Seduction Assignment: The Seduction Season / The Marriage Deal / The Husband Assignment

His smile held a certain grimness. ‘Nice to have your gratitude.’

She wanted to burst into tears. She treasured beautiful things. Loved the art and symmetry of exquisite crystal and porcelain. To have a piece break by her own hand was almost akin to killing a living thing.

He glimpsed the momentary desolation, caught a flash of something deeper, and fought the temptation to pull her into his arms. Such an action, he knew, would only earn him the sharp edge of her tongue.

‘Vivienne has plenty more flowers in the garden,’ he offered mildly, ignoring her protest as he deftly swept everything into the bucket, then dealt with the water.

‘Vacuum cleaner. Hall cupboard?’ Had to be. Both cottages were similar in design.

Twice the vacuum hose rattled as the cleaner sucked up undetected shards of crystal, and she stepped onto a towel he spread on the floor while he completed the task.

‘Thanks,’ she added, aware she owed him that, at least. She could have coped, dispensing with the mess, but it was likely she’d have cut herself in the process.

Dammit, she didn’t want to owe him. Nor did she particularly covet his company. He made her feel…uncomfortable, she conceded reluctantly.

As if he was all too aware of the sexual chemistry between them, and content to wait and watch for the moment she felt it.

Well, she had news for him. She could pin it down to the precise moment she’d walked into Aunt Vivienne’s kitchen the first night she arrived and found him there making tea. For her.

Sebastian watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features, divined the reason for them, and kept his own expression deliberately bland.

She could tell him to go, or ask him to stay. There was always tomorrow, the day after that. And he was a patient man.

The tussle between politeness and impoliteness warred, and there was really no contest. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

He studied her in silence for a few seconds. ‘Thanks.’

In the kitchen she set the coffee-maker up, then extracted two cups and saucers, added a bowl of sugar, and took cream from the refrigerator.

Anneke was conscious of him as he leant one hip against the servery. His tall frame made the kitchen seem smaller, and she became aware of every move she made. Only sheer habit prevented the spoon clattering onto the saucer, and she was extremely careful with the glass carafe as she poured hot coffee.

Sebastian collected both cups and set them down on the dining room table, then he pulled out a chair and folded his length into it.

She crossed to the table and sat opposite him. Conversational skills were something she’d rarely lacked. Yet at this precise moment she had trouble summoning one topic to mind.

‘How’s the book going?’

An amused gleam momentarily lit his eyes before he successfully hid it by letting his eyelids droop fractionally. The inevitable question an author had to field from time to time. ‘My answer would only seem a paradox.’

The dry response made it easy for her to resort to humour. ‘You’ve hit a bad patch?’

He winced mentally. ‘You could say I’ve dug myself into a hole and I can’t see a way out.’

‘Why not back up and avoid the hole altogether?’

Good point. ‘I need to think about it a while.’

‘So sharing coffee and conversation is really an excuse not to stare at a blank screen and curse beneath your breath?’

‘Perhaps I couldn’t resist your charming company.’

Icily polite. Furiously angry. Indignant, voluble, even sarcastic. At no stage could she recall being charming. Maybe it was time to try.

‘Tell me why you write.’

‘Curiosity, or genuine interest?’

‘A bit of both,’ she answered honestly.

‘An obsessive need to create a story.’ A statement which usually brought a non-committal response, indicating uninterest or lack of comprehension.

Anneke looked at him carefully. Glimpsed the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the faint furrow creasing his forehead, as if he’d frowned in concentration too often in the past few hours.

‘And the how of it?’

His mouth quirked. ‘Matching the image in my head with words that allow the reader to capture my vision.’

An art form that wasn’t always easy, requiring dedication and discipline, she perceived. There could be no doubt Sebastian Lanier possessed both qualities.

He waited for the inevitable comments relating to fame and fortune, the media circus he went to great pains to avoid. But none were forthcoming.

Inane questions weren’t her practice. ‘It must be a fascinating process.’ Her eyes glinted with humour. ‘And not without a degree of frustration when the words don’t flow as you need them to.’

His smile held a warmth that made her stomach curl. And the eyes were dark, gleaming and steady. Assessing, analytical, almost as if he had calculated every move, every angle, and was waiting to see which one she would choose.

It gave her an uncanny feeling.

‘Mind if I pour more coffee?’

His voice was husky and held a tinge of humour, almost as if he’d read her mind.

‘Of course not. Help yourself.’

He indicated her cup. ‘Want me to refill yours?’

It was strong, really strong. If she drank another, she’d be awake half the night. ‘No, thanks. I’ll have water instead.’

He crossed to the servery, helped himself from the coffee-maker, then reached into a nearby cupboard, extracted a glass and filled it with water. All with the ease of a man who was familiar with her aunt’s kitchen.

She could almost imagine their easy friendship, and experienced a pang of envy.

He should get out of here. The computer beckoned, and he’d just had a fleeting but inspired flash as to how he could circumvent the current plot hole.

However, the coffee was good, really good. And Anneke’s current mood intrigued him.

He placed the glass down onto the table in front of her, then slid into his chair.

‘Your turn.’