Irresistible Temptation

by Sara Craven

  'Oh.' Olivia was taken aback. 'I'm not sure…'

  'Come on, my sweet, you can't let me down. It wouldn't be the same without you.' He gave a light laugh. 'After all, I want you to see what you're missing.'

  Olivia obediently jotted down the address he gave her, but sighed as she put the phone down. Going to Jeremy's house-warming wasn't her idea of a fun time for all kinds of reasons, but she supposed it was marginally better than sitting at home, brooding.

  She guessed Jeremy would expect a 'happy fiat' present, but didn't want to take a framed print or a piece of pottery, or anything that would give out signals of permanency, so she compromised with a bottle of good champagne.

  Expensive but ephemeral, she told herself wryly, as she zipped herself into a plain black dress with a low, straight-cut neckline and narrow straps, and applied a modicum of colour to her eyes and lips.

  Her plan to wait until the party was in full swing, then put in a token appearance only was confirmed when she arrived at the imposing white house with its pillared portico, and met the volume of noise emanating from the first floor. The windows were open and people, she saw, had spilled out on to the balcony. Others were occupying the stairs, drinking, talking and laughing loudly, and Olivia had to edge past.

  She hesitated in the doorway, looking through the crowd for Jeremy. He was nowhere to be seen, but if the number of bodies per square foot was the criterion, his party was a wild success, she thought, grimacing inwardly.

  'More supplies? Thank God.' A blonde girl with a nose-stud relieved Olivia of her champagne. 'People are leaving their jackets in the main bedroom, which is that way.' She pointed, then gave Olivia a curious look. 'I haven't seen you before. Do you work with Jerry?'

  'No,' Olivia returned constrainedly. 'I'm an old friend.'

  The other's grin was faintly malicious. 'Really? Maybe we should establish a support group. Anyway, dump your coat and get a glass. Most of the pouring's happening in the kitchen.'

  'I'll find it.' Left alone, Olivia was tempted to beat an instant retreat, but decided she should at least greet Jeremy, and wish him good luck in his new home.

  As she fought her way to the bedroom a hand grasped her arm, and, turning, she found herself looking up at Declan.

  Joy seemed to explode inside her, and her mouth involuntarily curved into a smile.

  'Declan? You're back.' She paused, trying to see past the cool grimness of his expression. 'I—I didn't expect to see you here.'

  'I wasn't planning it either,' he said abruptly. 'I came with someone.'

  Of course, she thought, her instinctive happiness at seeing him beginning to corrode into an ache of misery.

  She said flatly. 'Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to find a drink.'

  He said quietly, 'Olivia, do us both a favour and go. Go now.'

  She tried to laugh. 'But I've only just got here.'

  'It doesn't matter. It would be better all round, believe me.'

  He was still holding her arm, and she pulled herself free.

  'You have no right to say that. I was invited—and I'm staying.'

  'Please do as I ask.' There was something like anguish in his eyes. 'I can't explain now…'

  'Well, well, if it isn't the country mouse.' There was something familiar about the sultry female drawl that interrupted them. Olivia, blinking at the waft of heavy perfume assailing her, glanced round, and saw a spectacular head of red hair framing a sulky face, and a voluptuous body shown off in a minimal dress of charcoal ribbed silk. A bracelet set with lapis lazuli decorated one tanned arm.

  Melinda, she thought, pain stabbing at hen The girl who'd been at Declan's house that first morning.

  'So you came.' Her words were slightly slurred, but her blue eyes were hard as they swept Olivia. 'Little Miss Loser.'

  Declan said harshly, 'That's enough, Melinda.'

  Olivia faced her down, her chin lifted dangerously. 'You're dressed,' she said. 'Is there a shortage of bath towels?'

  'Why, you…' Melinda lunged with the glass she was holding, sending the champagne flying over Olivia.

  'That does it,' Declan almost snarled 'Olivia—you're out of here.'

