The Seduction Trap (8 page)

‘Patio chair,’ she muttered, trying to aim for a white shape in the near distance.

‘Look out! You’ll trample the irises. I’ll guide you, shall I? You might fall over the table,’ he suggested unc¬tuously. And, just as unctuously, he caught her hand in a vice¬like grip and led her to a patio chair. ‘You can sit down now. I expect the plastic will be a little cold on your-’

‘Yes! Thank you!’ she said hastily, dragging her T-shirt down to her thighs and tucking herself into the chair. A great deal of her seemed to be tingling, and it wasn’t anything to do with cold plastic. It was, presumably, the knowledge that he sat close to her, fully dressed, while she was naked as the day she was born underneath the baggy top. There was something rather deliciously decadent about the situation!

To cover up her embarrassment, she fiddled with the little case and popped in her contacts. Instant vision. Thank goodness! ‘Stunning!’ he said in admiration. ‘I thought the violet would look rather good. Rather fun to change your eye colour, isn’t it?’

‘Look, I asked for the green-’ she began, switching her newly focused gaze on him.

And instantly she felt a lurch in her chest as her heart did a little somersault. Guy looked absolutely devastating. Smooth, tanned, golden, his neat dark hair still a little damp from his morning shower and curling around his ears in a way that made her feel weak. White shirt, crisply laundered, rolled-up sleeves, open at the neck. Glimpses of a broad chest ... Tantalising, she thought breathlessly. Strong arms. Soft silver-grey jeans. Lean hips. Wow.

‘I am looking,’ he murmured, his white teeth flashing in a lazy grin. ‘And enjoying-’

‘Don’t flirt with me. I don’t like it,’ she said flatly. She wasn’t prepared to go through this buttering up so he could then suggest that she sell the cottages to him.

And, annoyed with his ulterior motive, she rose, drawing herself to her full height, ready to order him to leave. ‘Does that mean you already have a lover?’ he enquired insolently, as if he’d consider filling that position should it be vacant.

‘No. Nor do I want one. I’ve had men up to here,’ she said, raising her hand and slashing her palm across her throat. ‘I’m going in to dress and I don’t expect you to be here when I return.’

‘But I’ve brought your breakfast and a few other supplies.’ Quite unabashed, he heaved a bag of groceries onto the table. ‘Hot brioches, pain au chocolat-that’s a chocolate-filled croissant-jam, decent coffee, fruit-’

‘Wait a minute!’ she said, trying to sound irritable despite the incredible smell of warm bread. Her mouth watered. Self-denial was infernally hard! ‘How-how dare you take it on yourself to intrude on my life-?’

‘I know. It is a nerve. But you’ve had a dismal welcome and eating is such a pleasure, I find,’ he said earnestly, disconcerting her by gluing his eyes to hers with such compelling sincerity that she couldn’t look away. ‘It’s my offering, from Turaine, to make you feel happier about my village.’

His village. Yes, she’d forgotten. Tessa studied the food doubtfully. Hungrily. And wavered. She’d made it clear where she stood regarding his flirting. And although her mother had told her to keep away from Guy she’d never know what he was up to if she just told him to leave, would she? It might be interesting, she thought, her eyes gleaming, to see how he intended to acquire the cottages-and why he and her mother loathed one another.

‘You’re right,’ she said briskly. ‘I can’t be so ungracious as to turn you down.’

‘I knew I could coax you!’ He beamed.

‘You didn’t. The chocolate croissant did,’ she said, intentionally flattening his ego. Or trying to. He just laughed, his self-regard not even dented. ‘I’ll get dressed,’ she said, and a mischievous smile lit her face. He was eager to twist her around his little finger. Well, she could take advantage of that. And do a little twisting herself. ‘You can make some coffee for us.’

‘Of course,’ he said at once. And with a surprising enthusiasm. Tessa knew then that he must have a private reason for leaping to her bidding. Men like Guy didn’t let women order them around. An unusual excitement fired her body as she walked with apparent demureness back up the path. For her mother’s sake, she’d find out what this reprobate was up to. And take a great delight in scotching his plans!

Guy picked cherries from the ancient tree with unnecessarily hard concentration, dropping each pair onto the tray close by. After a while, he judged his testosterone to be under control and eased up.

