Night with a Stranger

by Joanna Mansell

  'Want to come along to the Bar Car for a nightcap?' invited Lewis.

  'Why not?' She smiled back at him. She got to her feet as gracefully as she could, which wasn't too easy on a moving train and after rather too much wine. Still, she thought she had made a pretty good job of it, and she caught several men glancing in her direction as she left the Restaurant Car, which was rather gratifying.

  When they reached the Bar Car, they found it much more crowded than it had been earlier. And the grand piano at the far end was now in use, being expertly played by a small, dark-haired man.

  'Perhaps we should avoid the champagne this time,' suggested Lewis, his eyes briefly gleaming.

  'I think that's a good idea,' Lorel agreed hurriedly. 'In fact, I think I'll stick to wine, if you don't mind.'

  They found a couple of empty seats in one of the small alcoves, and eased themselves in. There wasn't a lot of room, and Lorel found herself wedged up quite close against Lewis. She couldn't inch away again without making her withdrawal seem very obvious, and anyway, it wasn't altogether unpleasant. She gave a small shrug, had some more wine, and decided that she could easily cope with it for a while longer.

  The evening passed pleasantly and easily enough. Then later on, a couple of the staff began to move back some of the armchairs, leaving a clear space in front of the bar.

  'What are they doing that for?' asked Lorel curiously.

  'They're making enough room to dance.'

  'People want to dance on a train?' she said disbelievingly.

  'Why not? Want to try it?'

  'Sure,' she said, after only a moment's hesitation. 'I'm in the mood to try anything tonight!'

  She didn't see the odd look Lewis gave her, and by the time she turned to him again his face was clear.

  The piano player began to churn out some rather schmaltzy waltzes, and several couples shuffled round roughly in time to the music. There wasn't room for any fancy steps, and Lorel soon discovered that she had to stay very close to Lewis, or she started bumping into people. Oh, well, she thought philosophically, she couldn't come to much harm here, right in the middle of this crowded Bar Car. She wound her arms around Lewis's neck and shifted still nearer, making room for another couple who had just wandered on to the makeshift dance-floor.

  She had meant to keep their physical contact well short of anything too intimate, but the swaying of the train made it impossible to control all her movements, and somehow she kept getting much closer than she had intended. Or perhaps it was the wine making her unsteady on her feet, she thought with a suppressed giggle. She really shouldn't have had that last glass!

  Lewis was a very nice man to hold on to, though, she decided. Sort of solid and warm. Strong, too, and obviously well-built. Oops, she told herself with another small giggle, better stop thinking along those lines, or she might get carried away! She could see the headlines—'Heiress ravishes top industrialist on Orient Express.' She actually laughed out loud at that, and Lewis shot her a quizzical glance.

  'What's the joke?'

  'Er—nothing,' she said rather hurriedly. 'Look, I think I've had enough of the dancing, the wine—of everything,' she said a little ruefully. 'It's time I went back to my cabin. Thanks for a great evening. I really enjoyed it.'

  'Even though you didn't expect to?' he said gravely.

  'Well—no,' she admitted. She looked round. 'I'll just get my bag ‑'

  'I'll fetch it for you.' He returned with it a few moments later. She gave him a smile of thanks, and then began to make her way out of the Bar Car. It wasn't until she had actually gone out of the door that she realised he was still behind her.

  'Don't you want to stay for a while longer?' she said, surprised. 'Perhaps have a couple more drinks?'

  'I've had all the alcohol I need,' Lewis said softly. 'Come on, I'll see you to your cabin.'

  Lorel raised her eyebrows. 'I was wrong about you. You are a gentleman.'

  'Am I?' he said, with a small quirk of his mouth.

  Afterwards, she realised that something in his tone, something in the look on his face, should have warned her. At the time, though, she still felt relaxed and cheerful, and even willing to go along with the goodnight kiss that she suspected he might want before he left her.

  They reached her cabin door, and she opened it. 'Goodnight,' she said, with a friendly smile.

