First-Class Seduction

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First-Class Seduction Page 11

by Lee Wilkinson


  ‘Thinking about it,’ her father remarked, ‘I suppose I shall have to start looking for a new European marketing director?’

  ‘Things have happened so quickly that we’ve had no time to discuss it, but Andrew did once say that he would prefer his wife not to work, to be free to travel with him…he’s a person who values companionship.’

  Surprising her, Peter said, ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve said about him. I’ve often wished I’d spent more time with your mother while I had the chance, instead of making work my god.’

  Then, shrugging off past regrets, he said, ‘So when do I get to meet this man of yours?’

  She smiled. ‘As soon as possible. Come over tonight, if you like.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve promised to play bowls, and it’s too late to drop out now.’

  ‘What about dinner tomorrow night?’

  ‘Fine.’

  At the door, she said, ‘I’ll ring you to make the final arrangements. If you should happen to want me, Andrew has the penthouse apartment in the Lambeck Building on Park Lane. I’m afraid I don’t know the phone number off hand.’

  She had kissed his cheek and was about to turn away when a thought stopped her in her tracks. ‘I’ve been so taken up with telling you my news, I almost forgot to ask if you’ve heard from Ellen?’

  ‘No.’

  Bel gave an exasperated sigh. ‘She rang me just as I was about to set off for Rome. She promised she’d call you.’

  ‘Did you mention the shares?’

  ‘No, there wasn’t time.’

  ‘I haven’t been able to contact her, so I take it she wasn’t at home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, well, she can’t be talked into doing anything stupid while she’s still in Paris…Did she tell you where she was staying?’

  ‘Hotel Colbert. Apparently it’s close to the ChampsÉlysées.’

  ‘I’ll give her a ring straight away, just to be on the safe side…Oh, and Bel, don’t worry about Roderick and what can’t be altered. You’ve found the man you really love, so be happy.’

  Limp with reaction, but only too delighted that her father had taken it so well, Bel drove through the early-evening traffic to Park Lane.

  When she reached the Lambeck Building’s car park and stopped at the barrier, a well-built, good-looking young man wearing a blue uniform appeared in the doorway of the glass booth. Bancroft, presumably.

  Before she could give him Andrew’s message, he queried politely, ‘Miss Grant? Mr Storm asked me to let him know the minute you arrived Please go straight up.’

  The barrier was promptly raised.

  With a nod of thanks she drove through and, smiling ironically at the contrast, parked her six-year-old white Cavalier in bay three between the limousine and the Jaguar.

  As she turned towards the lifts the doors of the nearest opened and Andrew appeared.

  Just the sight of him made her heart pick up speed and sent shivers of excitement running through her.

  To cover her confusion, she remarked admiringly, ‘I see Bancroft is efficient, as well as handsome.’

  Andrew took her arm and led her into the lift. As the doors closed behind them he backed her against the wall and, pinning her there, demanded with mock menace, ‘Are you trying to make me jealous?’

  Looking up at him, she asked a shade breathlessly, ‘Am I succeeding?’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ He bent his head to kiss her. It was a long, deep, achingly sweet kiss, that only ended when the lift stopped and the doors slid open.

  In something of a daze, Bel found herself being escorted across a marble-floored foyer and into a spacious lounge that, though beautifully furnished, gave an impression of homely comfort rather than cool elegance.

  There was an Adam fireplace, now full of flowers, several overflowing bookcases and floor-length windows which gave on to a long paved terrace that looked across Hyde Park. But, conscious only of the man by her side, Bel scarcely took it in.

  ‘The kitchen and the dining room are on the left, and beyond that there’s the tradesmen’s entrance and the servants’ quarters; the bedrooms are this way.’

  He led her through double doors into a wide corridor with skylight windows and gleaming floors. Unusually, none of the floors was carpeted, all were of beautifully polished parquet, with simple off-white knotted wool rugs.

  She noticed her suitcases were waiting, piled next to a Chippendale table that held a glorious display of mixed gladioli reflected in an oval gilt-framed wall mirror.

