by Penny Jordan
The atmosphere during lunch was slightly subdued. At least she need not fear that Sue would repeat her invitation, Tara thought inwardly, toying with the delicious seafood salad Mrs Barnes had prepared without the enthusiasm the food warranted.
‘When I think what might have happened!’ Sue commented, shuddering as she voiced all their thoughts. ‘I won’t be able to rest until that pool is filled in, Alec.’
‘You need eyes in the back of your head with kids about,’ Alec agreed, bending to grin at Simon. ‘Kids and dogs, who’d have them?’
For Simon’s sake Tara was trying to behave as normally as she could.
After lunch she excused herself to slip upstairs and check on Mandy, who was still sleeping, and when she returned, to her surprise she heard Simon’s voice coming from the library, the high-pitched boyish tones mingling with the deeper, more measured timbre of James’s.
‘James is teaching me to play chess,’ Simon announced importantly when Tara put her head round the door.
‘And he’s proving an extremely adept pupil,’ James informed her, the smile he gave his son for a few brief seconds transporting her to the past to the James she had once known, although the smile was doused when he turned to her.
‘Did my daddy like chess?’ Simon asked her curiously.
Tara swallowed hard, dragging her eyes away from James’s lean fingers toying with one of the small black pawns, her whispered ‘Yes’, a brief whisper of sound. Dear God, she had thought she had known pain, but it had been nothing to this raw agony she was experiencing now. What was the matter with her? Was she still stupid enough to believe in fairy godmothers who had only to wave their magic wands and everything was rosy? What did she want? It was a question she daren’t answer, and one that haunted her all through the long afternoon.
It was a relief to go to bed and know that in the morning she would be returning to London with the weekend safely behind her. Apart from the trauma of Mandy’s accident it had raised too many ghosts, brought too much fresh pain. With sudden terrible clarity she remembered those first few seconds when she had seen Mandy lying on the grass; when James had moved towards her, grasping her arms, his grip somehow comforting and reassuring; her body turning traitor as it responded instinctively to the lean masculinity of the hands gripping her arms.
CHAPTER SIX
SOME time during the early hours Mandy’s thin, high-pitched cry brought her from sleep, her reactions automatic as she hurried towards the twins’ room.
The bedroom door was already open when she reached it, but that fact didn’t register until she was inside and saw the tall male figure bending over the narrow single bed.
‘Mummy!’ Silently, Tara took the precious weight of her daughter from James, rocking her much as she had done when she was a baby. Mandy’s crying had woken Simon, who was sitting up in bed, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.
It took half an hour to settle Mandy back in bed and asleep. James had slipped away quietly while Tara was talking to Mandy, soothing and comforting her.
‘It was all dark and wet, Mummy,’ Mandy told her, shivering, ‘and I thought I was never going to escape…’
Making sure that both twins were asleep, Tara switched off the light and hurried back to her own room. Once there she couldn’t sleep. A warm bath would help to relax her, she decided, but later, sheathed in her silk negligee set, droplets of water gleaming on her skin, Tara acknowledged that she was no nearer sleep, her nerves were still tense. There was a brief tap on her bedroom door and as she swung round it opened to admit James, a beaker in one hand.
‘A malted drink,’ he informed her, proffering the beaker. ‘I heard you moving about and guessed you were having trouble getting to sleep. It must be hard for you, trying to bring up the twins on your own,’ The terse admission touched the inner core of pain she tried so hard always to deny, her fingers trembling as she took the beaker and thanked him coolly.
‘Look—’ He raked angry fingers through his hair,
his expression bitter and compressed. ‘We’re both adults now, Tara,’ he said grittily, ‘we both inhabit the same league—for God’s sake can’t we at least make an effort to treat one another as normal human beings?’
His words caught her off guard. She turned, to hide her expression from him, and stumbled awkwardly against him, her foot catching in the hem of the skirt. He reached instinctively to catch her, steadying her, mockery lightening his eyes as he drawled softly, eyeing the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, ‘Quite takes me back. Remember?’ He had removed the beaker from her nerveless fingers and Tara shuddered deeply, wrenching her eyes away from the mesmerising scrutiny of his.
