Instead, he’d gone about showering and shaving in quite a foul mood, even nicking himself once with his razor, which he hadn’t done for years. He’d also forgotten to take his clothes in with him, forcing him to come out of the bathroom with nothing on but a towel wrapped around his hips. Now, Ryan knew he had a good body, but what had Laura done? Nothing; not a single stare in his direction. Instead, she’d nonchalantly gathered up her clothes and sashayed past him into the bathroom without giving his bare chest a second glance.
Ryan’s considerable male ego had been severely dented, so much so that he almost decided then and there to abandon his resolve to keep his hands—and his mouth—well away from her. He spent ten gratifying minutes fantasising about what he was going to do when she emerged. First he would kiss her until she started moaning again. Then, when she had totally melted against him he would lift her up and carry her onto that incredibly sexy bed where he would show her that, even if she didn’t truly fancy him yet, she sure would soon.
Unfortunately the passage of time had a way of ruining perfectly good fantasies, and at the same time of increasing one’s level of frustration. Which was why, after Laura had been in that infernal bathroom for forty minutes, an extremely irritated Ryan started banging on the bathroom door.
‘Cynthia said to be down in the front lounge at seven-thirty for pre-dinner drinks,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘I’m having a bit of trouble with my hair,’ she replied airily. ‘Why don’t you go down and make my apologies? I’ll join you as soon as I can.’
‘Fine,’ Ryan bit out, thinking that maybe a drink or two would soothe his ill temper.
Laura sighed with relief when she heard the bedroom door open, then close. She wasn’t really having trouble with her hair, or her make-up. She’d surprised herself by doing both very well indeed. The fact was she’d been ready for some minutes but just hadn’t been able to find the courage to leave the bathroom and face Ryan, looking the way she did in her new dress and shoes.
Which was crazy. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it—to see his eyes darken with desire for her? To drive him mad with how sexy she looked?
And she did. Oh yes, she very definitely did!
Alison had given her strict instructions over the phone as to how to present herself if she wanted to get laid that night: hair down and curled lightly around her face. Lots of dark eye-liner and mascara. The reddest of red lipsticks. And she wasn’t even to consider putting some silly pin into the neckline of the dress to hide her cleavage.
Laura had gone along with everything she had suggested and the result was wicked! She could hardly believe it was her staring back. She could also hardly believe that Alison had been so eager to have her succeed in going to bed with a man like Ryan.
When Laura had first told her what had happened so far, Alison had been genuinely shocked—not by Ryan making a pass but by his backing off.
‘I don’t understand it!’ Alison had exclaimed. ‘Not if he’s already got rid of the girlfriend. It just doesn’t make sense.’
Laura explained that he had this life rule about not dating anyone he worked with. She didn’t tell Alison about his near-disastrous fling with a client, as she felt that had been a confidential confession.
‘But you don’t want him to date you,’ Alison had shot back, exasperation in her voice. ‘You just want him to bonk you silly all night. Isn’t that right?’
‘Er … yes,’ Laura had admitted, her throat drying at the thought.
‘In that case, this is what you must do …’ At which point Alison had relayed a long list of instructions as to how Laura was to look. And to act—especially after they returned to the bedroom at the end of the evening.
Laura had been laughing over her outrageous suggestion in that regard when Ryan had walked back into the room. Suddenly, she had realised it was one thing to talk about seduction techniques over the phone and quite another to go through with them; just having him in the same room made her hyperventilate with nerves. But she knew she would only have this one chance. So she’d hurriedly shunted him off into the bathroom, putting some calming distance between herself and the object of this insanely powerful desire. Then later, when he’d emerged—wearing no more than a towel, for pity’s sake!—she’d kept her eyes rigidly averted from his breathtakingly beautiful male body and followed Alison’s advice to act cool and indifferent to his charms.
‘Your gran was right,’ Alison had said earlier. ‘Playing hard to get is the way to go. If I’m any judge at all of the male sex, then once he sees you in that dress and shoes you won’t have to do much later on. But if he’s still resistant you might have to go to plan B.’
‘Plan B’ was performing a none-too-subtle striptease.
Laura swallowed as she tried to imagine following that last piece of advice from her friend. She wasn’t sure if she could be that bold. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
Right now, she didn’t even feel bold enough to go downstairs. Everyone was going to be shocked when they saw her, not just Ryan. They weren’t used to seeing her dressed like this. She wasn’t used to seeing herself dressed like this. It had been years since she’d shown her cleavage in public. Years since she’d spent the night in a man’s arms. Years since she’d trembled at the thought.
Laura frowned as she accepted that she’d never felt quite like the way she felt at this moment. She might have become concerned if her brain had still fully been connected with her body. But logical thinking had become difficult since Ryan had kissed her earlier this afternoon. Her mind had shrunk to one focus and one focus only: to get him to make love to her tonight.
Now she frowned some more. For she didn’t want him to ‘make love’ to her, did she? That would suggest an emotional involvement with the man. Only a fool would fall for Ryan Armstrong, and she was no fool.
So, rephrase that, Laura Ferrugia. You want to have sex with him. That’s all. Then, once this weekend is over, you don’t want to see him ever again!
‘GO AND see what’s keeping that girl, Ryan,’ Bill said when ten to eight came round and Laura still hadn’t made an appearance downstairs.
Ryan had spent a sociable twenty minutes in the elegantly furnished living room, talking to Laura’s cousin and his pretty blonde wife and sampling some of Bill’s top-quality scotch. Laura’s grandmother hadn’t joined them for drinks but she would be at dinner, he’d been told. His earlier irritation had dissipated somewhat with Laura’s absence. But it seemed his respite was at an end.
‘She’s probably still having trouble with her hair,’ he said, repeating the excuse he’d made for her not accompanying him downstairs at seven thirty.
‘Yes, well, Cynthia said dinner would be served precisely at eight,’ Bill said ruefully. ‘And when Cynthia says eight, she means eight.’
Ryan knew Laura wouldn’t want to offend her aunt or anyone else in the family. This weekend was supposedly about impressing them.
‘I’ll go get her,’ he said, and headed for the double doors which led out into the main hallway. He was just approaching the bottom of the staircase when Laura appeared at the top.
He couldn’t help it—he stared. And then he swore, a crude four-letter word which echoed what he would have liked to do to her in no uncertain terms. Fortunately, he hadn’t said it loud enough for her to hear.
‘You’d better get yourself down here,’ he managed between gritted teeth. ‘The natives are getting restless.’
And so am I, by God, he thought agitatedly as he watched her sashay down the stairs.