The Seduction Trap

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Tessa’s dazed mind tried to work out how she’d landed up in his comforting arms and if it was all right that his mouth seemed to be warming her scalp. I’m in the arms of a stranger, she thought in surprise. A stranger who hates my mother!

Yet she didn’t care. The way he stroked her was so soothing. Someone was offering her sympathy, and boy, did she need it at that moment!

‘I’m not usually so tearful. In fact it’s quite out of character for me,’ she mumbled snuffily into the softness of his pale green jacket. ‘I don’t usually fling myself boldly at strangers.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he murmured. ‘But you’ve been badly let down. I understand your reaction.’

The velvet voice flowed into her mind and body, relaxing it and liquefying her exhausted muscles. She sighed. ‘I feel flattened.’

‘Sure. We’ll sort everything out in the morning, eh? Right now,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll stick to priorities. Food, then sleep.’

‘Mmm,’ she said muzzily. ‘Thanks.’

She lifted her head and gave him a wobbly smile, which faded rapidly, turning into horror. Her mascara—a beauty aid she’d only just started using—had made dreadful splodges on the shoulder of his expensive jacket!

‘Look!’ she screeched. ‘I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess—I don’t usually wear make-up; it was for Mum, because Dad always told me she was so beautiful—what are you grinning at?’ she fumed.

In answer, Guy went to the sink and wet his handkerchief. ‘You have mascara all down your face. It looks like a map of the Nile Delta,’ he said in strangled tones. His back was to her but she could see that his shoulders were shaking. Tessa looked at him suspiciously when he returned, but his mouth seemed under control. ‘Lift,’ he ordered, indicating her chin.

Sitting there, her huge eyes dewy with tears, sure that her face was as unattractive as it could be, she contemplated the command, the wet handkerchief, and cringed. Something hurt inside her her own willingness to be soothed by yet another good-looking guy with suspicious motives. First he’d been obstructive, now he was doing a Mother Teresa act. Odd.

He took the decision out of her hands, tipping up her chin with one finger and carefully rubbing her face dry. Again. She vowed silently that it was to be the last time, positively the last time. Being soothed by Guy could become habit-forming.

‘You amaze me,’ he commented. ‘When I told you your face was dripping mascara, you didn’t whimper, “Oh! Is it? I must look a sight!” nor did you cover your face coyly with your hands.’

‘No point,’ Her eyes, green like wet grass, twinkled at his falsetto imitation of a coquette. ‘I obviously look ridiculous. Funny enough to make you laugh. I saw your shoulders joggling about.’