by Liz Fielding
Tara was conscious of amused and knowing glances as they made their way to the door, Adam apparently determined to stop and bid farewell to every one of his many acquaintances. She bore it with as much grace as she could muster. What was a little embarrassment compared to attempted rape, after all?
Finally, however, he allowed her to escape, dumping her unceremoniously in his car before striding around to the other door. ‘What on earth possessed you?’ he demanded.
‘I just went out for a breath of air. He sort of leapt on me.’
‘And you hadn’t given him any encouragement, I suppose?’ He started the car. ‘My God, if that’s how you led on that poor fool who was chasing you down Victoria Road I’m sorry I didn’t leave you to his mercy. You could do with a lesson in sexual manners.’
She made no attempt to answer. Was too bitterly ashamed of herself to make any attempt to justify herself. She had flirted with Hanna Rashid simply to annoy Adam. But she could hardly tell him that. She sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Adam. Have I completely ruined your business deal?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. Money means more to Hanna than any woman.’
‘But it will be awkward. You dumped him in the pond.’
‘It was the quickest way I could think of to cool his ardour.’ He scowled at her. ‘And so much less undignified than a brawl.’
‘But—’
‘Don’t fret, Tara. He’ll have showered, changed and be flirting with some other female before we’re back at the villa.’
She bit her lip. ‘Will he?’
He glanced across at her. ‘Yes. He’s quite incorrigible. At least while his wife’s away.’
This was the final straw. ‘He didn’t mention a wife, Adam, I—’
‘Please don’t pretend that it bothers you. I don’t suppose you mentioned your husband, either.’
He pulled into the gates of the villa and Tara moved quickly, anxious to get away from him, get upstairs and out of her now hated scarlet dress.
‘Don’t go, Tara.’ There was something in his voice that suggested disobedience would be foolhardy. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink. A brandy?’ He didn’t wait for her reply, but poured two glasses and handed one to her. She didn’t want it, but stood holding the glass, waiting to be read the riot act.
But Adam simply took off his jacket, pulled his tie loose and stretched out on a sofa. ‘Come and sit down.’ He patted the seat beside him.
‘I don’t think—’
‘I’m not Hanna Rashid, my lady. I prefer my women to co-operate in their seduction.’ She sat nervously on the edge of the sofa. ‘To be fair to the man he was short of time. He had to move quickly when you presented him with the opportunity.’
‘I didn’t...’
‘That sofa is something else.’
She felt the colour drain from her face. He had clearly witnessed the whole thing. ‘I tried to shout.’
‘Yes. That’s when I thought I’d better intervene. I promise I wouldn’t have interrupted if I had thought you were enjoying yourself.’
‘You... stood by and watched?’
‘It’s tough being a knight errant. Especially when the lady protests she can look after herself.’ He drained his glass. ‘It’s a good job I didn’t actually believe you. But then I do know Hanna of old. He didn’t waste much time on the preliminaries though and that rather took me by surprise.’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me,’ she said, very quietly.
‘No, you haven’t.’
She glanced back at him. He was sitting in the corner of the sofa waiting for something more. ‘Thank you.’ She made a move to stand but he stopped her, taking her glass and placing it on a low table.
‘That’s not enough, Tara.’ His eyes were hooded, concealing their expression, but there was a tenseness about him that boded nothing but trouble. Her emotions were already in turmoil, now sitting so close to him, the scent of him was like a drug, making her skin vibrate, her pulse race. She wanted to run but she knew her legs wouldn’t have carried her to the door.
‘Adam—’ His name was only a breath on her lips.
His eyes never left hers as he took her fingers and raised them to his lips. ‘Yes, Tara?’ But she couldn’t speak, mesmerised by the dark head bent over her arm, his lips gently exploring their way up the inner curve of her elbow, to the hollow of her shoulder. His touch was tender, arousing and he did not need to push her against the cushions. She opened to him like a flower, offering her throat, her eyes, her mouth to his teasing delicate touch.
He outlined her lips with the tip of his tongue and her mouth parted eagerly, drinking in his kiss like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
They were the only two people left in the world and lost to everything but him, she wound her arms about his neck. ‘Love me, Adam,’ she begged.
He raised his head and looked at her for a long, still moment. Then almost regretfully he shook his head.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘What—?’
He stood up abruptly and walked across to the drinks table, poured himself another brandy and drank it straight down. Shock held her pinned to the sofa. He turned back to her. ‘That’s it. The lesson is over. You can go now. But the next time you’re tempted to start playing games, just remember how you’re feeling now and have a little pity for your victim.’
It was a moment before she could move. Then she ran. She stumbled on the stairs, but managed to keep moving. Her hand trembled so much on the door knob that she began to think it was locked, then it opened quite suddenly and she fell into the room. Tara slammed the door, turned the key and then ran for the bathroom.
She tore off her clothes, not caring what happened to them and stepped under the shower, scrubbing at herself until she tingled and her skin was pink. But it didn’t take away the feel of his lips on her skin, or the pain.
She dressed in her pink pyjamas. She had always thought they were girlish, but he had said they were irresistible. She wondered what he would do if she went to his room right now.