  'No—not just yet,' Lewis said with unexpected abruptness. He gave her a gentle push inside; then he followed her in and closed the door.

  It was funny how very quiet and private it seemed once they were in her cabin. It was hard to believe they were on a train, with a couple of hundred other people.

  With one easy movement, Lewis pulled down the brocade blinds. 'Just in case we stop at one of the stations,' he said, with a faint smile. 'I think I can do without an audience.'

  Lorel was looking at him a little warily now. Although still flushed with wine, she wasn't so befuddled that she couldn't see this situation could easily get out of hand.

  And the cabin seemed smaller than ever with Lewis inside it. She felt as if she couldn't move without touching him.

  'Nervous?' he said perceptively. 'But you did say you were in the mood to try anything tonight.'

  'Did I really say that? I must have been joking ‑' she gabbled rather hurriedly.

  'Let's find out,' came his quiet reply. One step forward was all it took to bring him uncomfortably close, and Lorel was sure she could already feel the heat radiating out from his body. And his eyes—they had gone so very dark, warning her that he was far less calm and in control than he appeared.

  There was no room to back away, though. And he looked as if he was in no mood to let her go anywhere, except into his arms.

  Although she had been expecting it, it still came as a shock when he actually made his move. Yet she quickly discovered that it wasn't an unpleasant shock. In fact, it was nice. Very, very nice.

  His kisses were expert, but not deliberately manipulative. She had the feeling that he hadn't planned this. That, even now, he wasn't quite sure where it would lead them to. She had a good idea, though. Which was why she had to put a stop to it now, while there was still time ‑

  Yet she didn't want the kisses to stop. Nor the touch of his hands, which were stroking the soft black velvet of her dress, but in reality, she knew, feeling the even softer promise of her skin underneath.

  'I told you that you were my type,' he murmured rather thickly. 'But I didn't realise quite how much. Lorel, I ‑'

  He didn't bother to finish what he had been going to say. There was no need, because both of them knew exactly what he meant. From out of nowhere had come something that neither of them had really expected. What had started off as fun, a gentle contest, was rapidly turning into something very different. The quality of his kisses changed, becoming deeper and fiercer, and she meant to turn her head away, but instead found herself responding. His hands moved again, exploring curves and hollows, and then delving underneath the black velvet, as if impatient for the touch of silky skin instead of synthetic material.

  Lorel's head began to whirl. It's the wine, she told herself giddily. Normally, you'd never be behaving like this with a stranger; would never let him do these things to you...

  But Lewis didn't feel, or smell—or taste—like a stranger. In fact, it was frightening just how familiar he seemed. She forgot that there had been times when she had disliked him, been nervous of him. Her own hands began to move in eager exploration, and she heard the breath catch in his throat as the heat between them spiralled into outright flames.

  There was no mistaking the wildly clamouring messages she was getting from him now. Or the answer he was getting back from her. She felt drugged, languid, aching—and the pressure of his mouth, the touch of his fingers, didn't bring relief, but only stirred up more unfamiliar responses that shivered their way through her.

  Lewis shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie, but it was her own fingers that slid open the buttons on hi
s shirt.

  'Keep touching me,' he murmured shakily, and she did; she just couldn't seem to stop. The black velvet dress slithered to the floor, and his palm urgently rubbed against the newly exposed skin, forcing a fresh groan out of her.

  The narrow bed was just behind her, and in seconds they were lying on it. His hands were constantly on the move now, provoking pleasure after pleasure, each touch more sweetly intimate than the last. It wasn't until his full weight crushed down on her that a little common sense began to filter back into Lorel's giddily spinning head. She made a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but he caught hold of her wrists and let the full force of his vivid blue eyes blaze down at her.

  'Don't turn away from me,' he muttered. 'Let me. Let me ‑'

  The moment she looked back into his eyes, she was lost. His weight increased, became an insistent pressure that turned into a sudden wave of physical delight, and then another, and another...

