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‘A swollen what?’ came the innocent retort.
To her fury, Fran blushed and no words would come. No appropriate words, in any case.
‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured. ‘You’re determined to get hold of the wrong end of the stick tonight, aren’t you, honey?’
‘Stop it!’
‘I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything—other than trying to have a conversation with you. Any innuendo is entirely accidental. But that seems to be the effect you have on me.’
‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
He shook his head. ‘It was simply the truth. But since we seem unable to have a conversation without one of us inadvertently insulting the other—maybe you’d better come and dance with me instead,’ he suggested gently.
‘I can’t!’
‘Oh? Another rule?’ he mocked. ‘From the book of party dos and don’ts you wrote yourself?’
Fran studied the scarlet suede shoe which matched her dress perfectly. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, let’s break it, then. I hate rules.’ He very gently put the tips of his fingers to her chin and tilted it upwards, not letting go, so that she was trapped by the blazing light of his eyes. Couldn’t look away, even if she had wanted to.
‘Come on, honey,’ he murmured. ‘Dance with me?’
He made it sound like a question, but of course it wasn’t. It was a beautifully-couched velvet command. He knew that and she knew that. And it would be impossible for her to turn him down without making a scene.
‘The raffle,’ whispered Fran frantically.
He frowned. ‘What about the raffle?’
‘This is the last chance for people to buy their tickets!’ she babbled, lifting her hand triumphantly from the voluminous folds of her skirt and producing a book of tokens she was clutching. She waved them in front of him like a ticket tout, producing her most winning smile. ‘I’ve sold hundreds already, and now that people have a few drinks under their belts, they’ll dig even deeper into their pockets! First prize a luxury weekend in Paris!’ she recited. ‘Second prize a—’
‘Okay, okay. I get the general idea,’ he drawled, wondering if for the first time in his life she genuinely didn’t want to know. But Sam was astute enough in the ways of human nature to know that whatever Fran Fisher felt for him it was definitely not indifference. It was…something…
He shook his head. Something he couldn’t quite fathom. Not when she was this close. He let her go with a gracious shrug.
‘How about after the raffle?’
Fran nodded, feeling like a born-again virgin! ‘Ask me again.’
‘I will.’ Sam moved away, feeling curiously relieved. A dance in his current state would probably be the worst idea in the world right now. Resistance and refusal was more stimulating than he would have ever imagined and he would hate her to see the physical effect it was having on him.
Fran had never worked so hard to sell tickets, going from table to table with her brightest smile, her most appealing eyes. Several men, too busy ogling her cleavage to pay attention, bought lavish amounts of tokens.
Slowly sipping from a glass of mineral water, Sam silently watched her progress from the opposite side of the room. She seemed distracted as well as committed, and genuinely oblivious to some of the more lecherous attentions she was being subjected to. He put the glass down and began to tap an impatient little beat on the linen-covered table, itching to haul some of those crass perverts out of their seats and throw them out of the marquee.
Some of them were old enough to be her father! Men he knew and usually respected. Made foolish and indiscreet by the ill-judged consumption of alcohol and the sight of a beautiful, unaccompanied woman.
But she was like a flower, he thought, flitting around in that bright, extravagant dress, her skin milky-pale in contrast. White and red. Innocence and experience. The drumming of his fingertips became insistent, matched only by a relentless pulse beating at his throat.
She was beckoning to him now, and he stood up stiffly to draw the raffle, moving towards her like a sailor to his siren. And suddenly, the world telescoped as she invaded his senses. All he was aware of was her standing close beside him, darting him those oddly shy little looks, her cheeks and her neck all flushed, like a woman in the aftermath of orgasm….
He was barely aware of presenting the prizes, of the sloppy kiss aimed at his mouth by one grateful female winner. By instinct he quickly turned so that kiss misfired and fell unwanted on his cheek, and all he could think of was how he wanted to explore the rose-red petals of Fran’s soft lips. First the ones on her face, and then…and then….
He shook his head, like a man waking from a coma. He felt drugged or drunk, and yet he had barely touched a drop of alcohol all evening.
Without giving her a chance to say no, he reached out his hand in full view of everyone, taking her fingers within his grasp. He dipped his head so that he was close enough to speak without anyone else hearing. ‘Now?’
To Fran, the word he chose sounded unbearably intimate. She knew she should refuse him, but she couldn’t. And not just because to do so would have been unforgivably rude. But because she wanted to feel his arms around her. Just this once.