  ‘My housekeeper’s on holiday, so I’m afraid you’ll have to do your own unpacking…The guest rooms are this side—’ he threw open a series of doors ‘—take your pick. This is the master bedroom.’

  Advancing into the light, ivory-walled room, whose long windows also led onto the terrace, Bel gazed across the park for a moment before turning to face him. ‘I prefer this one.’

  ‘Would you like me to move out until after the wedding?’

  ‘Wouldyou?’

  ‘If you asked me to.’

  Looking at him from beneath long, silky lashes, she said softly, ‘I might just want you to stay.’

  ‘Are you asking?’

  ‘I’m asking.’

  ‘I love a woman who knows her own mind.’

  Pulling her into his arms, Andrew tilted her face up to his and, having kissed her deeply, queried, ‘Hungry?’

  Turning her face into his tanned throat, she murmured, ‘For what?’

  He said, as he’d said once before, ‘I can provide whatever you need. Food, or…’

  She lifted her head and met his smoky eyes steadily. ‘Isn’t it a bit early for dinner?’

  Her words lit a flare of sensuality, Andrew’s reaction prompting her to respond in a way that a few days before she wouldn’t have believed possible.

  While their mouths clung they began to undress each other. There was nothing leisurely in their actions; neither, it seemed, could wait to cast aside the barrier of clothes.

  He stripped off her skirt and blouse and undies with deft ease while, having unfastened his shirt and tie, her inexperienced fingers fumbled and failed to undo the clip of his trousers.

  Drawing back a little, she muttered, ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  While he helped her, he bit her earlobe. ‘Last night you were so inhibited you wouldn’t even have tried.’

  ‘I wasn’t inhibited,’ she denied, remembering her own passionate response to his lovemaking. ‘But it was the first time and—’ She broke off in confusion.

  ‘Were you disappointed?’

  ‘No, of course not. It was wonderful.’

  ‘The second time will be better.’

  Incredibly, heart-stoppingly, it was.

  Nothing in her experience had prepared her for the explosion of feeling that erupted when, lying on the big bed, they came together.

  There was no long, slow seduction, no gradual buildup, but a fierce, driving need that demanded and took yet at the same time gave all and more than she could ever have asked.

  Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, he kissed her with a gentle warmth that might have been mistaken for tenderness, and at that instant any lingering doubts that she was doing the right thing in marrying him faded and died.

  It was some time before Andrew broke the contented silence to ask, ‘How did the meeting with your father go?’

  ‘Better than I’d dared hoped.’

  As the fingers of his free hand began to roam, tracing her flat stomach and navel, the creamy skin of her hip and thigh, she gave him an edited version of the conversation.

  ‘Of course it was a shock to him, but he’s pleased we’re getting married in church, and more than happy to give me away. He’s going to arrange a small wedding reception at Dunbarton Street…’

  Distracted by what Andrew was doing to her, she ended more than a shade breathlessly, ‘He asked when you two were going to meet and I suggested dinner tomorrow night. I ho
pe that’s all right?’

  ‘Mmm…’ Andrew’s assent was muffled, his mouth engaged in exploring the curve of her breast, his lips and tongue relearning the taste and texture of the pink nipple.

  This time, having eliminated the need for urgency, his lovemaking was drawn out and leisurely. He made an erotic journey to discover and exploit every erogenous zone, finding his own pleasure in pleasuring her while he aroused an appetite she had thought was sated.

  Not until she was on the point of begging did he move over her and with long, slow thrusts transport them both to a shared state of bliss.

  When their heart-rate and breathing had returned to normal, he lifted himself away and, pulling on a short robe, disappeared through the door, returning after a minute or so with two glasses of chilled fruit juice.

  He sat on the edge of the bed while they both drank thirstily, then, taking Bel’s empty glass, said, ‘Dinner will be about twenty minutes, if you want to shower first.’

  As she went to find her belongings she heard the shower in one of the guest bathrooms running. Recalling Andrew’s remark about liking to shower a deux, she was momentarily tempted to open the door and join him. But, remembering his mocking, ‘I suppose we should save some excitement for when we’re married’, she resisted the temptation.

