Detained

They had eye contact now. A glue fixing them more closely than their hands. She wrapped the hand resting on his shoulder around his neck to show him how okay she was. Her fingertips went to the skin under his collar.

He started, “Shit you’re cold,” clamping her against his chest. She tucked her head onto his neck and he brought his warm prickly cheek down to hers. This close he smelled like aromatic spices. They’d stopped moving, one of her legs was inside both of his, thighs touching, hip touching. The warmth of him was like a luxurious bath. She wished she wasn’t wearing his jacket; she might feel closer, warmer still.

5. Seduction

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” — Confucius

Someone’s daughter was in his arms. That’s how he should be thinking of her; as a daughter, a sister, not as a woman he was irrationally inspired to seduce. She shouldn’t be in his arms so easily anyway. And this stopped being about stupid dares and the cold five minutes after it started. He wished he could feel more of her, but his bloody jacket was all fabric, pockets and zips between them. He didn’t know this would happen, but now it had, he wanted to manipulate an entirely different outcome.

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The woman in his arms was only popsicle on the outside. She was like a banked brush fire inside. Intelligent, passionate, free. And that was a problem. He wanted her, his fellow detainee with her blonde beauty, and her making the best of the moment philosophy.

She knew what she was doing when she started the game, when she crafted her questions, when she stepped into his arms, and touched his skin with her ice-hot fingers. She knew what she was doing when she dared him to dance. She was testing his limits and now, snuggling against his chest, both arms around his back, and her face tucked into his neck, she was testing them in a different way.

She was fucking seducing him.

“Hey, Lois.”

She murmured a yes. He felt her warm breath, her lips almost on his skin. If she wanted something between them, she’d have the chance. “I think you owe me a dare.”

She fanned her hands over his shoulders, the promise of warmth, the play of possession. “I don’t think so.”

“I bloody know so. You’ve been tormenting me since I got here. You owe me.”

She shifted, lifted her head to look at him. “You rich entrepreneurs think you can make up the rules as you go along. You self-made successes are the worst. Think you can call all the shots. That’s not how it works.”

“You don’t think? Isn’t that why you’re a journalist, because you believe the media’s role is to keep the money makers honest? Isn’t that why you want to interview bloody Parker? You think because he doesn’t court attention he must be an evil, sneaky bastard who should be called to account, and humbled by the stink of your newsprint.”

She frowned, her lips compressing, and he immediately regretted flicking a whip at the tiger cub in her. She wasn’t going to kiss him if he alienated her.

And if he played it right she would kiss him.

Maybe.

Shit, he was no good at this. The last time he’d genuinely seduced a woman with just his words and body was nineteen years ago. And Miss Fredrick was a foregone conclusion from the minute she offered him after-school coaching, as pretty much every woman he’d spent time with since had been. If, at first, because he was their bad boy fantasy, later it was all about the money.

He was far more cynical and not used to making an effort now, and if the only weapon he had in his holster was goading her, there wasn’t going to be anything remotely like a kiss happening. Ironic. Jiao had been gone eighteen months now. She was enjoying the business in Shenzhen, and she wasn’t coming back. Much as he missed her, he could only wish her well. He hadn’t had the heart to replace her with a younger model. None of the other Golden Flower girls appealed. And while Pete assured him there was a queue of expat women panting for his attention, he couldn’t think of anything worse than opening up to gold diggers and fortune hunters.

He was best alone. Alone was his fighting weight.

But now there was this woman. Not part of the program, but here she was, getting under his skin with her natural beauty and her clever brain. She had no idea what she was getting into, but then neither did he anymore. He’d fucked this up by not backing off around the time the food was delivered.

“So Lois, if it’s not bringing down sneaky bastards like Parker, what do you dream about?”

“The next headline.”

“What, no picket fence? No patter of little feet?”

“No.” She shifted back and pulled her hands free. “Does that shock you?” She stepped away, awkward now with their closeness. She made a show of tidying her hair. “I’m supposed to play to type aren’t I? Want the husband and the two point five kids.”

She broke away entirely now, but stopped worrying about what she said or what he thought. She threw the words out like garbage. “I don’t. There are plenty of people out there willing to be parents. It’s not like there’s a shortage.”

“Frightened they’d cramp your style?”

She was acres away, across the room now. She’d gone through challenged and uncomfortable, strayed into annoyed, and now gave off early warning signs of anger. “Maybe I’m frightened I’d cramp theirs.”

It was beyond him not to stroke that emotion to see if it ignited. “That’s a cop-out.”