One Reckless Decision

“I am trying to point out to you that we must concentrate on things other than sex,” she said matter-of-factly, pushing away the odd urge to ask him what he meant about his education, or hers. “Sex is easy, but seduction requires more flair, does it not? If I am to serve you well, I must access your brain as well as your body. All good seductions begin with the brain, and only use the body as something secondary. A dessert, if you will.”

“My brain,” he repeated. He shook his head. “My brain is not the part of me that invited you on to this yacht, Tristanne.”

“It should have been,” she replied. She met his gaze again, and then there was nothing left but to go for it. “Because we cannot have sex, Nikos. Not so soon. Certainly not on this boat.”

Chapter Five

HE LAUGHED.

It was a bold, bright sound. It took Tristanne by surprise, and seemed to ring inside of her like some kind of bell. She had to remind herself to breathe, to keep herself from laughing with him—it was that compelling.

“Why am I not surprised by this turn?” he asked. Rhetorically, obviously. Still laughing slightly, his teeth gleaming white and his eyes like rich honey, he met her gaze. “Explain to me, please, why I would consent to such a thing?”

“I’ve just explained it to you,” Tristanne replied, trying to maintain the air of insouciance she had managed to use like a shield so far.

“So you have.” He shook his head slightly. Then shrugged. “If that is what you want, then what is it to me?” His tone was light, his eyes anything but.

She was so consumed by that hard, hot gaze that she almost didn’t hear him. Then, when his words penetrated, she thought for a long moment that she had misheard him. Had he…agreed?

“What does that mean?” she asked when he did not speak again.

“You may set whatever limits you like,” he said easily. Again, that careless shrug that only called attention to the muscles that moved, lithe and dangerous, beneath his skin. “You need only mention that they have been reached, and I will not argue.”

For a moment, she watched him, caught by his potent masculinity in ways she was afraid to examine. Far above, a gull called, then dropped in a graceful arc toward the beckoning sea.

“That is not quite the same thing as agreeing, I cannot help but notice,” she said, when the odd hush around them made her too restless to remain silent any longer.

“No.” His half smile appeared again, mocked her. “It is not.”

“I really feel that we must come to some kind of—”

“We will not come to an agreement,” he interrupted her smoothly, unapologetically. He rose then, in a show of graceful, careless strength, and moved toward her, blocking out her view of the Mediterranean, the sun, the world. He reached across the scant space between them, and tugged on a stray strand of her hair. It was an oddly affectionate gesture, for all that it was also a naked display of possession.

“I will not promise you such a thing. I will only promise you that if you do not wish it, you need only say so. Isn’t that enough?”

It would be enough if he were any other man alive, Tristanne thought with no little bitterness. She had never had any trouble at all before, because she had never combusted before at a man’s slightest touch. She had never had to remind herself of all the reasons why she could not simply surrender herself to a man’s fire; she had instead had to come up with reasons why she should bother to go on a second date or return a telephone call.

“It is a start,” she said eventually, feeling mutinous as she looked at him.

“If it helps,” he said softly, still far too close, his hands coming to rest on either side of her, caging her against the boat’s rail, “I believe in a more holistic approach. Mind and body as one. You might wish to incorporate that into your seduction plans.”

“A good seduction does not simply happen,” Tristanne retorted, aware that her voice sounded cross, when, once again, she’d wanted to appear effortless. Easy. “It requires a certain amount of research, of mystery, of planning—”

“Of this,” he said. He bent and nipped gently at her chin, then pressed his lips to hers. It was not the consuming kiss of before, but it was no less demanding. It was like a brand. A stamp of ownership. Of intent.

He pulled back, and laughed again, more softly this time. Then he let his hand drop down, tracing a path from her neck, across her collarbone toward her shoulder, and then squeezed the bicep that he had held yesterday.

She tried to control her immediate wince of pain, but knew she failed when his dark eyes narrowed. He released her immediately.