How To Host a Seduction (8 page)

“Says whom?”

“Me.” And she meant it.

“Why two years?”

“To see if you can deal with the constant pressure of living under public scrutiny.”

That gaze seared into her. “You've got to be kidding.”

Ellen shook her head. She would never again let any man into her world unless he was able to shoulder the responsibility. Every choice and action had a consequence. Impulsiveness had absolutely no place around the Talbot family.

“I've never been more serious.”

“Fine, then while I've got your undivided attention for the next few days, I'll show you how good we can be together.”

Maybe it was the gravity of his expression or the somber promise, but Ellen didn't doubt that he meant what he said.

She also knew if his idea of showing her how good they were together even remotely resembled last night's assault on her senses, she'd never survive. Not and still be able to walk away from him on Monday.

“You don't have to show me anything, Christopher. There's no point. I enjoyed dating you. I enjoyed last night. That's it. There's no place to go from here.”

“We can have a future.”

“What makes you think you know my mind better than I know my own, arrogant man?”

“Not your mind, love, your heart. Tell me you've felt this way about anyone else and I'll back off.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he wasn't the only man on the planet who'd made her lose her head, but the only other time she'd ever even come close to feeling this way had been as a teen. She hadn't looked before she'd leaped and the situation had almost wound up in disaster.

She had no intention of sharing that still-painful memory, though, and it didn't matter, anyway, because Christopher's dimples flickered, just enough to let her know that he wouldn't believe a word she said.

“Oh, what's the point?”

“The point is, I'm the only man who makes you feel this way. You're the only woman who makes me feel this way, too.”

His gaze caressed her, promising the world with his eyes, and that damnable honesty threw her off balance again….

“Let me sweep you off your feet, love. Let me show you how to make the rules work for us. I got past your defenses last night and you're right, there are conse
quences. But I think making love to you was worth any price we'll pay this morning.”

Was he right?

An isolated plantation in a city outside her mother's constituency. Friends and acquaintances. A private training session. No media. The circumstances didn't get more perfect than if they'd been tailored to suit her specific needs. The consequences of facing Miss Q were minor, comparatively speaking.

Rule number two for survival:
Tackle problems head-on.

Glancing up into the dashingly handsome face of the man who'd been plaguing her thoughts for too long, Ellen recognized a problem when she saw one.

Slipping her hand between them, she wrapped her fingers around a promising erection. Christopher hissed, clearly not expecting her move, and his body went rigid. She gave a leisurely stroke and was rewarded when he swelled in response.

“I don't deny the effect you have on me, Christopher.” There was no denying that he made her lose her head all too easily. “I just don't believe we can have a future together.”

“We can.”

“I'll walk away on Monday.”

“We'll see.”

Rule number two of sound business strategies:
Understand your limitations and work around them.

She had a craving for this man that needed to be satisfied. “Why don't we just enjoy the weekend?”

He exhaled a sigh and arched his hips toward her hands. “You won't be sorry, love. I promise.”

Was there a threat in there?

Ellen didn't know. At the moment she didn't care. She
steeled herself mentally to accept the challenge ahead—getting this man out of her system once and for all. And since he seemed content to lean back against the tile and give over to her attention, she stepped into the spray, reached for the soap and set about satisfying her craving.

C
HRISTOPHER STARED DOWN
at the top of Ellen's head, wet hair fringing around her nape, brushing her shoulders. Her soapy hands kneaded his chest, the deep strokes of a massage that would have eased tension from his muscles had he felt tense.

He only felt replete, and very pleased Ellen hadn't packed her bags and called a taxi. She'd risen to the challenge, instead, which meant he stood a chance.

With her chin high and her mouth pursed, she avoided his gaze with what appeared from his vantage point to be iron-willed determination not to be swayed from her task. She intended to keep the upper hand, and Christopher wouldn't resist.

Inhaling deeply, he paced himself, amazed yet again at her ability to play with his heart rate with nothing more than her hands and a smile. He'd gone a little nuts last night, hadn't anticipated how seeing her would test his restraint.

He was a damn fool where Ellen was concerned and he only had this training session to figure out exactly what it would take to show her how great they were together and turn a long weekend into a chance at forever.

The clock was ticking—almost as quickly as his heart was pounding when Ellen sank to her knees, water slicing across her shoulders to create a waterfall over her gently swaying breasts.

As much as he was tempted to close his eyes and enjoy her attention, Christopher found himself riveted to the sight of her kneeling before him, a visual feast he'd been denied too long. He'd barely had a chance to become acquainted with her beautiful body before she'd dumped him. And now, every creamy inch of her glimmered in a sheen of mist and droplets, her slim waist curving into her hips, that heart-shaped bottom.

Her dark head level with his erection.

She shielded him from the spray of water, her breath coming in warm bursts against his skin, taunting him, making him jump toward her lips like a heat-seeking missile.

