Seduction on the Cards (8 page)

Had
he
seen that? Or was he such an arrogant confident alpha-male type he simply grabbed any woman he fancied? 

Kerri reflected for a moment about a couple of men in her past who’d tried it on. She’d had no trouble letting them know their approaches were unwelcome. So why had she allowed Alexandre to go so far?

Okay, he was gorgeous, and that little foreign accent simply sexy as. But in an office with the door half-open?

She’d felt stupidly attracted. 

Mesmerized the instant she’d met him. 

The feeling had intensified on Monday night when she’d interviewed him at Gaston’s.

Grown a heap stronger in the bus-shelter afterwards.

Made her catch her breath when he’d appeared so suddenly in the street half an hour ago.

Been impossible to deny as soon as she’d landed on his lap. 

She ground out a long low enraged sound of despair and frustration, then picked up her bag, amazed she’d had the presence of mind to grab it when she dashed from his office in such a state. 

Hobbled from his office,
she corrected herself, casting a glance down at her week-old shoes. They’d cost her nearly two hundred and fifty dollars, and were the last possible purchase she could put on her maxed-to-the-limit credit card. And Sarah had hinted last night that it was past time she fronted up with her share of rent and food money for the flat. Maybe a Lotto ticket would help?

She sucked in a big breath, inched the door open, peered out with caution, and tip-toed into the corridor once she saw the coast was clear. With restored confidence she breezed across the main reception room and ran down the stairs. 

“So are you coming?” Sarah asked.

“What?” Alex had hijacked her brain for most of the afternoon. She’d pecked around the keyboard, writing very little useable copy. She was still astounded he’d grabbed for her like that. Amazed he’d had the strength to swing her from her chair onto his lap. Appalled she’d let him. 

And still enjoying tiny involuntary spasms deep inside whenever she thought of his finger caressing her, of his incendiary kisses, and his absolute
nerve. 

“Friday night drinkies. Lotus. Now?”

“Yes, of course.” She forced her toes into the red shoes which she’d kicked off under her desk. “Just for one or two,” she added, thinking of the disastrous state of her finances.  

Wednesday had been pay-day. She’d settled the flat money with Sarah, paid as much as she dared off her credit card, bought a Big Wednesday ticket and won nothing, and ended up nearly broke again. Her only hope now was the Lotto ticket she’d grabbed at the end of her lunch break. Maybe she’d get doubly lucky today.

They trooped off—she and Sarah, Clive and Debs, Melanie and Cindy and David, dawdled along past the tempting window-displays in Willis Street, dashed across the intersection, and descended into the gloomy glamorous depths of Lotus. 

Kerri ordered her customary Alabama Slammer, and watched with amusement as Clive and Cindy gulped their drinks down and dashed back outside to have a cig.

Bet they spend more on smokes than I do on gambling.

“Anything planned for tomorrow?” Debs asked.

“Races at Trentham if it’s fine? Sarah and I were going to dress up a bit and get the train out there. Want to come?”

“And find me a rich race-horse owner? Yes please!”

“You’ll be lucky.”

“Any tips?”

“Always back the winner?” David suggested.

“I wish,” Kerri sighed.

“So we’re on? Trentham train at ten?” 

And when they returned from the race track next day (in Kerri’s case a hundred and seventy-three dollars poorer, some of which she’d borrowed off Sarah), the answer-phone light flashed with steady insistence.  

She pushed the button.

“
Bonjour
Kerri. It’s Alex.”

Her breath hitched and she clutched at her throat. She prickled all over with anticipation, and cursed herself for a fool.  There was nothing he could want from her. He was due to leave. He was just a business contact. He was absolutely not her kind of person. He was too controlling, too ambitious...too sexy. No doubt he was only phoning to apologize for yesterday’s indiscretion.

“Thank you for your very flattering writing in the newspaper today,” his softly accented message continued. “It’s excellent publicity for Gamblers Anonymous.” He cleared his throat. “Can you call me please? I’ve tried your cell, but maybe you have it switched off?”

She thought guiltily of the pre-pay card which had run out and not been replaced. Sarah was never parted from her phone, so Kerri hadn’t bothered to take her own in case they needed a taxi. Tough if anyone rang in—it had been one less thing to clutter up her bag. 

