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  But she couldn’t. And leaving now was the best idea she’d had in years.

  The next moment a hand touched her shoulder, and she leaped a mile.

  “Shh,” said Ross, easing himself into a sitting position beside her and sliding his arm around her waist. Behind them, he could hear the fast, neurotic tap of Clarissa’s too-high heels as she searched the terrace. Tilting his dark head toward Tessa’s, he murmured, “I need saving.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Recognizing him at once, she couldn’t help smiling. “Although I rather had the impression that you were beyond redemption.”

  Ross pinched the inside of her elbow in retaliation. “All lies. I’ve been a virgin since I was twelve. Speaking of which”—with his free hand he grasped Tessa’s slender fingers and raised them to his lips—“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. You are?”

  “I am a guest at your brother’s party,” said Tessa, unable to prevent herself admiring the chiseled perfection of his mouth. “And you are a bullshitter, Mr. Monahan. I warn you, I’m quite immune to bullshit.”

  Ross laughed. In the background Clarissa’s footsteps faded in despondent retreat, but all of a sudden Clarissa no longer mattered. This girl, this guest-at-his-brother’s party, was quite beautiful. She was also a natural blond with slanting green eyes and silky, dark eyelashes who was wearing no makeup whatsoever, no overpowering perfume, and none of that disgusting hair spray with which so many women solidified their hair. In her high-necked, plain black dress, bare brown legs, and flat, black leather shoes, she was more alluring than any of the other exposed and over-made-up women he had seen tonight.

  He noticed the empty wineglass on the grass beside her. “Look, can I get you anything?”

  “A taxi would be nice.” Tessa, who had also heard the retreating female footsteps, began to rise to her feet. Alarmed, Ross yanked her back down beside him.

  “You can’t be serious! Apart from the fact that it’s not even nine o’clock, we’ve only just met.”

  “Maybe the excitement is simply too much for me,” she replied, her voice betraying her amusement. “Maybe I can’t wait to rush home and record every thrilling detail in my diary. Maybe I just don’t like parties.”

  “Maybe you don’t like me,” countered Ross, feeling absurdly put out. He wasn’t used to being laughed at, however gently. And he certainly wasn’t accustomed to being rejected. This girl wasn’t playing games, he realized. She meant it.

  Tessa shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

  “Then at least give me a chance.” Now it was his turn to stand up, pulling her with him and keeping a firm grip on her hand. She wore no rings, and her unpainted nails were cut short. “You could begin by telling me your name.”

  “Where are we going?” countered Tessa. He was walking so fast she almost had to run to keep up. “If you’re thinking of showing me your etchings, forget it.”

  “What do you think I am?” Pretending to be affronted, then realizing that it wasn’t such a pretense after all, he pulled her in the direction of the conservatory. “We’re going to get to know each other. In the nonbiblical sense, of course.”

  • • •

  Three hours later, Ross silently conceded defeat. He knew nothing more about her now than he had when he’d first spotted her sitting alone on the grassy slope beyond the terrace. Every question was parried, every overture firmly rebuffed. However hard he tried, she remained totally unimpressed. He had practically told her his life story, and he still didn’t even know her name.

  He had never wanted a woman more badly in his life.

  “You really shouldn’t be here with me,” said Tessa, allowing him to refill her glass from the bottle he had retrieved from its hiding place behind a huge tropical fern. The conservatory, with its domed glass roof, stained-glass side-panels, and strategically positioned amber-tinted spotlighting, was like a small jungle. And since Ross had taken the precaution of locking the door behind him, they were both unobserved and uninterrupted, surrounded only by lush foliage and the scent of exotic blooms. In the distance could be heard the muted sounds of revelry as the party continued without them.

  Ross leaned back in his seat, white wrought-iron and strewn with silk cushions, and stuck his feet up on the table. “Why on earth not?”

  “People will wonder where you are.”

  He winked. “It’s my party, and I’ll hide if I want to. What’s the matter—am I boring you?”

  In order to avoid answering, Tessa sipped her drink. Despite her cool front, she actually wasn’t having as easy a time of it as Ross supposed. Initially, being only too aware of his horrendous reputation, she had taken everything he said with a bucket of salt. And although maybe she still did, he was managing to get to her anyway. This side of Ross Monahan, the side that was charming and funny and so effortlessly capable of winning people over, was bloody hard to resist. Particularly, thought Tessa ruefully, when he had managed to fill her glass with Bollinger at least twice as often as he had his own.

  “Stop ignoring me,” said Ross, snapping a feathery fern off at the stem and trailing its slender tip across the back of Tessa’s knuckles. “I asked you a question. Am I boring you?”

  “To death.” She smiled, moving her hand out of reach. “But don’t stop. Yet.”

  Chapter 2

  I must be drunk, thought Tessa, kicking off her shoes and sinking into a sitting position on the edge of the vast, canopied bed. When a man like Ross Monahan urged you to spend the night at his place and assured you that you were quite welcome to the bed—he would be happy to sleep on the settee—you knew you were playing with fire.

