First-Class Seduction

by Lee Wilkinson

  When he finally raised his head, she opened heavy lids to find he was staring down at her, a cool, assessing look in his blue-grey eyes.

  A split second later that disconcerting look was gone and, smiling into her dazed face, he was enquiring softly, ‘Anything else to say? I’m more than happy to go on kissing you.’

  From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a small but interested audience, and, blushing furiously, muttered, ‘We’re being stared at.’

  His fingers moved caressingly on her nape. ‘I don’t mind in the least.’

  ‘Well, I do!’ she snapped.

  ‘I admit to preferring privacy, but if the need arises…’ glancing at a passing couple who were kissing as they walked, he shrugged ‘…when in Rome…’ Then he added, his voice soft with purpose, ‘Won’t you change your mind about lunching with me?’

  She hesitated, wanting to refuse but unable to go on fighting his determination.

  He took her hand and, threading his fingers through hers, began to stroll along the sunny street. Resenting his high-handedness, his methods of persuasion, she remained silent.

  After a time, Andrew glanced at her and queried, ‘Have you been to Italy before?’

  When she didn’t immediately answer, he said humorously, as though determined to lighten the atmosphere, ‘If you don’t want to speak, just nod your head once for yes, twice for no.’

  Smiling despite herself, she answered, ‘I visited Rome a couple of months ago, but it was just a short business trip for my father’s firm.’

  ‘Yet you understand the language.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You obviously followed what I was saying to the waiter. How well do you speak it?’

  ‘Nowhere near as fluently as you do,’ she conceded.

  Surprising her, he said, ‘My mother was Italian, so though I was born in England I was brought up to be bilingual.’

  ‘Your father was English?’

  ‘Yes. He died while I was still at school, but, Anglicised by this time, my mother stayed in England instead of returning to Italy. After I left college I spent a number of years travelling in the more remote parts of the globe, and while I was away she fell in love with and married a London businessman.’

  Then, harking back, he said, ‘So how did you come to learn Italian?’

  ‘Before I joined Grant Filey I combined a business management course with two modem languages.’

  ‘Why Grant Filey?’

  ‘When the company was first started, Dad had a partner, Conrad Filey, who dealt with the financial side of things while Dad did the marketing. It was a successful but somewhat stormy partnership, I gather, that finally ended with a quarrel and Mr Filey leaving the firm.’

  ‘It must have been over something pretty serious to make him do that?’

  ‘I don’t know what it was over; Dad never told me.’

  ‘What did you think of Filey?’

  Wondering about this interest in her father’s expartner, Bel answered, ‘I never met him. I was away at school, then college, and he’d gone before I joined the company.’

  ‘When you did, did you find any resentment amongst the staff?’

  ‘You mean charges of nepotism? No, not really. Everyone was very nice to me. But because I was the boss’s daughter I felt the need to work twice as hard as anybody else to prove myself.’

  ‘And did you? Prove yourself, I mean?’

  On the defensive, she said, ‘When our European marketing director retired and I was given his job, I was satisfied I’d earned it.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Three months.’

  That same weekend Roderick had produced an engagement ring and asked her to marry him. She’d been on top of the world; her career and her future had seemed secure and bright.

  But now her engagement had ignominiously ended and the firm was faced with the threat of a hostile takeover. Any feeling of security had dispersed, insubstantial as smoke.

  They had turned down a relatively quiet street lined with select shops and courtyard cafés when Andrew remarked thoughtfully, ‘Your career must be important to you.’

  Though it was a statement rather than a question, she answered, ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Then you had intended to keep on with it after you were married?

  ‘I’d hoped to.’

  ‘Bentinck’s rather traditional. I can’t imagine him liking the idea of a working wife.’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  That had been one of the few bones of contention between Roderick and herself.

  Andrew raised a dark brow. ‘So, as the engagement went ahead, I presume you compromised?’