It amused him that he’d intended to charm her, once he’d discovered she might be the new owner of the cottages, and yet for some reason he’d been dangerously close on a couple of occasions to being captivated himself!

He strolled to the end of the garden and gazed across the fields to where the Dordogne glistened seductively in the morning sunshine. Unusual woman. Not strictly beautiful, but ... beautiful, nevertheless. Child of the mother. Tessa had her mother’s fatal vulnerability and disconcerting toughness. Plus Estelle’s innate sex appeal. Now he understood his father’s

helplessness. Both women had the ability to sock a man instantly between the eyes and at all points south, totally missing the brain. He’d never have believed it of himself!

For a moment, an image of Tessa sprawled like an innocently inviting siren in the hammock came to his mind. Guy scowled. The woman only had to cry and blink at him with those damnably hurt eyes-not even her own colour!-and he felt compelled to forget everything just to touch her, kiss her... And make the same mistake as his father. With Estelle’s daughter, damnit! It would invite a slow erosion of his independence, his honour-his bank account! Guy allowed himself a small, wry smile. He needed a hostess for a wife, not a woman who obsessed him. Watching his father crawl for Estelle’s favours, become a willing slave and gradually discard Turaine, his inheritance, had been sickening. And it wouldn’t happen to him; he wasn’t that stupid.

The shutters came down on his desire, willed by the immense strength of his mind to close off everything but the object of his pursuit. He intended to own the cottages by the end of the week, when the architect would come to present preliminary sketches for the village.

Guy went back to the kitchen and made coffee, then wandered back to a lounger, shut his eyes and listened to the jays squabbling in the cherry tree. Nearly mine, he thought in satisfaction. The tree, the garden, the house ... All of Turaine would be under his care.

He found himself tensing with an inner excitement which rolled around his body in an unstoppable wave as he reran his meetings with Tessa-she, dressed in her tight leathers and that provocative little top ... the achingly inviting tight globes of her buttocks ... her blind love for her parents and her self-deprecating humour... The throb came to his loins again, fiercer, hungrier than before.

Irritably he castigated himself for letting his mind wander, and began to formulate some leading questions before she returned.

‘I have some questions,’ Tessa said briskly, as soon as she was within earshot of Guy’s relaxed figure. He opened his mouth and shut it again. ‘Fire away, he murmured unsteadily.

Demure in a long cotton skirt and short-sleeved navy shirt cinched in at her hand-span waist, she proceeded to break off pieces of croissant and butter them with a flagrant disregard for cholesterol.

‘Why did you record my numberplate when we first met?’ she shot at him.

‘We have the French equivalent of a neighbourhood watch,’ he answered, making the unlikely claim without a second’s hesitation. ‘Strangers and their vehicles are noted as a precaution.’

Tessa gave him a sceptical stare. She hardly looked like burglar material. ‘That’ll keep you all busy in the high season,’ she said tartly. ‘Standing on street corners and scribbling every time a coachload of tourists appears. You’ll have no time to do anything else.’

‘I know,’ he agreed, all innocence and concern. ‘We’ll have to get a different system or we’ll run out of notebooks, won’t we? Next question?’

Wretched man, she thought. He didn’t give much away! How could she provoke him into an indiscretion? ‘I thought it seemed odd that you were taking photographs of the village,’ she said doggedly. ‘You own it. You can see it any time you like.’

Guy swung his legs off the lounger and took his time coming to sit at the table.

‘Photographs?’ she prompted, wondering if he was playing for time.

He slid into the chair opposite her, picked up two pairs of cherries and hung them over her ears before she could stop him. And then his amused, contemplative glance temporarily paralysed her hands, because it looked from the way he touched his lips with the tip of his tongue as if he was thinking of taking one of the cherries into his mouth. Right now.

Something drastic happened to her breathing. She swallowed, imagining that lushly carved mouth brushing her ear, and in a panic she reached up with both hands at once and hurled the fruit into the bushes. I know your game! she thought angrily. ‘Photographs,’ she muttered again, managing to spill the word out on a harsh breath.

