Seducing the Enemy

by Noelle Adams

  His hand moved lower, stroking down her spine through the silk of her top. The delicate fabric intensified the sensations as his fingers glided in a whisper-soft caress.

  Unconsciously, she arched her spine against his fingers, and her head fell backward as she gasped with pleasure.

  It was such a light touch—just his fingers along her back—but the result was profound. Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened. They jutted against her top, and she knew Harrison would notice.

  With a naughty thrill, she realized she wanted him to notice. Wanted him to see what his touch did to her—there on the balcony of his uncle’s house, during his uncle’s party.

  A voice sounded loudly at the French doors. It was merely a couple passing by, but Harrison dropped his hand, and Marietta took a deep, shuddering breath.

  She was too embarrassed to look up at him, but grew nervous when he didn’t say anything. After yesterday, she had no idea what to expect. No idea how he felt about…anything.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, Harrison.”

  He sighed. “To tell you the truth, Etta, I don’t know what’s going on, either.”

  …

  A few minutes later, the guests were called into dinner. Marietta made small talk with the men on either side of her—a kind old gentleman who’d been in politics and a shy man about her age who was the son of someone in British banking.

  It was a comfortable arrangement, and Marietta was relieved the dinner conversation wouldn’t be stressful. Harrison sat halfway down the length of the long banquet table, almost out of her view. Directly across from her were two empty chairs.

  She prepared to enjoy herself and ignore the fact that the brunette was at Harrison’s side again, taking food off his plate.

  All went well through the first course. But then Andrew entered with his red-haired date, earning a disapproving look from his uncle. The redhead had clearly been drinking too much—she giggled and talked too loudly—which didn’t bother Marietta.

  What troubled her was that the redhead held a tall glass of beer.

  Marietta jerked her eyes away, telling herself the old-fashioned table was wide enough that she wouldn’t smell the beer.

  The table wasn’t that wide.

  Panic rippled through her, and the color left her cheeks.

  This thing with beer was ridiculous. Normal people didn’t have such quirks. Who lost it so completely at the presence of a harmless glass? She didn’t even have the accident for an excuse. There was no reason for her foolishness.

  She started a casual conversation with the sweet man beside her to take her mind off her anxiety. She laughed at a silly joke he made, hoping she sounded engaged.

  Marietta could still smell the beer.

  Under normal circumstances, she’d leave. But Damon was a stickler for propriety and she dreaded making a scene at his fancy party. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him.

  Surely she could talk herself out of this. She grasped her champagne and held it to her mouth, breathing the scent to mask the beer. It helped, and she took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm.

  The next course was served, and Marietta began to hope she would make it through. She didn’t relax, but kept her eyes from the redhead and concentrated on making polite conversation. She pretended to eat, stirring her food around the plate. She didn’t dare taste it, because every time she got a faint whiff of the beer her stomach churned. During the third course, she asked a server for red wine, hoping the stronger fragrance would further mask the offensive smell.

  She hated being this weak and silly, as if the beer represented everything in the world she was still afraid of.

  Her hand shook as she raised the wineglass to her lips. She took only the tiniest sip, breathing in as much as she could.

  When a burst of raucous laughter came from across the table, Marietta couldn’t help but look over.

  It was a mistake. The redhead was telling some sort of dramatic story, but she had the glass in her hand. Though the beer was nearly gone, the remainder sloshed around in a way that made Marietta sick.

  She broke out in a cold sweat and clunked down her wineglass down for fear she’d drop it. Panic rose so quickly she struggled for breath.

  Then she felt pressure on her shoe.

  She looked up with a gasp. Andrew must have stretched out his leg to toe her under the table. His brows drawn together in concern, he mouthed, “All right?”

  She gave him the brightest smile she could manage and nodded.

  Oddly, his concern helped.

  She glanced down the table at Harrison, but he hadn’t noticed her distress. The brunette had her hand on his shoulder, clearly such a stimulating dinner companion that Harrison had forgotten Marietta existed.

  To her infinite relief, the redhead finished off the last of her drink. Marietta let out a long, shaky breath after a server removed the empty glass, and picked up her glass of wine again. She hadn’t exactly triumphed, but she hadn’t lost it completely. She should be able to make it through the rest of the dinner.

  But just as the next course was brought, a server—ever efficient—offered a full glass of beer to the redhead.

  Marietta stared at it, shifting in her seat as nausea slammed into her. What was wrong with her? It was just beer. It was just—

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Harrison call over one of the servers and murmur something.

  He was busy with other things. He wasn’t going to come to her rescue this time.

  She was on her own.

  Marietta knew she needed to leave. She had to think of an excuse and pray Damon wouldn’t be offended.

  The smell of beer overwhelmed her, invading her senses, making her shudder helplessly.

  She started to push back her chair.

  The redhead gesticulated. Her hand knocked the full glass. It toppled over in Marietta’s direction, the liquid spilling out, streaming across the table and around her place setting.

  Marietta gave a choked sob as thin trickles of beer dripped off the edge of the table. Onto her dress. Onto her.

  She gagged.

