The One-Night Wife

Some seductress she was. The mark made a move she hadn't anticipated, gave her one simple kiss, and...

Except, it hadn't been a simple kiss. It had been as com­plex as the night sky. She'd trembled under it. The texture of his mouth. The whisper of his breath. The silken glide of his tongue against hers.

And then—then, it had all changed. His hand on her thigh. The quick bloom of heat between her legs. The pres­sure of his hard, aroused male flesh, the message implicit in its power.

All at once, the terrace had become the yacht. She'd re­membered the way Alain's friends had taken to looking at her and the way Alain talked to them right in front of her, his voice pitched so low she couldn't hear his words.

She didn't have to.

She had only to see their hot eyes, see the little smiles they exchanged, feel the way a beefy hand would brush against her breast, her thigh, always accidentally...

"Are you trying to fillet my lip or leave it steak tartar-e?"

Savannah blinked. O'Connell, arms folded over his chest, was eyeing her narrowly, his face expressionless.

"I, uh, I just wanted to make sure I disinfected the cut properly." She dropped her hand to her side, peered at his lip as if she knew what she was doing and flashed what she hoped was a brilliant smile. "It looks fine."

"Does it," he said coldly.

Oh, this wasn't any good! She'd had him right where she wanted him, and now she'd lost him. He was furious and she couldn't blame him.

Well, that would have to change if she was going to get anywhere tonight.

"Yes," she said, with a little smile. "I'm happy to tell you, you won't need stitches. No rabies shots, either."

He didn't smile back. All right. One more try.

"I suppose I owe you an apology," she said, looking at him from under her lashes.

Sean almost laughed. The cute smile. The tease. And, when those failed, the demure look coupled with an apol­ogy. All designed to tap into his masculine instincts. He was supposed to say "no, it's okay," because that was what a gentleman would do.

Unfortunately for Just-Savannah, he was no gentleman.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want an apology."

She almost sighed with relief. He waited a beat.

"I want an explanation."

She blinked. Clearly, she hadn't expected that. Now she was mentally scrambling for a response.

"An explanation," she parroted. "And—and you're en­titled to one. I, uh, I think it's just that you—you caught me by surprise."

"You've been coming on to me all evening."

"Well—well, I told you, you're an attractive—"

She gasped as he caught hold of her wrists.

"And yet, the first move I make, you react as if I dragged you into an alley."

"That's not—"

"Game's over, sweetheart."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nobody plays me for a fool." Sean held her tighter, applying just enough pressure to let her know he was taking charge. "I want answers."

"To what? Honestly, Mr. O'Connell..."

"Let's start with the 'Mr. O'Connell' routine. I was Just-Sean. You were Just-Savannah. How come it turns out you know my last name?''

Savannah swallowed past the lump in her throat. His face was like a thundercloud; his hands were locked around hers like manacles. Missy, she thought, oh, Missy, I'm so sorry.

"I told you," she said in a low voice. "I saw you and I found you very—"

"Forget that crap." His mouth thinned; he tugged on her wrists and she had no choice but to stumble forward until they were only a breath apart. "I knew something was up, but you were determined to keep trying the same con so I decided to go along. You've been scamming me, sugar, and I've had enough. You tell me what's going on or I'll drag you to the manager's office and see to it you're barred from ever entering this place again."

"You can't do that! I have as much right to be here as you do."

"Maybe you're a working girl."

"A working..." She began to tremble. "That's a lie."

"Is it? Once I describe your behavior, who's going to argue with me?''

"You can't do that!"

His grin was all teeth. "Try me."

Savannah opened her mouth, then shut it. For all she knew, he could do anything. He was known here. She wasn't. Everything was coming apart. She'd have to go back to Alain and tell him she'd failed, that his year of planning had led to nothing.

"Well? I'm waiting for that explanation. And I'll tell you right now, sugar, it damned well better be good."

Desperate, she searched for anything that might get her out of this mess. What could she possibly say that would change things? O'Connell was right. He wasn't about to believe she was interested in him, not after she'd almost bitten his face off when he touched her.

She wouldn't react that way if he did it again.

The realization shocked her. It was true, though. Now that she knew what to expect, if it happened again—which it wouldn't—but if it did, if she ever felt all that heat, saw the hunger in his eyes, she might just—she might just—

"Okay, that's it."

Sean started walking toward the door, dragging her with him. Think, she told herself desperately, think, think!

"All right," she gasped. "I'll tell you the truth."

He swung toward her, towering over her in the moonlight. He said nothing. Clearly, the next move was hers. Savannah took a steadying breath and played for time to work out a story. Something he would buy so she wouldn't have to return to Alain in failure and see that cool smile, hear him say, Ah, cherie, that's too bad. I hate to think of your dear little sister in one of those state institutions.

She took a steadying breath. "I owe you an apology, Mr. O'Connell."

"You already said that."

"Not for biting you. For—what did you call it? For scam­ming you."

It was a start. At least she'd caught his attention.

"I didn't mean to. Not exactly. I just—"

"You didn't mean to. Not exactly." Sean raised an eye­brow. "That's your explanation?"

"No! There's more."

"Damned right, there's more. Why don't you start by telling me why you pretended not to know who I was?"

How much of the truth could she tell, without giving ev­erything away?

"I'm waiting."

"Yes. I k

now." She looked down at their hands, still joined, then up at his face. "It's true. I did know who you were. Well, I knew your name but then, everyone knows your name."

She fell silent. Sean let go of her wrists and tucked his hands into his pockets. He'd long ago learned the art of keeping quiet. Do it right and the other person felt com­pelled to babble.

"Everyone knows you're the world's best poker player."

He wasn't, though he was close to it. Still, he said noth­ing. She didn't, either, but he knew his silence was getting to her. She was chewing lightly on her lip. If she wasn't careful, she'd leave a little wound to match his.

A wound he could easily soothe with a flick of his tongue. Damn, where had that thought come from?

"And all this is leading where?" he said gruffly.

"To—to the reason I came over and spoke to you."

"Sugar," he said, smiling tightly, "you didn't speak to me, you hit on me. Understand, I've no objection to a beau­tiful woman showing her interest." His smile faded. "I just don't like being played for a sucker."

"I didn't—"

"Yeah, you did. Or you would have, if you could have gotten away with it." He pulled his hand from his pocket and checked his watch. ' 'I have other things to do tonight. You have two minutes to answer my questions—or we can take that walk to the office."

Savannah knotted her fingers together. She was going to do the very thing Alain had warned her against, but what other choice did she have?

"I play poker, too, Sean."

"How nice." His teeth showed in a chilly smile. "We're back to first names."

"Did you hear what I—"

"You said you play poker. What's that got to do with anything?''

She hesitated. What could she safely tell him? Surely not that the man he'd cheated out of a million dollars had sent her, or that she was going to wipe him out because she was as good a player as he'd ever met.

She certainly couldn't tell him the rest of it, that she'd planned to work him into such a sexual haze that by the time they sat down to play, he'd be so busy drooling over her that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his cards.

But she could tell him part of it, fancy things up to appeal to his ego. She'd blown her cover as a femme fatale. Could she pass herself off as an overeager tourist?