First-Class Seduction. Lee Wilkinson
hadn’t ap peared, she could go in search of him without losing face.
‘Do you live in London?’
‘I have an apartment on Park Lane,’ Andrew Storm answered smoothly.
If he lived on Park Lane he certainly had money. Lots of money. Was it possible to be wealthy, successful, stunningly attractive and still single at his age? He must be in his early thirties…
‘Are you married?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.
‘Is that a proposal?’ he enquired interestedly.
Feeling gauche, and cursing her wayward tongue, she said as calmly as possible, ‘As you well know, I intend to marry Roderick.’
‘Pity. I’m firmly convinced that you and I are much better suited…And, in case you want to change your mind, I’m not married and never have been.’
In no mood for jokes, starting to feel a bit dizzy, she made an effort to gather her wits and get back on track. ‘Are you a banker?’
‘I own a merchant bank. Though I would class myself as a businessman rather than a banker.’
‘What line of business are you in?’
‘You could say I have varied and worldwide interests.’
She watched while he topped up her glass again, and, her words slightly slurred, asked, ‘Such as?’
His excellent teeth gleamed in a smile. ‘An oil well in Texas, a champagne house at Épernay, an opal mine in Coober Pedy, and an electronics company just outside Rome…Amongst other things.’
‘How interesting.’ For some reason she found it difficult to get her tongue round the word ‘interesting’, and her head began to droop, too heavy for her slender neck.
‘You’re looking rather tired,’ he observed solicitously.
Enunciating with great care, she said, ‘I am tired.’ Swallowing the last of her drink, she rose unsteadily. ‘Must say goodnight to Roderick…’
Andrew was on his feet and by her side. ‘He’s nowhere to be seen. Neither are our host and hostess.’
‘Oh…’ She swayed a little.
He put a steadying arm around her waist. ‘I was thinking of turning in myself. I’ll see you upstairs. Which room are you in?’
‘The rose room.’
‘Ah…That’s convenient. I’m in the jasmine room, which I believe is just next door.’
Blinking at him owlishly, she asked, ‘Are you staying the weekend?’
‘I’m staying for tonight, at least. If everything goes according to plan I shall probably leave for town in the morning…’
As he spoke he was steering her through the remaining revellers and, proving his familiarity with the house, taking the shortest way up the back stairs.
Opening her bedroom door, he paused, half supporting her, and bent to cover her mouth with his. Tiredness rolling over her in dizzying waves, washing away all her inhibitions, she clung to him while he kissed her.
She was still clinging blindly to him when he raised his head and, unwinding her arms from around his neck, pushed her gently into the rose room.
BEL came back to consciousness slowly, painfully, mouth desert-dry, head pounding like a trip-hammer.
Unwilling to wake, reluctant to face the day, she kept her eyes closed tightly. Surely it wasn’t morning yet?
But it was undoubtedly morning. She could see the sunlight like a red haze and feel the warmth on her face and eyelids.
While her brain stirred into confused life her eyes remained shut against the light that threatened to dazzle her.
She felt terrible! Headachy and nauseous.
Was she suffering from flu? A migraine?
Whichever, and though proud of her full attendance record, she seriously doubted if she could make it into work today.
Maybe it was a weekend? she thought hopefully.
An attempt to remember proved unsuccessful. She hadn’t the faintest notion what day it was.
Had she felt ill the previous evening?
With no recollection of the previous evening, or of going to bed, she couldn’t answer that.
But wasn’t she at the Bentincks’? Wasn’t it their ruby wedding anniversary?
Yes, there had been a Friday night party…Dancing…Champagne…Too much champagne? She didn’t drink much as a rule…
It had been silly of her to drink more than one glass of champagne on an empty stomach, but she had never envisaged such drastic results.
So how had she got to bed?
Perhaps Roderick had rescued her? She only hoped her state hadn’t been too obvious. While he was broadminded where other people were concerned, he wouldn’t like his fiancée making a spectacle of herself in front of his parents’ guests.
Nor would she!
The thought that she might have looked or acted inebriated made her feel even worse, and she moaned aloud.
‘Feeling rough?’ a sympathetic male voice asked, close to her ear.
Her eyes flew open.
Blinded by the sun streaming through the window, for a moment Bel could see nothing but brightness, then, as her vision adjusted, a lean, attractive face, the jaw rough with morning stubble, came into focus.
His brows were well-marked, his nose strong, almost aquiline, and above a squarish chin he had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on a man.
He was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, a sheet pulled up to his middle. His muscular shoulders and tanned chest, with its sprinkling of crisp dark hair, were bare.
So, undoubtedly, was the rest of him.
As she gaped brilliant eyes between thick, sooty lashes smiled into hers.
Bel sat up with a jerk. She too was naked, her pale, silky hair tumbling over smooth shoulders and small, beautifully shaped pink-tipped breasts.
His appreciative gaze strayed over her and lingered on her mouth. ‘You’re even lovely first thing in the morning with a hangover.’ He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.
She recoiled and, pushing back the sheet, attempted to get out of bed. The sudden movement sent her head spinning and made her sink back against the pillows with a groan.
It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the man beside her had been the man she was going to marry, but for it to be Andrew Storm…!
The full horror of the situation was just beginning to dawn on her when, without warning, the bedroom door was flung open, and Suzy, wearing a short tennis dress, erupted into the room, Roderick at her heels.
‘There! What did I tell you?’ No one could have doubted the redhead’s malicious triumph, while Roderick, still in his maroon cotton pyjamas, stood as if stunned, his eyes popping, his jaw slack.
There was a terrible silence before, his voice anguished, Roderick demanded of Bel, ‘How could you?’
When, her oval face white as paper, her throat blocked, she only stared at him in abject misery, a hard flush of colour appeared along his cheekbones and he cried furiously, ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my parents’ house, the pair of you!’
He was turning