The Perfect Temptation

by Leslie LaFoy

  when I look back." she explained. "A month ago I would

  have said that I regretted having come to England with Mohan.

  If I hadn’t, there wouldn't be a difficult decision to

  make about returning to India or staying here. Looking back

  today, though ... If I hadn't come to England, I never would

  have met you. That outweighs everything else. So rather than

  regretting coming here, I'm now very glad that I did."

  "You still have the decision to make."

  "Yes," she admitted. "but that doesn't change the fact that

  I'm now glad I came to England. Knowing you is a greater

  pleasure than the decision is a difficulty."

  He considered her for a long moment and then shook his

  head, saying, "You have the most unique way of looking at

  life, Alex. If it's even possible, it's going to take me a while

  and a good deal of thought to see matters your way."

  Another puzzle for him to solve. "Heaven help me. Has

  anyone ever mentioned that you tend to be something of a

  rat terrier?"

  "If you think I'm bad," he countered, chuckling softly,

  "you should see my father."

  He spoke of him so seldom, but always with strong feeling.

  Alex debated silently for a few seconds and then decided

  that the greater kindness was to intrude. As gently but

  as firmly as possible. "You know, Aiden, it's obvious that

  you really do like your father. At some point, you should

  probably make an effort to breach the gap that's come between

  you. If you don't, it could well be another of your regrets."

  With a dismissive nod and shrug, he grinned and countered,

  "But it isn't one today. If I hadn't stumbled to London

  to escape him, I never would have met you. And since you're

  shaping up to be one of the best things that's ever happened

  to me, I'm damn glad that he and I had that falling-out."

  She'd been addressing the longer term, but couldn't be displeased

  that he'd seized the shorter. "Proof that some good

  comes of everything. And proof that you can-and without

  great effort-bend your thinking when you want."

  He made a quiet humming sound as his brows knitted and

  his gaze shifted out the window. Alex let him wander off into

  his thoughts, suspecting that he was looking back into the

  last two years and trying to shift the way he perceived all

  that had happened. It wasn't an easy task for him; focusing

  on the positive wasn't a natural inclination.

  She so hoped he succeeded in changing that. If he could,

  his life would be a happier one. And then maybe, just maybe,

  he would someday look back at their time together and declare

  that her decidedly unconventional way of going through

  life had changed the way he viewed his own, and that because

  of that, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Which was such a shallow and self-important hope,

  she chided herself. And a not very realistic one, either. Of

  the two of them, she was the only one in love. For Aiden, she

  was just another interlude, another woman in a long, long

  parade of them. She'd have to consider herself fortunate if

  he simply remembered her name in five years.

  Alex turned that likelihood over and over in her mind, examining

  it, trying to understand why it didn't distress her.

  Intellectually, she should have recoiled at the realization that

  she was nothing more to him than a casual, convenient conquest.

  She should be sending him away or at the very least

  working on a steely speech that would put a firm end to any

  thought of an affair. But she wasn't doing any of that. And

  more importantly, she honestly didn't want to.

  No, the plain truth was that she was willing to accept that

  Aiden didn't love her. She loved him and that was sufficient.

  She wanted to make love to him, wanted to pour all of her

  heart and soul into him. Whatever he could give back would

  be enough. Loving him was a gift she was giving herself. A

  very special, once-in-her-lifetime gift.

  A gift that needed to remain a secret, she decided, studying

  him askance. Yes, it was best if he never knew, never

  even suspected that she loved him. She'd remove herself

  from his conscience before it could even think to cringe. Her

  gift to Aiden would be a clear assurance that she fully understood

  and accepted the transient nature of their physical

  relationship. How to go about doing that without sounding

  as if she were buying used silver, though ...

  To the accompaniment of screaming peacocks, they made

  their way across the rear yard toward the kitchen. "I'm going

  to kill them one of these days," he shouted over the noise.

  "You'd better warn Preeya about getting too attached to

  them."

  Alex laughed and traded the key to the kitchen door for

  the note Aiden had pulled from the jamb. Juggling his clean

  clothing so that she could hold her skirts close, she stepped

  past him and into the moisture-heavy heat.

  "Please tell me that it's not a ransom note," he asked from

  behind her, pulling the door closed and shutting away the

  sharpest edges of the peacocks' cries.

  "It's from Preeya," she explained as she read. "She says

  that Mohan left with Mr. Stanbridge shortly after ten this

  morning, that they're planning to return around four-thirty,

  and that while we're all gone, Sawyer has taken her to market.

