Seduction Assignment. Helen Bianchin

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Have you been waiting long?’

      She turned her head and met a pair of steady dark eyes, glimpsed their warning flare, and controlled the unexpected flip her stomach executed as she became lost in the devastating warmth of his smile.

      Only a fool would have ignored the hard-muscled body beneath the open-necked shirt and stonewashed jeans, or dismissed the ruthless intensity behind his deceptively mild expression.

      Anneke had the distinct feeling he was poised for action. It was evident in his stance, the sharp stillness apparent in his eyes. For one infinitesimal second she almost felt sorry for her aggressor.

      ‘Sebastian. C’est opportun.’

      A split second to think. So, not fluent, he acknowledged. The accent was passable. His smile widened. Good. She would understand what he said when he made love to her.

      His eyes were carefully bland. ‘Should we effect an introduction?’ He thrust out his hand and enclosed the young man’s palm in a firm grip. ‘Lanier. And you?’

      ‘Go to hell.’

      Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. ‘What a shame, my friend,’ he intoned with deadly softness. ‘We’re not going there.’

      Anneke didn’t blink at the blistering and very pithy response. ‘Charming,’ she murmured facetiously as her aggressor turned and ambled off along the pavement. ‘Pity his suggestion was anatomically impossible.’

      Sebastian’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘He intended to relieve you of whatever money you had in your wallet.’ To fund the next fix.

      ‘It would have been interesting to discover his threshold of pain.’

      He cast her a sharp glance. ‘What particular method did you have in mind?’

      She told him, concisely, analytically, and had the satisfaction of evidencing a measure of respect.

      ‘Reassuring,’ he conceded, ‘to learn you can take care of yourself.’

      Anneke inclined her head. Dealing with the scruffy young creep wouldn’t have posed a problem. However, she would have had to discard the carry-bags in a hurry, and to have her carefully selected purchases crushed or broken in a physical fracas would have been a terrible waste.

      She turned towards him and raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘And your field of expertise?’

      He had trained beneath a well-respected master, practised in many a dojo, and occasionally fought in places no civilised self-respecting person would consider while serving his country for a time.

      It was simpler to name one. ‘Karate.’

      Anneke considered him thoughtfully. Most men would have launched into a string of achievements. However, Sebastian Lanier was not ‘most men’, and his simplicity intrigued her.

      There was more to him than met the eye, she perceived. Entrepreneur, writer. What other vocation and skill did he possess?

      Sebastian indicated the carry-bags. ‘Anything likely to spoil in there for the next hour?’

      ‘No. Why?’

      He deftly turned her in the opposite direction. ‘You can join me for lunch.’

      She regarded him solemnly. ‘It’s polite to ask.’

      His mouth curved to form a wolfish smile, and there was a gleam in those dark eyes she didn’t quite trust. ‘I feel it’s the least I can do in light of the gastronomic feasts you’ve prepared for me over the past few nights.’

      ‘Gastronomic’ indeed. ‘Feast’ depended entirely on the interpretation, she decided with irreverent suspicion. ‘Thank you.’

      There were any number of cafés and restaurants from which to choose. Instead, he led her into a modern pub, the owner of which had gained recognition in the area for his brush with fame and the garnering of considerable wealth. A man’s man, and one of the boys, local legend had it, who could sup beer at the bar with his friends equally as well as he’d cemented business deals in Hollywood and London.

      ‘You don’t object to a counter lunch?’

      She searched Sebastian’s features in an attempt to discern whether his choice was deliberate, and found nothing to indicate that it might be.

      ‘It’s ages since I had fish and chips.’

      He cast her a musing glance. ‘I think you’ll find they manage something less basic.’

      They did, and, although relatively simple fare, the freshly caught grilled schnapper was delicious, the salad superb, and it was obvious the licensee patronised the local bakery.

      Sebastian noted her enjoyment, observed her healthy appetite, the precise but intensely feminine movements of her hands, the manner in which she sampled each mouthful.

      Poetry in motion. There was no guile, no studied orchestration. He wondered what she would look like with her hair loose, and spread over his pillow as she slept. Or tossed and dishevelled in the throes of passion as she rode him hard and fast.

      She possessed a beautiful mouth, even white teeth. Was she well versed in using both to drive a man wild and hold him on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain?

      Confrontational, no artifice, he mused thoughtfully. What you saw was what you got.

      Yet she wasn’t above playing a diverse game. For the sheer hell of it, he suspected, as he mentally reviewed the exotic meals she’d delivered all three evenings. He’d expected unimaginative fare. Not the dishes she’d gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare.

      His eyes acquired a gleam of dancing amusement. What did she have in mind for tonight?

      Anneke sensed his gaze, caught the musing glint apparent, and spared him a level look. ‘Nice to know I amuse you. Perhaps you could be specific?’

      Sebastian banked down the laughter, broke off a piece of bread and ate it, then offered her a warm smile. ‘How specific would you like me to be?’

      She watched the powerful movement of his jaw, the way his facial muscles clenched and relaxed, the smooth column of his throat. His hands fascinated her. Broad palms, strong wrists, tanned skin stretched over fluid sinew, long, tapered fingers that belied their strength, clean, well-shaped nails.

      ‘Oh, the whole truth and nothing but the truth will do.’

      ‘I’m curious to know where you learnt to cook.’

      She effected a light shrug. ‘A young chef rented the apartment next to mine for a while. I helped him perfect his English, and in return he shared his culinary skills.’

      ‘Among other skills?’

      She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his meaning. ‘He wasn’t my lover.’ She replaced her cutlery, then carefully pushed her plate aside and stood to her feet. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

      He’d offended her. Interesting. ‘Sit down.’

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