fancied?

  Kerri reflected for a moment about a couple of men in her past who’d tried it on. She’d had no trouble letting them know their approaches were unwelcome. So why had she allowed Alexandre to go so far?

  Okay, he was gorgeous, and that little foreign accent simply sexy as. But in an office with the door half-open?

  She’d felt stupidly attracted.

  Mesmerized the instant she’d met him.

  The feeling had intensified on Monday night when she’d interviewed him at Gaston’s.

  Grown a heap stronger in the bus-shelter afterwards.

  Made her
catch her breath when he’d appeared so suddenly in the street half an hour ago.

  Been impossible to deny as soon as she’d landed on his lap.

  She ground out a long low enraged sound of despair and frustration, then picked up her bag, amazed she’d had the presence of mind to grab it when she dashed from his office in such a state.

  Hobbled from his office, she corrected herself, casting a glance down at her week-old shoes. They’d cost her nearly two hundred and fifty dollars, and were the last possible purchase she could put on her maxed-to-the-limit credit card. And Sarah had hinted last night that it was past time she fronted up with her share of rent and food money for the flat. Maybe a Lotto ticket would help?

  She sucked in a big breath, inched the door open, peered out with caution, and tip-toed into the corridor once she saw the coast was clear. With restored confidence she breezed across the main reception room and ran down the stairs.

  “So are you coming?” Sarah asked.

  “What?” Alex had hijacked her brain for most of the afternoon. She’d pecked around the keyboard, writing very little useable copy. She was still astounded he’d grabbed for her like that. Amazed he’d had the strength to swing her from her chair onto his lap. Appalled she’d let him.

  And still enjoying tiny involuntary spasms deep inside whenever she thought of his finger caressing her, of his incendiary kisses, and his absolute nerve.

  “Friday night drinkies. Lotus. Now?”

  “Yes, of course.” She forced her toes into the red shoes which she’d kicked off under her desk. “Just for one or two,” she added, thinking of the disastrous state of her finances.

  Wednesday had been pay-day. She’d settled the flat money with Sarah, paid as much as she dared off her credit card, bought a Big Wednesday ticket and won nothing, and ended up nearly broke again. Her only hope now was the Lotto ticket she’d grabbed at the end of her lunch break. Maybe she’d get doubly lucky today.

  They trooped off—she and Sarah, Clive and Debs, Melanie and Cindy and David, dawdled along past the tempting window-displays in Willis Street, dashed across the intersection, and descended into the gloomy glamorous depths of Lotus.

  Kerri ordered her customary Alabama Slammer, and watched with amusement as Clive and Cindy gulped their drinks down and dashed back outside to have a cig.

  Bet they spend more on smokes than I do on gambling.

  “Anything planned for tomorrow?” Debs asked.

  “Races at Trentham if it’s fine? Sarah and I were going to dress up a bit and get the train out there. Want to come?”

  “And find me a rich race-horse owner? Yes please!”

  “You’ll be lucky.”

  “Any tips?”

  “Always back the winner?” David suggested.

  “I wish,” Kerri sighed.

  “So we’re on? Trentham train at ten?”

  And when they returned from the race track next day (in Kerri’s case a hundred and seventy-three dollars poorer, some of which she’d borrowed off Sarah), the answer-phone light flashed with steady insistence.

  She pushed the button.

  “Bonjour Kerri. It’s Alex.”

  Her breath hitched and she clutched at her throat. She prickled all over with anticipation, and cursed herself for a fool. There was nothing he could want from her. He was due to leave. He was just a business contact. He was absolutely not her kind of person. He was too controlling, too ambitious...too sexy. No doubt he was only phoning to apologize for yesterday’s indiscretion.

  “Thank you for your very flattering writing in the newspaper today,” his softly accented message continued. “It’s excellent publicity for Gamblers Anonymous.” He cleared his throat. “Can you call me please? I’ve tried your cell, but maybe you have it switched off?”

  She thought guiltily of the pre-pay card which had run out and not been replaced. Sarah was never parted from her phone, so Kerri hadn’t bothered to take her own in case they needed a taxi. Tough if anyone rang in—it had been one less thing to clutter up her bag.

  And he hadn’t apologized after all.

  “Ooooh—it’s your gorgeous Frenchman,” Sarah teased, overhearing the speaker-phone message from the nearby kitchen.

  “He’s only phoning about his write-up.”

  “Maybe. But he’s asking you to ring back.”

  “To speak to me in person, I guess. He’s terribly conservative and polite.”

  Apart from invading my underwear.

  “He’s flying out on Monday, anyway,” she added.

  “Which still leaves tomorrow. Maybe he’s after a date?”

  “Yeah, right,” Sarah said, sitting down quite fast. What if he was?