  She doesn't say when they left or when they plan to return."

  "I'd imagine fairly soon," Aiden suggested, putting the

  extra bundles of silver on the kitchen worktable. "It's getting

  late. She still has to fix dinner. Unless, of course, she already

  did and left it on the stove or in the oven. My mother's cook

  does that on her days out."

  Alex laid the note and his clothes beside the silver,

  stripped off her cloak, and went to look. "No dinner that I can

  see," she announced, closing the oven door. "But bless her,

  she did leave water on the stove. Enough for bathing. And it's

  hot. If you'll draw a bucket of cold, I'll meet you at the tub."

  "Are you going to join me in it?”

  Her pulse skittered and sang and for a split second temptation

  bloomed bright. Common sense seized control in the

  next. "With Barrett and Mohan, Preeya and Sawyer likely to

  come through the door at any minute?" she laughingly, regretfully

  countered, carrying the steaming pot toward the

  screened area of the room.

  From the pump, he taunted, "Live dangerously, Alex."

  God, how she wished she could, how she wished they had

  even a little more time than they did. Pouring the water into

  the copper tub, she answered, "I'll go so far as to prepare the

  bathwater for you and then I'll go into the house."

  He came around the screen, the bucket of cold water in

  hand, and blocked her exit. "I'd prefer if you didn't go off

  alone, Alex," he said, all the teasing gone from his voice.

  "Not where I can't see you or hear you if you call for help."

  The stranger, she knew. The nonexistent mystery he

&nb
sp; couldn't solve. "All right, I'll stay. The silver has to be cleaned

  anyway. I'll see to that while you bathe."

  ''Thank you." He stepped back and let her pass, adding as

  she went, "With the screen between us, it couldn't shock

  your sensibilities too deeply. Not if you don't peek."

  "I'm not going to peek," she assured him, bringing him

  the clothes he'd worn earlier in the day. ''That sort of behavior

  is for schoolgirls."

  Schoolgirls peeked, Alex silently amended from her stool at

  the worktable, but grown women watched. Discreetly, of

  course. From a distance. While pretending they were polishing

  silver. Not that there was too terribly much one could

  see through a carved fretwork screen. Still, what details

  were lacking were supplied by her imagination and the

  kitchen had become uncomfortably warm. Rolling up the

  sleeves of her blouse and opening the first two buttons on

  her bodice had provided some measure of relief, but not

  nearly enough.

  "I've been thinking," he called, rising from his bath, "about

  your returning-to-India-staying-in-England dilemma."

  "Of course you have." Why hadn't she ever noticed just

  how wide his shoulders were? And how lean he was?

  A flutter of white as he pulled the bath sheet off the wall

  peg. "I think you're approaching it from the wrong direction.

  It isn't which you want to do more, it's which you'd like to

  do less."

  Alex put her elbow on the table and propped her chin on

  her hand, watching him dry off. "I don't see that the change

  in perspective really makes all that much difference, Aiden."

  "Yes it does. Which frightens you more? Going back to

  India? Or staying here?"

  The answer was surprisingly clear and stunningly immediate.

  "Going back to India." Knowing what his next question

  would be, she supplied the answer before he could ask.

  ''There's a quality to life there. A rather terrifying kind of

  freedom. Expectation, actually."

  ''To ... ?"

  "Feel."

  "Feel what?" he pressed, casually draping the bath sheet

  over the top of the screen and reaching for his trousers.

  "Everything. All emotions are considered part of the

  divine. Happiness. Sadness. Love. Hate. Desire. To deny feeling

  is to deny God's intention."

  "I like that desire part."

  "You would," she called back, laughing, watching his legs

  disappear into his dark trousers and thinking that it was silly

  to feel deprived by it. "Actually, you'd do very well in India

  You wouldn't even try to resist the temptation of it."

  "You were right, Alex. This is very complicated. Let me

  see if I'm understanding so far." He picked up a boot and

  pulled it on. "Being born English and raised in India, you're

  certainly not Indian, but neither are you completely English.

  And while you have a foot in both worlds," he went on,

  pulling on his second boot, ''you feel as though you really

  don't fully belong in either. How am I doing?"

  He plucked his shirt off the peg and she sighed, resigned

  to enduring propriety. "Quite well so far."

