The Final Seduction(11)

She eased her foot off the accelerator, seriously tempted to go and search out a place advertising bed and breakfast.

But a little B and B was bound to have a curious landlady. Someone who  might know her, and her history. At least this place was big enough to  provide the privacy and the solitude she craved-if only for tonight,  until her turbulent emotions had settled themselves down.

She drove in through the gates of the Westward and parked the car,  immediately noticing how the surrounding grounds had been spruced up.  The gardens and flower-beds didn't just look immaculate-they looked as  if they'd been lovingly re-created by someone with an instinctive eye  for colour and harmony.

The hotel had been built as a private home at the end of the last  century and stood overlooking the bay, silhouetted against the intense  light which glittered in off the sea. It had always been an impressive  building, but its star had been on the wane when Shelley had left.

Now she could see that money and love had clearly been lavished on it  since her last visit-for the once crumbling brickwork had been righted,  the paintwork replenished, and tired-looking guttering replaced.

It would not have looked out of place in any of the most upmarket  European resorts, she decided as she carried her bags into the main  hall, where the light spilled rich, royal colours through stained glass  onto the polished wood floor.

The woman behind the reception desk looked up and smiled and Shelley was  even more taken aback. Even the receptionists seemed to have had a  revamp! This one had dark, glossy red hair and the luminous pale skin  which sometimes accompanied it-accentuated by the iris-blue suit she was  wearing. She looked about the same age as Shelley but there all  similarity ended-because her well-groomed serenity couldn't have  provided more of a contrast to the crumpled sight that Shelley must have  made.

'Can I help you?' she asked pleasantly.

'I'm Shelley Turner,' she answered, wondering why she found herself  suddenly feeling ever so slightly intimidated. She was used to quiet  luxury. She looked around. There was no sign of Drew, and she didn't  know whether to be glad or sad. Should she mention him by name? 'Did a  man-?' Now how stupid did that sound? 'I believe someone may have tried  to reserve a room for me?'

'Yes, they did, Miss Turner,' said the woman smoothly, without even  bothering to look down at her reservation list. 'You're in the Lilac  Suite. Shall I have someone take you straight up there?'

'Suite?' Shelley squeaked. The Westward had gone decidedly upmarket if  it was now providing suites! 'I didn't want a suite! Nothing grand-just a  room for the night, that's all.'

'I'm afraid that was the only one available.' The woman shrugged  apologetically. 'Of course, if there's a problem with that, I can speak  to-'

'No, there's no problem.' She was dying to ask for a price list, but  didn't dare. She'd stayed in enough plush places with Marco to know that  if you had to ask how much something cost, then that implied you  couldn't afford it! And, no matter how much it cost to stay at the  Westward, she could certainly afford one night.

The woman gave a polite, professional smile. 'Then I'll have someone show you upstairs, shall I, Miss Turner?'

'Yes, please.'

A porter took her bags and led the way up the curving staircase and  right along to the end of a portrait-strewn corridor, where he flung  open a pair of double doors. Shelley peered over his shoulder and became  aware of a room which was softly glowing in pale shades of  pinkish-violet. Slinky, sensuous and decadently sumptuous. She blinked.                       
       
           



       

This? In Milmouth?

'The Lilac Suite, miss.'

She fumbled around for a tip.

'That's very kind of you, miss. Will you be wanting anything else?'

'Not at the moment, thanks. What time is dinner?'

'We start serving at seven-thirty, miss.' He closed the door quietly behind him.

Once he'd gone she looked around properly. It was the most amazing room  she had ever seen-and she was no stranger to amazing rooms. Acres of  mauve carpet, as soft and rich as velvet, while the vast four-poster bed  was partially concealed by heavy and lavish hangings in lilac picked  out with gold. The colour scheme was echoed by the silky curtains which  were draped in shimmering lilac columns at either side of the  floor-to-ceiling windows.

And the view …

Shelley walked over to one of the windows and gazed out with pleasure at  the uninterrupted view of the English Channel, and it took her breath  away. How had she forgotten just how stunning her childhood home could  be?