  She jumped up, her chair falling backward in a loud clatter. Too terrified to be humiliated, she fled the room, running down the hall as her stomach heaved.

  Vaguely, she remembered there was a bathroom at the end of the hall. She raced for it, getting there just before she was painfully and violently ill.

  …

  Harrison hurried toward the hall bathroom, arriving just as a little arm hurled a ball of ivory silk out through the cracked door. A black skirt followed. Then the bathroom door shut with a loud click.

  He had spent the whole dinner stewing with annoyance and growing concern.

  Why the hell had Andrew brought that crass redhead to the party? And why the hell wouldn’t Marietta just get up and leave the table?

  He’d watched from the corner of his eye as her face paled and her hands grew shakier. She’d tried desperately to hide her distress, but it was clearly a losing battle. When she seemed on the verge of passing out, he’d told a server to make up an excuse to call Marietta away from the table.

  A minute too late.

  The sight of her agonized face as the beer poured over her had just about ripped his heart out, but he managed to maintain a rigid, cool composure as she sobbed and dashed out of the room. He’d quietly risen from his chair. Both Andrew and his uncle had stood, as well, but Harrison murmured that he would see to her.

  Damon had shot him a look of gratitude, and Andrew made some sort of charming comment that broke the tension in the room.

  Nothing broke Harrison’s tension.

  He grabbed Marietta’s discarded clothes from the floor. The ivory top looked so small and delicate it made his chest ache. Neither piece was saturated, but beer stunk up the fabric.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” Gordon’s familiar lined face was filled with concern as he approached. “Miss Marietta is ill?”
>
  Harrison clenched his jaw and turned on the man he’d loved since he was a child. “Did I not give specific instructions that beer was not to be served tonight?”

  Gordon’s mouth twisted. “You did, sir. I am so sorry. The entire staff was informed. Beer was not offered to any guest. But…”

  “But Andrew countermanded the instructions?”

  “I believe his date insisted. I am so sorry, sir. Is there anything I can do for the young lady?”

  Harrison handed him Marietta’s clothes and gave the butler a few brief instructions.

  Then he walked over and tapped on the bathroom door.

  After a moment, the door opened a crack, and Marietta’s pale, tear-streaked face peeked out. “No!” she choked. “Not you.”

  He pushed into the bathroom before she could lock him out.

  She wore nothing but a black thong, which, under different circumstances, would have had Harrison thinking naughty thoughts. Now, however, sex was the last thing on his mind.

  Marietta sank onto the floor in a heap and said, “I don’t want you.”

  “Tough.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the water, washing his hands with soap to ensure no scent of beer remained on his skin.

  “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  She sounded so pitiful, his throat hurt, but he just moistened a hand towel with cool water and said matter-of-factly, “I’ve seen you without clothes before.”

  He knelt beside her and carefully wiped her face with the wet towel. She was still dead white, her lips pale beneath the remains of her lipstick and her eyes haunted.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m…I’m a wreck.”

  He gave her a hint of a smile and shrugged out of his jacket. “Well, you certainly aren’t at your best. I’ll give you that.”

  She was too shattered to smile—a sign of how deeply this seemingly trivial incident had broken her. This was more than a physical reaction to a distaste for beer. She showed all the symptoms of a traumatic psychological attack.

  Gently, he helped her into his jacket, pulling it closed around her naked body. She shook so much he kept his arm around her, pulling her against his side with instinctive protectiveness.

  Apparently, the gesture undid her. She wept softly, wrapping herself into a tight ball and burrowing against him.

  He hugged her close, murmuring silly assurances and growing more concerned that she wasn’t pulling out of this. She was normally so resilient. This uncharacteristic behavior troubled him.

  Finally, he loosened his arm and brought her chin up with his hand to see her face. “All right, Etta. It’s time to buck up. This isn’t like you.”

  “Right,” she said in a hoarse voice. She sniffed and wiped her face with the wet towel she’d taken from him. “I’m okay now.”

  He wasn’t convinced, but at least she was trying. He helped her stand and watched as she got her balance and pulled the jacket—far too big for her—around her.

  After checking to be sure the hallway was clear, they left the bathroom. She was still weak and shaky, so he supported her like he had after she’d ridden with Andrew. But this time when they reached the stairs, he swept her into his arms.

  She gasped, but to his relief, she didn’t pull away. She rested her head against his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs.

  “You must think I’m crazy and pathetic—twice in three days not able to make it up the stairs.”

  “Not at all. You’ve had a rough few days. And my family is at least partially to blame for both incidents.” Andrew was to blame. He swallowed his resentment for the time being and concentrated on Marietta in his arms.

  “Don’t be mad at Andrew,” she said, her voice slightly muffled in his shirt. “He’s been nice to me.”

  Harrison bit back his opinion of Andrew. He was a little breathless from the long climb up the stairs. Marietta wasn’t skin and bones—her delicious body was all soft curves and toned muscle.

  In a faint voice, she said, “We can stop and rest if you need to.”

  He flashed her a look and was relieved to see a glimmer of familiar amusement. He stifled a laugh and bounced her slightly in his arms to readjust her weight. “Don’t insult me.”