Resist like hell. He apparently found it easy.
She crawled miserably into bed, but couldn’t sleep. She didn’t even try. She was still trying to decide what on earth she could do to straighten out the mess she had made when the mournful cry of the muezzin from a distant mosque, calling the faithful to prayer, heralded the dawn. The sky lightened in the east and it was time to rise and face the day, however painful it was likely to be.
She pulled on a pair of trousers and a light sweater and ran downstairs. She would have liked to walk, hard and fast, or swim, do anything to burn off the nervous energy that had pumped through her veins all night. All she could do was walk around the garden where she felt caged, shut in.
The man servant brought her a tray of tea and that made her feel a little better. Then she went into the office. Several faxes had arrived during the night and she sorted them and left them on Adam’s desk for his attention.
She checked the diary. Pointless, unnecessary tasks. But there was still no sign of Adam and distanced from the routine of an office she had nothing to do.
She ate breakfast alone. It should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. She considered going up to see if he was all right. He wasn’t the kind of man who lay in bed in the morning. Not by himself, anyway, she thought and then wished she hadn’t.
The telephone rang finally, making her jump, but at least it was something to do.
‘Adam Blackmore’s office,’ she said, with a crispness she was far from feeling.
‘Is that Tara?’ The voice was that of a young woman, gentle, friendly.
‘This is Tara Lambert,’ she confirmed.
‘I’m so glad to speak to you. This is Jane Townsend. Adam’s—’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’m afraid Adam’s... not here at the moment.’
‘Friday morning, I should have guessed.’ The laughter wa
s indulgent. ‘He always overdoes it at Hanna’s parties.’
‘Does he?’ Was that appalling hurt jealousy? Could she really be jealous that this woman knew how he behaved at parties? She closed her eyes in shame, sure that Jane would hear it in her voice.
But apparently she hadn’t. ‘Watch out for that man, Tara, he’s a menace. But I expect Adam warned you.’ There was such unreserved charm that Tara found herself warming to the owner of the voice, despite every desire to hate her.
‘Yes, he warned me.’ She couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned. It was her own fault she hadn’t listened. ‘Can I give Adam a message?’ she asked, somewhat hesitantly.
‘Yes, tell him I hope his hangover is hell.’ She chuckled. ‘And tell him that the clinic have decided to deliver the baby on Monday by Caesarean section.’
Her rush of sympathy was genuine enough. ‘I’m sorry. Are there problems?’
‘They’ve decided the placenta is in the wrong place. I’ve been in and out of hospital for the last few weeks. Not allowed to touch my feet to the ground. It’s been hell.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Well it’ll soon be over. But I could do with some moral support, if he could manage to get back in time.’ Tara swallowed hard, furious that Jane even had to ask. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get him back in time if he has to swim.’
She shouted with laughter. ‘Priceless. I can’t wait to meet you, Tara.’
Tara hung up and when she turned Adam was standing in the doorway wrapped only in a towelling bathrobe. He looked dreadful. Unshaven, and hung over. If she could have felt any joy at all, it would be in the fact that he felt considerably worse than she did, at least physically.
He rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand and apparently did not much like the result. ‘Who was that on telephone?’
‘It was Jane.’ She gave him the message and he swore softly. ‘Timing never was her strong point. You’d better get us on the next flight out of here.’ Tara turned quickly away. How on earth could he be so unfeeling?
‘What about the meetings organised for tomorrow? Shall I cancel?’
‘No, leave it to me. Get me Rashid on the phone now. And don’t take no for an answer.’ His mouth tightened. ‘The one advantage of last night’s little fiasco is that he will agree to almost anything. All I have to do is mention his wife’s name.’
Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You wouldn’t—’
‘Watch me.’ He frowned at her distress. ‘You don’t owe him any favours, Tara.’
‘I...’
‘Yes?’
Her eyes dropped to her hands, busily shredding a tissue. ‘I was partly to blame. You warned me.’
‘Yes, I did. But you said no. He didn’t like it and considering the way you’d been flirting with him all evening I have some sympathy. But no still means no.’
‘But to blackmail him...’
He made an abrupt move towards her, but stopped as she flinched away. ‘Don’t worry, Tara. All I want to do is speed things up. I shan’t be too unkind. Just rob him of the fun of haggling down to the last cent.’ His mouth twisted in a smile of pure derision. ‘It will be more painful for him than being ducked in a fountain, I can assure you. And it won’t cost him money.’ He rubbed his forehead vigorously with his fingers. ‘Well, not too much. Get Rashid, arrange the flight then bring your book up. I want the agreement in my hand for him to sign the minute he walks through the door.’ He turned in the doorway. ‘And I’d like some coffee if it’s not too much trouble,’ he added, caustically.
‘And perhaps something for your headache?’ she threw after him.
He bowed slightly in acknowledgement that her barb had found its mark. ‘Thank you, my lady. That would be most appreciated.’
She put Rashid through to the bedroom phone. She had been nervous of speaking to him, but last night might never have happened. The call was brief and she was able to make the travel arrangements as soon as he had finished. That done she added her notebook and pencils to the tray brought by the servant and carried it upstairs.
