The Seduction Trap (6 page)

Two dark eyes twinkled at her in amusement. ‘Where are you going to sleep tonight?’

Listlessly she watched him lighting the gas beneath a saucepan of water. ‘Here. Where else?’

‘In that case, I’ll see what it’s like upstairs when I’ve done the sauce. You’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ he said softly, suddenly crouching down beside her chair.

Tessa found herself inches away from his compelling face. Overwhelmed by the urge to hurl herself in his arms and seek solace, she merely nodded and said, ‘Whacked. I could sleep for a whole week. It’s the longest journey I’ve ever made. In more ways than one.’

Her limpid green eyes met his. She wondered if she was swaying. It felt like it. Her mouth opened to ask him something but she forgot what it was because his eyes kindled with a gentle warmth which she found irresistible. And which set her off again. ‘Oh, Guy!’ she cried tremulously. ‘It’s OK,’ he said into her hair.

Tessa’s dazed mind tried to work out how she’d landed up in his comforting arms and if it was all right that his mouth seemed to be warming her scalp. I’m in the arms of a stranger, she

thought in surprise. A stranger who hates my mother! Yet she didn’t care. The way he stroked her was so soothing. Someone was offering her sympathy, and boy, did she need it at that moment!

‘I’m not usually so tearful. In fact it’s quite out of character for me,’ she mumbled snuffily into the softness of his pale green jacket. ‘I don’t usually fling myself boldly at strangers.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he murmured. ‘But you’ve been badly let down. I understand your reaction.’

The velvet voice flowed into her mind and body, relaxing it and liquefying her exhausted muscles. She sighed. ‘I feel flattened.’

‘Sure. We’ll sort everything out in the morning, eh? Right now,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll stick to priorities. Food, then sleep.’

‘Mmm,’ she said muzzily. ‘Thanks.’

She lifted her head and gave him a wobbly smile, which faded rapidly, turning into horror. Her mascara-a beauty aid she’d only just started using-had made dreadful splodges on the shoulder of his expensive jacket!

‘Look!’ she screeched. ‘I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess I don’t usually wear make-up; it was for Mum, because Dad always told me she was so beautiful-what are you grinning at?’ she fumed.

In answer, Guy went to the sink and wet his handkerchief. ‘You have mascara all down your face. It looks like a map of the Nile Delta,’ he said in strangled tones. His back was to her but she could see that his shoulders were shaking. Tessa looked at him suspiciously when he returned, but his mouth seemed under control. ‘Lift,’ he ordered, indicating her chin. Sitting there, her huge eyes dewy with tears, sure that her face was as unattractive as it could be, she contemplated the command, the wet handkerchief, and cringed. Something hurt inside her: her own willingness to be soothed by yet another good-looking guy with suspicious motives. First he’d been obstructive, now he was doing a Mother Teresa act. Odd. He took the decision out of her hands, tipping up her chin with one finger and carefully rubbing her face dry. Again. She vowed silently that it was to be the last time, positively the last time. Being soothed by Guy could become habit-forming. ‘You amaze me,’ he commented. ‘When I told you your face was dripping mascara, you didn’t whimper, ‘Oh! Is it? I must look a sight!’ nor did you cover your face coyly with your hands.’

‘No point,’ Her eyes, green like wet grass, twinkled at his falsetto imitation of a coquette. ‘I obviously look ridiculous. Funny enough to make you laugh. I saw your shoulders joggling about.’

‘I found it extraordinary that you should be so unhappy, yet find space in your over-stressed mind to worry about my jacket.’

‘I suppose it doesn’t mean much to you,’ she conceded. ‘I’m used to worrying about cleaning bills and taking care of my clothes to make them last.’

Guy gave her a bemused look. ‘I know what it is to have little money,’ he said surprisingly. ‘And incidentally, if you’re the emotional type, you need to invest in some waterproof make¬up.’

He smiled into her eyes and she gave a shaky little smile back. During the silent seconds he gazed at her she felt her whole face relaxing. Her mouth became solemn. But soft. And she struggled crossly against the attraction she felt for him. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother with mascara again,’ she managed at last. ‘I am sorry about your beautiful jacket, she added in genuine remorse.

