How To Host a Seduction (20 page)

It was midnight, dark except for a sliver of moon and a thousand stars jeweling the sky with an unearthly glow. Christopher would have preferred to be in their suite right now, in bed, but Ellen had insisted. So he'd aimed to please….

“Two reasons, actually. The first is what Mac said at dinner.”

“He wasn't nearly as forthcoming as Tracy last night.” Tracy, the woman who'd flirted all through dinner with a certain actor Christopher hoped had better sense than to trade a few hours with a beautiful romance author for his job at Southern Charm Mysteries.

Certain things were against the rules and Christopher understood them. Unfortunately, now was not an opportunity to point out to Ellen that he did occasionally follow rules.

“Mac may not have said as much but he gave us an important piece of the puzzle. He said that Felicity met Brigitte for a midnight meeting on the island while she'd been staying at the mayor's plantation.”

“I know. Felicity told her that the governor was forcing her to marry the mayor's son, which means he and Harley know the girls were friends. But I don't recall Miss Q saying that clues would be planted outside the plantation.”

“She didn't say they wouldn't be, either.”

Christopher shrugged, pleased if for no other reason than that Ellen had allowed herself to get so caught up in the sleuthing that she'd coerced him into a midnight boat ride. A spontaneous action if ever he'd seen one.

“I wonder if Felicity ever met the captain on the island? They would have had to meet in secret and that wouldn't have been easy. It would have been romantic, though.”

Especially on a night like this. “You know what's romantic?” When she lifted her gaze, he said, “You are.”

And she was, sitting there with the moonlight bathing her creamy skin. She'd thrown on a summery dress and a pair of sandals. She had her legs stretched out before her, sleek, endless legs he couldn't stop thinking about tangled through his in this hazy night heat.

He wasn't going to suggest they find out how romantic the night could be. Not with only hours left to get a shot at the future. He'd reserve the pleasure of sex under the stars for another time. Right now, he needed to get Ellen to the island and then get her back to bed.

Tonight he'd play by the rules.

Rowing smoothly, he listened to the night sounds echoing across the water, unseen wildlife protesting their presence. Christopher remembered the sounds from his youth, from times spent on various family vacations and school trips.

He wondered what Ellen thought about the wild bayou night, but he wouldn't ask, not when he'd much rather know… “So, what's the other reason we're out here tonight?”

“There's something I want to discuss with you.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“You asked me why I'm so determined to play by the rules and I told you it was because living inside a fishbowl means my whole family lives with the consequences of my choices.” Hiking her knee up on the bench, she stared out over the water, a casual stance that Christopher didn't buy for a minute. He didn't say a word, just continued to row, and waited.

“But I've been doing some soul-searching and I think it may be more than that, Christopher. I think I may be afraid of dragging someone into my life because being involved with me comes along with so much baggage.”

“I see,” he said, searching for a reply that would encourage her to keep talking. “Everyone has baggage, love. I happen to come along with a good bit myself, a job with lots of international travel, parents who act like hormonal teenagers—”

“Your parents aren't baggage. It's wonderful to see two people so much in love. Miss Q's grand passion in action.”

He snorted. “If you'd caught your parents making out under the bleachers during a high school football game, you might have a different view.”

“Felt like the fifth wheel, did you?”

“Let's just say it took me a while to appreciate the finer points of the situation.” He paused, searching for the right words to ask the question that would fit another huge piece of the puzzle into place. “So what makes you doubt you're worth dealing with the baggage?”

“You know, I never realized I did until this weekend,” she answered quietly. “I didn't have a clue. And I'm not sure I have an answer—or a complete answer, anyway.”

“What have you come up with?”

She hesitated, perhaps searching, as he'd been, for the right words. He didn't push, just rowed in silence, contemplating the way the starlight made her skin glow.

“I guess I don't feel I measure up to my family,” she finally said. “I've always been the odd man out, the one who takes a left turn when everyone else takes a right.”

“That makes you interesting, not less than your family.”

“If you'd been told you weren't the ‘proper fit' for your family's alma mater because you were
interesting,
you might take a different view.”

Christopher remembered his similar words. “Fair enough.”

“When I think about it, I can't ever remember
not
feeling this way. My mother always says I march to the beat of a different drummer.”

“Your family accepts your choices.”

“Of course they do. They love me.”

“None of this explains why you put so much energy into living by the rules, love. Last night you told me you limit your choices because you don't want to slip up. That's very…well,
focused,
” he said for lack of a better word.

Something he said seemed to hit home, because Ellen sat up, a thoughtful smile on her beautiful face. “I think all my slipups over the years have reinforced my feeling like the odd man out. I've gotten to the point where I'm trying to be invisible.”

A true tragedy. “Everyone makes mistakes, love.”

“But I've made some doozies.”

“Nothing you've told me about sounds like a doozy.”

“That's because I haven't told you about Steven.”

The tone of her voice left no doubt that Steven didn't bring back happy memories. “Who's he?”

“A boy I went to high school with. My first love.” Turning away, she gazed out over the water as though reliving memories she found difficult to share.

“So what put Steven in the doozy category?”

“An unfortunate series of choices and events, starting with us not respecting the baggage I come with. We were young and in love, and we wanted to see each other more than we were able to because of my father's job. Lots of nighttime functions. In our infinite sixteen-year-old wisdom, we resolved the problem by sneaking out late at night. Most of the time Steven would come get me in his car and we'd go cruising around. Sometimes we'd park. It was pretty innocuous, really. Or would have been, if my father hadn't held a position on the president's Cabinet.”

Christopher watched Ellen in silence, her cool expression warning him that she needed to talk without interruption.

