Instruction in Seduction (3 page)

Dark granite blue eyes held hers, “Welcome aboard. Anything you don’t understand just shoot. Call me if you need me urgently. I’m usually around somewhere sorting out some customer crisis. Appeasing ruffled egos, swabbing tempers and licking too-big-for-their-boots-behinds. That’s just the management team. But don’t tell.” He’d grinned, her heart bungeed.

She could’ve named a few places she’d happily have him lick. And it wasn’t her stamps supply.

“Great,” was all she’d managed in reply.

“Don’t suppose you could grab your notepad and we’ll blitz the morning?”

Back then he’d been busy winning awards, charming sophisticated women and regularly walking into work with shower damp hair and a linen suit that made her wobble on her typing chair. He was gorgeous and only mid twenties. The youngest at his level in the company; he oozed confidence, charm and professional competence. And sex. Definitely that.

He smelled good, he looked great. He worked hard, he played hard. He worked out at the gym daily (the line of his shirt ably displayed the abdominal crunch count). Even his athletic swagger caused Ailsa’s attention span frequently to stray from her dismal in-tray to follow his receding shoulder blades; his well cut derrière…to imagine the washboard stomach peppered by brown strokes of hair. Perhaps to even stray to x-rated images of him unlatching his belt buckle with an inviting smile.

“Hey Ailsa, how about it?” said the fantasy of Nick in her head.

She should sooner have wished for the moon.

Even her best efforts, lavishing him with lots of big smiles and hand crafted cups of java, had no impact in the least.

But more importantly, in her dreams he’d say, “Come out with me tonight? Let me teach you everything I know about sex? Let’s learn the Karma Sutra in reverse order, with nothing but a forty-hour straight ylang ylang candle for company.”

He’d smile that knock out smile and crook her chin up with his finger, “After a night with me you’ll be all woman. How about it?”

At which point in her fantasy the record usually scratched to the end with a screech and she remembered she had zilch sexual experience and Nick would never fancy her anyway.

She was plain. And she was a virgin who jumped when men talked to her.

Nick Palmer was one hundred and one per cent impervious back then. But now he was in Scotland. Eight years sexier. Offering her his body for the night.

Had Kirsty really made that come true?

Even more of a coup, he was acting like she was Jennifer Lopez and Kylie rolled into one. Inviting himself back to hers for a promising night’s entertainment. Teasing her with flirty banter and watching her with lit-up eyes that hinted at the best night of her life.

All very well until Ailsa got to the fact she didn’t play life his way. Resolution or no. It wasn’t how she was made.

Not since her return from London and all the changes it brought because her big sister was knocked from one side of the road to the other. It had been a senseless speeding accident at the hands of some joyriding teenager out to prove his rally driving credentials. Kirsty had no chance.

She’d gone into a coma; they’d hoped and prayed. To no avail because she hadn’t survived. And then her Mum pretty much lost the will to live too. Things had been tough since London. And not getting acting roles wasn’t as important as looking after her Mum, dealing with her depression and getting over Kirsty’s loss. And social life and her own career had taken second billing. Especially when her Mother’s state of mind worsened…

“Hey Ailsa, you okay, sweetie,” Lisa whispered at her side. “You’re doing a great job. Keeping your chin up. I know you always miss your sis at New Year.” Ailsa was instantly transported to the here and now. The big bullfrog of emotion in her throat stopped her from thanking Lisa for her kindness.

It was New Year.

When Kirsty always threw a big party and sang with her band and everybody in the whole street came along and joined in.

People all around now were laughing, enjoying the good time vibe and she was blackening her own future again with morbid leanings and dead-sis-never-coming-back memory lane.

This was the point of her resolution after all; to throw off her black cloak. To live life again. Her sister and her mother wouldn’t have been happy to see her cowering away from life. Spending time making do with second rate jobs; dreaming of funding her own drama classes for kids with issues one day and never doing anything practical to achieve it.

The street party was in full flow. Ten kilt and jester hat clad drummers beat a heart-stomping tattoo as they weaved through the crowds. Ailsa felt Lisa squeeze her hand in time with the beats.

