First-Class Seduction

by Lee Wilkinson

  Desire ran through her, wave after wave of it, submerging her defences and dragging her under like some powerful undertow.

  By the time he picked her up and put her on the bed she was taut with wanting. When, having tossed aside the towelling robe, he joined her, with a need, an urgency that wouldn’t be denied, she pulled him down to her.

  But after he’d lowered himself into the cradle of her hips and with a single strong thrust made their two bodies one, with fine self-control he paused and waited.

  When her lids flew open, he smiled at her and said, ‘This time I want to look into your eyes while I’m making love to you, to see exactly what I’m doing to you.’

  His gaze holding hers, he began to move with long, slow, deliberate thrusts, stopping only when she closed her eyes again. She felt that he was looking into her very soul.

  ‘Look at me,’ he ordered softly.

  When she obeyed, appalled by this fine edge of cruelty, this need to dominate, but caught up in a wanting that wouldn’t be denied, he began to build a tightening coil of sensation that gradually engulfed her whole body.

  Then, having kept her poised on the brink until he’d wrung from her inarticulate whimpers and moans and gasps, he sent her tumbling over the edge, and while the tremors of ecstasy still spread through her in golden spirals he followed her.

  Looking into his eyes while he’d made love to her seemed to have made her wholly his. It was the most overwhelming experience she had ever known, and she knew that if he left her now she would want to die.

  But when he’d lifted himself away, he drew her into his arms and, with a kind of tenderness that wiped out his previous cruelty, settled her head on his chest.

  It was bliss. Contentment. Home.

  Euphoric, she drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  When she awoke it was broad daylight and she was alone in the big, comfortable bed. The light curtains were billowing in a warm breeze coming through the open window, and she could hear, far below, the muted roar of traffic moving along Park Lane.

  A glance at her watch showed it was nearly eightthirty, and the silence made it clear that Andrew had already gone.

  She had hoped to wake in time to see him, perhaps even to make love again. Now, though she knew it was quite ridiculous, she felt the emptiness, the sense of loss she always experienced whenever he left her.

  There was a note propped up on the bedside table. Sitting back against the pillows, she unfolded the single sheet of paper covered in Andrew’s black positive scrawl, and read:

  I didn’t want to leave you. You were sleeping like

  a babe and didn’t stir when I kissed you.which was just as well. If you’d put your arms around my neck and kissed me back, I might have found it impossible

  to tear myself away.

  I forgot to mention we’ll be going on honeymoon

  straight after the reception, so when you’ve finished buying your trousseau, pack a case and take it with

  you.

  See you in church.

  Andrew.

  She read it twice, happy at the thought of a honeymoon, even happier that he hadn’t wanted to leave her.

  Last night, when he’d cradled her head against his chest, he’d seemed almost tender. Was it possible he was starting to feel something for her?

  Jumping out of bed, her spirits soaring, she pulled on a robe and went through to the kitchen to make herself coffee and toast.

  By a quarter to ten she was in a taxi heading for Harrods. She bought, amongst other things, a selection of mix-and-match skirts and tops, a seductive nightdress and negligee, some cobwebby underwear and a modest matching set of luggage. Before four-thirty her trousseau shopping was completed.

  Andrew wouldn’t be home, and with everything she needed already dispatched to Dunbarton Street she could see no point going back to his empty apartment.

  Feeling the need for some fresh air and exercise after spending nearly the whole day in a crowded store, she set off to walk to the Grant Filey offices. Her father would still be there and they could go home together.

  The afternoon was warm and sunny, and, avoiding other pedestrians with the ease that came of practice, she walked briskly, her thoughts keeping pace with her steps.

  It scarcely seemed possible that in just a few days her life had changed so dramatically, that tomorrow she was getting married to a man she loved with the kind of overwhelming passion she had never imagined herself capable of.

  A man who might be starting to love her.

  Suddenly she wanted to sing and dance and shout her happiness from the rooftops. With a sudden excess of joie de vivre she gave an impulsive little skip, like a lamb gambolling in spring meadows, and when a complete stranger smiled at her she smiled back without embarrassment.

