The Seduction Trap by Sara Wood Page A

lowered lashes resting thickly on his strong cheekbones. So she screwed up her toes and took a deep interest in an ant, crawling into the jam-pot.
    ‘They are its heart, its soul,’ he went on. ‘No one with any sensitivity would dream of altering the essence and spirit of Turaine. Anything I undertake must be done with the greatest of tact and care. Modernising on such a scale and with such sensitivity will mean an upheaval for them and a headache for me, but it’ll be worth it. My family name will be respected again. That’s very important to me. You do understand that, don’t you?’ he finished appealingly. Reeling from his fervour, she withdrew her hand on the pretext of brushing crumbs from the table. Guy leaned back in his chair, his intense emotions gradually subsiding, and she felt her pulses returning to their normal beat. But her conviction now wavered. Her mother might be wrong. A misunderstanding, perhaps.
    Feeling a little limp, Tessa carefully saved the ant from drowning in a jammy paradise, watching it stagger stickily away. Guy seemed to be watching her closely.
    ‘Too much of a good thing,’ she explained, indicating the disappearing insect.
    ‘I’m all for surrendering to hedonism myself.’ So was she, apparently! she thought helplessly. The warmth of the sun, the aroma of orangeblossom and chocolate croissant, a sexy man inches away, and she was ready to fling herself into the abyss! Idiot.
    ‘Like drowning in jam?’ she flipped defensively. ‘I can think of better things to drown in.’
    So could she. Like his fluid and eloquent tones, his fathom-deep eyes and the treacherous waters of sensuality which were putting her out of her depth. Aimlessly she fiddled with the jam-spoon, ladling a large dollop onto her plate and fixing her mind ruthlessly on facts, not feelings. Slowly the lassitude in her veins eased and she could think almost clearly again. ‘What about The Old Bakery?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Could you throw that in with your grand plans and smarten it up a little?’
    ‘Sorry.’ He flashed her an apologetic smile. ‘I couldn’t include your cottages in the scheme. All the time they’re privately owned, they don’t come under my care. I hope you understand,’ he went on absently, his gaze fixed on. the piece of croissant she was popping into her mouth. Her face fell in disappointment. She chewed for a moment, a little uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Hastily she licked her lips in case they had jammy edges. His eyes seemed to follow every curl of her pink tongue and she had some difficulty bringing herself back to the point.
    A sip of scalding coffee soon brought her mind to heel. She was supposed to be discovering why he’d done his best to charm her. Also if he did actually want the cottages, as her mother had claimed. Only one way to find out. Bull at a gate. ‘Would you like to buy the cottages from me?’ she asked sweetly, letting her eyes widen with innocent enquiry. He looked blank and she grudgingly had to admire his self-control. ‘I had the impression that you were hoping to acquire them from my mother. Was she planning to sell?’ she asked innocently.
    ‘I knew she badly needed money and I was willing to offer her a reasonable price rather than see the buildings fall about her ears through neglect,’ he said evasively. ‘They are part of the fabric of Turaine, part of its history. The Old Bakery was the bread shop. Next door is The Bakehouse, the one beyond is
    called Oven Cottage. The equipment should still be around somewhere. I’d hoped to preserve it. But now the properties are yours and I imagine you’ll want to keep them.’ This time, she thought she detected the merest trace of tension in his voice. And then she saw the give-away. A slight tremor in his hand as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. He must have noticed it too, because he put the jug down even though his cup was only half-full.
    Interesting, she mused. He was on edge.