Just then Ailsa saw Nick laughing and sharing some hysterical joke with a twinkle in his eye. She observed him smile and watch her. Ailsa badly needed that new leaf.

Nick walked back to Ailsa’s side, put his arm around her shoulder, then squeezed and smiled. Their eyes met.

“Where’s this private party?” he whispered and hugged her shoulder tighter. Fiery lips travelled to hers for the second time that evening and sparks went off anew.

He tasted of mint and warm spicy enticements. As resolution kisses to fire your fervour went, his was the call to action she needed.

Ailsa had done her time. Life was for the living and she was about to start her induction.

“Party’s at our place,” Lisa shouted, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. “And according to Ailsa this year’s going to be an epic good time!”

***

Nicholas Palmer Global Internet Travel Company Pioneer could play the joker when he felt like it. Even when on a family crisis mission to Scotland. Even when timing was terrible on all counts.

He might play the relaxed flirt on the outside; but inside he was an ‘unhappy bunny’. With a to-do list stretching patience and his nerves to the limits.

Tonight he was excelling at playing Life and Soul of Party Central to prove he still had it in him. Because for the last year he’d figured he’d spent a decade in a social coma. And a hot woman had suddenly broken through his stifling ethical constraints.

It was New Year’s Eve and he was going home with a woman he’d never met before; so not him it wasn’t true.

Ailsa, the woman with ready kisses and cheeky back-chat, not that he was blaming her or shirking responsibility, had come on to him so fast he’d been blown along with her storm.

So he’d parried. Now he was virtually seducing her in the street, kissing her, holding hands; Nick Palmer didn’t do that. He was a responsible corporate company head. These days he was boring, square, risk-free. He couldn’t risk bad behaviour for fear of reprisals or negative publicity. But tonight, somehow he’d cast that all aside. And now he was going back to Ailsa’s for presumably a nightcap and maybe bedroom action?

This really was an experiment in his credibility as a guy who could still grab a life.

Nick was no prude. He’d done his share of skirt chasing. But he’d never treated sex like a hundred metre sprint. Sprints were over-rated. Nick Palmer didn’t play life that way.

Nick was a gentle, laid back guy; mellow in every facet. So mellow he’d turned into a boring turned-thirty-now Dad about to be up staged by an all action hero Step Dad. A Step Dad his son praised incessantly (turning him a nice shade of jealous green; the kind that looked passable on the tin but from the first brush stroke screamed ‘big mistake’).

The deal of becoming a single Dad unexpectedly in your early twenties and sticking by responsibility was that you were the only action hero permitted. Hence the unhappy bunny state of mind. The loud green paint jealous mood.

“You’re quiet,” said Ailsa. “Second thoughts?”

He looked at her walking beside him. Still wearing more clothes than a coat rack; she really did dress for warmth. Which was a shame; he suspected that underneath all that atmospheric armour was a hot babe.

And her banter sent off sparks and she reminded him of someone he couldn’t quite place. It was life affirming to be led along. Especially for a man whose social calendar made an antiquarian book convention look like a rocking party.

“I’m fine. I hardly know anything about you,” he said.

They were walking back now to her place in Edinburgh’s trendy Stockbridge area (he could tell it was cool by the galleries, the craft and jewellery stores, the cafes). Occasionally the frosty cobbles meant she reached out and took his helping hand to stop her slipping. Even her touch through his thick jacket sent a charge. They shared chemistry; of that he was certain.

Was that ever enough?

Trouble was Nick knew of old that one night of chemistry could lead to a whole heap of unwanted trouble later.

Ailsa threw him a glance that burned with intense heat. “You don’t need to know about me. You just have to be open to adventure and experimentation.”

He gulped.
You’re so out of practice at this. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Nick?” Ailsa asked him now, her voice smoky. She watched him, then her gaze flicked away, the tip of her tongue licked her lip. “Just for the record, you can stay tonight. No strings. One night only. Sound okay to you?”

“That’s direct,” he answered. He’d never been quite so overtly and matter of factly propositioned before. He suddenly felt like a second hand car with a sticker on his windscreen.

Nick narrowed dark eyes. Watched her, noting she flicked her eyes to her boots. “Is that really what you want; strangers who collide then walk away?”