Though he couldn't see her face, he suspected she was smiling. She was comfortable with power, lashing out at her own vulnerability by assuming control. And she was clearly happy in control now, because she slipped her hands around him, coaxed her fingers beneath his scrotum and gave a squeeze to remind him who was in charge….

Then she moved on, lathering his thighs, his knees and down, down, working muscles that were still feeling the effects of Tuesday night's hockey game and giving him a chance to suck in a needed breath.

He couldn't feel anything but the heat of his own skyrocketing body temperature, even though, judging by the goose bumps spraying over Ellen's arms, they'd tested the limits of the water heater.

But she still kept going, kneeling at his feet, fingertips working along his calves, his ankles, between his toes. Then she motioned him to turn around. Placing his hands on the tile, he braced his legs apart to shield her from the cooling spray that didn't bother him in the least.

She started a new game on her way back up his body, driving him slowly crazy when she brushed her nipples against the backs of his knees, pressed her breasts against
his thighs, taunted him with the feel of their soapy fullness. She tested his ability to keep his hands flat on the tile, when he wanted to drag her against him, sink deep inside her.

The silence thickened with expectation, and he wondered if she was paying him back for last night.

We haven't spoken in three months and all you can say is “Don't go”?

What else had there been to say? He hadn't wanted her to go. Not three months ago. Not last night. Not now.

Especially not now.

Slipping her fingers between his thighs, Ellen played with him from behind, making his erection jump and his hips buck. She laughed, a soft sound in the waterlogged quiet, but a sound that spiked his appetite as though he hadn't just spent all night feeding his hunger.

She read his responses easily enough, because suddenly she slithered every inch of her wet skin along his thighs. She molded her body against him, slipping her hands around his hips, lathering, stroking, proving what he'd known all along—that she'd been designed to fit him perfectly.

Why couldn't Ellen see that?

She'd started to move, riding the length of his body with smooth, wet strokes. Her curves molded him, made his blood pump double-time. She slipped her fingers around his erection, a solid grip that made him press into her hands. He wanted to turn around, wrap her legs around his waist and sink inside her, but they were back to that power thing again. She was going to make him come. Payback for last night.

Christopher just closed his eyes.

Her hands started up a mind-blowing rhythm. Each stroke lifting him to an urgent place—the promise of ex
plosive orgasms had made him seduce a woman who said she didn't want to be seduced. All because he needed to feel her hands on him, needed to know what they shared was real.

She pressed kisses along his back, and every time she nipped his skin with her teeth, he bucked hard. Only Ellen had ever made him lose control this way, left him gasping for breath, straining in her hands as he exploded in one of those unbelievable orgasms.

Bracing himself against the wall, he hoped his legs didn't buckle. “Damn.”

Suddenly she was up on tiptoes, her face in his periphery, her chin propped against his shoulder. She smiled that bewitching smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Since we're going to make the most of this reunion…one good turn and all that, y'know.”

Christopher could only grunt in reply. Looked like staying in control around Ellen for the next four days was going to be another one of those challenges he supposedly thrived on.

 

I
N A VAIN ATTEMPT TO FASTEN
the buttons on her gown, Ellen performed contortions she'd had no idea her body was capable of. She eyed Christopher enviously as he emerged from the closet, shrugging on a buff-colored frock coat
without
calisthenics.

He'd already donned his costume; dark brown trousers, silk brocade vest and a bow tie neatly tied at his throat, looking as if he'd just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. Not flashy and absurd like Mr. Muscle-Butt in his cape at the convention last week, but scrumptious and too handsome to be real.

“You'd need four arms and eyes in the back of your
head to fasten all those buttons without help,” he said, accurately assessing her situation in a glance.

Striding across the suite, he brushed aside her hands and met her gaze in the mirror. “I'm your partner for this event, which means—”

“I know what it means.” She lifted her chin a notch.

“Then, let me help. It's only fair since I undressed you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You're the horniest man I know.”

“You do have that effect on me, love.”

“Blame me for
your
lack of self-control, why don't you.” She huffed. “Now if you're going to help, please do.”

“My pleasure.”

Ellen folded her arms across her chest and steeled herself against his touch as he turned his attention to the row of tiny pearl-shaped buttons. The skimpy chemise she wore didn't offer her much protection against his hands, so close to her skin.

Every nerve in her body went on alert and this wasn't just a result of all the intimacies they'd recently shared. This was another of those phenomena she'd conveniently forgotten in an effort to put Christopher behind her.

But her memory was working just fine now. That absurd breathlessness that constricted her breathing. Those trembly little shivers that made her shoulders rise and fall enough for him to notice. And a flash of dimples indicated that he had indeed noticed.

Of course, she wouldn't have been shivering at all if he wasn't brushing his fingertips against her neck, her shoulders, and any other place he could touch her.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“I am—”

The arrogant man didn't sound the least bit repentant.

“Have you figured out what plausible excuse you're giving Miss Q, or will you trust me to handle the situation?”

