Master Of Seduction. Sarah Holland
gorgeous!’
Emma laughed wryly, caught the turn of Patrick’s head, saw the narrowing of his tough blue eyes, and knew not only that he had overheard Toby’s gentle pass at her, but had not liked it.
‘Besides,’ said Toby, putting an arm around her slim shoulders, ‘we’re stuck together on this yacht for the next fortnight. We may as well make the most of it…’
Emma instinctively slithered out of Toby’s embrace. Years of practice made her appear to brush him away affectionately, a smile in her eyes and warmth in her body. The perfect rejection of an unwanted advance. And Patrick Kinsella noted it with cynical amusement from the other side of the deck.
‘Speaking of getting used to this cruise,’ Emma said lightly as she moved completely away from Toby, ‘I’m exhausted. All that travelling! Would anyone mind if I went straight down to bed?’
‘No, of course not, Emma!’ Toby tried to kiss her goodnight.
‘Night night!’ she said lightly, slithering artfully away from him and his kiss.
Patrick’s eyes glinted as he watched her across the deck, but he said nothing, and as everyone else chorused their goodnights to her she went downstairs to her cabin.
The motion of the ship was strange at first, making her clutch the banister on the stairs as they swayed faintly this way and that. The wood was creaking slightly, the throb of the engines was oddly comforting, and she certainly felt a lot better moving into the privacy of her cabin after an entire nerve-racking evening with Patrick Kinsella around.
Once inside her cabin, she undressed, pulled on her black silk pyjamas, took off her make-up and brushed out her long curly black hair.
It was warm, private, something of a sanctuary with such low lighting, and as she slid in between the soft, clean sheets she was already feeling sleepy. Plunging out the lights, she buried her head on the fat pillows and closed her eyes. What exactly was going on—if anything—with Patrick? This deep physical attraction, this overwhelming awareness—how on earth had it sprung up so unexpectedly between them?
The answer was fairly obvious, in truth—Patrick had manufactured it by working some peculiar kind of magic on her. He was very practised at seduction. She might be cynical and aware of the dangers, but that didn’t mean she was immune, especially to the charms of a clever womaniser.
Still vulnerable after all these years, she thought with a sigh, and closed her eyes, vowing just to ignore her inexplicable feelings for Patrick, regardless of how much magic he managed to work on her during this cruise.
The ship swayed this way and that. They were out of the gulf now, steaming across the Med towards the Spanish coast, and as they negotiated bigger waves the walls creaked more heavily, until the sound of the engines, the creaking of the walls and the gentle motion of the yacht became something of a lullaby, and she fell asleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep…
She dreamed deeply.
She was in her parents’ house, and she was eighteen again. The doorbell rang. She ran to answer the door, ran outside, and found herself surrounded by a sunlit forest. When she turned around, the house had vanished. All that was left was her bed, in the middle of the sunlit forest clearing, and Patrick Kinsella was sitting on the bed, waiting for her, just watching her in silence.
Emma woke up with a stifled gasp.
The cabin was in pitch-darkness, the walls were creaking, and somebody was sitting on her bed.
She punched on the light with a cry of horror.
Patrick shielded his eyes; so did she.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she said hoarsely, clutching at the duvet, her heart pounding fifty million beats per minute.
‘God, that light’s bright!’ His voice was deep as he let his hand fall, eyes narrowed.
He still wore his black trousers, but the jacket had been discarded, and so had the tie. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat: she could see the black hairs on his chest and the powerful muscles below.
‘Just answer my question, Patrick!’ Emma said. ‘What are you doing here, alone in my bedroom with me——’ she glanced hectically at her watch ‘—at two o’clock in the morning?’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason.’
‘I wanted to see you.’
Breathless, she looked away, muttering huskily, ‘That’s…not a good reason either.’ Now how had her voice come out sounding husky?
Patrick gave her a cool, charming smile. ‘Are you going to tell me you didn’t notice anything odd happening tonight between us?’
‘No.’ She felt her face burning red, her heart banging loudly. ‘Nothing at all.’
His smile mocked her. ‘So why did you avoid me all night?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
His hand caught her chin in a sudden angry vice-like grip with long fingers, forcing her to look at him, his blue eyes glittering. ‘I think you did, Emma!’
She stared up at him, her heart hammering insanely, and felt unable to think of a reply. Denying it wouldn’t help, and there was little chance of slithering successfully away from him in these circumstances—she was alone in bed and he was stronger than she was. Slithering was definitely out of the question.
‘No clever come-back?’ His dark brows arched with amusement.
‘Give me a minute,’ she muttered huskily. ‘I’ll think of one.’ She hated the way her voice kept going husky all of a sudden. She had had no idea that her voice contained that particular quality or tone. ‘Meanwhile I’d be grateful if you’d let go of me and get out of my cabin!’
‘And I’d be grateful if you’d tell me the truth.’
She couldn’t look at him. ‘What truth?’
‘The truth you’re avoiding with your eyes right now.’
She stared fixedly at a point just above the open neck of his white shirt, refusing to meet his eyes, aware that if she did he would bend his dark head and kiss the living daylights out of her.
‘What a little coward you are!’ Patrick murmured tauntingly. ‘So much for Emma Baccarat, the soul of integrity, the woman who can tell the difference between romance and sexual attraction!’
‘I can tell the difference! That’s why I want you to get off my bed and out of my cabin immediately!’
‘Because you’re scared of the attraction between us?’
‘That’s right!’
‘But I thought you said nothing was happening between us?’
She caught her breath, staring directly into his eyes and feeling pinned down through the centre of the heart by the hard black pupils surrounded by all that steely, stunning blue.
‘I think you should leave,’ she said huskily.
‘I don’t want to leave. I want to kiss you.’
Her heart raced like mad. ‘Oh, God…’
‘That’s what I was thinking, all night, every time I looked at you.’
‘Don’t——’
‘Or didn’t you notice I couldn’t take my eyes off you?’
‘I’ve had enough of this!’ She tried to push him away and get out of the bed, but he stopped her, staring down at her, and for a second she was motionless.
Then