Mistletoe Mistress

'And you have never married.' It was a flat statement. 'Lived with anyone?' he asked quietly.

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sp; 'That's nothing to do with you.' She struggled slightly in his hold, resenting the personal questioning, but all he did was pull her even closer, settling her against the broad expanse of his chest, his chin nuzzling the red silk of her hair.

'Have you lived with anyone, Joanne?' he asked again, his voice still soft but threaded through with a silky coolness that told her he was determined to have an answer.

'No.' It was useless to fight him but she bitterly resented the interrogation.

'And according to Charles you don't date much- rarely in fact,' he said thoughtfully. 'Very rarely.'

'Did Charles say that?' She was deeply offended and hurt at Charles's betrayal.

'No.' She would have jerked away again but the arms holding her were forged in steel. 'But I'm very adept at reading between the lines and I know the sort of questions to ask that give me the answers I require,' he said easily.

'How clever of you,' she snapped nastily.

'Isn't it?' He moved her slightly from him now, keeping her within the circle of his arms as he looked down at her with hard, narrowed eyes. 'Now I'd say, on a likelihood of ten to one, that you have-how did you put it? Oh, yes-'lumped' the whole male race together fairly successfully.' His tone had lost any amusement, his face absolutely straight as he added, 'Or am I wrong?'

'Quite wrong,' she said cuttingly, her face flaming.

'Oh, Joanne. Joanne, Joanne…' He shook his head sorrowfully, the mockery back. 'And here's me being honest and above board-'

'Are you insinuating I'm not?' she asked hotly.

'Absolutely.' And then he grinned, and all further opposition left her in a big whoosh as she absorbed the difference to his face that his first real smile made. He was devastating, gorgeous, overwhelming… She swallowed hard and prayed for the ground to stop rippling under her feet. He was a man, just a man, and an arrogant, self-satisfied pig of one at that. He'd just lost her her job, hadn't he? She couldn't be attracted to him; what was the matter with her, for goodness' sake-?

'But I forgive you.' He had pulled her close again and, mainly because her legs suddenly seemed to have the consistency of melted jelly, she didn't resist.

However, she managed a fairly tart, 'How very gracious of you,' which brought an answering chuckle from above her head, before they continued to dance in silence. It was a slow number-of course it had to be, she thought caustically; even the band was against her-and although she desperately wanted to seem immune to what his body was doing to hers she could feel herself begin to tremble in his arms.

'What's happened in your life to make you so afraid of physical contact?' he murmured after several humiliating minutes when she knew her shaking had made itself obvious. 'I'm not going to hurt you, Joanne. Trust me.'

'Trust you?' She was inexpressibly thankful that he had misread her body's reaction to his, although there was more than a little fear mixed up in the mortifying sexual excitement that had her in its grip. And now, as the music changed, and she saw the waiter approaching their table with the coffee they had ordered, she moved to arm's length, saying, 'That would be rather foolish on so short an acquaintance, don't you think? Look, the coffee's arrived. Shall we…?'

'If you insist.' His tone was dry.

'And then you can tell me the reason for our meeting tonight and then-'

'We can go home?' he finished silkily, his eyes piercingly intuitive. 'Sony, Joanne, there's the floor show to go yet; you're stuck with me for a little while longer.'

She smiled, a polite social smile as though she thought he was joking, before turning and walking to their table, his hand on the small of her back seeming to burn her skin through the silk of her dress.

How was it that in just a few hours this man seemed to have established an intimacy that even her closest friends didn't enjoy? she asked herself weakly, sinking down on to her chair with a tiny sigh of relief that she had made it without falling to the floor in a quivering heap. The questions he had asked, the things he had suggested! Her racing thoughts were brought to a stunned halt as she felt his lips on the back of her neck, his mouth warm and vibrant against the creamy softness of her skin, before he seated himself with easy composure in his chair.

'Don't…don't do that.'

'What?' Her voice had been a trembling whisper and he surveyed her with brilliantly blue eyes before asking again, 'Don't do what?'

'You know what.' She glared at him, her temper rising as her senses unfroze.

'Kiss you?' he asked softly. 'Is that so hard to say?'

'It wasn't a kiss, it was…' She couldn't find an appropriate word and he let her flounder for a minute before he said, his voice deep and dark and husky, 'Whatever it was to you, Joanne, to me it was a kiss. Do you mean to say that you don't wear your hair like that to tempt more of the same?'

'What?' She was absolutely lost for words.

'The exposure of that soft, fragrant skin, normally hidden by a curtain of silk that keeps the secret place so private-you don't know what a subtle turn-on that is to the average red-blooded male?' he asked softly as she stared at him blankly. 'It's restraint combined with voluptuousness, lasciviousness with suppression-it's…sexy, every man's dream of the perfect virginal demure beauty who turns into a seductress in the bedroom.'