  ‘Yes, we agreed that I would keep my job until we decided to have children, then I would devote my time to our family.’ Stiffly, she added, ‘But as it’s no longer relevant I can’t see that it matters.’

  ‘I just wondered how strongly you felt on the subject. You see, I’m forced to agree with Bentinck on this. I don’t like the idea of a working wife either.’

  Before she could make any comment, he said briskly, ‘But that’s enough of work and business. We’re on holiday.’

  Bringing her to a halt outside a trattoria, he said, ‘I’m glad you changed your mind about lunching with me. To get the most pleasure from life everyone needs someone to share the simple things—like eating lunch, a stroll in the sunshine. I hope you’re ready to eat? This is Roberto’s.’

  Before she could catch her breath she was being led into the quiet unpretentious trattoria, where they were met by the plump, beaming proprietor, who greeted Andrew warmly and showed them to a secluded table for two.

  After the glare of the street, the dim interior was curiously restful, the simple colour-washed walls pleasant and appealing.

  ‘What do you think of it?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘Good. You’ll find the food is first class. I usually eat here at least once when I’m in Rome.’

  ‘Do you come to Rome often?’

  ‘Every month or so.’

  ‘Always on business?’

  ‘Not always.’ With a glint in his eye, he admitted, ‘I have been known to come for pleasure.’

  The glint made her wonder if he had an Italian amante to provide that pleasure.

  Finding the idea strangely unpalatable, but unable to let it go, she fished, ‘Do you always stay at the same hotel?’

  ‘When I come to Rome I have no need to stay at a hotel,’ he admitted.

  It wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, and she was wishing she’d let the subject drop when he added, ‘I like to have pieds-à-terre in the places I visit most frequently.’

  ‘Which are they?’ She tried for the right amount of polite interest.

  ‘New York, Paris and Rome, of course.’

  ‘And you have an apartment in each of them?’

  ‘I have service flats in the first two, and I own a house in Rome…’

  Complete with mistress?

  ‘Though I enjoy travelling, hotels can be lonely and impersonal.’

  Even if he hadn’t been wealthy, she felt sure that a man with his kind of sex appeal would never need to be lonely.

  Recalling her own inability to resist him, she bit on the sore tooth and commented sardonically, ‘I’d have thought there would always be some willing woman to share your bed.’

  He heard the latent hostility, and the grey eyes narrowed, pinning her. But he said, evenly enough, ‘While it doesn’t suit me to live like a monk, I prefer to have one special woman in my life rather than a series of bedmates.’

  A waiter appeared at the table carrying a steaming dish of Fettucine alla Panna, fresh Parmesan and, with Roberto’s compliments, a bottle of chilled Orvieto.

  The ribbon pasta, with its simple but delicious sauce of butter and cream, proved to be every bit as good as Andrew had predicted, but Bel left the wine untouched.

  ‘One glass won’t do you any h
arm,’ he coaxed.

  Repressing a shiver, she said, ‘I’ve gone off alcohol.’ ‘You shouldn’t let one unfortunate experience deprive you of the pleasure of a glass of wine with a meal. And we can’t hurt Roberto’s feelings…’

  Seeing her waver, Andrew added, ‘You’ll find this Orvieto beautifully cool and crisp.’

  A reluctant sip proved the truth of his words, and rather to her surprise she found herself thoroughly enjoying the delicate, fruity freshness of the wine.

  As they ate she thought about his stated preference for one special woman in his life, and realised that if the ‘one special woman’ was an Italian amante, she might be mistaken in thinking he’d followed her to Rome…

  No, she couldn’t believe she was mistaken. He had followed her; she was certain…

  But if he already had a mistress, why pursue her with such determination?

  Unless he fancied a change?

  Surreptitiously she studied his hard face, the arrogant tilt of his dark head, the ruthless line of his mouth, the determined jaw, and, leaving aside the sheer attraction of those handsome features, knew she was looking at a man who always won, who always got what he set out to get.

  All at once, frightened half to death, she shivered uncontrollably.

