I tried—I tried to stop this happening. Tried to deny it, tried to prevent it. But I can’t—I can’t deny this any longer. I can’t.
It was all she could manage. Then, as she sank into the low, plush seat of the powerful, sleek car, she felt herself give in entirely, completely, to what was happening. Succumbing to the temptation that was the darkly devastating man closing the door on her, lowering himself in beside her, reaching to the ignition to fire the powerful engine and moving off into the night with her at his side.
Taking her where he wanted to take her.
Where she wanted to go.
She stole a sideways look at him. Their gazes clashed. She looked away again, out over the pavements and the buildings along the roadway. She knew what she was doing—and why. Knew with every pulse of blood in her veins and in the jittering of her nerves, which were humming as if electricity were pouring through her—a charge that was coming out of the very atmosphere itself.
Enclosed as she was, only a few inches away from the long, lean body of the man next to her, she felt the low, throaty vibration of the ultra-powerful engine of the car—was aware of the sleek, luxurious interior, of the whole seductive ambience of sitting beside him.
She knew that her body was outlined by her stage dress, that her image was that of a woman in the full glamour of her beauty. And that the man beside her, clad in his hand-made tuxedo, with the glint of gold of his watch, the cufflinks in his pristine cuffs, the heady, spiced scent of his aromatic aftershave, had contrived to make the situation headily seductive.
She gave herself to it. It was too late now for anything else. Far too late.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. Her voice was low-pitched and she could not quite look at him. Could not quite believe that she was doing what she was doing.
He glanced at her, with half a smile curving his sensual lips. ‘I attempted once before to take you to Le Tombleur—perhaps this time you will acquiesce?’
Had there been a huskiness discernible in his voice as he’d said the word ‘acquiesce’? She couldn’t be sure—could only be sure that there was some kind of voltage charging her body right now, one she had never experienced before. Somewhere inside her, disappearing fast, there was a voice of protest—but it was getting feebler with every moment she was here with Bastiaan, burningly conscious of his powerful masculine presence, of the effect he had on her that she could not subdue.
Beyond the confines of the car the world was passing by. But it was far, far away from her now. Everything was far, far away.
It did not take long to get to the restaurant, set in the foothills of the Alpes-Maritimes above the crowded coastline of the Riviera. She was helped from the car, ushered inside by the tall, commanding man at her side. The maître d’ was hurrying forward, all attention, to show them to a table out on the terrace, looking down on where the lights of the Riviera glittered like a necklace of jewels.
She eased into her seat, ultra-aware of the tightness of her gown, the voluptuousness of her figure. Her eyes went yet again to the man sitting opposite her, studying his menu. What was it about him that he could affect her the way he did? Why was she so overwhelmed by him? Why had she been so fatally tempted to succumb to what she knew she should not be doing? To dine here with him à deux...
And what would happen afterwards...?
Her mind skittered away. She did not think—did not dare think. Dared only to go on sitting there, occupying herself by opening the menu, glancing blindly down at the complex listings. Was she hungry? She could not tell. Could tell only that her heart rate was raised, that her skin was flushed with heat...that her eyes wanted only to go on resting on the man opposite her.
‘So, what would you like to eat?’
Bastiaan’s voice interrupted her hopeless thoughts and she was glad. She made herself give a slight smile. ‘Something light,’ she said. ‘In this dress anything else is impossible!’
It had been a mistake to make such a remark, however lightly it had been said. It drew a wash of scrutiny from the dark, long-lashed eyes. She felt her colour heighten and had to fight it down by studying the menu again. She found a dish that seemed to fit the bill—scallops in a saffron sauce—and relayed it to Bastiaan. He too chose fish, but a more robust grilled monkfish, and then there followed the business of selecting wine to go with it.
Choices made, he sat back, his eyes resting on her at his leisure. Satisfaction soared through him. Her yielding had not surprised him in the least, but it had gratified him. Now, at last, he had her to himself.
His sensation of satisfaction, of the rightness of it all, increased. Yes, seducing her would, as he had always planned, achieve his goal of quashing any ambitions she might have had concerning his cousin, but as they sat there on the secluded terrace, with the night all around them, somehow his young cousin seemed very...irrelevant.
‘So,’ he began, ‘tell me about yourself, Sabine?’ It was an innocuous question—and a predictable one—but he could see a veil flicker over her eyes.
‘Myself?’ she echoed. ‘What is there to tell that is not evident? I am a singer—what else?’ She sounded flippant, unconcerned. Studiedly so.
‘What part of France do you come from?’ Another innocuous polite enquiry—nothing more than that. Yet once again he saw that flicker.
‘Normandy,’ she answered. ‘A little place not far from Rouen.’ Her mother’s birthplace, it was the part of France she knew best, and therefore it seemed the safest answer to give.
‘And have you always wanted to be a singer?’
The lift of a shoulder came again. ‘One uses the talents one is given,’ she replied. It was as unrevealing an answer as she could think to give.
Bastiaan’s eyes narrowed minutely.
Sarah saw the narrowing. Could he tell she was being as evasive as she could? She was glad that the sommelier arrived at that moment, diverting Bastiaan. But as the man departed, and Bastiaan lifted his wine glass, she felt his dark eyes upon her again.
‘To our time together,’ he said, and smiled.