‘Yes,’ he replied idly. ‘I’m giving the village a makeover.’ He grinned at her startled expression. ‘I’ve been taking ‘before’ pictures to compare them with the ‘after’. I’m not planning anything too complicated just a face-lift and a bit of restyling. No jade-coloured glass in the windows or anything dramatic like that.’

Despite herself, she smiled, quite disarmed by his answer, knowing that she and her contact lenses were being gently teased.

Tessa tried to ignore the appeal of his perfect white smile and to stick to her objective. There must be a link between his ambitions to renovate the village and her mother. It seemed that the cottages were part of that equation. ‘I’m really sad about the state of the buildings in the village. I’m glad you’re making repairs,’ she murmured, and a genuine warmth crept into her voice though she’d begun with just an intention to flatter him. ‘Turaine is such a lovely place,’ she said earnestly. ‘Um ... are you restoring the whole of the village?’

‘As much as I can, in time,’ he acknowledged modestly. Her eyes rounded. Was he serious? ‘Wow. You’ll be popular!’ she encouraged, letting her lashes flutter in admiration. With a very eloquent and Gallic shrug of his shoulders, he said, ‘Overwhelmingly so. To be honest, I’ve found my reception a little embarrassing. Although I’m only

righting a wrong done by my father, I’m greeted like a long-lost son. People tend to shake my hand and press gifts on me which they can’t afford.’ He gave her a slightly abashed grin which lit his eyes, and she could tell how pleased he felt about his welcome.

‘Like what?’ she prompted sweetly, hoping to flatter him with her interest.

‘Well, I’ve filled my freezer with chickens and my fridge seems to be full of freshly laid eggs which I can’t eat fast enough before I’m given another dozen or two. And what,’ he asked innocently, ‘can I do with a crate of asparagus?’ He could share it with Giselle, she thought, meeting his laughing eyes. ‘Set up a market stall?’ she suggested instead, humour tugging at her mouth as she pictured the elegant and sophisticated Guy de Turaine touting for customers. ‘Or perhaps offer it to the local orphanage?’ he mused, quite remarkably poker-faced and apparently filled with goodness and light.

Tessa looked scathing. But she felt wonderful. Sharp, alive, amused, loving the repartee and the ease with which they communicated. And she shouldn’t. This guy might look like a

cherub, speak like one most of the time and utter words about orphanages and doing good works, but her mother had been quite adamant about his underlying malevolence. ‘The orphanage?’ she scorned. ‘Over the top, Guy! You’ve just lost your credibility. Go and pull the wool over someone else’s eyes.’

‘I might do better to pull it over my own,’ he said ruefully. ‘I can’t go far in Turaine without someone rushing up for a long chat. I thought of a disguise.’ He dug a spoon in the marmalade jar and lifted it close to his forehead. ‘What do you think of an orange wig and marmalade eyebrows?’ Tessa couldn’t stop a treacherous giggle. ‘Sticky,’ she replied, thinking it would be a travesty to spoil that gorgeous, shiny black hair. It looked soft and silky. She folded her arms, because the urge to reach out and stroke it was making her fingers restless.

‘You’re right.’ Guy slowly lowered the spoon to his mouth. Keeping his eyes on her, he let the tip of his tongue tentatively lick the marmalade, lapping it up in tiny, savouring morsels. ‘Delicious,’ he pronounced softly.

Something unnervingly like a sexual reaction curled inside her, and she quickly shifted the conversation back to the point. Either he was trying to divert her, or he was inherently flippant. ‘It’s natural that everyone’s delighted with your intentions, after your father’s neglect,’ she said primly. She struggled with her conscience. She shouldn’t admire him. It seemed disloyal to her mother. Yet, if he was telling the truth, he’d be saving the village from ruin. She looked for a drawback and found one. ‘I suppose you’ll put their rents up?’

‘Not at all,’ he said firmly. ‘In fact I’ve suspended all payment of rent till I feel I can honourably reintroduce it again. The villagers have been let down by my family. I hold myself personally responsible.’

‘You sound far too good to be true,’ she suggested cautiously. For a split second his brown eyes flickered with a hint of annoyance, as if he felt offended that she should question his integrity. And then he resumed his expression of benign goodwill.