Seduction on the Cards (4 page)

“Come out to dinner then.”  

His voice warm breath caressed her body and sent tremors down to where she was pressed against him in far too intimate a manner.  

He’d done it again. Somehow he’d got his hands on her and was taking liberties he had no right to. 

So why am I hanging on to him as though he’s the last man on earth? 

Mortified, she abandoned her attempts to snatch the recorder back and loosened her stranglehold on him. 

“Put me down,” she demanded.

“If you insist,
cherie
,” he replied, lowering her ever so slowly. Her groin pressed and rubbed against his on the way by. Her thighs slid down over the fabric of his trousers and the long tense muscles beneath. Her skirt rucked upwards, as though keen to help with their introduction. Finally her feet touched the carpet.

She tore herself away, and stood panting and no doubt pink, hauling her skirt down into place.

“Want to hear more?”

“Of course I don’t,” she snapped. 

Alex slipped the recorder back into his pocket.

“So we have a deal.” 

“Not from choice—as you well know.”

His husky chuckle set all her nerve-endings tingling. She glared at him. How dare he laugh at her as though he found her amusing?
 

CHAPTER THREE

“If you don’t want him, I’ll have him,” Sarah offered, inspecting Alex with appreciative eyes.

“Bet you wouldn’t want him if you knew what he was really like,” she said huffily. “He’s a high-handed, arrogant predator. He takes advantage of defenseless women. He’s got wandering hands. And...and...”

“Kerri Lush—I thought you were ‘off’ men right now,” Sarah smirked.

“I am. Absolutely. And particularly off this one.” 

“Mmmm, you could have fooled me, jumping all over him like that.”

“To get my recorder back!”

“If you say so, sweetie,” Sarah said, disbelief in every honeyed syllable. “Have a nice dinner then. Looks like I’ll be eating all on my lonesome.”  

She picked up the mugs of coffee. “Do you want this while she gets changed?” she asked, offering one to Alexandre while Kerri stood there, momentarily speechless.

They moved to the sofa together and sat like a pair of old friends.

 “I won’t be bothering to change,” Kerri muttered.

“
Merci
,” Alexandre said, accepting the second coffee. He peered briefly into its fragrant depths and then drilled Kerri with his dark blue eyes. “
Oui
, you’ll need to change because I have the motor cycle. You recall I said you should wear trousers and a jacket when we ‘spoke’ earlier this afternoon?”

Kerri knew exactly what he meant by ‘spoke’. There’d been very little sensible discussion.  

“Will jeans do?” she demanded. The jeans she had in mind were as good as a suit of armor. “Or will there be other dressed-up people there?” 

He shook his head. “No-one but you and me and Gaston.  You’ll get two interesting men for the price of one.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “See how kind I am to you? A chance to conclude your interview with me, and to talk with Gaston about his fascinating life and delicious food. Two separate articles for your newspaper.”

“I bet this is a set-up to get some free publicity for him.”

“He’s far from needing it,” Alexandre assured. “And you’re still making me bets, Ms Lush.” He turned to Sarah. “She does this to you, too?”

“All the time. She’s terrible. What has she bet you?”

Alex tucked his tongue into his cheek and smiled. “Numerous small things. Nothing significant.”  

Fuming, Kerri scooped up her shoes and dashed from the room before she could dig herself a deeper hole to fall into. The nerve of the man—claiming their conversation had been insignificant.

“She is very...impulsive...your friend Kerri,” Alex murmured past the rim of his coffee mug, chagrin more evident now Kerri was out of the way. “I’m not the ogre she paints me as. I hope to be able to talk some sense into her this evening.”

Sarah sipped and nodded. “Good luck with that, then. I’ve never managed it. Kerri’s had a funny life. She’s a really good journalist—better than me—but she carries a lot of personal baggage around with her.”

Alex searched her face, hoping for more.

“Her grandparents brought her up after her father died.”

“No mother?”

Sarah shrugged. “Re-married and living in Dubai. She left Kerri here to complete her schooling, or maybe because of the second husband, and they never really got close again.” She sipped and swallowed. “Perhaps they weren’t close to start with. She talks about her Dad a lot but never her Mom.”