  "Yes, but that's the easy part. There are tens of thousands

  of English men and women who share that particular

  dilemma with you," he said, walking out into plain view,

  carrying the rest of his clothing, absolutely breathtakingly

  bare from the waist up. "What sets you apart is how deeply

  you feel the conflict and the courses you see for resolving it."

  She wasn't feeling the least conflicted about anything at

  the moment. Good God, he was magnificently sculpted.

  "You're disgustingly rational," she declared absently, fascinated

  by the hard ripples in his abdomen. And the chiseled

  planes of his chest, the corded ropes in his shoulders and

  arms ... Oh, if ever there was perfection in human form, it

  was John Aiden Terrell. Somehow even the circular scar

  high on his chest added to it. And he was in her kitchen,

  sauntering toward her, practically begging her to touch.

  He dropped his shirt and coat on the far end of the worktable

  as he made his way toward her, grinning. "Alex? What

  are we talking about?"

  Ask me if I care, Aiden. She sighed, tore her gaze from

  him, and collected what she could of her scattered wits.

  "Going back to India or staying here." Her heart racing, she

  rose from her seat and pointed to it as she went to retrieve

  Preeya's tin of medicines. "You were saying something about

  how I saw the decision differently than others."

  Damn, he'd been hoping she wouldn't be able to remember.

  But since she had, he didn't have a choice other than to

  continue. He sat where she'd indicated and watched her take a

  small metal box from a shelf on the far wall. "On the one hand

  is India," he began again as she returned to stand between his

  knees, "and the expectation to fully experience life and all the

  emotions and sensations that go with it. Fairly put?"

  She placed the tin on the table amid her silver and pulled

  open the lid. "Yes."

  "On the other hand, there's England," he continued while

  she took out a small, wax-sealed jar, "which tends to glorify

  cold rationality and frown upon any sort of emotional

  demonstration whatsoever. Stiff upper lip, carrying on, and

  all of that. Would you say that's a fair summation?"

  "In a most general way," she admitted with a shrug as she

  removed the seal. She dipped her fingers into the salve, set

  the jar aside and turned to him, reaching to cradle his chin

  with her free hand.

  He caught both of her hands and gently stayed her. "Now

  for the most complicated part," he said quietly, searching her

  eyes. They were dark today. A deep, still-water blue. "The

  heart of the problem for you, actually."

  She arched a brow in wordless query and he took a

  steadying breath. "You'd like to surrender to the temptation

  of the Indian way of living life but you're afraid to, Alex.

  There is, after all, a great deal of protection to be had in the

  English practice of being intellectually distant and emotionally

  numb. You can't be hurt if you don't care and don't feel

  anything."

  She blinked and the pulse beneath his fingertips jolted.

  The betrayals were small and all she allowed him to see. Her

  smile was placid, her voice calm, as she eased her hands

  from his grasp and said, "Yet another difficult choice."

  "Is it really?" be pressed, allowing her to turn his face and

  apply the salve to his abraded skin.

  "Of course it is." Her touch was gentle, light, and she

  winced when he did. "Let's say, for the purposes of discussion:'

  she added, lifting her fingers and looking away to take

  up the jar again, "that I decide that it's perfectly fine to accept

  and act on a strongly felt emotion."

  "Let's pick desire;' he proposed, slipping his hands to her

  waist and smiling up at her. "Just for the sake of an interesting

  discussion."

  "All right, desire,"
she allowed, a tiny smile flirting at the

  corners of her mouth as she turned back, her fingertips

  dabbed with more of the ointment. "What happens if I act on

  those urges?"

  He briefly considered a conservative reply, but just as

  quickly decided against it. She was going to be his lover and

  they both knew it. There wasn't any reason to pretend ignorance.

  "Surrender and we'll both be extremely satisfied. Repeatedly.

  And often."

  Her smile broadened. "And what will you think of me?"

  she asked, trailing her fingers along the tender spot on his

  shoulder.

  "What I already think of you. That you're the most incredible,

  interesting woman I've ever met."

  "And what will your friends think of me?" she asked,

  stepping out of his hands to catch his right one. "Sawyer?

  Barrett?"

  "A gentleman doesn't go about sharing that kind of information,"

  Aiden assured her as she got more of the balm from

  the jar. "Not even with his friends."

  She paused, her fingers over his knuckles, and met his

  gaze. "This might hurt a bit. I'll try not to let it."

  "I'll survive."

  "Why wouldn't you tell them, Aiden?" she asked as three

  sharp pangs, one rapidly after the other, shot up his arm. "If