‘Really?’ Lucy’s mouth curved into a well-bred smile of amusement. ‘I shouldn’t bother getting my hopes up if I were you,’ she mused thoughtfully. ‘James is not open to being caught, especially by you.’
‘I’m not trying to catch anyone…’
‘I don’t suppose he told you…’ One fine eyebrow was arched speculatively. ‘No…of course he wouldn’t have. No one can say that he isn’t clever…’
‘Told me what?’
‘Why he’s taking such an interest in you. Good heavens, James could have his pick of any woman, anywhere. So…why you?’
‘I don’t have to listen to this.’
‘No, you don’t, but…’ Lucy shrugged with just the right amount of insolent indifference to forestall Sara’s decision to walk away. ‘I would if I were you. In fact, you’ll probably thank me afterwards…’
‘I doubt that.’ But still she wavered.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t bank on it. For someone who’s supposed to be smart, and believe me I’ve already heard all about your big, powerful job in London, you’re incredibly trusting. I mean, do you really imagine that James Dalgleish, a man who could have literally anyone, would be interested in you if there wasn’t a motive?’
‘Motive? What are you talking about?’
‘The Rectory, of course. Hasn’t he mentioned it to you? That he wants to get his hands on your house? Has wanted that place for years? I must say, darling, that I have to take my hat off to him. What better way to get what he wants than to sleep with the woman who owns it? So much easier to persuade someone to do what you want them to do when you’re lovers, wouldn’t you say?’ She looked at Sara with a smirk. ‘See? Now, haven’t I done you a favour?’
Sara dragged herself back to the present and the task that lay before her.
Revenge.
And why not? Why the hell not? She had been used and she wasn’t going to slink away and lick her wounds in private. Phillip had been a disaster, but James…
Her stomach clenched at the devastation he had managed to wreak. And he had managed it because she had been a fool, simple as that. She had allowed herself to trust, to feel, to open up to him and he had played on her trust to get a little closer to what he had wanted. And it had not been her.
She found that her fingers were white, clenched around the telephone cord, her nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm. She forced herself to relax. But it was so hard, because even now, knowing it all, knowing him for the kind of man he was, that deep, sexy voice was still managing to pierce through her like a knife.
‘Haven’t you thought about us at all?’
‘A trip down memory lane, Sara?’ But dammit, yes, he remembered. All too clearly.
‘I haven’t slept since you left, James…’ And she hadn’t. She hadn’t slept, functioned, barely eaten. She had been in pain. And then when she had met Lucy, had realised what was going on, she still hadn’t slept, and the pain was still there, the pain of knowing that she had been manipulated by a man she had finally seen as a far cry from Phillip.
‘This is a pointless conversation.’ But still he couldn’t replace the receiver and he could hear a husky shakiness in his voice that made him want to hurl something very heavy straight through the window.
‘Remember how good we were in bed? You said so yourself and you were right. We made love and it was never like that for me. Never.’ The truth of that acknowledgment made her eyes hurt with unshed tears. She drew in her breath and continued speaking but her voice was wobbly. ‘The way you touched me…the places that you touched…I felt alive. When you kissed me, I felt as though I was on fire…and then when you kissed other parts of me, James…my breasts, my nipples, my stomach…’
‘Just good sex. I believe that was the conclusion you arrived at.’ He was having difficulty thinking clearly. Her words were evocative and her voice filled his head like incense.
‘And I thought that good sex was not a reason for carrying on with a relationship…’ Images of him assaulted every corner of her mind.
Good sex. A meeting of two bodies, but lord, so much more than that. For her.
She had sent him on his way, yes, and he had supposedly walked out of her life two weeks ago, but she could see now, through her anguish and disillusionment, that he would have re-entered it soon enough. He was a clever and experienced man and one with a mission. He would simply have banked on her attraction to him to railroad through her defences. And then when the time was right, he would have begun talking to her about the Rectory, allowing his ability to make love to overcome her questions.
Just you remember that, Sara told herself bitterly.
‘I’m here in London for a couple of days,’ she said, scenting her words with promise. ‘I have to sort out arrangements with my flat. Routine stuff. I really would love to meet up with you. I’m staying in a hotel in Kensington, actually, so I’m quite central…and we could talk…’
‘And you think I should make time for you?’
‘Yes, yes, I do. I dented your ego the last time we met and I would like to make up for that…’ She very nearly said that she had hurt him, but of course he wouldn’t have been hurt by her rejection. Just temporarily frustrated until he felt the time was right to pounce again.
‘Oh, really? And how do you intend to make up for that?’ A dented ego was something he could deal with. He mentally began a process of damage limitation by telling himself that that was really all there was to it. That the hurt and anger he had felt was just a reflection of a man accustomed to having everything being denied something.