‘You might not have changed, James,’ she told him thickly, trying to control her shallow breathing, ‘but I have.’
‘Meaning?’
There was an ominous ring to the word, but Tara refused to heed it. Every instinct she possessed screamed to her to bring this scene of intimacy to an immediate end.
‘Meaning I don’t want you near me… touching me,’ she added huskily, underlining the words by withdrawing from him.
Savage fingers clamped round her arms, the dark blue eyes as cold and hard as steel.
‘Oh, you don’t, do you?’ he murmured softly. ‘Well, let’s just see how true that statement is, shall we?’
Fear caught her by the throat; a different fear from the one she had experienced this morning, but equally paralysing. She tried to take a step backwards, gasping as her thin silk robe parted, leaving her exposed to the cynical cruelty of his gaze. Ice blue eyes moved insolently over the soft curves of her breasts, the delicate rise and fall of the fine lace covering them more an enticement than a barrier to the steely probing glance.
Tara reached instinctively for the lapels of her gown, but James’s free hand grasped her wrists, forcing them down with a painfully harsh grip, his soft, ‘No need for modesty—not where we’re concerned, surely?’ bringing a sick shudder to her slender frame.
His fingers probed the area already scorched by his eyes, flicking aside the fragile protection of her robe to expose the slender curves of her body in the pale sea green nightgown.
‘Silk,’ James drawled admiringly, wringing a fresh shudder from Tara as his thumb rubbed sensuously against the fabric covering her breast. ‘There are generally only two reasons why women wear expensive nightwear,’ he commented sardonically, ‘and they are either because it was a gift from some doting male, or because they hope to use it to entice a lover. I wonder which is true in your case, Tara?’
‘Neither,’ she told him furiously. ‘It was given to me by one of Chas’s clients and I don’t…’ Just in time she caught herself back from admitting that she didn’t have a lover to wear the nightgown for; had never had a lover, apart from him.
‘You don’t what?’ James sneered. ‘Adorn yourself in silk and satin for the delectation of your lovers? I wouldn’t have thought a woman of your experience would make a mistake like that. Haven’t any of them ever told you how arousing it can be undressing one’s lover?’
‘I suppose you’re speaking from experience,’ Tara grated at him, forcing herself to stand rigid without betraying her body’s reaction to its close proximity to his. ‘I suppose a man like you would need that kind of deliberate titillation to…’
‘To what?’ James mocked. ‘Stimulate my flagging desires? Don’t bank on it, Tara,’ he warned her.
With a tremendous effort Tara managed to summon all her flagging willpower, desperation lacing her voice as she said huskily, ‘Look, James, I think this has gone far enough. I’m tired, and… and I’d like you to leave my room, or…’
‘Or what?’ he goaded her. ‘You’ll scream? I think not.’
He bent his head, the soft words stirring the tendrils of hair curling across her forehead, and Tara froze, her throat locked and aching.
‘Well, Tara?’
She stared up at him wildly, still unable to believe what was happening. He was like some dark
catalyst, disturbing the even pace of her life, forcing to the surface all the dark, swirling currents she had fought successfully to subdue.
‘James, no!’ Her hoarse moan only invoked a bitter grimace, the dark blue eyes boring into hers as he paused purposefully, before sliding his hands upwards to grip her shoulders and bending his head to brush his lips tauntingly across the quivering softness of hers while she lay against him, totally incapable of offering the resistance her mind was urging upon her.
‘What an excellent actress you are, my dear,’ James murmured against her mouth. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you were still that untouched child I…’
‘Destroyed?’ Tara said bitterly, gasping with pain as she tried to draw away, and his fingers dug into her shoulders, wincing as his face darkened, his mouth curving cruelly as he reached for the fragile straps of her nightgown, sneering,
‘Very effective, but a waste of time. I know you, Tara, and I happen to possess an excellent memory. How long was it, by the way, before you married the twins’ father? They’re six, so Sue told me. Scarcely a good augur of your fidelity, I venture to suggest. You couldn’t have married him much more than six months after you’d sworn eternal love for me.’