He gave a careless shrug. ‘It’ll clean. You’re not the first female to plaster me in make-up.’

‘I can imagine. You should wear luridly patterned clothes from head to toe. That would take care of any shade of make-up happening to collide with various parts of your anatomy,’ she suggested ruefully.

He chuckled and left her, moving about the kitchen as he gathered what ingredients he could find. As he began to prepare the food Tessa wondered idly how many women had cried, laughed, languished in his arms, Dozens, she imagined. He had a very welcoming chest.

Being tucked up against it gave her a sense of safety, she thought, slumping in the chair.

‘Let me know how much the cleaning bill comes to,’ she reminded him sleepily.

‘I think I can stand the cost a little better than you.’ He gave her an easy smile.

‘That’s not the point!’ she said firmly, coming up straight again. ‘Fair’s fair. I messed it up; I pay for it. It’s the principle of the thing. Anyway, I’d feel better about it.’

After a long and puzzled study of her stubborn face, he nodded.

‘OK. I’ll let you know the cost.’

‘Thanks,’ she said in relief, watching his deft fingers chopping onions with a chef’s expertise. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

‘Backstreet kitchens in New Orleans.’

That was so unexpected that she let out a little giggle. ‘You?’ He nodded. ‘Me. I-’

He broke off. His mobile phone was ringing. Tessa felt disappointed, sure that he’d been about to divulge a little of his past. Though why she should be interested, she wasn’t too sure.

‘Oh, hi, sweetheart ... Yes, I’ll be about half an hour... Right. And dig out another bottle of champagne...’ His voice softened, like satin which had somehow been reduced to a pouring consistency. ‘Because, my lovely, you and I are celebrating tonight. ..’

There was a pause, while an embarrassed Tessa pretended to be invisible. She didn’t like listening in to intimate conversations and this was certainly one. A wife? she wondered. If so, he didn’t wear a ring. Current partner? Mistress? Whoever it was, she pitied her. He had something of a roaming eye and, like his father, he probably didn’t let fidelity cramp his style.

He chuckled, deep and low and very sexy. ‘Sounds great. Break out the flags and dress up in something special. I’ll be home very soon ... Yes. Bye!’

A celebration. With champagne! How the other half lived! And a quick picture of Guy with a radiant beauty, chinking their glasses together and sliding between white satin sheets, startled her with its vividness.

‘You ought to go,’ Tessa suggested politely. ‘The bubbles will go flat.’ Her eyes suggested that something else might too. He picked up her meaning and seemed to find it funny. ‘Don’t you worry about my bubbles!’ he said, laughing. ‘Or Giselle. It’ll do her good to wait.’ He dismissed the waiting bottle-opener with a wave of his hand. Tessa didn’t like his attitude and her face plainly said so, because he shot her a look and smiled. ‘Giselle has always been used to getting her own way. She’s the most demanding female in the world. I’m trying to show her that other people have needs too.’

‘Oh.’ Tessa averted her gaze, a little embarrassed by the revelation.

Giselle, she thought, mentally conjuring up a picture of a languid ballerina, all legs and pink tutu, with a classically haughty face and expressive hands. Except Guy would go for the sophisticated society type: perfect body-rearranged surgically wherever it wasn’t up to scratch-and stunningly beautiful face.

Conscious of her own plain features, she slumped down in the chair again and wondered why Guy wasn’t rushing back to gaze in awe on this beauty, and to hell with teaching Giselle a lesson!

But he seemed in no rush. For a while he hummed and stirred and chopped, and Tessa could sense his happiness. ‘It’s ages since I did this,’ he said with an enthusiastic sweep of his hand in the general direction of the neat piles of ingredients. ‘I’m rather enjoying it.’

‘Glad for you,’ she muttered, feeling low.

‘Don’t look so glum!’ he remonstrated cheerfully. ‘All your troubles will be over in the morning.’

‘I wish.’

He laughed at her doubtful expression, tipped the contents of the chopping board into a saucepan and turned the gas down to simmer. His eyes locked onto hers in a speculative way. Or... was there something more? She wasn’t sure. Her instincts seemed to be unreliable. He couldn’t be interested in her, could he?

