Seduction Assignment. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      ANNEKE’S wardrobe of formal and semi-formal wear was reasonably extensive. The only problem being that most of that particular range of her clothes hung in the closet of her Sydney apartment.

      In her rush to escape her job, Adam and the city, she’d simply dragged down a suitcase and pulled clothes off hangers, out of drawers, and flung them willy-nilly into the case.

      Her proposed sojourn on an isolated beach had lent itself to including casual shorts and tops, jeans. Not elegant after-five wear, or extravagant high-heeled pumps.

      It was a clear choice between a classic black dress, or a long floral slip.

      The black dress won out, and she tended to her make-up with care, left her hair loose, and was about to catch up her purse when she heard Sebastian’s Range Rover pull into the driveway.

      Anneke reached the door as Sebastian trod the path, and the breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

      Attired in dark tailored trousers, matching jacket, and white shirt and tie, he was the antithesis of the man she was accustomed to seeing every day.

      The image unsettled her. It was crazy to feel nervous, but she couldn’t prevent the heavy thud of her heart, or the unwarranted apprehension which curled round her nerve-ends.

      ‘Hi,’ she greeted brightly. Too brightly?

      Polite conversation had never been more difficult, and she waited until Sebastian reached the highway before querying, ‘How long have you lived next door to my aunt?’

      ‘Five years.’

      ‘Yet during each of my visits I’ve never caught sight of you.’

      He turned his head and cast her a quick glance. ‘I travel around a bit in between finishing one book and starting the next.’

      ‘Publicity tours?’

      ‘Yes. And research.’

      ‘You’d represent a publishing promoter’s dream. The height, the arresting looks, combined with more than a hint of the dark and dangerous. The women would flock to the literary luncheons, the book-signings.’

      ‘A compliment, Anneke?’ he queried with deceptive mildness. ‘Or a condemnation?’

      She subjected him to a detailed appraisal, and took her time giving a considered opinion. ‘Oh, a compliment.’ Her eyes travelled up and met his briefly. ‘I don’t doubt you handle it all with consummate charm.’ Except there would be an absence of ego, she determined silently.

      She watched as he entered town and eased the vehicle into a car park. He cut the engine and removed the key from the ignition. ‘Shall we go?’

      The restaurant Sebastian had chosen specialised in seafood, and she ordered prawn cocktail as a starter, sea perch as a main course with vegetables, and she declined dessert.

      Sebastian merely doubled her order, added prawns and scallops to his dish, then requested the wine steward bring champagne.

      ‘We’re celebrating?’

      He dismissed the tasting ritual, and indicated both flutes be filled. Then he touched the rim of his flute to her own. ‘To friendship.’

      Friendship? Could a woman be friend to a man such as Sebastian Lanier? Somehow Anneke doubted there would be any half-measures. Sebastian might observe the courtship dance, with its seeking manoeuvres, but when he’d staked his claim it would be all or nothing.

      She had the strangest feeling that dinner this evening in semi-formal surroundings was the first step he intended she take to…what? His bed?

      Their starter arrived, and she bit into the first of three succulent prawns doused with a delicate sauce and set on a bed of shredded lettuce.

      It was difficult to sit opposite a man at a dinner table and not subconsciously observe the way he ate. Whether he stabbed his food with the fork, how he employed the knife. If his use of the cutlery was precise, or merely utilitarian. Body language, despite an adherence to good manners, tended to be revealing.

      ‘Where will you spend Christmas?’

      Anneke lifted her head and was unable to discern much from his gaze. ‘I haven’t made any definite plans.’ She lifted her flute and sipped some champagne, then replaced it down onto the table. ‘What about you?’

      He pushed his entrée plate to one side and leaned back in his chair. ‘Paris.’

      The city of love. The Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysées, the Eiffel Tower, the Left Bank and the River Seine. Misty grey skies, drizzling rain, the cold. But the ambience…

      Anneke stifled a sigh. ‘You have family there?’

      ‘Grandmère.’ His expression softened, his mouth relaxed and his eyes held reflective warmth. ‘Her eightieth birthday falls on Christmas Day.’

      She could imagine the gathering, and felt vaguely envious. To be involved, to be part of it… The laughter, love. Gifts and giving.

      ‘When do you fly out?’

      ‘Friday week.’

      A lump settled inside her stomach. In eight days he would leave, and when he returned she’d be gone.

      The waiter appeared with their main course, and she viewed the grilled sea perch with its artistically displayed vegetables with perfunctory interest. All of a sudden her appetite seemed to have fled.

      How long had she known this man? A week? Yet, while his presence had alternately annoyed and inflamed her, there was a pull of the senses, almost as if something was exigent, forcing recognition on some deep, primal level.

      There was a part of her that urged compliance, a devilish spontaneity uncaring of anything except now.

      And that was dangerous. Infinitely dangerous. Somehow she couldn’t imagine it being easy to sample what Sebastian Lanier had to offer, then calmly turn and walk away.

      It was better, far better not to engage in anything at all. Besides, what could happen in a week?

      Anneke picked at the fish, sampled each of the vegetables, returned to the fish, then replaced her cutlery down onto the plate.

      ‘The fish isn’t to your liking?’

      She glanced up and met Sebastian’s perceptive gaze. ‘No, it’s fine. I’m just not that hungry.’

      He speared a small scallop from his plate and held it temptingly close to her mouth. ‘Try this. It’s perfection.’

      There was an implied intimacy in the gesture, and her eyes widened slightly, then stilled as she was held mesmerised by the sensual warmth apparent in the dark grey eyes of the man seated opposite.

      Anneke felt as if she was damned if she took the morsel, and equally damned if she didn’t.

      ‘It’s easy,’ Sebastian said gently. ‘Just open your mouth.’

      She