‘I never loved you,’ Tara lashed out at him, driven by merciless pain to inflict similar wounds to him to those which had just rent her, although logic told her that he was impervious to anything she could possibly say to him. ‘I was a foolish child…’
‘Who turned into a woman in my arms,’ James told her smokily. A muscle clenched suddenly in his jaw as he added with a controlled violence that shocked her, ‘Did you tell him that he wasn’t going to be the first, Tara, and why? Or didn’t he care?’
‘Should he have done?’ Her fear fell from her as anger beat up hotly inside her. ‘Couldn’t he have loved me as a person? But then I suppose that’s something outside your experience,’ she added quietly. ‘You aren’t capable of feeling that sort of emotion, are you, James?’
The look in his eyes frightened her. She took an involuntary step backwards, which was a mistake as it brought her up against the bed. The smile curling James’s mouth possessed a wolfish ferocity that sent fresh fear spiralling through her.
‘Perhaps it’s time I reminded you exactly what kind of emotion I can feel,’ he threatened softly, his hands grasping her waist and then moving slowly up her body until he was cupping her breasts.
Tara hardly dared to breathe. Her heart seemed to be fluttering in her rib cage like a trapped bird. His hands burned through the thin silk, and to her horror she could feel the instinctive swelling of her breasts and knew that James was aware of it as well. His hands left her breasts and as though she were watching a film in slow motion Tara watched him take the fragile neckline of the pale silk and rip it savagely from neck to hem, exposing the pearly outline of her body to his vulpine gaze.
‘James!’ Her husky protest went ignored as his hands slid over her shoulders and down her back, the hard pressure of his thighs burning against her.
His mouth fastened on hers, depriving her of breath, reinforcing his superior strength. This was not the man she had loved, Tara admitted numbly as her swollen lips were forced apart and cruel fingers captured her breast. She moaned deep in her throat, trapped between the bed and James, every feeble effort she made to escape bringing her into more intimate contact with the arrogantly male contours of his body. Her bruised lips were released, but James did not set her free.
‘What’s the matter, Tara?’ he goaded. ‘Afraid that you aren’t as indifferent to me as you’d like to think?’
Tara laughed bitterly. ‘Aren’t I?’ she mocked. ‘Can’t your vanity take the fact that you can’t arouse me?’
‘No?’ Too late Tara realised her mistake. The hands which had held her with bruising ferocity relaxed their grip. ‘We’ll just see about that, shall we?’
A quiver of alarm shivered through her, but Tara was determined not to give in, forcing herself to ignore the sensual seduction in the way James slid his hands over her body, moulding her to him, bending his head…
Compressing her lips, she averted her head, but once again James was too clever for her and the descending mouth touched not on her closed lips but on the sensitive flesh of her neck, moving erotically over the spot where a tiny giveaway pulse had started to hammer rapidly. His mouth moved sensually along her shoulder and Tara felt herself being forced backwards on to the bed. It dipped protestingly beneath their combined weight, sensations she had almost forgotten existed rushing over her as the hard compact male frame covered her nakedness, the brush of the dark hairs covering James’s chest and exposed by the opening of his robe acutely sensitising the tender flesh of her breasts and arousing emotions she had sworn never to give way to again.
‘Oh no, you don’t escape that way,’ James muttered savagely when she turned her head, stiffening her body. His fingers tightened in her hair, jerking her head painfully round and leaving her vulnerable to the possession of his mouth.
She had forgotten it was possible to feel like this, Tara thought dazedly; forgotten how overwhelming and powerful desire could be; how it could sweep aside logic and self-respect and build up into a vortex of need that sucked one down, devouring and possessing. James’s weight pinned her to the bed. A faint flush lay across the high cheekbones, and Tara knew with a sense of shock that he was angrily aroused and making no secret of the fact, no allowances for her innocence and youth, as he had done in the past. This time it almost seemed to give him a savage kind of pleasure to let her feel the hard maleness of his thighs and the desire that flamed hotly in his eyes. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking deliberately against the soft pink nipple. Tara bit back a gasp at her body’s shaming reaction; at the swelling response of her flesh to his caress.