  His quick glance took in that betraying movement and her sudden loss of colour. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he queried.

  Giving herself no time to think, she demanded jerkily, ‘I was just wondering what kind of game you’re playing? What do you wan?’

  Thickly lashed smoke-grey eyes smiled into green. ‘You know perfectly well what I want,’ he answered chidingly.

  In a fierce whisper she said, ‘If you’ll forgive the crudeness, thanks to my own stupidity and your lack of principles, you’ve already had me.’ Then she blushed furiously at having put the main source of her discomfort into words.

  His lips took on a wry slant ‘I thought I’d already made it clear that I don’t much care for one-night stands.’ Reaching across the table, he lifted her hand. ‘And as far as our relationship is concerned, that’s the very last thing I want.’

  His mouth, warm against her sensitive palm, sent a shiver of desire through her. He was testing or enticing, she recognised, and she wasn’t sure which. Probably both.

  But, no matter how tempted she might be, affairs weren’t her style. ‘And the very last thing I want,’ she managed thickly, ‘is for “our relationship” to continue.’

  Looking in no way perturbed, he touched his lips to the fine blue veins on her inner wrist. ‘In that case I’ll have to see what I can do to change your mind.’

  Gritting her teeth, she snatched her hand free. ‘After ruining my engagement and wrecking my life, nothing you can do or say will ever change my mind. As soon as lunch is over I intend to go my own way, and this time I mean it!’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ he said mildly. ‘I would have enjoyed showing you Rome…’

  Having expected him to put up more of a fight, she was surprised into feeling something resembling disappointment.

  ‘Ah, well,’ he went on with a sigh. ‘if our time together is to be so short, don’t let’s waste it fighting.’ He held out a long, well-shaped hand. ‘Truce?’

  Unable to refuse the olive branch, she put hers into it. ‘Truce.’

  After a brief squeeze he let it go, and began to talk entertainingly about the Roman way of life while they were served a delectable ice-cream covered in toasted almonds.

  As Bel took a spoonful a tiny flake of almond escaped and settled on her camisole top. Glancing down, she brushed it off.

  Andrew’s smoky eyes followed the movement and lingered on the soft curve of her breast outlined by the silky material.

  Feeling her face grow warm, she kept her head bent over the sweet. Just his look affected her as much as if he’d leaned over and used his own lean fingers to brush the flake off. It gave her not only a new awareness of her femininity, but a disturbing sense of her own vulnerability.

  Calling herself all kinds of a fool, she made a valiant effort to pull herself together, and by the time the waiter brought some creamy Dolcelatte and a pot of coffee she had recovered her poise sufficiently to be able to lift a calm face.

  Having done justice to both the cheese and the excellent coffee, she sat back with a sigh. ‘The whole meal was superb. Thank you.’

  ‘Instead of thanks, spend the rest of the day with me, Bel.’

  At this point in the game, she might have withstood bulldozing tactics, but the straightforward appeal threw her. She opened her mouth to refuse, hesitated, and was lost.

  He read her unspoken capitulation and, masking his satisfaction, suggested casually, ‘Tell me what you’d like to see?’

  Throwing caution to the winds, excitement rising, she began to reel off a list. ‘I’d like to see the Roman Forum, St Peter’s, the Trevi fountain, the Colosseum—’

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ he begged, laughing. ‘There’s a limit to what we can cover in one afternoon.’

  She smiled back, the first natural and spontaneous smile she’d ever given him, and agreed, ‘OK, so I’ll settle for what’s possible.’

  Her smile lit up her face, and from being coolly beautiful she became wholly enchanting.

  His eyes fixed on her, Andrew was silent for a moment before, reaching for her hand, he said a shade huskily, ‘Come on, then, let’s get started.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AS SOON as they’d said grazie tante and arrivederci to Roberto, Andrew tucked Bel’s arm through his and led her out into the heat of the day.