‘I would very much like to buy you dinner. You name the restaurant. I’m here on my own, so there’ll be no need for me to rush back to my room…’ She purposefully dropped her voice a couple of notches lower. ‘Not that it’s that much of a room, to be honest. Just a dressing table and a chest of drawers and a bathroom and, of course, a bed…’
Was she doing this on purpose? James thought, stifling his sudden urge to groan. He had not seen her as an out-and-out flirt before but either she was genuinely naïve in not knowing that a few choice words could send a man’s pulses rocketing, or else she was blatantly offering him…herself…and the thought of that turned him on as nothing on this green planet ever had in his life before.
‘I was going to bring Simon with me,’ she was saying, although he was only dimly aware of her voice because his mind had taken off on a tangent and he seemed incapable of reining it back in, ‘but your mum said that she would love nothing better than to have him stay with her. I don’t know if she told you, but he’s been over there a couple of times…to play with the train set. He’s never had a train set of his own; it just wasn’t possible in the flat in London. Anyway, I would like to see you, James. Of course, if you don’t have time…’
He would have time though. She was sure of it. With a cynicism she had not thought herself capable of, she reflected that he still wanted the Rectory. The bait was dangling very close to him. She was sure he would grab it, but just in case…
‘I think it makes sense, though, don’t you, James? We should be on speaking terms, considering we’ll probably bump into one another whenever you happen to be in Scotland. It’s a small place and if tongues wagged when we had that one silly kiss…’ she laughed throatily ‘…well, they’ll be wagging even more if you show up and insist on walking past me on the street without saying a word…’
The lifeline of cold rationality rescued him from his warring pride.
He relaxed fractionally and moved to sit back down in his swivel chair.
‘So we meet up and discuss…what? Politics? The weather? World poverty?’
‘We meet up and discuss what a fool I was…’ Sara allowed herself to pause while her mind raced ahead to her own conclusions, that she had indeed been a fool—to have involved herself with him in the first place ‘…to think that I could say goodbye to you and walk away unscathed…’ Truth was cleverly intermingled with lies. She would never have imagi
ned in a thousand years that she would be capable of a cold-blooded game of revenge, but there was a knife twisting in her gut that made it much easier than she might have thought possible.
He still wanted her house. He would come. And she would sleep with him because she enjoyed it. She would take what he had to offer her instead of squeezing shut her legs and talking about principles, and when she was finished she would dump him, but not until she had informed him in no uncertain terms that she had known from the word go what game he had been playing and thanks for the good time but the house was staying in her possession.
‘Also,’ Sara murmured convincingly, ‘Simon is fond of your mother. If you decide that you want to have nothing to do with me, then it might be awkward for them both…’
‘Well, why not?’ James drawled. He had a dinner engagement the following night with a client, but it wouldn’t be a problem to either defer that or else let Ray Cooper cover for him. ‘If keeping up appearances means that much to you.’ His voice was lazy, bored, indifferent, but he couldn’t help himself from feeling a certain brooding excitement at the thought of seeing her again. An irresistible weakness.
‘Where would you like to go?’
‘I can’t say that I really care one way or the other and I haven’t got time now to debate such an irrelevance. As I said, I’m on my way out.’
‘In which case, I know an excellent Italian restaurant. La Taverna…’ Overplaying her case at this point wouldn’t be a good idea. He was a man of formidable pride and she had dented it. She didn’t need him to walk away from her invitation.
‘Right.’
‘It’s in Chelsea. Just off the King’s Road as a matter of fact. Quite informal.’
‘Right. I’ll be there at seven-thirty, even though this charade leaves me cold.’
‘Seven-thirty.’ Sara filled her voice with bubbling pleasure. ‘Can’t wait, James…’
She spent the following day in a state of barely suppressed excitement underlined with grim determination to see this plan through.
She had arranged to meet three of her friends for lunch, had envisaged a fun, gossipy and bonding couple of hours with them but was bitterly disappointed. Her mind was too full of what lay ahead in a few hours’ time and she had moved away from ribald tales of office politics, promotions in the offing and prospective bonuses.
Had this been what it had been all about for her as well? The feverish plans to make even more money? The restricted lunch breaks and long working hours so that she could afford the nanny and the mortgage and the lifestyle that she had usually been too exhausted to appreciate?
It niggled at the back of her mind and she realised, with another familiar spurt of pain, that these were the very things she would have wanted to talk to James about. She would have enjoyed nothing more than to sound him out about what she was feeling.
And she would have done—a lifetime ago.
Now, though…
She got dressed very slowly for an evening seducing the enemy.
She was wearing a short cream silk skirt that floated sexily around her thighs and exposed her long legs to the absolute maximum. A figure-hugging cream top with sleeves to the elbows that just hit her waistline, leaving a tantalising glimpse of skin whenever she moved. High shoes that emphasised her height. Hair loosely curling down her back.
Half of her hoped that he would already be at the restaurant, waiting for her, so that he could be afforded the full impact of her walking slowly towards him. The other half hoped that she would be the first to arrive so that she could have a little time to get her thoughts together before she laid eyes on him.
Plan or no plan, she wasn’t a complete idiot.