  He let out a long breath when they reached the landing, but it was from relief, not fatigue. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been until Marietta’s sunny spirit returned.

  As he carried her into the suite, he found the bedroom warmly lit with candles that smelled light and fresh. Cucumber scent, he thought.

  “I asked Gordon to light some candles and bring up something for you to drink,” he explained as he laid her into bed. He gestured at the fresh glass of fizzy, clear soft drink on the bedside table. “I thought it might help—after the beer. But if the smell of the candles makes you feel ill, I can—”

  “No.” She gazed at him with wonder in her eyes. “They’re perfect. That was so nice.”

  Her expression made him feel awkward, so he went to the wardrobe and found her cotton nightgown. Efficiently, and studiously avoiding any unnecessary glances at her body, he helped her out of his jacket and into the nightgown.

  She still appeared pale, although no longer so deathly white. And while she shivered a little, her eyes were lit by a familiar intelligence.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, as he draped his jacket over his arm.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She dropped her eyes and bit her lower lip. “Twice now. I hate this, you know.”

  “What do you hate?” he asked, praying she wouldn’t say she hated letting him take care of her.

  “Feeling so helpless.”

  He exhaled deeply. “I know the feeling.”

  “I like to think I’m strong and independent, but I’m not. I still seem to be afraid of everything.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t know why, but after I started to walk again, it was like there were all these things I could do now, but I couldn’t seem to do any of them. It never made any sense. I had all these dreams before, but I never followed through once I could. Whenever I tried, I would panic. Maybe I thought…”

  “Maybe you thought what?”

  “It took a long time for me to feel safe again—after the accident. And now it’s like, if I take a step too far I’ll risk that safety and never get it back. Maybe I really am just a wimp.”

  He frowned. “You don’t believe that.”

  “Most of the time I don’t. I just wish I wasn’t so…stuck.”

  Harrison studied her face, which twisted with emotion. “I don’t think you’re as stuck as you believe. Look at everything you’ve done just in the last week.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I guess.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment in the candle-lit room. She sat on her knees on the bed, and he stood beside it. Then she gave him a little smile. “I like you in a tux, by the way. You’re very swoon-worthy.”

  He felt ridiculously pleased with the unexpected compliment, so he kept his tone dry as he replied, “Swoon-worthy?”

  “Yeah. I swooned, didn’t I? It must have been the tux.”

  The humor caught him so unexpectedly, he laughed out loud. He was so pleased she was herself again that he pulled her into a hug.

  Harrison wondered how he’d ever imagined she was anything but warm-hearted. Generous, real.

  As she hugged him back, she chuckled, too, but her grip was urgent and needy.

  He held her until she finally let go.

  “Okay. I think I better go to sleep now.” She scooted under the covers and closed her eyes. “Thank you for your help. And don’t yell too much at your brother.”

  Harrison knew when he was being dismissed. He closed the door behind him, and his face transformed as he stalked down the hall.

  Andrew.

  Harrison found him ascending the stairs, two steps at a time.

  “Hey,” Andrew said softl
y. “Is she all right?”

  Harrison snapped. With a low sound in his throat, he put a hand on his brother’s chest and slammed him back into the wall. “No, she’s not all right. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Andrew’s eyes widened, but he didn’t fight the grip on his tux. “I’m sorrier than I can say, but I honestly didn’t know. Jessica wouldn’t stop pouting until I got her a beer, and how was I to know that Marietta—”

  “You were to know because I’d given the staff instructions not to serve it.”

  “I didn’t know she was so allergic she couldn’t even be in the same room. Seriously, is she all right?”

  Andrew’s expression appeared genuinely concerned, so Harrison muttered, “She’s a little better now. But you’re not to go into her room.”

  “Afraid I’m going to ravish her while she’s weak?” Andrew asked dryly.

  “You smell like beer. You’ll make her sick again.”

  “I feel like an ass,” Andrew admitted. “I never would have gotten Jessica a beer had I known Marietta would have a breakdown. I thought you were just being…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

  “You thought I was just being?”

  “Do we have to have the conversation like this? I feel like I’m a villain in a bad cop movie.”

  Harrison dropped his hand and stepped away, allowing Andrew to straighten up and smooth out his clothes. Andrew hadn’t resisted the grip. In a fight, the two of them would be pretty evenly matched.

  With a quirk of his lips, Andrew muttered, “We’ve shifted to rather melodramatic tactics lately, haven’t we?”

  Harrison recognized the irony but was too annoyed to find it amusing. “You thought I was just being what?” he prompted, his voice still cold.

  Andrew arched one eyebrow. “I thought you were being overprotective. You have to admit you’ve been tense. And you treat every whim of Marietta’s like it’s a summons of the god.”

  Harrison made a gruff sound of protest.

  “Well,” Andrew continued, as if Harrison had actually spoken his objection. “You seem to be unnaturally attuned to anything she might want—new clothes, massages, trips to Dover, and whatnot. I know now this wasn’t a whim, but that’s what I thought.” Andrew gave him a crooked grin. “I know no one gives me credit for having a brain around here, but I’d have to be a blind idiot not to know you’ve fallen hard for this girl.”