“So who was the gambler?” 

“Her Dad for sure. Horses, cards, anything. How did you know?”

“Problem gambling is one of the things I’m interested in. I am, sadly, something of an expert. It’s part of why I’m in New Zealand right now.” He cast his eyes down into the coffee mug and stayed quiet for a few moments. Enya’s dreamy music continued.

“Did she really make you bets? Sarah finally asked. “How much were they for?”

Alex turned towards her, shaking his head.

“Nothing for money—please don’t think that. We just had a silly conversation that got a little out of hand. I’m flying out next Monday, so there’s the end of it.” He took another mouthful of coffee. “And she is not the sort of woman who attracts me.” He looked down into the mug.

“Tall blondes?” Sarah suggested, striking a flirty pose and batting her eyelashes without hope.

“Much more my taste,” he agreed, looking up with a wolfish smile.

They fell silent again. Over the soft music they heard Kerri thumping around in the next room with her radio blaring out a stock market report.  

“She’s interested in financial matters?” Alexandre inquired.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Kerri? She’s useless with money. No idea of budgeting for the flat. Must be some sort of research she’s doing.”

After another minute or two, the radio commentary ceased and the wardrobe door banged closed.

“She’s ready,” Sarah said.

“Very quick, for a woman. You can see she’s not making any effort to impress me. Have no fears about any silly bets.” He set his mug down beside the magazines and rose to his feet as Kerri burst back into the room.

“Will this do?” she demanded.

His eyes traveled from her tousled hair to her infuriated face to a low-cut body-hugging ivory top. The faint outline of a skimpy dark bra was visible through the lighter fabric. The top halves of her breasts were a great deal more than visible. They sat like two plump jellies on a tray, rising and falling with every annoyed breath she took. He swallowed.

She’d tucked the ivory top into the band of black denim jeans. Skin-tight jeans that emphasized a slim waist. And no-doubt hugged a perky
derriere
, if she turned her back on him, Alex felt sure. 

At least her lower body would be hidden beneath the table-top, but the gently-jiggling breasts would be hard to ignore just above her dinner plate. Presumably she’d worn the revealing top to get even for the recorder he was with-holding? 

Maximum points to you, Ms Lush,
he conceded. 

Once again she wore outrageous footwear. Black boots with cowboy-type stitching peeped from beneath the jeans, but the heels were lethal; he pitied any horse that got jabbed in the flanks with them.  

She clutched a grape-colored jacket.

“Ideal,” he agreed faintly, holding out a hand which she ignored.

A gust of Wellington wind caught the door and slammed it behind them as they set off down the flight of steps. It was early summer; the first bunches of spiky red Pohutukawa blooms were just bursting out against the darkening sky, and jasmine grew wild on the bank bordering the footpath. Kerri gave it no attention as she tottered down, but Alexandre paused long enough to bend and sniff a sprig of the fragrant little flowers. 

“Are you going to be warm enough?” he asked, as she started to drag her jacket on against the wind.

“It’s only the equinoxial gales,” she snapped. “Same every November—we get blown to bits, but they’re warm. I bet we get blown off your bike.”

“That’s a bet you’ll never win. She’s big enough for touring—plenty of weight.” He reached for the jacket and held it so Kerri could slip her other arm down the sleeve. They walked in silence the few steps to the gleaming motorcycle. 

He handed her a crash helmet. “You’ll see why I chose the bike when we arrive at Gaston’s,” he added as she tugged the helmet on. He donned his own, threw a leg over the big machine, kicked it into life, and motioned for her to climb on behind him.

Kerri did so with apparent reluctance.   

“You found the foot-rests?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I bet they’ll scratch these boots...”  

She slammed her visor down.

Alex grinned to himself, lowered his own visor, and drew away from the curb. Kerri made a grab for his hips, but held herself stiffly away from him.

“Closer,” he called backwards.

When she made no move to obey, he brought the bike to a halt, grasped each of her hands, and pulled them until they clasped around his waist. She slid forwards on the seat so her breasts pressed just below his shoulder blades—soft and warm and resilient. He accelerated again, imagining how they’d feel cradled in his hands, or trembling under his lips.