  Either drunk or crazy, she told herself as she pulled her dress over her head, threw it in the direction of a large, red-velvet chair, and wrapped herself in the dark-blue toweling robe he had left for her.

  But she knew she wasn’t that drunk. She was enjoying the game that had begun so many hours earlier. The challenge had been thrown down, and she couldn’t resist it. She was going to seriously enjoy being the only woman in the history of the world to have slept in Ross’s bed…alone.

  His suite of rooms on the top floor of the hotel was as sumptuous as she had imagined, particularly since seeing the rest of The Grange earlier. Like stowaways, they had remained closeted in the conservatory until the early hours of the morning when the last guests had departed, either roaring off into the night in their smart cars or retiring to their rooms in the hotel.

  Then, taking her hand, Ross had given her the full guided tour, showing her the elegant sitting rooms, the restaurant, the squash courts, the superb gym, and the spectacular indoor swimming pool built inside a second, even larger, conservatory, illuminated by underwater lighting and surrounded on three sides by more tropical vegetation. Ross was as proud of the hotel as a new father. Tessa had been touched by his enthusiasm. But if he was under the impression that she would be so overwhelmed by this display of his success that she would leap into bed with him, he was going to be disappointed.

  Saying no was much, much more fun.

  Firmly securing the belt of the far-too-big robe around her waist, she threw back the bedcovers and slid between cool, white sheets just as a cautious knock sounded at the door.

  “It’s OK, I’m decent.”

  “Pity,” said Ross lightly. He was still dressed and carrying a folded blanket over one arm.

  Tessa gestured at the bed. “This is awfully kind of you. You’ll probably have a terrible time trying to sleep on that settee.”

  “Probably.” He gave her a mournful look, then grinned. “But I’ll survive.”

  She watched him fling the blanket over the narrow leather chesterfield. “And it’s four thirty now. Nearly time to get up again anyway.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “I’m very grateful.”

  “Absolutely no problem.”

 
Tessa pulled the covers up to her chin and smiled at him. “You’re a true gentleman.”

  “I believe you,” said Ross. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

  She watched him hover for a few seconds beside the sofa, wondering no doubt if she might change her mind. Then, giving him one last big smile, she plumped up her pillows and turned over. “Mmm, well, thanks again. Good night.”

  Tessa didn’t know what time it was when she shifted in her sleep and first realized that she was no longer alone in the bed. Her bare leg was resting against another bare leg, definitely not her own. Sleepily, almost subconsciously, she stretched out her hand and encountered a smooth, warm back. She became aware of the very faint scent of aftershave and toothpaste, and the quiet, regular breathing of someone deeply and peacefully asleep.

  To her great surprise, Tessa was neither shocked nor annoyed by this invasion of her privacy. It was, after all, his bed, and a narrow, slippery leather chesterfield was about as conducive to a good night’s sleep as a tin bath.

  In fact, she realized drowsily, she had forgotten quite how nice it felt to lie next to another body, accidentally brushing against an arm or a hip, sharing each other’s warmth and enjoying the primal instincts of simply being together.

  With a guilty start she came properly awake. For the way her fingertips were trailing down Ross’s spine wasn’t in the least bit accidental. And, without even realizing it, her own left leg had managed to fit against the curve of his right one with all the snugness of a missing piece in a jigsaw.

  This was taking the enjoyment of sharing each other’s warmth a little too far.

  Regretfully easing her leg back to her own side of the bed and removing her hand from his back, she closed her eyes and attempted to distract her mind from its traitorous wanderings. She had always believed that physical intimacy—not just sex—was something like a video recorder or a fancy food processor: what you didn’t have, you didn’t miss; it just faded from your mind and became unimportant.

  It had been almost a year since her last relationship had ended. At first, of course, she had missed the hugs and the kisses—and the sex—but certainly not enough to go rampaging round Bath in search of males, any males, with whom to satisfy the need for physical contact.

  And pretty soon she had become used to being and sleeping alone once more. The withdrawal symptoms had been mild. Because hugging and kissing and sex weren’t physical addictions like heroin. They were something that was nice but also quite possible to live without.

  On the other hand, a year was a long time.

  Faintly appalled by her own weakness, Tessa realized that what she was experiencing now was a surge of sexual longing. Her fingers had found their way back to Ross’s shoulder and the need to touch him had grown, become a compulsion.

  My God, I’m a nymphomaniac, she thought, smiling to herself in the darkness, but at the same time almost frightened by the strength of her feelings. Her stomach was taut with anticipation, her breathing shallow. Adrenaline was pumping through her body, galvanized both by her desires and her daring as she rolled fractionally closer toward the warm, perfect, wonderful-smelling and oh-so-forbidden body lying just inches from her own. And of course it was the very worst body in the world to have engendered such feelings for, because Ross Monahan had the most awful reputation in the world as a womanizer.

  She had so enjoyed herself earlier, proving to him that she was immune to his legendary charms. And now look at me, thought Tessa, helpless and inwardly squirming with lust. A pathetic wreck at the mercy of her hormones. Sometimes, just sometimes, nature was a real bitch.

