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'Oh, I love all the pastries they do out here,' Marianne said happily, digging her spoon into the layers of thin, flaky crust held together with cream, fruit and thick syrup with childish satisfaction, and closing her eyes for a moment at the first taste. 'They're gorgeous, just gorgeous.'
Damn it, how he wanted her… Hudson's loins tightened as he watched her small pink tongue lick a morsel of pastry from the corner of her mouth, the action sensuous and cat-like. She was relaxed now—she had been like a cat on a hot tin roof when she'd first opene
d the door—but one wrong move from him and that formidable drawbridge would be hoisted into place. He wanted her, he intended to have her, but only when the time was right. He'd waited two years to possess her; he could wait a while longer—in spite of the battering his ego took every time they connected.
What was it about him that she found so hard to take anyway? he felt the familiar rage and bitterness begin to flavour the moment and forced them back into the dark recesses of his mind. No matter. He was trained in breaking down defences and getting what he wanted, and time and circumstances were on his side. He only had to be patient. The word mocked him.
'You'll get fat.' His smile was amiable and soothing, his eyes hooded as he watched her finish the dessert, and again, as she licked the spoon clean, he felt his loins stir.
'I know.' She smiled back, the cocktails and two glasses of wine she had consumed with the meal mellowing her voice. 'I don't care. I'm one of those people who live to eat, not eat to live.'
'Dangerous talk.' He leant forward, tilting her small chin with his large hand as he said, 'No signs of a double chin yet, but beware the demon pastries.' His fingers lingered on the velvety-soft skin for a second longer than was necessary, before they moved caressingly across her throat and brushed the pale green silk as they reluctantly left, but when her startled green eyes met his, his expression was mild and benign, even tranquil.
She smiled again, but nervously this time, her confusion evident in the slight flush in her cheeks and rapid pulse in the silky skin he had just touched. 'You… you don't like plump women, then?' she asked with forced lightness.
'I didn't say that.' His eyes were smoky and as dark as charcoal. 'I have no particular leaning one way or the other beyond that they are blonde—a pale, golden sort of blonde—with emerald-green eyes that hold flecks of sunlight in the depths of them, and a mouth… a mouth that begs to be kissed,' he finished huskily, his gaze moving to her lips where it caressed her skin lingeringly.
She stared at him, utterly unable to reply.
He held her gaze, his eyes moving to capture hers and his face still and quiet, his body tense for one long moment before he shrugged coolly, breaking the spell. 'Other than that I'm not fussy,' he said mockingly.
Marianne lingered over coffee, less because of her appreciation of the aromatic brew than because of the fact that in a few minutes she was going to have to let Hudson see her to her suite, and then… What? she asked herself despairingly. That had been a seduction speech if ever she'd heard one, and the trouble was he was so good at it. She should never have had those cocktails and glasses of wine—she needed every bit of thinking power when she was in his company.
'There's no more in the pot' As her hand reached for the coffee pot to pour another—her fourth—cup, Hudson's voice was dark and soft. 'Would you like me to call the waiter for a refill? Although all that caffeine will make it hard to sleep.'
'Oh, no, no, I've… I've had enough.' She had, more than enough—in fact the last cup had had to be forced down in tiny gulps—but the coffee was all she had as a delaying tactic.
'You really do like the Moroccan coffee, don't you?' Hudson said with innocent observation. It's no trouble to get more—'
'No really.' The four cups of the rich, thick infusion were already beginning to swish about in her over-full stomach with more gusto than she would have liked, and she had a nasty feeling that Hudson had seen her procrastination for what it was. 'I've had enough.'
He put his arm round her waist as they left the table—his fingers splaying on the soft swell of her stomach with burning heat—and she couldn't believe what the feel of the masculine body did to hers. She shivered, and then took an iron grip on herself to prevent another such occurrence. What was the matter with her, for goodness' sake? she asked herself crossly. Anyone would think she was a nervous teenager on her first date, although arguably most of the teenagers she met these days probably knew far more about a man's body than she did.
She stumbled slightly as they walked down the marble steps leading from the restaurant, and immediately his arm tightened before drawing her into the protection of his hard frame and he said, 'Careful, sweetheart,' his voice deep and soft.
She wished he wouldn't call her that. No doubt it was his stock address to all the women he took into his bed—part of the overall seduction technique—and as such it rankled, fiercely.
'I'm fine, thank you.' Her voice was prim as she carefully moved herself out of his hold, but the hectic flush in her cheeks and over-bright eyes told their own story. 'You don't need to—'
'What's wrong with my putting my arm round you?' he asked easily as he pulled her close again. 'And who said anything about need? Perhaps I like to hold you. What's wrong with that?'
'There's nothing wrong with it, but I don't think—'
'Perhaps you like me to hold you,' he added softly. 'Do you, Annie? Do you like to feel the warmth of my skin against yours? To feel the way you fit into my side like you were made to be there? A delicious, living jigsaw… '
'This is a silly conversation.' There was a riot in her stomach now that had nothing to do with the coffee.
'Why? Because we're talking about sex?' He said the word as though it were nothing at all, and Marianne almost missed her step again. 'Why are you afraid of me, Annie? Is it me or all men? What's happened to make you so scared? Is it the emotional commitment or the act itself? Are you afraid I'd be too rough, too big, that I'd hurt you—?'
'Hudson!'
She jerked away, glancing round hastily to see if anyone could have overheard them, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment.
'You haven't answered my question,' he persisted relentlessly.
'Nor am I going to,' she said stiffly, although tucked into his side as she was her voice carried less censure than she would have liked. 'To answer it would give credence to the idea that I'm frightened of you, which is too ridiculous for words. Just because I don't… I don't offer myself to everyone,' she continued feverishly, 'doesn't mean I'm scared of men. I have principles—'
'So do I,' he said seriously, glancing down at her briefly.