  When she reached the offices and put her head round her father’s door he was still behind his desk.

  Looking surprised, he said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you quite this early.’

  ‘Having spent all your money, I thought I’d beg a lift back with you.’ Her smile and her voice reflected her high spirits.

  He beamed, and, recalling the previous night and the uncomfortable undercurrents, she guessed he was relieved.

  ‘I’ll be through in a minute,’ he told her. ‘I’m just waiting for the latest accounts figures from Harmen.’

  ‘In that case I’ll ask Rosie to get me a cup of tea.’ Bel made herself scarce.

  It was almost half an hour later, and Rosie and the rest of the staff had gone home, before her father appeared in the outer office, a faint frown drawing his brows together.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Bel asked as they made their way to the small car park at the rear.

  His frown deepened. ‘A discrepancy between the bank’s figures and ours. Harmen is going to check it out first thing tomorrow and give me a ring.’

  They had joined the early-evening traffic and were on their way to Dunbarton Street before a thought occurred to Bel, and she remarked, ‘Speaking of checking. Last night I got the impression you’d been doing some of your own?’

  ‘Yes, I had,’ Peter admitted.

  ‘What did you discover about Andrew?’

  Her father replied without hesitation. ‘As you mentioned, he guards his privacy and there’s little known of his personal life, but his business reputation is impeccable. He’s noted for being shrewd and far from soft, and for having an almost uncanny ability to make money. But it’s also universally acknowledged that he’s scrupulously fair and honest’

  ‘Then you’re feeling happier about the wedding?’

  ‘So long as you love each other. By the way, have you any plans for afterwards?’

  ‘Andrew said we’d be going straight off on honeymoon, though he didn’t say where.’

  ‘He’s keeping the destination a secret, eh?’ With a reminiscent smile, Peter recalled, ‘I remember trying to surprise your mother.’

  Having packed, and laid out her wedding things ready for the morning, Bel was in bed by ten-thirty that night. Excitement kept her awake, however, and she lay and listened to the church clock chime away the hours until dawn was fingering the sky.

  A shaft of bright sunlight shining through a slit in the curtains wakened her. She had just stirred and stretched when there was a knock, and Mrs Piggot appeared with a tray of tea.

  ‘Didn’t want you to sleep too late,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s going to be a lovely day, so I wondered if you’d like the buffet set on the terrace?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that would be lovely.’

  As the housekeeper bustled out she turned to say, ‘If you need any help with your dress or anything, just let me know.’

  ‘Yes, I will.’ Bel smiled her thanks.

  In the event everything went smoothly, and with her hair taken up in a shining knot, she was dressed and waiting in the living room in plenty of time.

  A Mayfair florist had delivered an exquisite bouquet of dark red scented rosebuds from Andrew,
and the door had barely closed when the bell pealed again to announce the arrival of the wedding car.

  ‘I’d better go and tell your father.’ Mrs Piggot was breathless with excitement. ‘He’s been on the telephone and he’s running late.’

  A few seconds later Peter hurried in. Taking Bel’s hands, he said, ‘You look absolutely lovely.’

  She gave him a hug, and, having pulled her veil into place, picked up her bouquet and allowed him to escort her out to the white-ribboned car.

  The church was small and beautiful, the sunshine slanting through its mellow stained glass making jewelled patterns on the polished pews and the worn red carpet. There were fresh flowers everywhere and the organist was quietly playing Wagner.

  The matron of honour, a slender, dark-haired girl wearing a simple champagne-coloured dress, hovered uncertainly while Andrew, with his best man, waited at the chancel steps.

  He turned to watch her walk up the aisle on her father’s arm, and Bel saw that he looked handsome as Lucifer in a lightweight suit and immaculate white shirt, a carnation in his buttonhole.

  When she reached his side he smiled down at her, but his eyes held the possessive gleam that she knew and recognised rather than the love she’d hoped for.

