How To Host a Seduction (7 page)

But from where Christopher had sat, he couldn't see her.

It was a feeling he didn't plan to experience again.

 

I
F THE GLARE BURNING
through Ellen's still-closed eyelids was any clue, sunlight was streaming into the room. The provocative jazz of the night before had yielded to silence. The shadows of lengthening dusk had melted away beneath bright Louisiana sunshine that singed her eyes and spotlighted dreamlike images of arms and legs twined, a strong body realigning itself around her whenever she'd moved.

Ellen didn't wake up easily on the best of days, and on a day like today, when her entire body felt tender and achy, disoriented but so very contented…

That
thought brought her to full consciousness in less time than it took to blink.

Christopher.

Bolting upright, Ellen almost gave herself whiplash
looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. And she'd just about convinced herself he'd been nothing more than an erotic dream when she heard the sound of the shower running.

Tossing off the covers, she forced her feet over the side of the bed. Every part of her body, from her lips south, felt hypersensitive from his sexy attention. Her thighs trembled. Her muscles groaned from unaccustomed exercise. Her sex gave a needy throb—a warning, perhaps, that last night had reawakened an appetite she'd be hard-pressed to rein under control again.

Damn him. No wonder she'd been having such trouble getting him out of her head. Christopher was hands-down lethal in the lovemaking department and he irresponsibly shared his gift without consideration for the repercussions to his partners.

Pushing to her feet, Ellen yanked a sheet away from the tangle of covers—not difficult, considering the bed looked as though a battle had been fought there—wrapped it around herself and made her way across the room.

He'd left the French doors open, but she only spared a passing glance at the private courtyard where a swimming pool sat amidst a garden of lush greenery, Spanish moss and brightly blooming flowers. Gardenia scented the air, her absolute favorite, but Ellen didn't pause to savor the scent before striding through the bathroom door, across the tiled floor, and planting herself in front of the shower stall.

He tipped his head back under the spray, eyes closed against the shampoo sluicing down his face and over broad shoulders, along muscles that rippled beneath sheets of frothy lather, caressing him as possessively as she had last night.

Ellen slid the door open so hard the glass rattled.

“Don't go?” She repeated his words of the previous
night—his
only
words. Ignoring the gravelly sound of her morning voice, she met his surprised gaze head-on. “We haven't spoken in three months and all you can say is ‘Don't go'? Couldn't resist the challenge of getting me to sleep all night with you, could you, even though you know how I feel. And I was a total pushover. Of all the low blows—”

Ellen suddenly found herself struggling to remain upright as he dragged her inside the shower stall. Hot water shot over her as the spray bounced off his head, leaving her sputtering and clutching the sheet, although she was getting soaked. Indeed, half still trailed through the open shower door, but Christopher didn't seem to care about the mess they were making….

Planting a foot on the hem, he crowded her back against the tile wall, forced the sheet from her grasp.

“Christopher!” She gallantly hung on.

He wrestled it away without bothering to meet her gaze, kicked the drenched fabric into a bundle outside the stall and pulled the door shut. Only then did he lift that too-blue stare.

“Good morning, love,” he said cheerily, as though everything was as right as rain in his world. “I thought we should get the ‘spending the night together' business out of the way since we'll be roommates. And you needed your rest.”

Needed her rest?
She glared, refusing to rise to the bait. Of course she'd needed her rest. He'd nearly killed her with what Lennon always referred to as “death by orgasm.”

Clearly misinterpreting her silence as meaning everything was as right as rain in her world, too, he asked, “Sleep well?”

Sleep well?
Oh, sure, she'd slept just dandy for a woman
who'd broken her cardinal rule for relationships:
Senators' daughters do not get caught sneaking out of anyone's bed the morning after.

Sequestered as they were at Félicie Allée, the chances of being caught by anyone who'd alert the media were slim. She supposed that counted for something.

“I slept fine.” There, she'd managed to sound reasonably composed, despite her froggy voice.

“I've missed you.”

That potent blue gaze slipped to her lips, gleamed with a lightning fire that brought to mind all the intimacies they'd shared. And when he brought a hand to her mouth, traced her lower lip with a gentle caress of his thumb, Christopher made a huge dent in her composure. One touch and he dared her to tremble, to sigh, to pull away in indignation…
any
reaction would have sufficed, would have proven he still commanded the same power over her that he'd wielded so skillfully last night.

Through sheer dint of will, Ellen held his gaze, steeled herself as he trailed his wet fingertips along her jaw, over her chin, exploring every angle and curve through touch.

She wanted to deny that she'd missed him, but she'd gone to pieces in his arms. She knew it. He knew it. The only thing to do now was step back, reassess the situation and come up with a new game plan to handle this man's reappearance in her life.

When the answer isn't clear, step back and take another look at the question,
her mother was fond of saying.

But stepping back proved impossible, literally. The tile wall came up behind her and Christopher's big-bodied self crowded her against it. Skimming his fingers down her neck, he traced each hollow as though he'd never before had the pleasure. Then his gaze flicked to her hair and his
expression softened. That same look of approval that had undone her last night.

How could she have forgotten how his beautiful features mirrored his emotions?

Maybe she hadn't forgotten at all, rather had managed to bury the memory deep, in self-defense.

But denial was no longer her luxury. Not when Christopher stood there, water flowing, steam curling around them, misting the glass, softening the edges of the world with the incredible chemistry they created together….

For one rebellious moment, Ellen felt that same needy sense of hope she had felt last night, a soul-deep longing that urged her to toss aside reason for emotion, to follow her heart no matter where it may lead.

