He still remained something of an enigma. Although he had, true to his word, been charming and amusing over the remainder of the meal, he had managed to learn quite a lot about her life, her work and friends whilst unobtrusively redirecting any questions about himself. Why the mystery? she wondered.
He looked up suddenly, his dark features turning intuitively in her direction. Rather than avert her gaze and look elsewhere, she kept her eyes level and her chin square. There was enquiry, a challenge in his bold stare, transmuted as he held her eyes to stark and unadulterated desire.
No man had ever, as far as she could recall, looked at her so brazenly before. The message in his stare was a blatant admission of desire. She had certainly never experienced this flash fire of wildly conflicting sensations. She stood stock-still, caught in the current that passed between them. She recognised that she was a victim of her own primitive cravings, but felt powerless to resist.
With a soft word Callum extricated himself from his partner, who showed an inclination to pout, and moved purposefully across the room.
‘This is Alice,’ Georgina said nervously as he reached her side.
‘Hello, Alice. I haven’t danced with Georgina yet. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you?’ His eyes only left her face for a second. She was drawn onto the dance floor without even realising she’d relinquished her role as wallflower. ‘This day is not turning out at all as I’d expected, Miss Campion.’
‘It isn’t?’ she said thickly. The numbness that had hit her seconds before was slipping away to be replaced by a swamping awareness of her body and its reactions and this man, this stranger who held her, his body. She’d drunk too much. She’d been building up to this day for weeks; it was the stress, the entire cocktail of emotional havoc that was responsible for the sexual awareness that had sprung to life.
‘You were described to me as very efficient. I wasn’t expecting hair like glossy autumn leaves, soft, buttermilk skin and sultry lips like ripe strawberries.’
She swallowed, frighteningly aware of how much a captive she was of the deep, resonant voice and the glittering eyes. Excitement and a totally alien exhilaration were swirling in her veins. Common sense, with which she knew she was amply endowed, told her that her bruised ego was lapping up this attention because of its traumatised state. But it was difficult to reconcile common sense with the feverish clamour of her blood. She was aware of trembling—a fact he too couldn’t have failed to notice.
‘Very poetic,’ she replied, injecting scorn into her voice and pulling her eyes from the magnetic tug of his gaze. ‘This really wasn’t in the job description, you know.’ She swallowed. How wrong had she been when she’d thought this man was ill-equipped to act as an escort! She’d almost disastrously forgotten that that was what he was. It was the height of stupidity to fall for a look of desire. Do I need to be wanted that much? she thought bitterly. It must be genetic!
’And I’m certain you made that quite clear at the outset.’ His voice held a degree of almost amused affection which made her glance up.
’Perhaps that’s why the agency described me as efficient.’
‘The agency...?’ he murmured sharply. ‘Oh, yes, the agency. I never mix business with pleasure.’ Perhaps this occasion called for a little flexibility, he told himself.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said uncertainly. God, how could she be such a fool as to fall for a slick chat-up line and blue eyes? This was superficial attraction, basic. She wished hard that she hadn’t addled her senses with all the free wine.
‘I’d be more than happy to be your escort on an unpaid basis.’
She was almost sure he was teasing her and the mockery helped her fight the spell that the music, the atmosphere... and Callum were weaving. ‘I’m flattered, but you’re not the sort of man I’d go out with.’
Callum neatly avoided a collision with a couple who were both much the worse for the champagne. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of staying in,’ he admitted with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
The breathless sensation could not be solely attributed to the neat manoeuvre that had swung her around one hundred and eighty degrees. ‘I hardly think we’re compatible.’ She couldn’t recall ever being propositioned before so the correct response was difficult to gauge. She was almost sure he was joking and it would make her appear ridiculous if she made too much of the incident.
‘Strange. I’ve been getting quite different messages,’ he murmured. One hand slid down her hair, letting the heavy, silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘Could it be you’re afflicted with the great British disease of being unwilling to mingle outside your own class? Would I be a social embarrassment for an upwardly mobile career woman?’ Mild but damning contempt liberally coated his words.
‘Are you insinuating I’m a snob?’ she replied, registering that his scornful words identified him as probably not being British. ‘I take it from your smug, egalitarian tone that you don’t hail from these shores?’
The slight friction of his hand against the nape of her neck was sending flurries of warmth tingling through her body. His other hand had pulled her body close enough against his own for her to be aware of how taut and muscular his spare frame was. The effort to keep her head from flopping forward against the invitation of his solidly muscled chest made tiny beads of perspiration break out along her upper lip.
‘Are you trying to tell me that if I was an eminently respectable professional like your stuffed dummy you’d still be fighting against this attraction?’ His eyes gleamed with disdain.
To compare this temporary insanity with what she had felt for Alex might have made her smile under less stressful circumstances. She might have worshipped Alex uncritically and, in retrospect, pathetically, but she had never felt anything nearly so insidiously primitive in his arms. Sometimes she thought her self-restraint had had a lot to do with his seeking comfort elsewhere.
‘I’ve given up on emotional complications in my life.’ She wished she sounded as confident about this as she had hoped she would.
‘This is more instinctive than emotional, don’t you think?’ he mused, a lick of grim humour in his voice.
When she looked up there was something far more fierce than humour in his eyes—hunger. Her eyes moved of their own volition to his mouth, and the sensuous curl of his lips made her throat close over. The hot, liquid sensation in her belly expanded to flood her already unsteady limbs. The fantasy that passed before her eyes was full of texture and taste. In fact, all her senses seemed to be involved in the concept of this simple, imaginary kiss.
‘There speaks the male of the species,’ she retorted, her voice all the more angry because of the diversions her mind was taking. ‘A physical experience without emotions is an unrewarding one for a woman.’
‘I thought you’d given up on emotions?’ he said with a quirk of one eyebrow. ‘Does this mean you’ve taken a vow of chastity?’
‘Is that so outrageous?’
‘I think for some people celibacy might be a possible solution. People with a genuinely asexual personality, that is—those who pretend things they are incapable of feeling just to conform. It’s not the answer for someone as sensual as you. Repressing your true nature is no answer.’
‘And you’d know all about my personality!’ she snapped scornfully.
‘I think you’re the sort of woman who is afraid to stand up for what she believes in. You’re big on independence and self-sufficiency, but when an opportunity to display the fact is offered you, what do you do? Rush off to hire a body to wear a suit so you