  The Reverend John Blackthorn, tall and balding, welcomed them with a smile, and, having collected the little group with a practised eye, began the short ceremony.

  All the responses were made clearly, and the matron of honour was at hand to take Bel’s bouquet. The only surprise was when the best man produced not one wedding band but two, and Bel found herself putting a thick gold ring on Andrew’s finger.

  As soon as the register had been signed, the vicar thanked and a few photographs taken, Andrew helped his bride into the wedding car.

  Apart from a brief kiss at the end of the ceremony he had scarcely glanced at her, and during the short drive he didn’t say a word. Disconcerted by his air of cool aloofness, she too remained silent until they reached Dunbarton Street.

  By the time they got out of the car, the others were drawing up. Peter welcomed the slimly built, fairhaired best man and his wife, kissed his daughter and shook hands with his new son-in-law before saying heartily, ‘Let’s go through and see if we can do justice to Mrs Piggot’s spread.’

  He had just ushered them onto the sunny terrace and started to open a bottle of champagne when the phone rang.

  There was no sign of the housekeeper, so Bel, who was standing close to the French windows, went to pick up the receiver.

  ‘Peter?’ The voice at the other end was familiar. ‘I’ve done the checking you asked me to do. There still seems to be a bit of a problem, so I’ll need more time.’

  Bel was standing there frozen when her father appeared. ‘Harmen?’ he queried.

  She nodded mutely.

  Taking the phone from her nerveless fingers, Peter listened for a moment, then said briskly, ‘I talked to Hargreaves earlier and he’d like to look at our books. I’ve given him the go-ahead and he’s sending one of his accountants over, name of Lombard.’

  Without looking to where Andrew was standing, just beyond the French windows, Bel was aware that he was listening to the conversation.

  ‘He should be with you shortly. Yes.show him anything he wants to see. I’ll be in myself later this afternoon.’ Replacing the receiver, Peter said cheerfully, ‘Now for that champagne.’

  Moving like an automaton, Bel followed her father back to the terrace and accepted a glass of the sparkling wine. She felt shocked and dazed, thoughts ricocheting in her mind.

  When she’d answered the phone at Andrew’s penthouse that first night the caller had sounded oddly familiar. Now she knew why. The voice on the other end of the line had been Harmen’s.

  Yet when she’d asked Andrew if he knew their company secretary, he’d said no.

  But he’d been lying!

  Suddenly the pieces of the jigsaw dropped into place. The day they had first met, in the restaurant, he had been Harmen’s companion at lunch. That was why the back of his dark head had looked familiar.

  Bel’s throat went dry. Why was he in contact with Harmen? What on earth was he up to?

  A feeling of panic gripped her and her heart began to race. What kind of man had she married? Someone underhand and dishonest she could neither trust nor respect?

  Taking a deep breath, she struggled for calm. The last time she’d had reason to doubt Andrew’s personal morals instead of asking she’d jumped to a conclusion which had proved to be wrong.

  So what about his business morals?

  She thought of her father’s verdict, ‘.his business reputation is impeccable.it’s acknowledged that he’s scrupulously fair and honest.’

  If that was the truth, and she had no reason to doubt it, there must be an innocent reason for Andrew concealing the fact that he knew Harmen.

  Making an effort to fight down her uneasiness, Bel told herself firmly that this was her wedding day and she didn’t want to spoil it. So, until she could speak to Andrew in private, ask for an explanation, she would push the matter to the back of her mind.

  Looking up, she met his brilliant gaze, and with a little shock realised he’d been studying her with the penetrating scrutiny that seemed to see right into her head.

  After holding her eyes for a moment, he glanced from her to her father and said casually, ‘It’s high time I introduced my stepbrother properly. Bel. Peter. this is Jonathan Filey.’

  While Bel stood quiet and unmoving, her mind reeling from the shock, Peter asked, ‘Conrad Filey’s son?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Andrew had told her his mother had married a second time, and to a London businessman, Bel thought dazedly, but he’d hidden the fact that her second husband had been Conrad Filey.

