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'Why? Don't you like it?' His hands were thrust in his pockets, the material tight over his hips, and the very masculine posture did nothing for her composure or her pulse rate.
'I think it's gorgeous, but it must be very expensive,' she said a trifle breathlessly. 'You pay a fortune for this sort of ambience.'
'Do you?' he drawled easily. 'I wouldn't have said so.'
'Hudson, I want to know how much it is,' she insisted.
'Annie, why worry about the cost? I thought you realised all that was covered,' he said as he levered himself off the wall. 'We're on the road again tomorrow; it's just for one night'
'You're not paying for me as well as yourself if that's what "covered" means,' she said firmly. 'I intended to do this trip, you know I did, and I'd put money aside for expenses and so on—'
'Which now won't be needed,' he cut in smoothly. 'End of story.'
'Hudson, there's no way I'd agree to you carrying all the expense; I never imagined you'd think I would. I think even a date should be fifty-fifty, let alone a trip like this.'
'Do you?' It was resigned and a trifle weary. 'I suppose I might have guessed, you being such a thoroughly modern woman, but we never got round to little things like that two years ago, did we? We were too occupied with other things.' A sardonic eyebrow quirked, but she was determined not to give in and stared back at him without smiling. 'Well, sorry to disappoint you but I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that certain things never change,' he continued easily, although she noticed a touch of steel in the cool voice now. 'And paying for the lady is one of them.'
'I'm not a lady—well, not in that sense,' she added quickly as the eyebrow rose higher. 'I'm a companion, the same as a man. Think of me like that if it makes it easier,' she said stoutly.
'Annie, sweetheart, whatever else, I could never think of you as a man,' he said with extreme dryness. 'And I am not prepared to argue with you on this. For once, just once,' he emphasised softly, 'don't fight me. Accept defeat gracefully… please?'
'I don't want to fight you—'
'Good, that's settled, then,' he cut in immediately.
'But I can't agree to this,' she continued irritably, ignoring the interruption as though he hadn't spoken. 'Surely you can see my point of view? It puts me under an… obligation. I don't like it'
He looked at her for a long moment, his shirt open at the dark bronze of his neck and the lethal eyes narrowed on her troubled face, and the magnetism that was an essential part of his brooding attraction touched her senses, causing her to shiver deep inside.
'Annie, Annie… ' He reached out and caught her wrist, drawing her towards him. 'There's not one other woman of my acquaintance who would really mean what you've just said. They might voice it for appearances' sake, the requisite social nicety, but they wouldn't object too hard,' he said with the touch of cynicism that was habitual with him, 'in case I took them at their word.'
'I mean it' She wanted her voice to sound firm and controlled but it failed her miserably. 'I can assure you I mean it.'
'I know you do,' he said softly. 'And it's very nice of you.'
'So you agree?' she said quickly. 'I'll pay my half?'
'No.' He was suddenly very quiet, his face serious as he said, 'This is a brief sojourn out of real life—an illusion, a fantasy. Don't spoil it, Annie. Just… go with the flow.'
His lips covered hers as he pressed her back against the wall, his powerful body taut and hard as his hands moved over her softness and his mouth plundered hers.
The embrace was so unexpected, and so pleasurable, that she couldn't stop the gasping little whimper that escaped her throat, and as he heard the unmistakable sound of her desire he growled softly, the reverberation primitive and rough. The moment lengthened, stretching into pleasurable minutes.
His mouth searched hers intimately as his hands lowered to her hips, moving her against him in a way that fanned the flames of passion into a raging inferno for them both. 'Annie… What you do to me… ' His voice was deep and husky, and she had no defence against it or the magic of his lovemaking. 'I only have to touch you and you turn to fire in my arms. How can you deny us both… ?' he murmured softly. 'It's too cruel.'
'Hudson, stop… ' Her voice was a shaken whisper as she twisted in his arms, and she could feel his heart pounding with the force of his desire when he kissed her again—deeply, intimately, until it was a kind of consummation in itself, the thrust of his tongue erotic and savage until she pushed frantically against him.
This time he stopped—his mouth tearing away from hers with a groan that was echoed in the heart of her. He was breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling for long moments under the thin material of his shirt as he fought for control. He let her go slowly, placing his hands on the wall, his arms outstretched and his head hanging down as she backed away from him into her room and shut the door with hands that trembled.
Dinner was a painful affair for Marianne—at least at first Hudson had dressed up as befitted the superior restaurant—resplendent in black dinner jacket and tie—and when she opened her door to his knock at five minutes to eight she went weak at the knees at the sight of him. 'You look very lovely,' he said softly, taking her arm in a manner so relaxed and natural that if she hadn't known the heated episode of a couple of hours ago had definitely taken place she would have thought she'd imagined it. 'Very lovely indeed.'
'Thank you.' Her voice was shaking but for the life of her she couldn't match his cool control. She had dressed carefully for the evening ahead, knowing she needed every little bit of help she could get to appear composed and unruffled. Her above-the-knee, long-sleeved, high-necked cocktail dress in a pale shade of green was made of a silky-soft material that clung in all the right places, but at the same time kept everything covered. She really couldn't have faced having an inch of skin exposed to Hudson's dark gaze that night, although she knew it was foolish of her.
However, Marianne was completely unaware of the provocativeness of the demure style when linked with the soft, clinging silk, and the fact that it was far more sexy to the discerning male than any blatant show of flesh. And Hudson was a discerning male…
She was overwhelmingly thankful for the two cocktails they enjoyed in the little bar off Reception. The pale amber liquid looked innocuous enough but had the kick of a mule, and enabled her to respond to Hudson's conversation more or less coherently, in spite of the whirling agitation and panic that the big, dark body induced without any effort at all.
By the time they walked through to the restaurant she had begun to relax, and as Hudson chatted over their first course, his conversation easy and inconsequential, she relaxed still more. By the time dessert was served Marianne had realised she was actually enjoying herself, and it was all due to Hudson. He had set himself out to be amusing and non-threatening, teasing her, making her laugh, his air one of lazy comfortableness.
