jazz band switched into a number Amber recognised. The tango from the old Al Pacino film she’d watched with her mother a few months ago and loved. Even though she knew it’d be much more sensible to sit this one out and not bait Guy any further, her mouth wasn’t working in sync with her brain. ‘Dare you.’
‘Dare me?’ His eyes were suddenly very, very dark.
Shut up, Amber, shut up now, she warned herself. But her mouth was on a roll. ‘Or can’t you tango?’
‘Challenging me, Amber? Isn’t that a bit risky?’
Say no. Back off. Sit down, her brain telegraphed urgently.
Her mouth was having none of it. It smiled. Taunted him. ‘Bite me, Guy.’
With slow, deliberate movements, he took the glass from her hand and set it down on the table. Then he yanked her into his arms, so his mouth was next to her ear. ‘Bite you, hmm?’ he drawled, his voice low and incredibly sexy. ‘I’m taking that as an offer, mon ange.’
Amber was very, very glad that he was holding her up. Because she could imagine his teeth grazing her skin as he explored her all over with his mouth, and the idea sent her weak at the knees. Not to mention sending her pulse rate into overdrive.
It looked as if she’d just unleashed a monster.
There was no going back, because then Guy began to dance with her.
She’d danced with professionals, but it had felt nothing like this. With them, it had been choreography and patience. This was something more elemental, leaving her aware of every beat of blood through her body. Her body was reacting to his closeness, growing more aroused every time he spun her back into his body and wrapped his arms round her midriff, holding her close to him, sliding one leg between hers and encouraging her to do the same to him.
What would’ve been choreography with anyone else felt like a prelude to sex with Guy. A thigh pressed between hers. Another press, making her wonder what it would feel like to have his bare skin against hers, his legs tangled with hers. A withdrawal, as if he’d pulled out of her body, ready to surge back in as deeply as he could. Her body pressed against his, hip to hip and belly to belly and breast to breast. The scent of his skin, overlaid with a light citrussy fragrance that made her want to taste him.
Nothing existed except Guy and the music. Every nerve-end was concentrated on him—on the way his body touched hers, teasing and enticing and promising all at the same time.
And then she felt the brush of his lips against the bare skin of her shoulder, a feather-light contact that made a pulse beat hard between her legs.
His eyes were dark, a stormy blue in the evening light. Did he feel this same deep throb of desire? Was he thinking about what it would be like to kiss each other properly, hot and wet and urgent?
Bite me, she’d said.
And how she wanted to feel his mouth on her body. Teasing her. Arousing her. Taking her right over the edge.
And then the music came to an abrupt end. Shockingly so.
‘Bravo, Mademoiselle Wynne,’ Guy whispered in her ear in the final hold.
Amber was even more shocked when people actually clapped them.
Oh, no. Don’t say they’d been the only dancers on the floor?
But when she glanced round, the dance-floor was empty.
This was bad. He was going to think she was a total show-off. And although she opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she hadn’t meant this to happen, the words just wouldn’t come. She didn’t have a clue what to say.
Celebrity Life would have a field day with her, because she was behaving just like the airhead they always made her out to be.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered finally.
He drew closer, stooped slightly so that his breath fanned her ear. ‘I’m not. That was…enlightening.’
And she was in too deep. Way too deep. ‘Could I, um, get a glass of water or something?’ she asked.
He raised an eyebrow, as if calling her a coward. ‘Sure.’ He escorted her over to the bar area, and ordered them both a glass of iced water. ‘So where did you learn to dance like that?’
‘I had lessons when I was in my teens.’
‘And?’
She sighed. ‘All right. I’ve dated a couple of dancers. And, because I organise the balls, I’ve talked a few professionals into coming and giving a display before the general dancing starts. One of them taught me to tango.’
‘Like that?’
She laughed wryly. ‘Hardly.’ She’d never danced quite like that with anyone before.
‘Why not?’
Because the dancer hadn’t turned her on, the way Guy Lefèvre did. There hadn’t been the chemistry—on either side. ‘Let’s just say I would’ve needed a Y chromosome for it to work,’ she said drily.
Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘Nicely put.’
‘Maybe. I’m sorry. My mouth runs away with me. Thank you for the water.’
‘Pleasure.’ But he didn’t move away and start circulating, as she’d expected. He sat down with her.
This should be relaxing. It was the first time she’d sat down since the jazz trio started playing. But it felt as if she were sitting on hot coals. She couldn’t stop fidgeting.
‘What’s the matter, Amber?’ he asked softly.
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar.’
She took a deep breath. ‘How many more times do I have to apologise to you?’
‘You don’t.’ He sighed, set his glass down and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on.’
‘What—you want to dance again?’
‘It’s noisy in here.’ In silence, he shepherded her away from the marquee and the dancing, to the peace of the rose garden.
This was bad, Amber thought. Very bad. Leaving a wedding party before the bride and groom was incredibly rude—unless things were different in France, which she somehow doubted. And if anyone had noticed, it meant she’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow.
‘Dance with me here,’ he said softly.
She could still hear the music from the jazz trio, but here it was muted. Soft and dreamy and incredibly lovely. And the air was filled with the scent of roses. How could she resist stepping into his arms?
One of Guy’s hands was splayed across the bare skin between her shoulders. His touch made her skin tingle—and she wanted more. Much more. She found herself moving closer, wrapping her arms tightly round him. His cheek was pressed against