  Noticing her golden tan against his own olive skin, he remarked, ‘Though you’re so fair, you seem to like the sun.’

  ‘I love it,’ she answered cheerfully. ‘Which is just as well. What would I do on an afternoon like this if I didn’t like the sun?’

  ‘It could have its compensations.’ Slanting her a teasing glance, he suggested, ‘We could spend the afternoon in bed with the curtains drawn…’ and chuckled when she blushed furiously.

  Having hailed a passing yellow taxi, he helped her in and, sitting beside her, leaned forward to ask the driver to take them to the Roman Forum.

  His muscular thigh pressed against hers, and every nerve in her body tightened while heat raced through her. Even when he settled back in his seat, he was too close for her peace of mind.

  Intentionally close?

  But he seemed to be innocently unaware of her discomfort.

  Attempting to move unobtrusively, she edged away, and heard him laugh half under his breath.

  So he had known! She found herself wishing that she’d sat still and tried to appear indifferent, instead of making that revealing movement.

  But either way he’d won, she admitted grimly.

  The knowledge didn’t please her.

  Face averted, she looked steadfastly out of the window, but her mind was on the man beside her rather than the streets of Rome.

  Why had she allowed herself to be put in this dangerous situation? He’d already proved he could overwhelm her senses, make her forget all the caution and common sense she’d thought an integral part of her nature.

  Just being with him was playing with fire, and, having been burnt once, she ought to have learned her lesson.

  But she’d had very little option. He’d more or less forced his company on her.

  No, that wasn’t the truth, and an innate honesty made her admit it. This time he hadn’t used coercion. He’d asked. All she’d needed to do was stick to her guns and refuse.

  So why hadn’t she?

  Now she was being honest with herself, the answer was frighteningly simple. Because he already had a hold on her imagination and her senses.

  Deep down, in spite of everything, she had wanted to be with him, and, ignoring all the rules of safety and self-preservation, had weakly succumbed.

  But, having faced the truth and admitted the full extent of her danger, she must remember how short-lived, how fickle phys
ical attraction could be, and when the afternoon was over make a clean and final break.

  That decided, she determined to push all the worry from her mind and try to enjoy the rest of the day and the sights of Rome.

  After a walk through the magnificent but melancholy, weed-grown remains of the forum, they made their way to the Colosseum, outside which, inside a semi-circle of tourist buses and flower stalls, several horse-drawn carriages were lined up.

  ‘I thought we’d take a carrozza for the next leg,’ he told her.

  The black carriages were well-polished, the wheels and shafts painted bright red. Several of the horses were wearing straw hats, their ears poking through the holes, and she was pleased to see that they all looked well-fed and cared for.

  She’d started to say so to Andrew when she realised he had momentarily vanished. He reappeared almost immediately and, dropping a light kiss on her lips, handed her a single, exquisite rose.

  The nearest driver, his leathery face wreathed in smiles, gave an elaborate sigh and, putting his thumb and index finger to his mouth blew a kiss into the air.

  Bel blushed as crimson as the rose, but, appearing in no way put out, Andrew settled her into the carriage and gave instructions to the driver.

  They set off at a gallop, narrowly missing a bus, before dropping to a brisk trot.

  To take her mind off the prospect of imminent death, she thought about Andrew, surprised by the things she was finding out about him.

  Buying her the rose seemed to prove he was romantic—something Roderick had never been—and selfassured enough not to mind being chaffed about it.

  She was lifting the rose to smell its fragrance, and handling it incautiously, when she felt a sudden sharp pain as a thorn embedded itself in her finger.

  ‘Ouch!’

  Taking her hand and seeing the welling drop of bright red blood, Andrew put her finger in his mouth and sucked.

  Desire, swift and urgent, kicked in her abdomen.

  An answering flame ignited in his smoky eyes.

  Heart racing with suffocating speed, Bel hurriedly drew her hand away and stared fixedly at the elaborate mass of white marble columns and steps that fronted the Victor Emmanuel momument.