  Looking startled, Peter said, ‘Well, this is a surprise.’ Then to Jonathan he said, ‘I was sorry to hear that both your father and stepmother had died in that big hotel fire.’

  ‘It came as a shock to lose them both,’ Jonathan admitted.

  He was young, no more than twenty-one or two, with a thin face and intelligent blue eyes. He shook Peter’s outstretched hand, then with a glance at Andrew queried, ‘Mind if I kiss the bride?’

  ‘Feel free.’ Andrew gave his permission ironically.

  Touching his lips to Bel’s frozen cheek, Jonathan observed, ‘Andrew’s a very lucky man.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Somehow she managed a smile.

  Brows drawn together in a frown, Peter asked his daughter, ‘Why didn’t you tell me Andrew was Conrad’s stepson?’

  Feeling as though she’d been hit by a bus, Bel admitted, ‘I had no idea he was.’

  Jonathan took the hand of the pretty dark-haired girl who was standing by his side. ‘This is my wife, Penny. We haven’t been married very long ourselves.’

  While the conversation went on around her Bel struggled to come to terms with this latest bombshell.

  What kind of game was Andrew playing? A few days ago he’d made a point of asking her what she’d thought of Conrad Filey, but he’d said absolutely nothing about knowing him or being related to him in any way.

  Why had he wanted to keep it a secret? Though he was a many-faceted man, with a complex mind, she couldn’t see him doing it just to amaze. He must have had a cogent reason.

  Another and more puzzling thought struck her. Having kept it a secret, why had he chosen to spring it on them in this way.?

  Disturbing thoughts jostling in her mind, Bel made a pretence of eating. She even managed to smile and join in the conversation from time to time, as though nothing was amiss, in spite of a growing conviction that something was terribly wrong.

  It came as a relief when, after a glance at his watch, Andrew remarked, ‘If we’re going to make it to the airport, I suggest you get changed.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ Penny asked diffidently.

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Bel smiled at the girl, who looked little more than eighteen,
and, leaving the three men talking, led the way to her bedroom.

  As Penny helped her out of the rustling wedding dress and into the mink-coloured silk suit Bel remarked, ‘Jonathan said you hadn’t been married very long.?’

  ‘Just a month,’ the girl admitted, blushing.

  ‘How well do you know Andrew?’

  ‘Not very well, really. He came to our wedding, but apart from that we’ve only met once or twice. To tell you the truth I find him rather.well, intimidating.’

  ‘Yes, he can be.’

  ‘Even Jonny seems a bit overawed at times.’

  ‘Of course, there’s a fairly big age-gap,’ Bel remarked encouragingly.

  ‘Almost ten years. And they’ve never been what you might call close. Andrew was grown up and travelling round the world by the time his mother married Jonny’s father. It’s only recently that Andrew’s kind of taken Jonny under his wing. When his parents died in that awful fire, Jonny was still at college. There wasn’t any money, and things were very difficult.’

  Then, in a burst of confidence, Penny rushed on, ‘You see we hadn’t intended to get married until next year, then we found we had to. But Andrew’s been very good to us both. He paid for the wedding, found Jonny a job in his bank and bought us a house for a wedding present. That’s why we were so pleased when he told us he was getting married. He deserves to be happy-’

  There was a tap at the door and Mrs Piggot put her head round. ‘Mr Storm said to tell you that your cases are in the car and you’ve only just time to get to the airport.’

  ‘We’ll be straight down,’ Bel promised.

  When she’d adjusted the tangerine silk scarf that looped loosely round her throat and floated over her shoulders, she gave Penny an impulsive hug. ‘Thank you for your help. Oh, and even though you’re already married I’d still like you to have this.’ She handed the girl her bouquet.

  ‘How lovely.’ Penny looked delighted. As they hurried out she added with shy smile, ‘I suppose in a roundabout way we’re related.sort of stepsisters-inlaw.’

  Andrew was waiting in the hall, his strong face impassive. If he was impatient he showed no sign of it as he watched the two women descend the stairs.