Page 52 of Winter Vows

“Me?” she all but sputtered, radiating indignation.

His grin broadened. “Oh, I know exactly what kind of ideas popped into that head of yours, but I’m not going along with it. I promised you a quiet evening, no pressure, no need for a chaperone. I stick to my word.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “You can count on it.”

Trish should have been relieved, should have rejoiced at the teasing declaration that she was safe with him. So why did she suddenly wish she could drag him straight into an elevator, up to a room and then strip his clothes off?

Because he had cleverly planted the idea in her head, she realized, frowning at him. No wonder he was so successful with women. Every one of them probably thought the seduction had been their idea. Well, she knew better, and now that she did, she would be on guard.

In fact, she had a few clever moves of her own. She knew how to drive a man crazy, and no one she knew deserved it more than Hardy. Dinner was going to be lovely, she was sure. But the dancing was going to be downright fascinating.

Twelve

Hardy knew he hadn’t mistaken the panic in Trish’s eyes when she’d spotted the registration desk and realized the implications of the fact that they were in a hotel. She’d jumped to an instantaneous conclusion that he’d brought her here to seduce her. That she thought so little of him irked him. At the same time, he’d thoroughly enjoyed teasing her about the wicked direction of her thoughts. She had been completely flustered when she realized that he’d read her mind and turned her conclusions topsy-turvy.

Of course, now she seemed dead set on making him pay. Every time he asked her to dance, she made darned sure that she fit herself so snugly against him that every muscle in his body went rigid.

Then she’d toss an innocent look over her shoulder and sashay back to the table as if she had nothing more on her mind than another bite of salad. Meantime, he was so aroused, he ached.

They’d just returned to the table after their third slow dance, when he deliberately captured her gaze and held it. The muscles in her throat worked, and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

“Having fun?” he inquired lightly.

“Sure,” she said, her voice choked.

The music slowed again. He held out his hand. “Care for another dance?”

“Umm, not right now,” she murmured. “The salad will get...” Her voice trailed off as if she realized the absurdity of what she’d been about to say.

“Cold?” he supplied. “Hot?”

“Soggy,” she said emphatically.

“Nothing I hate more than a soggy salad,” he agreed. “We’ll wait till you’re finished then.”

She toyed with the lettuce for the better part of fifteen minutes before finally eating the last little bite with obvious reluctance. She finished just in time for another slow tune.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Hardy enthused. He stood up before she could make another excuse.

This time, as if she’d sensed that his patience with her game had worn thin, she tried to remain a discreet distance away from him, but Hardy urged her in close, until their bodies were pressed intimately together once more. He was aroused before they took the second spin around the floor. In fact, there was so much heat being generated between them, the chef could have cooked their meals right there on the dance floor.

He gazed down into Trish’s eyes and noted that her expression had shifted from alarm to something vaguely dreamy. Instinctively she snuggled a little closer.

Check and checkmate, he thought with a hint of desperation. If they weren’t careful, this game was going to get wildly out of hand. And he was going to be cursing himself for that vow he’d made not to haul her upstairs to one of the rooms.

Back at the table, he glanced at his watch. If they rushed, they could still make that movie. A darkened movie theater suddenly seemed a whole lot safer and more sensible than a dance floor, unless he intended to spend the rest of the evening being physically tormented. A good action movie, that was what they needed. That way if their blood roared, if would be from the adrenaline pumping through them, not lust. “What do you say we get out of here?” he asked before the subject of dessert could come up.

Her startled blue eyes met his. “Now?”

“We’ve been here longer than I realized. If we’re going to make that movie, we’d better hurry.”

“We don’t have to go to a movie.”

“Yes, we do,” he said urgently.

Suddenly a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Just because.”

“Because you’re scared? Because you don’t trust yourself with me, after all those assurances that nothing was going to get out of hand?”

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