His senses were overpowering him. There was a lingering perfume about her—not cloying, as he might have expected, but faintly floral. Her hair, curved around her shoulder as it was, was not sticky with spray but fine and silky. He wanted to feel it running through his fingers. Wanted to drink in the fine-boned beauty of her face, see again that flash of emeralds in her eyes...
A sudden impulse possessed him. To wipe her complexion free of the mask of make-up covering it and see her true beauty revealed.
‘Why do you wear so much make-up?’ His question came from nowhere—he hadn’t meant to ask it.
She looked momentarily startled. ‘It’s stage make-up,’ she answered. She spoke as if she found it hard to believe he’d asked.
He frowned. ‘It does not flatter you,’ he stated.
Now, why had he said that? he grilled himself. Why tell this woman such a thing?
Because it is the truth—she masks her true beauty, her true self, behind such excess.
Her expression changed. ‘It’s not designed to flatter—only to withstand the stage lighting. You don’t imagine that I wear these spiders on my eyes for any other reason, do you?’ Her voice was dry.
‘Good,’ he said, giving a brief nod.
Even as he did so he realised he was way off agenda. What on earth was he doing, talking about her stage make-up? Let alone expressing approval—relief?—that it was only make-up. He sought to resume the line of enquiry he’d started. That was the reason he was dancing with her—so that he could continue his assessment of her. Purely for the purposes for which he’d arrived in France, of course...
To free his cousin from her.
Free her from Philip—
The thought was there—indelible, inadmissible. He wiped it instantly. There was no question of freeing her from his cousin. It was Philip—only Philip—he was concerned about. That was what he had to remember.
Not the way her body was moving with his to the soft, seductive cadences of the music, drawing them closer and closer to each other...
Not the way her fragrance was coiling into his senses. Not the way his eyes were lingering on her face...her parted lips... The way he was feeling the soft breath coming from her...intoxicating him...
The melody ended. He stopped abruptly. Even more abruptly she disengaged herself from his grasp. But she did not move—simply stood there for a moment, continuing to gaze at him. As if she could not stop...
Her breasts, Bastiaan could see, were rising and falling as if her breathing were rapid—her pulse was more rapid still. Colour was in her cheeks, beneath the thick layer of foundation. He could just see it...sense it...
Her gaze was dragged from him, back across to where Philip was sitting, his expression a mixture of impatience at her absence, discontent that she had been dancing with his cousin, and his usual fixed regard of uncritical admiration.
She walked across to him—her dress felt tighter suddenly, and she was all too conscious of the swaying movement of her hips. She could almost feel Bastiaan Karavalas watching her...
She reached the table. Philip stood up immediately, his chair scraping.
‘Phew!’ she said, pointedly not resuming her seat. ‘I’m worn out by dancing. Two dances and two partners—quite an evening for me!’ She spoke with deliberate lightness, obvious humour. Reaching for her glass of water, she took a quick gulp, finding she needed it, then set it down. ‘I must go backstage,’ she said. ‘Prep for my next set.’
Conscious that Philip’s cousin was standing behind her, she could say very little else to Philip. She took a step away, encompassing Bastiaan Karavalas in her movement.
‘I’ll bid you goodnight,’ she said, making her voice sound nothing more than effortlessly casual.
She had to get control back—the way Sabine would. Sabine would have been utterly unfazed by that slow, seductive dance with Bastiaan Karavalas. Sabine wouldn’t have felt as if her whole body were trembling, her senses overwhelmed. No, Sabine would stay composed, unruffled—would be well used to men like Bastiaan Karavalas desiring her.
Philip was speaking and she made herself pay attention, drag her thoughts away from his cousin.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the...here...?’ he asked.
Sarah was relieved that he’d just avoided saying at the rehearsal.
She smiled. A warm smile. Because she didn’t want to hurt him, and his feelings were so transparent. ‘Why not?’ she said lightly. ‘Unless...’ And now her eyes found Bastiaan again. ‘Unless you and your cousin have plans...? You must make the most of him while he’s here.’
Dark lashes flickered over even darker eyes. She saw it—caught it. ‘I may well be here some time,’ Bastiaan Karavalas said. ‘It all depends...’
She made no answer—could only give a vague, brief smile and bestow a little wave on Philip, because she wanted to be nice to him, and he was so young, and felt so much...