Further exploration revealed that the adjoining bathroom had an  old-fashioned claw-footed bath the size of a small swimming pool. Now  that was what she needed more than anything else!

She turned the taps on, added some essence, and let the water gush in  while she undressed, jerkily peeling off the white lacy underwear she  had bought in Milan. She tossed it in a filmy heap on the floor,  thinking ruefully that she'd better invest in something more substantial  now that she was back.

When the bath was almost full, she climbed in and sank beneath the foam,  sighing with sheer pleasure as the warm water caressed her skin like  silk.

She washed her hair, then lay back, feeling her body begin to relax  properly for the first time since Marco had told her that he had fallen  in love. Love. Horrible word. What did it mean? It meant disruption,  that was what it meant! The perfumed vapour enclosed her and she felt  her eyelids grow heavy as sleep-or something very close to sleep-claimed  her senses and she gave herself up to it.

She didn't hear the bathroom door slide slowly open or the momentary  pause before it was eased shut again, but something must have registered  in her subconscious because when she opened her eyes again it was to  see Drew standing there, very still, just watching her.

It was too unexpected and much too close to fantasy for her to make any  initial reaction other than one of dazed recognition. She sank a little  lower into the bath water as she stared up at him. And there was a lot  to stare at. In the confined space of the steamy room, his long legs  seemed to go on for ever.

The jeans which she had admired on the beach-was that really just a few  short hours ago?-looked even better on closer inspection. Soft blue  denim brushed against taut thigh, whispered against knee and tapered  down to ankle.

Her eyes drifted upwards, to where the simple white T-shirt hugged  exactly where it should, caressing the firm, tight flesh of his torso  like a lover.

The steam and fatigue had lulled her. The cloudy mist which had  moistened the air now clogged her brain with sensation. Sapphire eyes  blazed down at her in silent question, and beneath the warm, creamy foam  Shelley felt the flowering of desire.

'Drew!' she breathed.

'Hello, Shelley.'

She sank down even deeper, so that the visible swell of her breasts was  covered by the little islands of foam which floated on the surface.  'What are you doing here?' she whispered, wondering why she wasn't  screaming at him to get out.

'Truthfully? Apart from getting more turned on by the second? I'm just  fantasising about what lies beneath all those bubbles.' His mouth  tightened. 'And realising that I've never seen you completely naked  before. Do you realise that, Shelley? Incredible, isn't it, when you  think about it?'

Desire shafted a path from the tips of her breasts over the soft curve  of her belly, and beyond, where a moist, slow throb had begun to torment  her.

'Drew.' It was meant to be a protest, so why did it come out as some aching little plea?

'I've seen you in a swimsuit many times, of course,' he said,  matter-of-factly, with all the passion of someone describing a computer  program. 'And once-just once-when you were topless on the beach. Do you  remember that, Shelley?'

Of course she remembered. How could she ever forget? But it had been a  long time since she had allowed herself to think of it in any detail.  She shook her head. 'N-no. I don't think so.'

'Then let me refresh your memory.'

'Drew-'

'You were seventeen.' He cut across her weak objection, his voice low  and deliberate. 'And it was the end of that long, baking summer just  before I went travelling. Remember that? It was so hot and so still that  every breath you took seemed to scorch the lining of your throat. You  and a couple of the other girls were sunbathing behind the rocks in that  little cove further up the bay. Now do you remember?'                       
       
           



       

She nodded, her lips too dry to speak, despite the dampness of the steamy air.

He narrowed his eyes, taking in her inertia and her heavy eyelids.  'You'd all stripped down to bikini bottoms. And yours was gold-so that  it looked all hard and shiny-yet it clung like syrup to the curve of  your hips. And I didn't even notice the others. I couldn't see them. All  I could see was you. You. And your skin was glistening, just as it's  glistening now. Soft, creamy breasts topped with tight little rosebuds … '  He let his voice trail away.