  The bathroom adjoining the master bedroom was jade-green and sumptuous, large enough to hold a round walk-in bath and Jacuzzi as well as a normalsized bath and shower.

  When she had showered and dressed, Bel made her way to the stylish, L-shaped kitchen, where the table had been set for two and an open bottle of red wine left to breathe.

  Andrew, a teatowel knotted around his lean hips, was stirring a pan while he kept an eye on a couple of grilling pork steaks. To one side, in a glass bowl, was a freshly tossed green salad.

  ‘When did you learn to cook?’

  ‘While I was globe-trotting. It was a case of needs must…’

  Bel sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells delicious.’

  ‘It’s Pizzaiola sauce.’

  ‘What does it have in it?’

  ‘Fresh tomatoes, olive oil and garlic.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  He slanted her a teasing glance. ‘Come and give me a kiss and I’ll tell you the secret ingredient’

  She was about to obey when the phone rang.

  ‘Who the devil can that be?’ Andrew muttered.

  ‘It might be Dad…I’ll see, shall I?’

  Before she could speak, a man’s voice that definitely wasn’t her father’s said, ‘I’ve just discovered there’s been a slip-up…’

  Silently, Bel held out the receiver.

  ‘Yes?’ Andrew said curtly, and then hearing the caller speak looked rattled just for a second, before a shutter came down. ‘Yes…You’d better tell me…’

  Bel frowned a little. Though she was unable to place it, the voice on the other end of the line had sounded oddly familiar.

  ‘Very well, I’ll deal with it…No, it shouldn’t present any real problem…’

  Having replaced the receiver, Andrew tested the sizzling meat and queried, ‘Let’s see, where were we? Ah, yes, you were about to come and give me a kiss.’

  She had hoped he would casually mention who hada been on the phone, but clearly he wasn’t going to, and she could hardly ask.

  Telling herself firmly that it was none of her business, she went over and, standing on tiptoe, touched her lips to his tanned cheek.

  ‘Call that a kiss?’ he mocked. ‘I can see I’m going to have to give you some lessons in the art of kissing.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to be an apt pupil,’ she assured him.

  ‘I’m sure you will be.’ With a gleam in his eye, he added, ‘You’ve shown a natural talent in other, not unrelated fields.’

  It served her right for entering the fray, Bel thought as she watched him carry the food to the table. When it came to a battle of wits and words he could run rings round her.

  With his customary politeness, he pulled out a chair for her and, having served her with pork and salad, proceeded to fill both long-stemmed glasses with NuitsSt-Georges.

  She helped herself to some sauce, and, finding it was cordon bleu standard, said so. ‘But you still haven’t told me the secret ingredient,’ she added.

  He grinned briefly. ‘I’ll make that the prize for learning your lessons well.’

  While they ate he told her something of his postcollege travels, answering Bel’s interested questions and describing the various far-flung countries he’d lived and worked in.

  Afterwards they took their coffee into the lounge and sat side by side on the couch while they listened to Rodrigo’s ‘Guitar Concerto’.

  When the lovely haunting music came to an end, Andrew stroked her cheek with a long, lean finger and said softly, ‘You’ve been trying not to yawn for the past ten minutes, so I think an early night might be called for.’

  He turned her face to his and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You’ll have a busy day tomorrow, shopping for your wedding dress and trousseau…Incidentally, where were you intending to go?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to give it much thought…Harrods, probably.’

  ‘You can charge whatever you get to my account.’ ‘Dad said he wanted to buy my dress and trousseau.’ Andrew’s handsome face hardened. ‘I’m more than happy to take care of my wife’s needs.’

  ‘But I’m not your wife yet,’ she pointed out. ‘And it’s a father’s privilege to pay for his daughter’s wedding if he wants to.’

  ‘Very well,’ Andrew said coldly.

  Touching his hand, Bel begged, ‘Please don’t be angry. I can’t bear to hurt Dad’s feelings…’ Then she went on, perplexed, ‘And to be honest, I fail to see what the problem is.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then with a little smile twisting his chiselled lips, Andrew admitted with wry self-mockery, ‘Maybe I feel the need to maintain a psychological advantage.’

