Free An Exception to His Rule by Lindsay Armstrong Page B

it, side.’
    ‘Well, certainly the you that looks as if you’ve stepped straight out of Christies or Sotheby’s or a museum.’ He paused then glanced across at her. ‘What would happen if I asked you to dance?’
    ‘Thank you so much, Damien, but—’ she drained her champagne and put the glass down on the table beside her ‘—I think I’ve done enough partying,’ she finished politely.
    Their gazes locked. ‘That’s a pity.’ He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Still scared and running, Harriet?’
    Harriet put a hand to her throat. ‘We’ve been through all this, Damien.’
    He shrugged and studied his beer tankard. ‘I don’t think we made allowances for the effects of you looking so gorgeous and seriously sexy, you dancing, your legs on show; no sign of the eternal jeans or leggings you wear. It’s almost as if you’re issuing an invitation, Miss Livingstone.’
    A tide of colour poured into Harriet’s cheeks.
    He studied it with interest. ‘You are?’
    ‘No. Oh! Look,’ she said intensely, ‘you persuaded me to come to this party. You then made—talk about an incendiary remark but in quite a different sense—you made my blood boil in anger ,’ she emphasised, ‘with your comments about mindless revelry that I would find beneath me.’
    ‘So you decided to show me a thing or two?’ he hazarded.
    ‘Yes,’ she said through her teeth. ‘Mind you—’ she hesitated then decided she might as well go for broke ‘—I did intend only to put in an appearance, enjoy myself for a little while then retreat. The music got to me,’ she added.
    His lips twitched. ‘I quite understand. The music is getting to me right now, as a matter of fact.’
    Harriet narrowed her eyes and concentrated for a moment as she listened to the music, and grimaced.
    ‘No good for you?’ he queried as she barely restrained herself from moving to the beat.
    ‘I couldn’t exactly say that...’
    ‘We could have a “no hands” agreement,’ he suggested. ‘We could just do our own thing,’ he explained.
    Harriet eyed him. ‘What a good idea.’ She smiled sweetly then laughed at his expression. ‘It’s OK. I’ll take my chances.’
    * * *
    It was a phrase that was to haunt her during the rest of that night and the day that followed.
    Because the fact of the matter was, she’d danced the rest of the night away with Damien.
    She’d rocked and rolled, she’d been quiet and peaceful in his arms. She’d revelled in the feel of his hands on her, in the feel of his body against hers. She’d followed his lead and adapted her steps to his, once with a flourish that had flared her skirt out around her thighs so that she’d grimaced and pushed it down with a tinge of colour in her cheeks.
    As she’d danced she’d recalled the last time she’d been in his arms and the intimacy of the way they’d kissed. And she’d wished they were alone as they’d been that day so she could run her fingers through the thick darkness of his hair and slide her hands beneath his jacket and shirt and feel those sleek muscles of his back...
    And at the end she’d been wrapped in his arms, barely moving and loving it.
    That was when the lights had come on. That was when people had started to leave. That was when she’d come to her senses, when she’d looked up into his eyes, when she’d seen the desire in them.
    And when she’d freed herself urgently and fled from him, melting into the crowd of departing guests then running up the stairs to the flat, locking herself in and turning off all the lights.
    She’d undressed shakily and thrown her dress onto the floor.
    But as she’d climbed under the doona she’d known it was futile and ridiculous to blame a dress. She was the one to blame. She was the one who’d been unable to resist the feel of his arms around her, the one who’d got an incredible rush from matching her body to his as they’d danced. The one who had lost all her inhibitions at the hands of Damien Wyatt when she’d