“In a nutshell…Steven's car was in the shop one night so I borrowed my brother's motorcycle, which would have been no problem because I knew how to ride it. But Steven had this guy thing going on, so I let him drive, which wouldn't have been a problem, either, if not for the reporter who'd been tailing us.”

Christopher wished she would look at him. He wanted to see her eyes, try to divine what emotions were racing through her that she wouldn't share. But she kept her gaze on the water, kept her tone even. “How long had the reporter been following you?”

“About a week. We had no idea until later, of course. But that night we had the motorcycle, so when he came
up on us in the park, we realized we were being followed.” She sighed. “All I could see was the headline and how disappointed my parents would be. I freaked. Steven tried to be my knight in shining armor.”

Finally turning back to him, she met his gaze, and though darkness shadowed her eyes, he could see her regret.

“We took off. The reporter chased us. We wiped out in a ditch. I was thrown clear, but Steven went with the bike. Emergency surgery and twelve hours of not knowing whether he'd wake up or what kind of condition he'd be in if he did…well, thankfully, he did. And he was fine.”

That wasn't the end of the story. Christopher knew it as surely as he heard the heartache in her voice. “And afterward?”

“My father is a man with a lot of power. His people swept everything under the rug since we were both minors. It wasn't easy, but he did. I owe him a great deal. My mom, too.”

He didn't point out that all kids got in over their heads and that caring, responsible parents usually helped pick up the pieces. His own parents had come to his rescue while he'd been growing up, more often than he could recall. But he didn't want to put her in a position where she felt the need to defend herself, so he asked, “What happened to Steven?”

She shrugged. “He didn't want to see me anymore. Didn't think dating me was worth putting up with all the complications I came with. I certainly couldn't blame him.”

That casual shrug explained everything. Ellen had been hurt. Because of the press, she'd lost the boy she'd loved—almost literally.

He must have let something in his expression slip, be
cause Ellen leaped to reassure him. “We were very young, Christopher. Our relationship wasn't meant to last.”

“That doesn't change the fact that the press directly impacted your relationship and your life. That's a heavy load for a sixteen-year-old.”

She nodded. “Perhaps even more than I realized. When I look back on so many of the choices I made, I seem to have spent a lot of energy dodging the spotlight.”

Suddenly her career choice made sense, as did her willingness to stand up for what she had wanted. She had needed to go into a business that put distance between her and her family and indulge an idealistic side that all too often got buried beneath the rules.

Christopher also understood why Ellen had dragged him out here. Both the night and the boat gave them a distance they could never have while lying together in bed.

“I'm glad you talked to me, love.”

And he was. She might be leaving Félicie Allée tomorrow, but now that he understood what he was up against, he stood a chance. If he could convince her to see him again once they got home, he could prove he'd willingly take on her “baggage,” and be more than able to handle it.

But he wasn't going to push. Not now. Not until they were in bed and he'd loved his way past her defenses.

“I was long overdue an epiphany.” She tipped her face to the sky and stretched out on the bench, soaking up the starlight as though she were tanning. “Thank you.”

“You're crediting me? Why do I find that alarming?”

She laughed softly. “It's a good thing, really. You've made me stop and think about what I'm shutting out of my life, what I want for the future.”

“You want me.”

He hadn't meant literally, but she simply said, “I do.”

And before he had a chance to register that she'd just admitted the very thing he'd wanted to hear, she followed up her statement by undoing the top button of her dress….

“Warm?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm. The temperature hasn't dropped much.”

Her fingers worked a second button, and Christopher leaned in for a better look. He may have decided against suggesting sex in the great outdoors tonight, but he was definitely not above enjoying the scenery. And this scenery was awesome. He could just about see the swell of her breasts as her bodice parted.

Then she went for a third button and those full breasts, covered only in a filmy
something,
spilled out.

“You must be really warm,” he commented conversationally, not wanting to discourage her from this uncharacteristic display of boldness that was raising his temperature.

“I am. It's so hot tonight,” she replied just as conversationally, before lifting a hand to sweep the hair off her neck.

Extending her arm had an amazing effect—both on Ellen's bodice and his rocketing body heat. This little show was intentional, so Christopher sat back, shut up and hoped she wouldn't stop. He'd be more than happy to row them in circles all night for a chance to help Ellen explore this daring side of her personality.

She was right, an epiphany was a good thing.

The fourth button slid free of its hole, then the fifth, sixth and seventh, revealing that the filmy little
something
she wore was so transparent that the stars reflected off her sleek curves.

Shrugging halfway out of her dress, Ellen met his gaze, looking as composed as if she were greeting the president, and asked, “You don't mind, do you?”

“Please, get comfortable.”

One of them should be, and it wouldn't be him—not while sitting on this wooden bench with his erection growing stiff enough to use as an oar.

Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she let the dress slither in a puddle around her hips, leaving her upper body clad in nothing more than starlit silk so sheer her nipples smudged into dark sworls. “There, that's much better.”

“I agree.”

She sighed, tipped her face to the sky and closed her eyes, offering him the opportunity to caress her with his gaze, the way her every curve glistened in the growing mist.

Oh man, the view was just getting better and better.

They sat in silence as Christopher forced the oars through the water with careful strokes designed not to jar this beauty from her star-bathing. Her full breasts rose and fell with every breath and her nipples peaked through that whisper of silk. Her gorgeous body spread out before him, sleek and inviting, spiking his need to touch her and to know just how far she would go with her bold game.

But Ellen drove all questions from his mind when she lifted her bottom and shimmied the dress over her hips. Riveted, he watched as the lightweight fabric rode down those smooth thighs, along shapely calves, finally pooling around her feet. At
his
feet. This boat was not big.