His door was ajar, but she still knocked.
‘Come in, Tara.’ She pushed the door open, but the room was empty. ‘I’m in the bathroom.’
‘Oh!’
‘Don’t be a prude, girl. Get in here.’ Hardly knowing where to look she peered around the door. He was lying up to his neck in a deep foaming bath, eyes apparently closed. ‘Don’t hover. Sit down and give me the painkillers.’ She handed him the tablets and a glass of water and he swallowed them.
Her own bathroom was beautiful with a soft carpet and hand-made Spanish tiles, but Adam’s was palatial. The bath was enormous, quite large enough for two. She quashed the thought hard. He had probably shared it with Jane on his last visit.
‘Why are you blushing, Tara?’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve never taken dictation from a man in his bath before.’
He opened one eye and eased up slightly, so that his shoulders appeared above the water. ‘Would you rather I got out?’
‘No!’ She quickly sat in a comfortable wicker chair and stared down at her notebook.
He dictated more slowly than usual, clearly thinking about every word he used, weighing it, carefully. He asked her to read back what he had dictated more than once. He made several changes but was finally happy. ‘That should do it. Knock it out as quickly as you can, Tara. And hand me that towel, will you?’ He erupted from the water. She flung the towel at him and fled, pursued along the corridor by his laughter. He had clearly made a quick recovery.
She typed the document as quickly as she could, but kept making uncharacteristic errors as the image of his hard, well-muscled shoulders and the strong column of his neck kept intruding between her and the screen. She had printed it three times before she was satisfied.
* * *
Adam finally appeared, casually dressed, ready for the journey and read it through. ‘Fine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll print the rest of the copies, you’d better go and pack your things.’
‘Shall I pack for you?’
He stared at her for a moment. ‘Yes, thank you.’
She was half way up the stairs when the front door opened and Hanna’s voice called an almost unbearably cheery greeting to Adam. In that instance she knew what he had done. He must have known how much she was dreading facing him and had got her out of the way. It was kinder than she deserved. She felt her throat tighten and knew she was close to tears.
‘Stupid!’ Tears wouldn’t help. She blinked hard, but it was too late and as she swiftly folded her clothes into her case, small damp spots appeared with unhappy frequency. Finally everything was packed but the scarlet dress. She shook it out. It seemed pointless to pack it. She would certainly never wear it again. But she didn’t know how to dispose of it and she could hardly leave it hanging in the wardrobe. With a sigh she threw it in her case and closed the lid.
Adam had already begun to pack his clothes. His shoes, his toiletries were already in the case. She emptied the wardrobe and drawers and did a neat workmanlike job, denying herself the pleasure of lingering over the crisp cotton of his shirts, the smooth silk of his ties. Only his dinner jacket caused her a problem. It lay in a crumpled discarded heap behind the chair. She shook it out and was assaulted by his special scent, so evocative, so painful that she almost dropped it.
Falling in love, Beth had said, hurts. You want it to stop almost more than anything else. Except not stopping. She had thought she had loved Nigel. But what had she known about love? There had never been this dreadful ache. The longing to hold him, touch him. The pain in the knowledge that she must never touch him.
She and Nigel had been little more than children. Kissing, holding hands, never even... And then it had been too late. She tried desperately to conjure up his face, touching the little brooch he had made for her and she had worn faithfully every day for him as if somehow it could conjure up the fragile past. But the only face that appeared to haunt her was th
at of Adam Blackmore. And Beth was right. It hurt.
CHAPTER SIX
THEY descended through the murk of low cloud into Heathrow, the grey day reflecting Tara’s mood. At least they had been spared the silence of the outward journey. Adam had worked furiously on the new project all the way, waving away the food the stewardess offered without even asking if she was hungry. Not that she cared. Food would have choked her.
He kept up a steady stream of dictation until her wrist had ached and she had enough in her notebook to keep her totally occupied throughout Monday when Adam would be at the clinic. She would need it.
* * *
How she got through the weekend was something else. Sleep seemed to deal with most of Saturday and she woke in the evening, wondering vaguely whether she had anything to eat in her tiny freezer.
Food did not much appeal but she had no bread and no milk and she made a dash through a wet evening to a nearby store owned and run by an extended family of Italians, which never seemed to close. The sharp clear air brought a touch of colour to her cheeks and she was greeted warmly, as an old friend.
It cheered her a little, and she decided that hungry or not she would make some scrambled eggs on toast before curling up in front of the television. She juggled the eggs and milk and loaf of bread as she struggled for her keys, finally managing to open the door without dropping anything. She had just put everything down in her tiny kitchen when there was a sharp rap at the door. She frowned. No one knew she was back so it couldn’t be Beth. Besides Beth wouldn’t make that unholy racket.
Tara cautiously slid the chain across and opened the door a crack, letting out a startled scream as she saw the tall helmeted figure, night-stick at the ready.
‘Come on out, miss. It’s no good trying to escape.’ The fierce creature had a voice to match his appearance but his expression was obscured by the visor of his helmet. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He moved a step closer.
She slammed the door. ‘What do you want?’ She tried to shout, but her voice was shaking too much.