  But of course he wasn’t. Her knees had turned to jelly with the sudden irrational hope he might want to see her again. She could barely breathe—it felt as though she was trying to drag hot fog into her lungs.

  Of course it would only be to thank her. She knew she drove him nuts, and he was so not her sort of man.

  But...

  “Alex—it’s me, Kerri,” she blurted the moment he answered. She cringed at her hasty greeting and closed her eyes at her ineptitude. She sounded so un-cool, so hick, so needy.

  “Bonjour Kerri. Thank you for calling back. I didn’t know if you would, after yesterday.”

  Did he sound embarrassed? She thought maybe he did. And so he should, shouldn’t he?

  “Yes, well...” she managed.

  “You’ve had a good day?”

  “I went to the races,” she said, realizing too late that he’d disapprove.

  “Horse-races? And you had ‘a little flutter’ I suppose? That’s what you call it?”

  “No!” she exclaimed, privately thinking that her ‘flutter’ was far too big to be described as little.

  A hundred and seventy-three dollars—how am I ever going to repay Sarah?

  “No bets at all?” he persisted.

  “I won twenty-five-fifty,” she claimed. Which was true, but it had been all downhill after that fortunate start. She bit her bottom lip at the omission, and then gabbled on trying to stem his flow of questions. “Brilliant day—I went with some friends from work.”

  She could picture him so clearly. Maybe lounging back on a classy sofa in his hotel or short-term-rent executive apartment. Or was he in his office at the Gamblers Anonymous building?

  Her face heated as yet again she remembered his touch on her far-too-willing body. Every time she’d thought of it she imagined the gentle caress of his finger, and those strange flutters started deep in her belly. So frustrating and enticing. Enough to make an unfamiliar yearning flare somewhere close to her heart.

  “I expect you’re busy tomorrow,” his husky voice continued.

  I’m not! I’m not!

  “But if you’re free, would you like to go sailing, by way of an apology... for my...enthusiasm?”

  Elation suddenly had all the blood hurtling double-speed through her veins, and her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure.

  So what had happened to the available Sylvie that Gaston had mentioned? Had she turned Alex down? Had he chosen not to ask her?

  “With you?” she asked, immediately cursing her gauche query. “How many of us?”

  “Of course with me,” he said, sounding somewhat offended. “Two of us, in Gaston’s boat. He’ll make us a picnic.”

  “I’ve hardly ever sailed. I bet I’ll get seasick.”

  She heard his soft chuckle.

  “You won’t get seasick, I promise. We’ll stay well inside the harbor. Just float out a little way, drop anchor and enjoy the sun. Yes?”

  “Well—yes. Okay. Thank you.”

  Say something interesting, Kerri. Something sophisticated. Something that’ll make you sound less of a dork.

  Her normally quick mind had gone blank. He’d asked her out and she couldn’t think of any witty or cool or half-way sensible words to reply with. She’d perversely hoped for this, but considered an invitation so unli
kely she’d worked out no appropriate acceptance.

  “Bring your bikini,” he said. “Some suntan lotion. I’ll collect you at ten o’clock?”

  “Fine—ten would be good.” She pressed her fingers into the hollow of her throat and felt her pulse hammering there.

  Maybe seeing him again will get him out of my system?

  Or maybe this is a really bad idea...

  Alex shook his head as he disconnected. Should he have bothered to invite her? She’d sounded offhand, and far from excited by his offer. Maybe he really had offended her yesterday, even though she’d melted into his embrace after only a few seconds.

  Kerri had barely been out of his mind. She’d messed with his brain for the whole week—through five long days of business meetings, and calls back to his company in France, and two further GANZ functions.

  How could such a small person tear such a large hole in his concentration? She was a tease, a flirt, too smart for her own good. She was the mistress of snappy replies, a gambler, and from Sarah’s comments hopelessly irresponsible with money.

  She was annoying beyond belief and she had the most gorgeous tits in the world.

  He’d enjoyed the skilful way she’d woven her interview questions into the dinner conversation at Gaston’s. And been surprised she was so professional after their edgy first meeting.

  It had just about killed him leaving her on Monday night.

  He—Alexandre Pierre Beaufort, business mogul and national celebrity—had been reduced to teenage petting in a bus-shelter with a girl who’d barely sent him a kind word. He’d felt like a kid of sixteen, lifting her up to get all he could of her lush femininity. Stroking her gorgeous skin, and nipping and nuzzling like a desperate adolescent. His cock stirred as he relived the scene.

  And he’d burned for her in his office yesterday after unexpectedly almost knocking her over in the street. At least there’d been a thin layer of fabric between his exploring finger and her very responsive body, although he doubted that was any kind of an excuse.

  He’d tried so hard to have nothing more to do with her.

  He was in Wellington for only one more day.