The Perfect Temptation (47 page)

the moment. Good God, he was magnificently
sculpted.

"You're disgustingly rational,"
she declared absently, fascinated

by the hard ripples in his abdomen. And the
chiseled

planes of his chest, the corded ropes in his
shoulders and

arms ... Oh,
if
ever there was perfection in human form, it

was John Aiden Terrell. Somehow even the
circular scar

high on his chest added to it. And he was in
her kitchen,

sauntering toward her, practically begging
her to touch.

He dropped his shirt and coat on the far end
of the worktable

as he made his way toward her, grinning.
"Alex? What

are we talking about?"

Ask me
if
I care, Aiden.
She sighed, tore her gaze from

him, and collected what she could of her
scattered wits.

"Going back to India or staying
here." Her heart racing, she

rose from her seat and pointed to it as she
went to retrieve

Preeya's tin of medicines. "You were
saying something about

how I saw the decision differently than
others."

Damn, he'd been hoping she wouldn't be able
to remember.

But since she had, he didn't have a choice
other than to

continue. He sat where she'd indicated and
watched her take a

small metal box from a shelf on the far
wall. "On the one hand

is India," he began again as she
returned to stand between his

knees, "and the expectation to fully
experience life and all the

emotions and sensations that go with it.
Fairly put?"

She placed the tin on the table amid her
silver and pulled

open the lid. "Yes."

"On the other hand, there's
England," he continued while

she took out a small, wax-sealed jar,
"which tends to glorify

cold rationality and frown upon any sort of
emotional

demonstration whatsoever. Stiff upper lip,
carrying on, and

all of that. Would you say that's a fair
summation?"

"In
a most general
way," she admitted with a shrug as she

removed the seal. She dipped her fingers
into the salve, set

the jar aside and turned to him, reaching to
cradle his chin

with her free hand.

He caught both of her hands and gently
stayed her. "Now

for the most complicated part," he said
quietly, searching her

eyes. They were dark today. A deep,
still-water blue. "The

heart of the problem for you,
actually."

She arched a brow in wordless query and he
took a

steadying breath. "You'd like to
surrender to the temptation

of the Indian way of living life but you're
afraid to, Alex.

There is, after all, a great deal of
protection to be had in the

English practice of being intellectually
distant and emotionally

numb. You can't be hurt if you don't care
and don't feel

anything."

She blinked and the pulse beneath his
fingertips jolted.

The betrayals were small and all she allowed
him to see. Her

smile was placid, her voice calm, as she
eased her hands

from
his
grasp and said,
"Yet another difficult choice."

"Is
it
really?" be pressed, allowing her to turn his face and

apply the salve to his abraded skin.

"Of course it is." Her touch was
gentle, light, and she

winced when he did. "Let's say, for the
purposes of discussion:'

she added, lifting her fingers and looking
away to take

up the jar again, "that I decide that
it's perfectly fine to accept

and act on a strongly felt emotion."

"Let's pick desire;' he proposed,
slipping his hands to her

waist and smiling up at her. "Just for
the sake of an interesting

discussion."

"All right, desire," she allowed,
a tiny smile flirting at the

corners of her mouth as she turned back, her
fingertips

dabbed with more of the ointment. "What
happens if I act on

those urges?"

He briefly considered a conservative reply,
but just as

quickly decided against it. She was going to
be
his lover and

they both knew it. There wasn't any reason
to pretend ignorance.

"Surrender and we'll both be extremely
satisfied. Repeatedly.

And often."

Her smile broadened. "And what will you
think of me?"

she asked, trailing her fingers along the
tender spot on his

shoulder.

"What I already think of you. That
you're the most incredible,

interesting woman I've ever met."

"And what will your friends think of
me?" she asked,

stepping out of his hands to catch his right
one. "Sawyer?

Barrett?"

"A gentleman doesn't go about sharing
that kind of information,"

Aiden assured her as she got more of the
balm from

the jar. "Not even with his
friends."

She paused, her fingers over his knuckles,
and met his

gaze. "This might hurt a bit. I'll try
not to let it."

"I'll survive."

"Why wouldn't you tell them,
Aiden?" she asked as three

sharp pangs, one rapidly after the other,
shot up his arm.
"If

you're satisfied,
if
you
think
I'm incredible and interesting,

why not share your joy with your
friends?"

"That's a low blow, Alex."

"No, it's honest," she countered,
taking a narrow roll of

white cotton from the
tin.
Wrapping it around his hand, she

went on, saying, ''You wouldn't tell them
because you

wouldn't
want them to
think
poorly of me and thus, through

association, of you. They'd consider me less
than a proper

lady. Proper ladies don't have such base
desires."

He laughed softly. "Would you care to
bet on that?"

"Oh? And just how many proper ladies
have you ever

known, Aiden?"

"My mother,"
he instantly countered, "my grandmother,

my six sisters, Seraphina Reeves. And maybe
Emmaline, although

I don't really know her all that well. Nine.
With a

possible tenth."

"Family doesn't count."

"It does, too."

"All right, Aiden," she said,
tying off the ends of the bandage

and squaring up to
him
with a smile and her hands on

her hips. "Just to avoid the argument
I'll allow you
all
ten

and throw in Preeya for good measure. Eleven
out of how

many women?"

"Alex, darling," he crooned,
sliding his arms around her

waist and drawing her closer, "what's
the point of this?

You've made the decision. I've seen it in
your eyes. You've

been dancing on the edge with me all
day."

Her
arms slipped
around his neck. "Humor me. I'm being

English. My decision notwithstanding, the point
is that acting

on
one's urges
isn't a particularly wise thing to do.

Tempting? Oh, yes, most definitely. But it's
not wise. The

consequences can be forever."

"Or not.
If
you're careful."

"Perhaps for a man," she allowed,
smiling at him, playing

with the hair at his nape. "But for a
woman there are always,

always consequences." .

"Such as?"

"Unexpected children."

"Sheaths are known to prevent
them."

"Reputation."

"Discretion," he countered.
"You don't make love in public

view and you don't send an account of it to
the
Times."

"A husband's outrage."

"Only if he catches you," he
pointed out, grinning, enjoying

their game.
''A
healthy dose of caution is usually sufficient.

And
in
your case, the point is moot. You don't have a

husband."

"I meant a husband who discovers that
he isn't his wife's

first lover."

"If he came late to the dance, then
it's his fault for
tarry
ing.

But that concern's moot as well because you
don't intend

to ever marry."

"I'm speaking in generalities, not
about
myself.”

Oh, yes she was and he was done playing.
"Well, I'm

talking about
us,
darling. You and me."

"I won't deny that there is an
us,
Aiden," she conceded

after a moment, a curiously satisfied shadow
in her smile.

"But I won't pretend that it's more
than it is. It's of the moment

and won't survive time."

''True. But what's wrong with enjoying it
while we have

it?"

"You have a point."

"I do?" he said, stunned that
she'd so readily admitted it.

"Only from a decidedly Indian view of
the world."

He'd take it and be damn grateful.
"Will you be feeling

Indian or English tonight?"

"I don't know. Tonight's not here
yet."

"Which are you feeling right now?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps a little of
both. Mostly, I'm feeling