Forbidden or For Bedding? by Julia James

but as the guests had taken their leave she had found it difficult, yet again, to time the moment of announcing her own departure. So, to her consternation, as the last couple had left, she’d been left with Guy de Rochemont à deux .
    Instantly, without the social conversation of the other guests, the atmosphere had seemed to change—though she’d known it was nothing more than her own resurgent consciousness of him. Definitely time to take her leave and remove herself from what had been a very taxing evening. It had been considerate of her august client not to be annoyed at her resigning his commission, gracious of him to invite her to an exhibition she would be professionally interested in, and courteous of him to include her in his dinner party, despite her having no claim whatsoever to be there. But the dinner party had been over, and it had been time for her to go. Time for her to regain the soothing sanctuary of her flat. Time to put her brief, professionally based acquaintance—nothing more than that!—with Guy de Rochemont behind her.
    With that purpose clear, she had taken a breath, put a polite smile on her face
    â€˜I really must go,’ she said, her voice admirably controlled, she was glad to note. Though she had partaken only frugally of alcohol, champagne had circulated at the exhibition and an array of wines had been poured at dinner,so she was aware that she had consumed sufficient if not for intoxication, then for a discernible weakening of her normal composure.
    She got to her feet, feeling the column of silk slide down her body as she moved. Felt it disconcertingly, as if her body had somehow become as ultra-conscious as her mind…
    â€˜Of course,’ said Guy de Rochemont, getting to his feet as well.
    Involuntarily, Alexa’s eyes went to him.
    The stark austerity of his evening dress etched him against the paleness of the decor, emphasised the flawless planes of his face, the extraordinary green eyes beneath the dark winged brows, the sable hair.
    For one hapless fraction of a second she could not move her gaze. Could only remain standing there, with supreme consciousness of that arresting physical presence that drew all eyes quite helplessly. She could not drag her gaze from him. Her body seemed inert immobile, beyond her control. Then, wresting back her control with intense effort, she veiled her eyes and started to walk towards the door. Getting out of here was a priority. A necessity.
    But as she gained the door Guy de Rochemont was before her, tall, and dark and dominating her senses. With a rigid stiffening of her spine she turned, holding out her hand, the gesture determinedly final.
    â€˜Thank you so much for this evening, Mr de Rochemont. I enjoyed it so much. It was extremely kind of you to invite me.’
    Her voice was cool, her tone restrained, her manner formal—as befitted the situation. She was a guest—unexpectedly so, given the vastly different world she moved in from the gilded orbit that Guy de Rochemont inhabited—thanking her host for his hospitality.
    For a moment she could see something flickering in those incredible eyes. It seemed to be amusement. But it was also something else. Something that suddenly, belatedly, sent a dart quivering along her nerve fibres. Then he was responding to her polite, formal leavetaking.
    â€˜It was my pleasure,’ murmured her host. ‘And this,’ he continued, somehow closing the gap between them, ‘is an even greater pleasure…’
    His smooth, long-fingered hand slid around the nape of her neck, the other hand took hers, twining his fingers between hers to draw her to him. His mouth dipped to hers. For a fraction of a second shock, sheer and undiluted, sheeted through her. Then a completely different sensation took over….
    It was like nothing she had ever experienced! She had been kissed before, of course she had, but nothing, ever like this…
    The lightest, most