The Innocent's One-Night Confession. Sara Craven
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His attention was fixed frowningly on the laptop on the low table in front of him, but he closed it at her approach and smiled up at her.
‘Did that help?’
‘Amazingly so.’ She sat down beside him, but at a discreet distance, and took another longer look around her. ‘This is—palatial.’
He shrugged. ‘It does the job while I’m in London. Right now, I seem to spend most of my time on aircraft. Tomorrow I’m heading off to the States.’
Which explained the waiting suitcase.
‘You enjoy travelling?’
‘It doesn’t worry me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But then I’ve always been regarded as having gipsy blood.’
‘How—exciting.’ She’d almost said ‘romantic’ but stopped herself just in time.
He said drily, ‘Except it’s never been intended as a compliment.’
She was wondering how to respond to this when she was diverted by the waiter’s arrival with two flutes of pale wine, fizzing with bubbles.
‘Champagne?’ She drew a breath. ‘But why?’
He shrugged. ‘You think it’s just for celebrations? It isn’t. Tonight, treat it simply as the world’s best tonic.’
She accepted the flute uncertainly. ‘Well—thank you.’
‘We should have a toast.’ He touched his glass lightly to hers. ‘Health and happiness.’
She repeated the words softly and drank.
The cool, dry wine seemed to burst, fizzing, in her mouth, caressing her throat as she swallowed.
She said with a little gasp. ‘You’re right. It’s wonderful.’
And the food which arrived shortly afterwards was just as good—fillets of salmon wrapped in prosciutto, served on a bed of creamy tarragon pasta with asparagus, peas and tiny broad beans.
The dessert was a platter of little filo pastry tartlets filled with an assortment of fruits in brandied syrup.
All of it enhanced accompanied by the chilled sparkle of the champagne.
And by conversation, starting with books and moving on to music, quiet, entertaining, and always involving, so that, in spite of her initial forebodings, Alanna found she was relaxing into enjoyment. Savouring his company almost more than the delicious supper.
Yet, at the same time, becoming increasingly aware of the potency of his attraction. How his slow smile and the quiet intensity of his silver gaze made her nerve-endings quiver and set her pulses racing—reactions which bewildered as much as they disturbed her.
She wasn’t a child for heaven’s sake. She’d enjoyed a satisfactory social life at university and since her arrival in London. But liking had not so far ripened into passion and none of the young men she’d dated had ever come close to persuading her into a more intimate relationship.
That, she’d told herself, was because casual relationships had little appeal for her, and, anyway, she was far more interested in concentrating her emotional energy on the development of her career.
Or was it just because she’d never been seriously tempted to abandon her self-imposed celibacy.
Not that she was now, of course, she added hastily.
And, thankfully, the evening would soon be over, and no harm done.
After all, the conversation, however enjoyable, had remained strictly impersonal. They hadn’t even exchanged surnames, she reminded herself, which made it very much a ‘ships that pass in the night’ occasion.
And she should put out of her mind the sense of comfort and security she’d experienced in the taxi when he’d held her in his arms as she wept. Once again, he was just being kind. Nothing more. And far better—safer—to believe that.
The arrival of the coffee, however, prompted a move back to the sofa. And it had also, she realised, signalled the departure of the serving staff, leaving them alone together.
She made a thing of looking at her watch. ‘Heavens, I didn’t realise how late it was. I should be leaving. I—I’ve already taken up too much of your time.’
‘I think we both know that isn’t true.’ He paused, then added, ‘Have some coffee,’ filling one of the small cups from the tall silver pot. ‘Then I’ll call the desk and order a cab for you.’
As he passed her the cup, their fingers brushed and she felt the brief contact shiver through her senses.
It was so quiet in the room that it seemed the swift uneven pounding of her heart must be audible to them both.
She pushed back a strand of hair from her forehead and saw him watching the swift, nervous movement of her hand and stared down, trying to calm herself, concentrating her attention on the dark swirl of coffee in her cup.
She thought, This is madness...
When she’d finished the last rich drop, she returned her cup to the tray.
She said too brightly, ‘That was delicious. But now I really must be on my way.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and picked up the telephone. He gave the order for the taxi and listened, nodding, to the response.
‘It may be a few minutes,’ he said, as he replaced the receiver. ‘Apparently it has begun to rain.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said quickly, rising to her feet and reaching for her jacket and bag. ‘I—I’ll wait in the foyer. There’s no need for you to come down.’
His brows lifted but all he said was, ‘As you wish.’
At the door, Alanna turned. ‘Thank you again—for everything,’ she said and held out her hand.
But instead of the brief handshake she’d expected, Zan’s fingers closed round hers, carrying them to his lips and kissing them gently.
At her sharp indrawn breath, he paused, smiling down into her widening eyes, then turned her hand, letting his mouth caress the soft hollow of her palm.
Sensations began to uncurl inside her—pleasure and a kind of yearning that she had not experienced before but which she found strangely, even dangerously, beguiling.
So much so that when he took her in his arms, she went unresistingly, swaying against his body, feeling herself enveloped by the heat of his skin, as if the layers of clothing between them had ceased to exist.
His hands tangled in her hair, framing her face as he brought her mouth to his. As his lips slowly, almost wonderingly, explored the contours of hers, then coaxed them apart to allow the dark, sweet invasion of his tongue.
As she yielded—responded—to this new intimacy, she found her hands gripping his shoulders as if they were her only security in a suddenly reeling world, where her legs seemed no longer able to support her.
Their mouths clung, as his kisses deepened from gentleness to urgency and an open hunger that she could neither ignore nor deny because she shared it.
Even when she realised his fingers were releasing the zip on her dress and pulling the loosened fabric from her shoulders, she made no protest, melting into him as his lips caressed a slow path down her throat.
She was absorbed, lost in bewilderment—in the soft, hot ache of desire—when the sudden insistence of the telephone ringing intruded violently, like a whiplash across her senses.
Zan said something under his breath and released her, striding across to the phone, responding to the caller with a curt ‘Very well’ before replacing the receiver.
He looked back at Alanna. ‘Your taxi is here.’
Even without that, the brief interruption had been enough, bringing her starkly