  The train rattled on through the night, but Lorel wasn't aware of it; she wasn't aware of anything except the storm in this man's body rising to a crescendo and, incredibly, her own rising to match and meet it in a hot, harmonious rapture that shook her to the very depths of her soul.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Lorel opened her eyes in the morning, she had the worst headache she could ever remember. On top of that, the bed seemed to be moving around. She gave a small groan, and tried to figure out where she was, and what was going on.

  Her gaze took in the small, elegantly appointed cabin, and memories began to filter back. She was on a train. No, not just a train—the Orient-Express.

  Then she suddenly went very still as she began to remember everything else. The wine, the dancing— Lewis ‑

  She closed her eyes very tightly. It couldn't have happened. It couldn't! She would never have done anything like that.

  She forced herself to sit up, and then she looked warily around the small cabin. There was no sign that Lewis had ever been there. None of his clothing—so hastily discarded last night—had been left behind, and the connecting door between their two cabins was tightly closed. Lorel shook her head dazedly. Perhaps it had been a dream. Or a nightmare. Yet her own body told her it had been all too real. It felt languid, content; ached in unfamiliar but not unpleasant ways.

  A brief tap on the door made her jump violently. Then she looked around rather wildly. Could she jump out of bed and lock the door before he opened it? She didn't want to see Lewis Elliott right now. In fact, not ever again! 'Breakfast, mademoiselle' called out a polite voice.

  She let out a brief sigh of relief. It was only the steward. She pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and, in a rather shaky voice, told him to come in.

  He placed the tray beside the bed, and then immediately left again. Lorel looked at the fresh croissants, the jam and marmalade and honey. Then she gave a small shudder. She couldn't face food at the moment. She managed a few mouthfuls of coffee, but even that sat uneasily on her stomach. Rather gingerly, she got out of bed, splashed some cold water on to her flushed face, and then slowly pulled on a dressing-gown.

  The brocade blinds that Lewis had drawn last night were still pulled down. She released one, and then flinched slightly as bright sunlight streamed into the cabin. Outside, the sky was a clear azure blue, and she could see pine trees and snow-covered Alps, half-frozen streams, and a cluster of picturesque houses huddled into the valley below. She guessed they were just leaving Switzerland, and normally she would have enjoyed sitting and watching the magnificent scenery through which they were now passing, the early-morning sun making everything glitter with sparkling freshness. This morning, though, she hardly saw it. All she was aware of was that the bright sunlight was hurting her eyes. She drew the blind half-way down again, and then went back to sit in a huddle on the bed.

  She didn't even hear the connecting door between the cabins silently open. One moment she was alone, and the next she looked up and found Lewis standing quietly beside her.

  Her eyes instantly flashed into life.

  'Get out of here!' she snarled at him.

  Lewis didn't move an inch. Instead, he stared down at her, his eyes seeming an even more amazing shade of blue this morning, but marred by the frown that now shadowed them.

  'I didn't expect that sort of welcome.'

  'I'm amazed that you expected any sort of welcome at all!' she threw back at him. 'But if you're still in any doubt at all about the way I feel about you this morning, let's get a couple of things perfectly clear. I don't want you in here, I don't even want to see you. Got that?'

  'Yes, I've got it,' he growled. 'But why?'

  'Why?' she echoed in astonishment. 'You can't be that thick! L really don't think I need to spell it out for you.'

  His first flash of anger had passed, and he seemed dangerously calm now.

  'Let's assume that I'm completely unintelligent, and need to have everything explained to me in words of one syllable.'

  'All right,' she said angrily. 'I'll put it as plainly as I can. Last night, you waited until I'd had too much to drink, and then you seduced me. I don't like that. And I don't like you! Is that plain and simple enough?'

  'Perfectly,' replied Lewis. His voice was taut, but still very controlled. Then the hard line of his mouth relaxed a fraction. 'Seduced,' he repeated thoughtfully. 'That's an old-fashioned word. Are you trying to tell me that you're not a very modern girl, Lorel Parker?'

  'That depends on what you call modern,' she retorted. 'Do you mean, do I sleep around? Make a habit of going to bed with men I've only just met? No, I don't!'