She knew that just seeing him for the first time in two weeks was going to have an effect on her. She might be bitterly hurt at his treatment, and that alone would be enough to give her the courage she needed to do what she wanted to do. But she would also have his disturbing sexuality to contend with as well. She would have to withstand those amazing eyes on her face, hear that voice that could send electric currents racing along her spine, watch the sensuous curve of his mouth.
He was there by the time she arrived, waiting for her.
Sara saw him as soon as she walked into the restaurant. Indolently lounging on his chair right at the back, cradling a drink in his hand.
God, but he looked right at home here. Swarthy, black-haired, so ferociously good-looking that she gave a small gasp. She couldn’t help it.
She wanted his eyes to travel the length of her, but as she walked towards him she still felt horribly and acutely self-conscious.
Fortunately it didn’t show in her voice when she finally made it to the table and was standing looking down at him.
‘Haven’t been waiting long, have you?’ She smiled. Panic, misery and a certain amount of treacherous elation rushed through her. She took her time to sit down. ‘I would have got here a little sooner, but the traffic was absolutely foul. It’s so easy to forget how mad things are down here compared to Scotland, isn’t it?’
‘What are you drinking?’
If he was trying to imply uninterest, then he was succeeding. Sara leaned forward, elbows on the table, and smiled at him. No response.
‘Wine, I think. What have you got there?’
‘Whisky.’ He swallowed a mouthful and continued to look at her coldly.
‘Shall we share a bottle of white wine? I need something cold. It’s so warm out there. I can’t remember a summer like this in years.’
‘Ah, the weather.’ His mouth curled into a humourless smile. ‘Favourite standby of people struggling for conversation.’ He leaned forward and Sara felt the full force of his masculinity like a physical blow.
‘I’m not struggling for conversation, James, I’m attempting to make some.’ The waiter came and there was temporary relief from the effect he was having on her as he scanned the wine list and ordered a bottle of Chablis.
‘And who am I to thwart your efforts? So, the weather. Is it still sunny in Scotland? Or have there been a few showers?’
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Be facetious.’
‘You forget, this was your splendid idea. To meet up so that we could chat like two sensible adults and smooth the path for a workable relationship should we ever happen to meet when I’m next up there.’
‘What have you been doing since we last…saw one another?’
‘Have we finished with the weather?’
The wine arrived, was poured, and Sara drank most of her glass in the space of a few seconds.
Where was all the charm? she thought acidly. Now that his plans had been scuppered, did he not see any further point in trying to expend any on her?
‘I’ve finally been meeting a few people.’ She twirled the wine glass in one hand and propped her chin in the palm of the other. ‘Fiona has been wonderful. Asking us over for tea, introducing Simon to some of the other children, introducing me to some of her friends. I just wish I could have been able to get into it a little bit more…’
‘At which point,’ he leaned forward as well so that the distance between them was narrowed to the point where giddiness took over, ‘I expect I am to ask you what you mean by that remark…’
‘What’s the point making things difficult between us?’
‘You need to ask that question?’
This was how he had done it, of course. That way he had of focusing absolutely and entirely on her. Even now, when every pore of him breathed hostility, he could still make her feel sick with self-awareness. He had a male aggression that made Phillip seem like a boy in comparison.
‘We’re adults. Adults make mistakes. I’ve already confessed to making one, to turning you away…’
‘Something no woman has ever done.’ He knew how he sounded. Bloody petulant. He could have kicked himself but the words were out before he could retract them.
‘And I’ve never had a one-night stand in my lif
e.’ She watched, gratefully, as the waiter poured her another glass of wine and was aware of them ordering food, but only just. ‘Have you missed me?’
James felt himself flush darkly. ‘I think I prefer conversing about the weather,’ he drawled, noticing the delicate flush that invaded her cheeks at his response. ‘As to what I have been doing…’ He sat back, giving himself some breathing space. The directness of her question had rattled him. If he had tried to answer that one, he was certain that she would have been able to glean the truth from his expression. ‘Working.’
‘All work and no play…’
‘Makes James a dull boy?’ They were making short work of this wine, he thought and he was nettled by the admission to himself that he felt as if he needed it. What the hell was he doing here?
‘Hardly dull, from what I remember…’
‘How is my mother?’ he asked heavily. He had ordered some kind of fish, which appeared to have now been placed in front of him and looked delicious, although the consumption of food was the last thing on his mind.
‘Fine. Enjoying the weather and the gardens, you know…’
‘And Simon?’ It was a struggle to keep the conversation low-key and normal but he had to. He had to stay in control because, against every sensible bone in his body, he was responding to her, to whatever dance she was leading him, and it enraged him.
‘Simon is fine. He…he really enjoys living up there. Of course, I’ve told him that the weather helps and that it’s completely different in winter, with the cold and the snow, but that just seems to get him more excited. Would you believe he’s never seen snow?’ Sara began eating. Instead of being coolly in control, she felt flustered and vulnerable. She had to remind herself why she was here, why she was having dinner with this man…
‘No, London never gets snow, does it?’ He gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘And now we are back to the weather.’
His Convenient Mistress Page 10