‘You want me, Tara,’ he told her thickly, ‘and God help me, I want you.’
As his lips brushed tantalisingly over the aroused centre of her breast, shudders swept her, a tidal wave of desire building up inside her, obliterating the intervening years. Suddenly she was seventeen again and desperately in love. In mindless reaction her hands locked behind James’s neck, her fingers buried in the thick darkness of his hair, her lips pressing hungry kisses on his skin as she felt his responsive shudder and gloried in the savagely possessive sweep of his hands over her body, willingly yielding up its treasures to his male domination. This time she made no attempt to avoid the heated urgency of his kiss on her body, arching naturally to the thrusting intimacy of his, her hands sliding inside his robe to caress the satin-smooth skin within, reaching for the loosely knotted belt.
Her movements were ruthlessly intercepted, with bruising pressure, contempt lacing James’s triumphant smile as he knelt over her, forcing her to submit to his cynical scrutiny, his measured, ‘Who can’t arouse you, Tara?’ drawl bringing a tinge of colour to her otherwise completely pale skin.
What had possessed her? She could scarcely believe what had happened.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I don’t imagine I’ve performed some miraculous feat,’ James told her. ‘I’ve no doubts at all that almost any sexually experienced male could arouse exactly the same reaction.’ He released her suddenly, grimacing with distaste. ‘I’ve proved my point—but don’t expect me to do the gentlemanly thing and give you the physical satisfaction your amoral little body so obviously desires. I read the papers, Tara,’ he added. ‘Chas Saunders and his sexual athletics get plenty of newspaper coverage.’
Tara could have denied his allegations, but sickness clung to the back of her throat, a heavy tiredness seeping through her. What did it matter what he thought? she asked herself bitterly. If he wanted to think she was one of Chas’s women then let him. She didn’t care what he thought about her—but she did, she was forced to admit half an hour after he had gone, leaving her dry-eyed and aching with misery. It was unfair, she thought bitterly. How could her body have betrayed her so easily? How could she have forgotten so quickly the humilia
tions of the past? The dull pain that nagged at her she tried to dismiss as mere unappeased sexual desire, but intelligence told her otherwise. Her reaction to James couldn’t simply be dismissed as merely a physical aberration. Listening to the regular chimes of the grandfather clock in the hall below, Tara was forced to admit the truth. No matter how much she might loathe and despise herself for it, she was still attracted to James, if only on a chemistry-based level which defied logic and intelligence. If mere sexual need had caused her reaction to him she would surely have experienced that need at least briefly during the seven years they had been apart, but she had not done so; not with Chas, not with anyone.
* * *
Heavy-eyed and drained, Tara forced herself to chat normally with Sue over breakfast. The younger girl was trying to persuade Tara to make another visit later in the month, but Tara steadfastly refused, pleading pressure of work. Mandy seemed to have recovered completely from her ordeal, although Tara was determined to keep her off school for a couple of days just to make sure. She was flirting outrageously with James, and just for a moment a shaft of jealousy pierced her. Tara was stunned. Jealous of her own daughter—a child? She could hardly believe it, and yet for all James’s attention to Mandy, Tara sensed that something inside him was held back. While the twins ate their breakfast Tara took the opportunity to ask Sue in a low voice if she had the number of a taxi firm.
‘A taxi?’ Sue stared at her. ‘But, Tara, what do you need a taxi for? Everything’s arranged. James will drive you back to London.’
‘There’s no need to put him to so much trouble,’ Tara demurred, her eyes clashing and locking with his across the width of the table, his smooth, ‘It’s no trouble, I have to drive to London anyway,’ making her clench her hands into small impotent fists. She would have thought he would jump at the opportunity to be rid of them, but for some machiavellian reason of his own he seemed determined to torment her still further.