Red-Hot Seduction. Amy Andrews
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the long narrow space to the same sort of critical scrutiny that she’d endured, and from his expression she assumed it had been assessed as wanting, also.
Lucky she didn’t crave his approval. In fact she told herself if the day ever dawned that she got it, that was the time to worry.
‘I said one o’clock. It is one.’ His frown deepened. ‘Aren’t you ready?’
Trying not to react to his abrupt manner, she gave a curt nod, and, matching his noticeably cold attitude, indicated her bag propped up against the sofa, one of several pieces of furniture in the place she had reupholstered or revamped. She couldn’t sew a stitch, but she was a whiz with a staple gun and a paintbrush.
‘Of course I’m ready.’ Was this about the way she looked? ‘Should I go back and put on my tiara?’ She tried to hide a sudden flash of uncharacteristic insecurity under sarcasm.
He slung her an impatient look. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I thought, you thought that I...maybe should, should I wear something a bit more...?’ She glanced down at her slim-fitting jeans and the cropped jacket left open to reveal the silky acid-yellow sleeveless top that showed a tiny sliver of flat midriff.
His eyes moved in an expressionless sweep from her toes to the top of her glossy head. ‘You look fine. It’s only a register office.’
Wow, he sure knows how to make a girl feel good, she thought, compressing her lips in silent resentment, furious with herself for virtually asking for his approval.
‘Actually I wasn’t expecting you. I assumed you’d send a driver or something.’
Her calm was only a single cell thick, but it was very important to Mari that he had no idea just how not calm she was. She was almost sick with apprehension, and under that there were layers of confusing, conflicting emotions that were just too complicated to acknowledge. On a more practical level she was worried she might actually throw up.
‘So how long will it take...?’
He dragged his gaze from that tiny sliver of flat, toned, creamy-skinned stomach and cleared his throat, reminding himself that this was business.
‘The flight or—?’
‘Both,’ she cut in quickly.
‘The company jet was available, so not long for the journey. The wedding I’ve arranged so that we can stop off on the way to the airport.’
‘That sounds ideal.’ Her voice was clear and cool but Seb could see her hands were shaking as her gaze flickered around the room; she was looking anywhere but at him. She reminded him of a trapped animal.
She accused him of pride, but Seb suspected that Mari’s stiff-necked version of that sin would make her walk over hot coals before she’d admit she was nervous. It was an exasperating characteristic, almost as much as her wildly misplaced loyalty to her brother and he was not above exploiting this misplaced loyalty.
Which makes you...?
She was a consenting adult; she knew what she was doing. Somehow this didn’t stop his pangs of conscience.
‘It’s all right to be nervous.’
‘I’m not nervous. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.’
‘Is this all you have?’ He nodded towards the moderate-size holdall that was propped against a sofa that had bespoke and expensive written all over it. The open-plan living area suggested that the owner had expensive taste.
‘I fit a lot in. I wasn’t sure what to bring.’ She hurried and clumsily snatched the bag up before him. ‘I can manage,’ she said with the attitude of someone expecting a fight.
No fight materialised; he simply straightened up and watched as she flung it purposefully over her shoulder, allowing himself a faint smile when the impetus as it hit her hip almost knocked her off balance.
‘Fine by me.’
‘That’s good, then,’ she said, knowing the response sounded lame.
Mari lived on the fourth floor in a small nondescript brick building that had no lift, and by the time they had reached the third floor she was regretting he hadn’t argued her out of her decision. Halfway down she swallowed her pride and paused to catch her breath.
He paused, too, not breathless obviously, just looking like a Hollywood film star who had drifted onto the wrong set. This peeling paint and worn carpet really wasn’t his natural setting.
He looked down at her through the mesh of his crazily long dark eyelashes and nodded to the bag. ‘Manage that, can you?’
She gritted her teeth, straightened up and produced a sunny smile. The weight had almost yanked her shoulder from its socket, but she’d die before she’d admit it or accept his help. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
He stood aside as she exited the flat door sideways, not making allowances for the bulk of the bag as she eased past him carefully.
‘Sure you don’t need help?’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly, requiring all her breath to negotiate the last flight of stairs. They passed one of her neighbours, whose plucked brows almost vanished into her hairline when she saw Seb.
‘Moving on, are we?’
‘A holiday,’ Mari puffed.
‘I don’t think she believed you,’ Seb said in a voice that echoed spookily down the stairwell.
‘Shh, she’ll hear you,’ Mari hissed as she prepared to swap shoulders, resting her bag for a moment on the step long enough to give him ample opportunity to repeat his offer of help. She’d refuse, but it would be nice to have the option. When he didn’t, she gritted her teeth and wished she hadn’t packed the books or the pair of boots.
‘The reporters knocked on every door in the building. I think they offered money for—’
His lip curled. ‘Dirt.’
She turned her head; he was standing two steps behind her.
‘I was surprised,’ he admitted, stepping down one step and pausing just one above her.
Too close...too close... Struggling to pacify the panicky voice in her head, she took a jolting backward step.
‘Really? I thought knocking on doors and buying stories was par for the course?’
‘It is, which is why I was surprised when I didn’t get to read the lurid details, both fictional and true, of your love affairs in the tabloids. Anyone would think you have a blemish-free past.’ The humourless smile that tugged the corners of his mouth upwards faded as his hooded gaze slid covetously over the curves of her athletically slim body. She had an innate sensuality that had to make every man she met think about taking her to bed—he had.
Still was thinking, said the voice in his head.
The difference was he wasn’t going to act on it, despite the sizzle whenever they were in near proximity. This might be a long eighteen months.
It didn’t matter how hard they dug, she didn’t have a past, at least not the sort he was talking about, but Mari was not about to admit her embarrassing lack of lovers to him. She turned her head quickly. Trust issues aside, she had suspected for some time that she simply wasn’t very highly sexed. With Adrian she had been in love with the idea of it, the romance of it, which was why having her illusions shattered had been such a big deal.
She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her and rejected her. She’d prefer to stay single than risk feeling that way again.
‘Some of us are discreet.’
‘Yeah, I had a grandstand view of your amazing discretion in the cathedral,’ he drawled, replaying the scene in his head and feeling the acrid aftertaste of