  'I believe you,' he said, much to her surprise. 'Is that what this is all about? An attack of guilty conscience, because you behaved out of character? But any seduction that took place last night wasn't completely one-sided,' he reminded her, making her cheeks flare brilliant scarlet as she remembered things that she would much prefer to forget.

  'It wouldn't have happened at all if you'd behaved like a gentleman,' she accused.

  'You're the one who decided that I was a gentleman.'

  'And I was the one who paid the price for being wrong!' she retaliated with bitterness.

  Lewis searched her face with sudden intentness. 'Was it such a hard price to pay? I got the impression that you enjoyed it as much as I did.'

  'That's hardly the point.'

  'Then what is?' There was a trace of impatience in his voice now, and his mouth had resumed its usual slightly grim line. She guessed this wasn't the reception he had expected this morning—perhaps he had even come hoping for a repeat performance of last night!—but she certainly wasn't going to apologise for her attitude. He was the one who should be offering any apologies that were due.

  'You shouldn't have taken advantage of the fact that I was drunk,' she said stubbornly.

  Lewis looked at her very coolly. 'You weren't drunk. I wouldn't have touched you if you had been. Yes, you'd had quite a lot of wine, and you weren't totally sober. But you knew perfectly well what you were doing. Whatever excuses you're trying to find for your behaviour last night, don't drag out that one.'

  At that moment, Lorel felt that she hated him more than anyone else in the world.

  'Then what else made me do—what I did?' she got out through gritted teeth.

  Lewis shrugged. 'You want to strip it down to its most basic reason? Then I suppose you'd have to say that we both gave in to a very strong and very common biological urge.'

  Lorel stared at him in growing horror.

  'I don't have biological urges!' she blurted out.

  Lewis gazed back at her for a moment. Then, to her surprise—and annoyance—he suddenly began to laugh.

  'Lorel, everyone has them. Every man and woman, since the beginning of time.'

  'Not me,' she insisted with some dignity. 'At least, not with someone like—like ‑'

  'Someone like me?' he finished for her. He had stopped laughing now, and a very different expression flickered across his eyes. 'Do you want to exp
lain that a little further?'

  No, she didn't want to, not at all. She wished he would just go, before this conversation got even further out of hand. She knew perfectly well that he wasn't going to do that, though. She might not know a lot about Lewis Elliott, but there were some things about him that she was beginning to understand only too well.

  'I don't like you,' she muttered at last. 'I've already told you that—several times! You're about the last person on earth I'd choose to—to go to bed with,' she finished, with a burst of defiance.

  She didn't like the expression in his eyes at all now, but she couldn't seem to look away from him.

  'But we didn't go to bed,' Lewis said evenly. 'We made love. There's a difference—don't you know that?'

  'No, I don't know it,' she replied furiously.

  He studied her consideringly. 'Then you've certainly got a lot still to learn.'

  'Well, don't volunteer to be my teacher,' she retorted. 'That's one job vacancy that's definitely not open!'

  'Then where do you suggest we go from here?'

  'Nowhere! We'll get off this train, go our separate ways, and try to pretend none of this ever happened.'

  'And what if I don't want to do that?' His gaze intensified. 'You're looking at this entirely from your own point of view, Lorel. So far, it's all been what you want, how you feel about the situation. Aren't you interested in hearing my side of it?'

  'Quite frankly, no,' she said bluntly. 'I just want you to get out of here. As far as I'm concerned, last night was a big mistake—and one that I don't intend to make ever again!'

  She hoped he couldn't hear the slightly desperate note that had suddenly crept into her voice. In truth, she hardly knew what she was saying, because his physical presence had abruptly begun to affect her with frightening intensity. She couldn't look at his mouth without remembering how his lips had felt against her skin; couldn't listen to his voice without hearing all over again the words he had muttered thickly into her ear. And when he shifted position she went completely tense in case he came nearer. She didn't distrust him. She distrusted herself, and her own undependable responses where this man was concerned. Her body had never let her down like this before, and she didn't like it, not one little bit.