“I’m feeling in a direct mood.”

“Too many New Year beers?”

“Two bottles all night.”

He stared at her. She stared right back.

“Ailsa. You don’t want to sleep with me.”

She stood still and just watched him with dazzler green eyes that now held fire. “What?”

He’d give her her dues; she was provocative. Blatant. Further out there than Galactic Exploration. But he wasn’t buying these lines. And if anything was going to put him off a one-night stand then talking through the deal first was a guaranteed arousal dampener.

“Direct and rebellious is my New Year’s resolution,” said Ailsa. She looked mad now. “I’m going to get what I want. So is it a yes?” Ailsa asked, brows now wrinkling at double speed.

He liked her better now that there was passion there.

He’d hacked her off; made her angry. He liked her spirit. He itched to fire her up some more.

“I’m not so sure I want to be hired out for the night.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be what all men dream of?”

“It’s the morning after feeling of being treated like the throwaway litter of one night’s lust that makes my conscience squirm.”

“If I’m okay with it, surely you are too?” she defied him.

Her brows looked rumpled now. He itched to reach out and smooth them, to kiss that look away.

“Good fun in the sack and no strings is all I’m suggesting,” she said, her tone testy now.

He took in the full kissable lips, sexy nose with the hint of freckles. That stray tendril of hair that hinted at – dare he hope – russet red? A long held private weakness banged him on the head for his bad-timed ethical uprightness.

“You often proposition men this way?” he asked her.

She smiled, “When they excite me as much as you.”

“I’m really not that exciting,” he scoffed, rumpled his hair. Was she kidding?

“You aren’t doing a very good sales job,” she answered.

“Unlike you. I feel like I’m being hoodwinked into double-glazing. Your sex offensive is making me twitchy, Ailsa. As much as your kisses knock me out. I’ve never liked hard-sell. It always smacks of con-job somewhere.”

She blushed. Then looked awkward. Then looked away.

“So now I’m a con artist? I thought you liked kissing me,” she challenged.

“You have to ask? Yes. I more than liked it.”

This is what he got for kissing in the street. Leading the woman on. Acting like he was something he wasn’t. He should’ve known better.

Or was he crazy for arguing here? Should he just be nodding and consenting to wild sex without heed of consequences and tomorrows?

What deserved that jackpot hit? Or was it a booby prize?

For his own conscience, yep, definitely a booby prize in the morning. And now a ‘bad guy, poor show’ award for her evening’s entertainment too.

“I think you deserve more than a quick good time. A roll in the hay and then separate ways, isn’t that kinda tacky?” he told her.

“Believe me. It’s exactly what I need,” Ailsa told him breathily. She looked utterly crest-fallen. “It’s no good is it? I’m still hopeless at this. I’ve turned you off and I don’t know why. All I wanted to do was ensure you knew ground-rules and that I’m okay with this being free and easy.”

“It’s not you. I just really, really don’t think we should sleep together just like that,” he said and closed in to her.

Ailsa, embarrassed, regretful, blushed fully. Then she stepped back and away.

Then shock of shocks, she took off the winter hat and shook her head. A knot of fiery copper silk hair slid over her shoulder and he felt the blood in his veins turn to lava.

Now he knew what it must have felt like seeing Lady Godiva starkers on that horse. Red hair, even better than his fantasy version. And how he wished his ethics were kaput.

He wanted to see her naked. All palest alabaster skin and that hair. It almost made him shiver with wanting it.

“Since we’re being honest,” said Ailsa. “I temped as a secretary for you in London eight years ago. You probably don’t remember me. I was office geek. So I’m not really a stranger and that’s why I came on so strong.” She looked at him all gutsy gaze.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Ailsa? As in Ailsa Murray; always in a hurry?” Nick exclaimed, stood back a few paces and then laughed.

She looked crestfallen and defeated.

“You barely met my gaze then. Ran by my desk so fast I figured you were allergic to my aftershave. Or me.”

“Walking in a straight line when we were in the same room was tricky then. I was only nineteen.”

“I wasn’t worth the lust.” Nick shook his head.