And he hadn’t apologized after all.

“Ooooh—it’s your gorgeous Frenchman,” Sarah teased, overhearing the speaker-phone message from the nearby kitchen.

“He’s only phoning about his write-up.”

“Maybe. But he’s asking you to ring back.”

“To speak to me in person, I guess. He’s terribly conservative and polite.” 

Apart from invading my underwear.
 

“He’s flying out on Monday, anyway,” she added.

“Which still leaves tomorrow. Maybe he’s after a date?”

“Yeah, right,” Sarah said, sitting down quite fast. What if he was? 

But of course he wasn’t. Her knees had turned to jelly with the sudden irrational hope he might want to see her again. She could barely breathe—it felt as though she was trying to drag hot fog into her lungs.  

Of course it would only be to thank her. She knew she drove him nuts, and he was
so
not her sort of man.

But...

“Alex—it’s me, Kerri,” she blurted the moment he answered. She cringed at her hasty greeting and closed her eyes at her ineptitude. She sounded so un-cool, so hick, so needy.

“
Bonjour
Kerri. Thank you for calling back. I didn’t know if you would, after yesterday.”

Did he sound embarrassed? She thought maybe he did. And so he should, shouldn’t he?

“Yes, well...” she managed.

“You’ve had a good day?”

“I went to the races,” she said, realizing too late that he’d disapprove.

“Horse-races? And you had ‘a little flutter’ I suppose? That’s what you call it?”

“No!” she exclaimed, privately thinking that her ‘flutter’ was far too big to be described as little.

A hundred and seventy-three dollars—how am I ever going to repay Sarah?

“No bets at all?” he persisted.

“I won twenty-five-fifty,” she claimed. Which was true, but it had been all downhill after that fortunate start. She bit her bottom lip at the omission, and then gabbled on trying to stem his flow of questions. “Brilliant day—I went with some friends from work.” 

She could picture him so clearly. Maybe lounging back on a classy sofa in his hotel or short-term-rent executive apartment. Or was he in his office at the Gamblers Anonymous building? 

Her face heated as yet again she remembered his touch on her far-too-willing body. Every time she’d thought of it she imagined the gentle caress of his finger, and those strange flutters started deep in her belly. So frustrating and enticing. Enough to make an unfamiliar yearning flare somewhere close to her heart. 

“I expect you’re busy tomorrow,” his husky voice continued. 

I’m not! I’m not!
 

“But if you’re free, would you like to go sailing, by way of an apology... for my...enthusiasm?”

Elation suddenly had all the blood hurtling double-speed through her veins, and her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. 

So what had happened to the available Sylvie that Gaston had mentioned? Had she turned Alex down? Had he chosen not to ask her?

“With you?” she asked, immediately cursing her gauche query. “How many of us?” 

“Of course with me,” he said, sounding somewhat offended. “Two of us, in Gaston’s boat. He’ll make us a picnic.”

“I’ve hardly ever sailed. I bet I’ll get seasick.”

She heard his soft chuckle.

“You won’t get seasick, I promise. We’ll stay well inside the harbor. Just float out a little way, drop anchor and enjoy the sun. Yes?”

“Well—yes. Okay. Thank you.”  

Say something interesting, Kerri. Something sophisticated. Something that’ll make you sound less of a dork.

Her normally quick mind had gone blank. He’d asked her out and she couldn’t think of any witty or cool or half-way sensible words to reply with. She’d perversely hoped for this, but considered an invitation so unlikely she’d worked out no appropriate acceptance. 

“Bring your bikini,” he said. “Some suntan lotion. I’ll collect you at ten o’clock?”

“Fine—ten would be good.” She pressed her fingers into the hollow of her throat and felt her pulse hammering there. 

Maybe seeing him again will get him out of my system?

Or maybe this is a really bad idea...

Alex shook his head as he disconnected. Should he have bothered to invite her? She’d sounded offhand, and far from excited by his offer. Maybe he really had offended her yesterday, even though she’d melted into his embrace after only a few seconds.