Guy reached over and drew his fingers across her furrowed brow, laughing when she jerked back warily. ‘That’s better,’ he said approvingly. ‘You shouldn’t be scowling like that.’

‘Why not?’ she muttered.

‘Obstinate woman!’ A forefinger reached out, lifting a lock of glossy hair from her forehead. ‘Because you have beautiful skin. Don’t spoil it with frown lines.’ There was a silence while Tessa stared at him in confusion. ‘So solemn!’ he sighed teasingly. ‘I’ve a good mind to stay and cheer you up-’

‘That won’t be necessary. I can tell myself jokes,’ she said stiffly, annoyed by his mild flirting. ‘I’m grateful for what you’re doing, but when I’ve eaten I want to go to bed.’ Tessa drew in a breath, a jolt going through her body. His eyes had suddenly kindled, as if they were smouldering with a newly lit fire, and she realised what she’d said. ‘Alone,’ she added sharply, to make her position quite clear.

Not a muscle of his face moved but his eyes went cold. ‘Stir the

sauce occasionally,’ he ordered, ‘and I’ll take your panniers upstairs for you and check that there’s some linen,’ he added in a soft undertone, and strode out of the room. Tessa flushed to the roots of her hair. A put-down! Every bit as effective as one she might have made and twice as graceful. She could have kicked herself! Of course he wouldn’t be interested in her-blonde, leathers,

bike or not, available or not-if he had a bottle of champagne, Giselle and turned-down sheets waiting for him! Fool! She should never have hinted that he might be. How humiliating! It was as bad as believing David’s flattery and thinking that he’d taken her out to dinner because he’d wanted to!

Tessa groaned, remembering with pain her monumental mistake...

After working in a supermarket for some years, at the age of twenty she’d joined a team of restorers for Kernow House, working with each expert in turn, learning the rudiments of each trade before opting to, specialise in carpentry. David had been the handsome site manager. How could she have believed that he’d been attracted to her? Especially as she had been vastly overweight and prone to wearing spectacles and shapeless dresses. Yet that night eight months ago she’d blithely gone along with his solemn declaration that he’d realised he adored big women. Wine and joy had made her delirious and light-headed and she’d believed every word ... because she’d wanted to.

It hadn’t taken much persuasion on the drunken David’s part to get her up to bed. Only later had she learnt that he’d made love to her for a substantial bet.

She’d cried the whole night long. Seeing her red, puffy face the next morning, she’d felt appalled that she’d had such an inflated idea of her own attractions. She was plain and always would be.

The ‘joke’ had been all over the site the next day. Tessa’s hopeless five-year crush on David had been common knowledge. So, apparently, had the bet. Everywhere she went she had been aware of people whispering: roofers, stonemasons, carpenters, gardeners, plasterers, gilders... Brute. She’d had to leave, of course. And she had been unemployed ever since.

David’s legacy had been a slim body, an end to her obsession

with him and a determination to plough her own furrow-but with a prickly response to any men who showed an interest. It was going to take a while for her wounds to heal, she thought with a sigh.

Silence seemed to close around her. And in the kitchen she felt as though there was a void, an emptiness suddenly, as if Guy had filled the space with his vital energy and taken all life from the room now he’d gone. Tessa grimaced. He brimmed with vigour; she flopped like a wet rag!

Not surprising, she mused. Tomorrow she’d bounce back to her usual cheerful self. For now ... she was dogtired. And so she folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. The next thing she knew was that a hand was gently shaking her shoulder. ‘Mmm? What...?’ she muttered muzzily, lifting a face flushed from sleep.

‘Food’s ready and I’m going,’ Guy said quietly. ‘I’ve made up the bed. Will you be all right?’

Groggy from being dragged awake, she hauled herself up on her elbows. There was a plate of pasta piled high with sauce in front of her-and it smelled wonderful.

‘That looks gorgeous!’ she murmured woozily. ‘I’m starving!’ Surreptitiously she stole a glance at him, her jade eyes soft and drowsy and wary beneath her long lashes. He didn’t appear to mind that she’d virtually accused him of harbouring designs on her body, so she ventured a shy smile of gratitude. ‘And thanks for everything! I don’t know why you’ve done this. You’ve been very kind.’