“I'm still in denial,” she said.

He glanced up and his laser-blue stare caught hers in the mirror, no less potent as a reflection.

“I'll be heroic and come to your rescue.”

“Really? Exactly how will you do that?”

“I'll tell Miss Q that I held you captive so I could make love to you all night. She won't hold you accountable. She knows you couldn't possibly resist me.”

Ellen wouldn't even dignify that with a reply.

“Don't like that one? Well, how about I tell her that you took me hostage in the shower? No self-respecting romance hero would have turned you away. Especially while getting the best hand job of his life.”

Pulling back, Ellen tipped her face up to his, unable to bear her reflection when her cheeks suddenly glowed red. She refused to blush. And if she was blushing, she refused to look. “Since when have you become an authority on what constitutes a decent romance hero?”

“Since I decided to come to Félicie Allée to seduce a romance editor. Seemed opportune to look into the subject.”

Premeditated seduction. Well, she couldn't exactly fault him for doing his homework.

Rule number three of sound business strategies:
Always take the time to research and prepare.

Shaking her head, she turned back around. “I'll handle the explanations myself, thank you.”

He finished the last few buttons and said, “All done.”

She chanced a glance to find him surveying her with a slight smile, not enough of one to start up the whole dim
ple thing again, but enough to let Ellen know he liked what he saw.

And she twirled around, an absurd impulse she couldn't seem to resist. The lightweight fabric held the shape of the dress without bulky crinolines. Even though she wore a chemise—she'd drawn the line at wearing panty hose—she could still feel the breeze drifting into the suite through the open French doors.

“Miss Q had a local designer create an entire line of Southern Charm Mysteries costumes.” He tugged the lapels of his jacket.

“Toni Maxwell.” She'd noticed the label. “I've visited her shop with Lennon.”

Miss Q obviously hoped to further the seduction by having Toni Maxwell design a lot more than costumes. Ellen assumed that Southern Charm Mysteries didn't provide all its guests with a dresser full of sexy undies that bore about as much resemblance to historical bloomers as Christopher in his frock coat did to Mr. Muscle-Butt in his cape.

Bras padded to lift her breasts so high her nipples popped over the lace. Chemises so transparent she'd have been less exposed naked. The thongs were so skimpy she needed a Brazilian bikini wax to wear them. Garters. Silk hose. Very sexy lingerie. If Christopher had any idea what she was wearing under this gown—or not wearing—they'd likely miss the next event.

“It's a departure from your usual style,” he said.

Tailored suits for work. Upscale casual after work. “I don't look ridiculous, do I?”

“Love, you could wrap yourself in a grocery bag and look edible.” The dimples made a cameo appearance.

“Thank you. I must say you look rather dashing yourself.”

And he did. But he only inclined his head in ac
knowledgment of her compliment and strode toward the dresser, where he picked up a brush and raked it through his hair. She glanced back in the mirror, arranged a ruffle at her throat to cover the faint discoloration there.

Despite her discovery of a telltale hickey, the moment was a companionable one as they went about the mundane business of grooming in silence. Growing up with three siblings meant privacy had been in short supply. As a result, Ellen preferred not to share her space. She hadn't lived with a roommate since college, typically avoided rooming with anyone at family functions or conventions if she could help it.

But she'd slipped right back into the easy camaraderie she'd once shared with Christopher. How could she have forgotten how well they'd gotten along?

Because it had been less painful to forget.

“All set, partner?”

His deep voice sent a shiver through her, a shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze sweeping up from the bayou. She turned to find him closing the French doors.

“All set.”

He extended his arm and she looped hers through. “What do you think of the courtyard? Reminds me of your balcony back home. An oasis.”

“On a grand scale,” she agreed. “Miss Q must be trying to get on my good side by putting us in this suite. She knows how much I love gardens and she's managed to find one that has all my favorite flowers and plants.”

“Is she succeeding?”

“Maybe a little.”

“She's only trying to help.” He steered her out of the bedroom. “She's convinced we're meant for each other.”

“And committed to making us see it, too. Don't get me
wrong, Christopher. I realize her heart's in the right place.”

“Good” was all he said, before ushering her out of the bedroom.

Collecting her purse on her way through the sitting room, she glanced inside to check the battery on her cell phone, to discover… “That's odd. My phone's off. I hope the battery didn't die.”

She turned on the power, only to have the phone plucked from her grasp.

“You could leave it off.”

Oh, now she understood. “Did you turn my phone off?”

“You needed your rest.”

“My parents might have called.”

He frowned down at the phone. “If your parents had known how much energy you expended in bed last night, they'd have wanted you to get some sleep.”

“Insufferable man. I suppose your phone is off so your office can't reach you.”

The dimples again. “As a matter of fact it is. I left it and my watch in the bedroom.”

“
And
your watch,” she said dryly. “Wow, you're taking a real vacation this week, aren't you.”