Kerri had barely been out of his mind. She’d messed with his brain for the whole week—through five long days of business meetings, and calls back to his company in France, and two further GANZ functions.  

How could such a small person tear such a large hole in his concentration? She was a tease, a flirt, too smart for her own good. She was the mistress of snappy replies, a gambler, and from Sarah’s comments hopelessly irresponsible with money. 

She was annoying beyond belief and she had the most gorgeous tits in the world.  

He’d enjoyed the skilful way she’d woven her interview questions into the dinner conversation at Gaston’s. And been surprised she was so professional after their edgy first meeting.  

It had just about killed him leaving her on Monday night. 

He—Alexandre Pierre Beaufort, business mogul and national celebrity—had been reduced to teenage petting in a bus-shelter with a girl who’d barely sent him a kind word. He’d felt like a kid of sixteen, lifting her up to get all he could of her lush femininity. Stroking her gorgeous skin, and nipping and nuzzling like a desperate adolescent. His cock stirred as he relived the scene.

And he’d burned for her in his office yesterday after unexpectedly almost knocking her over in the street. At least there’d been a thin layer of fabric between his exploring finger and her very responsive body, although he doubted that was any kind of an excuse.

He’d tried so hard to have nothing more to do with her.  

He was in Wellington for only one more day.  

And how much of a danger could a single non-date in broad daylight on a very public harbor be?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sailing? Kerri’s experience of sailing was restricted to childhood fun in canoes on the lake in the park. What would she need for real sailing? A bikini and suntan lotion Alex had said.   

Maybe a book, and a deck of cards in case she needed to pass some time with a few hands of Solitaire while he was doing things with the sails. Sunglasses. Headache pills, because Sarah had pointed out the glare off the water might be bad...a beach-towel...a sweatshirt. 

And shoes with sensible soles.

Her mind raced, and she had a terrible night in bed—wide awake at 2.17, tossing the cover off at 3.10, pulling it back on at 3.25, desperately thirsty at 4.01, haunted by vivid memories of Alex’s hot mouth and dark blue eyes and long caressing fingers. She’d felt his lips on her breasts, and imagined tracing her tongue over his naked chest, past his abs, and down to explore further. When had she ever wanted to do that? But now her brain buzzed with sensation and her body trembled with longing.

She’d never seen sex as a big deal. Never considered herself a very sexy person. She knew the mechanics of the act. Had test-driven a couple of men, and truly not seen what the fuss was about. 

Okay, after a couple of drinks and a few kisses it was pleasant enough, but no earth had moved, no fireworks had shot skywards, and no craving for more of the same had overwhelmed her. 

But with Alexandre... Yes, for some reason it was different. She stayed constantly on edge in his company, always aware of his eyes and his hands and his mouth. God—that mouth! His lips were magic, whether they were brushing lightly over hers, or wandering much further afield. Kerri lay in a drowsy dose, remembering back to yesterday lunchtime. Thinking how lovely it was being the total focus of someone’s attention.

Suddenly the eight a.m. news theme blared out from the clock/radio and dragged her out of her fantasies.

Damn, he had no right to stop her from sleeping. No right to set her aching and tingling like this. He was only taking her sailing, after all.

Sarah pushed the door open a few minutes later. 

“Sleep well?” She set a mug of coffee on the chest of drawers beside the bed and scooted her bottom back against Kerri’s knees. Grumbling, Kerri moved aside so Sarah could perch there comfortably.

“No, a horrible night,” she muttered. Her flat-mate looked far too wide-awake to be any sort of friend. Wide-awake and beautiful—with long blonde hair spilling down over the shoulders of her pink toweling robe, and a lively twinkle in her eyes.

“Want me to help wax your legs?” Sarah asked.

“They’re okay.”

“I bet they’re sprouting. You can’t let him see that.” She pulled the bottom of the cover aside, despite objections, and inspected Kerri’s ankles.

“Damn good,” she conceded.

“I did them last night.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “You’re taking him seriously then?”

“For only one day? Dream on.” Kerri reached out for her coffee and added hesitantly, “do you want to come with us?”

“No way! You’re hopeless—of course I don’t want to come with you and play gooseberry.”

“He wouldn’t mind. And it might...make things easier.”