More vividly than that, he pictured them across Gaston’s dinner table —softly lit by candle-light, and taunting him for the next several hours. Her nipples must surely be only millimeters below the edge of that slippery stretchy top? Dark nipples? Long nipples? He shifted on the seat and muttered a very Gallic curse.

Behind him, Kerri huffed out a huge breath of annoyance. Why had she given in? The beastly man was hardly likely to turn up at the newsroom and play the recording to her workmates. He wasn’t likely to play it to anyone anywhere, when she really thought about it. She’d been taken for a fool...panicked by hearing her own husky gasp of “Oh God! Don’t.” The whole intimate scene had flashed across her imaginative brain in vastly embroidered detail and she’d been desperate to prevent anyone else from sharing those incandescent minutes. Everything had happened so unexpectedly, but the depth of attraction had been real—very real indeed on her side.  

So what sort of game was he playing? With his looks and obvious money, Alexandre Beaufort wasn’t short of willing women. Why had he touched her like that? And then insisted on this sudden dash through the city with a decadent dinner to follow? She sighed again, and settled closer to his big warm body, puzzled but resigned now there was no way out of the arrangement.

Alexandre sensed her confusion as he directed the powerful bike through the leafy streets of Kelburn and down around the sharp university bend. Twice she’d sighed; twice her breasts had risen and fallen against his back.  

He felt Kerri slide even closer as they descended the steep road. Her thighs hugged his hips. Her arms tightened around him as the bike tipped and turned. Her hands smoothed higher...lower...he was almost willing to think she was checking his body out.

Bet she’d be dynamite in bed.

And she’s the last thing you need right now, Alexandre Pierre Beaufort. A sassy little puss with a tongue like sandpaper, not to mention a tendency to gamble. There’s no way you’re getting involved with her.

Annoyed with himself he revved the bike unnecessarily as he turned into Salamanca Road and then had to brake hard as he spotted the lines that indicated speed-bumps. Kerri clutched him tighter. 

He proceeded with more caution as they snaked up the narrow street with its close-set old timber houses and wind-tossed vegetation. When they reached the crest of the hill, he coasted down into the city proper.

He slowed as traffic lights turned red. As he waited to turn, he compressed his lips in frustration. There was no way he wanted her small hands wandering over him like this. It was too easy to imagine his wandering over her trim little body in return. Especially over those lush breasts. 

Kerrigan Lush—she was well-named, for sure. Just as well he lived on the far side of the world...

“Okay?” he yelled over his shoulder.

Kerri levered up her visor. “So far,” she called back. It wasn’t every day she had the opportunity to press herself up against a big warm man and enjoy such an invigorating ride. She’d been enjoying the feel of his toned abs flexing as he shifted his weight to control the bike. He’d appeared bulky in the leather travelling jacket he’d worn earlier but now his trim waist and hips were evident beneath her hands. 

He must have great shoulders. 

And she had to presume the rest of him was every bit as taut and tempting as the pieces she’d got her hands on. 

He’s a scheming rat
.
But a rat in great shape. A girl can admire that.  

She slammed her visor down again, hoping he was oblivious to her exploration. 

 “Only another few minutes,” he yelled. “You’ll need to hang on tight at the top—it’s very steep.”

Kerri found he was right. They roared up the Wadestown Hill and then turned aside and growled higher and higher until civilization disappeared. Up here the big trees were really thrashing as gusts of wind wrenched their branches about. She clung to him, half-thrilled, half-fearful, until he passed between brightly-lit stone gateposts and reached more level ground. 

He glided to a halt, braked, and removed his helmet.

“Off,” he threw over his shoulder. 

Kerri grimaced at being ordered about. She pushed herself away from him and dismounted less than gracefully.

“Where the hell are we?” she demanded after she’d pulled off her helmet. She thrust her hand through her hair to fluff it up again, and watched as Alexandre sat spread-legged on the bike, doing the same to his. 

Her disobedient fingers itched to help.

The harbor lay dark and restless far, far below. The city lights danced in the water and sprinkled the lower hills.