  “I hope you realize and appreciate,” murmured Ross almost inaudibly, “what incredible self-control I’ve been exercising for the last twenty minutes.”

  Tessa let out a shriek and sprang away from him as if she’d been electrocuted. Shocked to the core and hideously embarrassed to realize that he’d been awake the entire time, she buried her face in the pillow and shuddered with mortification. How he must be laughing at her now.

  Slowly, very slowly, he turned over. “I didn’t say stop,” he pointed out gently.

  Tessa, still buried in the pillows, couldn’t speak. When his hand touched her hair, she remained utterly rigid. The humiliation was unendurable.

  “In case you’re interested,” continued Ross, his tone almost conversational, “I would rate that very same twenty minutes as possibly the most erotic of my entire life.”

  “Shut up,” squeaked Tessa, wishing she were dead. But to add further to her dreadful shame, the seeds of longing were still there. His fingers were now lightly exploring the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, and she wasn’t pushing him away. She couldn’t push him away. The sensations he was evoking were absolutely exquisite.

  “You know,” he murmured minutes later, “this is what sex counselors prescribe couples as therapy for impotence.”

  With a tiny resurgence of her old spirit, Tessa retorted, “How on earth would you know?” and gasped softly as his magical fingers slid along the line of her collarbone.

  “I read it in a book.” There was a smile in his voice. “The couple are finally so turned on by all the touching that in the end they can’t help themselves and bingo! Problem cured.”

  “Really,” whispered Tessa, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Oh yes, really.” Reaching for her, Ross turned her over to face him finally. In the darkness she could see his eyes glittering like coal as he peeled open her toweling robe and slowly pushed it away from her shoulders. “I’m beginning to think,” he said, tracing the outline of her mouth with the tip of his index finger, “that these sex counselors might really have a point.”

  It was like being told to execute an intricate dance with a world champion, thought Tessa hazily, and suddenly discovering that you knew all the steps. Every response, every rhythm, was sheer perfection. They moved together, so finely tuned to each other’s needs that there was no awkwardness, no hesitation…and no doubt. After all the anticipation they were both so ready that no further foreplay was necessary, but still they continued, wordlessly prolonging the ecstasy, not wanting it to end a minute sooner than it might. When Ross kissed her mouth she felt faint with longing, her hands caressing him in return, her body pressing against his.

  And when, finally, the waiting became unendurable, they moved together at precisely the same moment, and she caught her breath as he entered her. Closing her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the tears of sheer happiness seeping beneath her lashes, all she could think of was: perfect. And just as she thought it, Ross murmured that very same word aloud.

  • • •

  “Well, that was rather pleasant,” said Ross afterward, propping himself up on one elbow and grinning down at her. God, she was beautiful. With careful precision he smoothed a damp strand of blond hair away from her cheek. He was a man of wide, possibly panoramic, experience with women, but he was truly shaken by the depth of emotion he was feeling now for this girl. Somehow it hadn’t been just a great lay. And whatever else it was quite unnerved him. It was new, uncharted territory.

  Because he didn’t know what else to do, he resorted to banter. “Think I should write to the sex counselor and tell him I’m cured?”

  “You must be relieved, after all those terrible years of celibacy,” said Tessa, misinterpreting the expression in his eyes. The fun was over, he’d gotten what he wanted, and now he didn’t know what to do with this girl so inconveniently still here in his bed.

  Be fair, it was what we both wanted, she told herself. And it had been fantastic, after all.

  But it was still just a tacky little one-night stand, nothing more, and now they had to pay for it, enduring all this terrible awkwardness, being polite to each other and pretending that they weren’t complete strangers who had both simply happened to fancy a quickie…

  In the cold light of dawn,
which it was by this time, she realized that what had seemed miraculous and wonderful just minutes earlier, now appeared instead to be something sad and somewhat sleazy.

  And Ross didn’t help matters at all by choosing this particular moment to say, “Look, I still don’t know your name. You have to tell me who you are now.”

  Tessa glanced out through the window at the pale-gray sky and the misty hills in the distance. Then she closed her eyes. “I thought you knew. I’m your tart for the night.”

  “I want to know,” he insisted, and she shook her head, sickened by the game he felt he had to play.

  “What on earth for?”

  “So that I can phone you.” His tone was half joking, half serious. He couldn’t understand why she had so suddenly drawn away from him. This was a situation he had never encountered before.

  “Oh please!” Tessa sighed in deep despair. There was nothing else for it. To climb out of bed, hunt for her clothes, and walk three miles home at six fifteen in the morning was too humiliating, too sleazy, and much, much more than she could handle right now.

  So she took the only other alternative currently available: turned over on her side—away from Ross—and went back to sleep.

  After dozing fitfully for a while, Ross rose at seven thirty. Gazing down at the girl in his bed with her long, glossy blond hair strewn across the pillows and her left arm only half covering her small but perfect breasts, he didn’t dare awaken her. He couldn’t stand it if she was going to carry on with that I’m-a-tart routine.

  What the hell was he to do?