  Genuinely puzzled, she said, ‘I don’t understand why.’

  ‘Perhaps because I know you love him and you don’t love me.’

  ‘Do you want me to love you?’ She held her breath.

  ‘Oh, yes…’ Something about the quietly spoken words made a chill run through her, and she shivered. The chill intensified as he went on, ‘I want to be master of your heart as well as your body.’

  She’d known from the start that he was fiercely possessive sessive, so why did that simple declaration make her so uneasy?

  Shaking her head, she said as steadily as possible, ‘I’ve always considered that one-sided loving unbalances a relationship. It has to be more dangerous than a complete absence of love.’

  With a strange, harsh note in his voice, he admitted, ‘You could well be right.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘So in the circumstances it’s just as well I don’t love you.’

  Desperate to change the subject, when he said nothing she harked back to ask, ‘So what will you be doing tomorrow while I’m out choosing my finery?’ And found herself hoping against hope that he might elect to come with her.

  But, his manner casual now, as though the previous, fraught little conversation had never taken place, he told her, ‘I’ve some business to take care of.’

  ‘Oh…Well, perhaps we could have lunch together?’ she queried hopefully. Then cursed herself. Having just denied that she loved him, it was stupid to demonstrate so plainly how besotted she really was.

  But, as though he was unable to see it, Andrew said coolly, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be available for lunch. And surely if you’re shopping at Harrods, it would make sense to eat there?’

  Trying to hide her disappointment, Bel agreed, ‘Of course it would. I wasn’t thinking.’ She made a great show of stifling a yawn. ‘And you’re right about my needing an early night.’

  As though proffering an olive branch, he suggested, ‘Before we turn in, perhaps you’d like to ring your father and finalise the dinner arrangements.


  ‘What shall I tell him?’ ‘Ask him to meet us at Morro Marengo…say, seven-thirty.’

  ‘Morro Marengo?’ Being the newest and most exclusive restaurant in town, it was notoriously difficult to get a table there.

  ‘Luis Morro is a friend of mine,’ Andrew informed her dryly. ‘It was my bank that financed the venture.’

  Equally dryly, she said, ‘I should have guessed,’ and picked up the phone.

  If her father was surprised by the choice of venue, he gave no sign of it, saying merely, ‘Fine, I’ll be there.’

  ‘How did the bowling go?’

  ‘It was a disaster,’ he admitted cheerfully. ‘Pity I didn’t drop out’

  ‘Did you manage to get hold of Ellen?’ Bel asked.

  ‘No, she’s not at the Colbert any longer. She paid her bill and left early Saturday evening. Though she still doesn’t seem to be home yet’

  ‘Oh, well, she’s bound to…’ Bel broke off. ‘Wait a minute, I’ve just remembered something she said when she rang me…My taxi driver was banging on the door so I was only half listening, but she was talking about some gorgeous Frenchman named Jean-Claude who had invited her to his villa at Épernay…’

  Peter groaned. ‘Do you think she’s been fool enough to go with him?’

  ‘Well, even if she has, she’ll come home sooner or later.’ Bel tried to sound sanguine. ‘And when she does surely you’ll be able to talk to her before anyone else gets a chance?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Peter agreed. ‘It’s just that things have gone strangely quiet—almost as if whoever’s be-

  hind this knows damn well he’s won and is simply biding his time.’

  ‘Surely that’s not possible?’

  ‘It isn’t possible for him to have a controlling interest. While you and I and Ellen hold onto our shares we have fifty-one per cent of the total.’

  ‘Well, as you said earlier, she can’t be talked into doing anything stupid while she’s still in France, so quit worrying,’ Bel said crisply.

  Her father laughed. ‘You’re absolutely right, of course. There’s no point in getting edgy. See you at seven-thirty tomorrow, then…Bye for now.’ She was just about to replace the phone when he added, ‘I’m looking forward to meeting my future son-in-law.’

 

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