She squelched the feeling brutally. She recalled having felt this way before, and every time she threw caution to the wind, she wound up disappointing everyone.

“Why did you cut your hair?” he asked.

Because it seemed symbolic of ending our relationship.
“I was in the mood for a change.”

“I like it.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Oh, I do.” His face lowered and his mouth brushed her skin, that oh-so-sensitive juncture where her pulse rushed like wildfire through her veins. “I don't think I ever fully appreciated what a lovely neck you have.”

Every inch of her grew heated by his big body and the spray sealing their skin together in a silky haze. All those places still achy from his lovemaking began to burn.

Ellen should push him away. Rule number one of survival was to be smart, which translated into knowing when she was in over her head. She was definitely in over her head with Christopher.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “What are
we
doing?” She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected her.

“We're enjoying ourselves.” He nibbled her neck, his wet hair tickling her nose, filling her senses with his freshly scrubbed scent.

She splayed her hands on the tile, refused to give in to the urge to touch him. “It's not that simple.”

“Why?”

“I won't be your challenge
du jour.
”

He nipped the base of her throat. She shivered in reply, couldn't help herself.

“You're wrong about me,” he said.

“Did Miss Q trick you into coming here?”

“No.”

“No?”

Lifting his gaze, he peered at her with eyes that let her see into his soul. “My feelings for you haven't changed.”

Then, why hadn't he been willing to compromise? Why had he just let her go?

Asking those questions meant letting him see into
her
soul.

He went to work on her mouth this time, his lips tracing hers with soft half kisses that made her want to sigh. “There are no hard and fast rules in love,” he whispered. “Let it be simple, let
us
be simple. We're right together.”

“You can't know that.”

Another brush of his lips, light, sweet. “But I do. Last night only proved it.”

“Proved what?” She tilted her face upward to avoid his lips, hated that she sounded slightly hysterical. “That we can make total asses of ourselves.”

That
got his attention. He straightened, arching a dark brow as he stared down at her. She'd always equated this
wry look with sardonic romance heroes who pursued their heroines with possessive charm and demanding seduction.

“What are you talking about? You've lost me.”

She couldn't possibly be talking about him. Looking like an ass clearly wasn't part of his daily routine. Inhaling deeply, she took advantage of the distance to clear her thoughts. “We were due in the gallery at seven and didn't show up.” The thought made her wince. “Everyone's going to know what we were doing.”

Christopher grinned. “So what?”

“My authors will talk, which will start rumors among perfect strangers. I'm Miss Q's guest…”
Although she's on my list of people to confront about this not-so-little shenanigan.

“…and I'm playing a sleuth in this mystery. You, too, I assume. I hope we haven't ruined anything important. Thank goodness the media isn't covering this grand opening. That would have been a nightmare. I can just hear the sound bite. ‘The Senator's daughter was mysteriously absent from the events along with the VP of sales from Global Alliance.'”

She breathed deeply to dispel a chill.

“We've only missed the introduction.” He sounded so damn calm. “We can get up to speed this morning. Our absence won't affect the game.”

“But I'm never going to hear the end of this.”

“You're probably right. Miss Q lives for this sort of thing.” Those eyes flashed. “Last night was worth it.”

“I'm surprised to hear you say that. Where was the challenge?” She didn't bother to check the irony in her voice. “You never even had to leave the suite to find a date. You never even had to dry off from your shower.”

“You're a challenge, love, I'll grant you,” he said in a voice so grim that she actually blinked. “But not a game.
There's a difference. I figured getting married would take care of your damn rules so we could be together.”

“You and me getting married is
crazy,
” she managed to say. “It's impulsive. Can you imagine what people would say?”

“They'd think it was love at first sight.”

“They'd think I lost my mind.”

“Well, who cares about
those
people?”

Ellen did. Although Christopher had survived the rigorous requirements that routinely intimidated most men she dated and had passed the tests with flying colors, he obviously hadn't been around long enough to appreciate the full responsibility of being a Senator's daughter. High-visibility translated into living life by rules that allowed no room for impulsiveness.

Slipups resulted in negative media attention. Negative media attention resulted in scandal. Scandal resulted in unwanted publicity for the Senator, which in turn resulted in being forced to deal with
the handlers.

Ellen had had brushes with scandal before, and knew of nothing worse than dealing with her mother's media handlers, less fondly known as the spin doctors. These people turned devastating mistakes into endearing foibles for the public's benefit, swayed opinion from condemnation to approval with their polished presentation and skilled maneuvers.

They coached her on what to say, how to act and what to wear to present just the right image and minimize the effects of careless decisions. The power they wielded was nothing short of scary, and Ellen's few unfortunate encounters with them through the years had taught her to avoid them at all costs.

But even worse than dealing with the media handlers was facing that she'd strayed off course again. She hated
feeling unfocused and chaotic in a family of very focused people.

Although her parents had never even hinted that she was a disappointment—they loved her, after all—there was no getting around the fact that their views of her choices always went hand-in-hand with a good deal of worry.

You need to step back and look at your options, Ellen,
her mom was fond of saying.
You should always look before you leap.

“Leaping into a marriage after three months of dating is not in the rule book,” she explained. “A private inquiry into your background before I can date is one of the rules. Months of casual dating before I can have sex with you is another.”

She'd only lasted three months with Christopher, which was definitely on the light end of acceptable, but not too shabby considering that every time they kissed, one of them had wound up shedding some piece of clothing….

“Marriage is a minimum of two years down the road.”