  'No way,' she flung back at him. 'What's a little wine between friends? But I wouldn't let your girlfriend refill bier glass. I'd say she's had all she can manage.'

  She walked into the bedroom, slinging her jacket on to the bed with all the others and making for the bathroom so she could sponge her dress.

  As she walked in she nearly tripped over the outstretched legs of a girl who was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall and her head buried in her hands.

  'Oh—I'm sorry.' Olivia checked. 'I didn't realise there was anyone in here.'

  The girl looked up, shaking back her dark cloud of hair. She was attractive, rather than pretty, with a strong face marked by good bone structure now blurred and diminished by the tears which streaked her skin and reddened her smoky-blue eyes.

  'There isn't.' Her voice was husky and shaking as she got to her feet. 'I'm going.'

  'No, please.' Olivia felt desperately awkward. 'Do use the basin—bathe your face. I came in for some tissues because I've had a drink chucked over me.'

  'We're neither of us having a very good party.' The girl combed her hair with her fingers. 'But yours may get better.'

  Olivia shook her head, remembering the way Melinda's painted nails had closed on Declan's sleeve. The triumphant malice glittering in her eyes. 'I don't think so.' She paused. Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to tell me what's upset you?'

  'Why not?' The other laughed bitterly. 'Everyone but you seems to know already. I came to see my husband— we're supposed to be making a serious attempt to save our marriage, or so I thought. And I now find he's been having an affair all the time.' Her voice broke.

  Olivia felt icy cold. Oh, God, she thought This must be Maria—Jeremy's wife. She looked at the pale, drawn face and shadowed eyes, and felt a knife twist inside her.

  She said, 'How—how do you know?'

  'My cousin told me.' The girl ran water into the basin and began to splash it on to her face. 'He's known about it for a while, but he didn't say anything because he hoped things would sort themselves out somehow.'

  'And maybe they will,' Olivia said quickly. 'Perhaps it isn't nearly as serious as you think.'

  Maria shook her head. 'It's become quite blatant Jeremy's even invited her here tonight,' she went on, swallowing. 'Although admittedly he didn't know I'd be coming as well. Now everyone knows—and I just want to die.'

  'Oh, please don't feel like this.' Wretchedly, Olivia handed her a towel. 'I'm sine you can work something out together.'

  Maria shook her head. 'Not again.' she said. 'He was seeing other women before he came to London. But he swore it had all stopped—that we'd make a fresh start. A few weeks ago he even took me to Paris for the weekend.' She stopped suddenly, biting her lip. 'Look, I shouldn't be saying all this. I don't know what you must be thinking. I'm not normally such a watering pot' Her lips stretched into a quivering smile. It must be my hormones. But I'll stop embarrassing myself—and everyone else—and go back to Bristol.' She paused. 'You've been very kind. What's your name?'

  Olivia prayed that the floor would open and swallow her.

  She said, 'Olivia Butler, Mrs Attwood.' She looked down at the tiles at her feet, willing them apart.

  There was a silence, then Maria said, 'Ah,' very quietly. She left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Olivia slumped against the wall, feeling sick to her stomach. Everything she'd ever said to Jeremy, every kiss, every caress was coming back to haunt her.

  He lied, she thought exhaustedly. Whatever their problems were, Maria wanted to find a solution. That doesn't make her the hard-nosed bitch he claimed.

  She made no attempt to sponge her dress.

  I deserve to have champagne thrown over me—and worse, she thought miserably. I never thought of her as another human being—as
someone who could cry and suffer. As someone who cared. I only wish she could know how deeply I'm suffering too.

  It was as if a veil had been torn aside to reveal a gaping wound. Only who was the wounded one—Maria or herself?

  Oh, Declan, she thought achingly. How could you tell her? How could you be so cruel?

  She walked back into the bedroom, and came face to face with Jeremy.

  He said hurriedly, 'I heard you'd arrived. I've been looking for you. Listen, Livvy, about these things Declan's been saying…'

  'They don't matter,' she said quietly. 'Nothing matters except that I never want to see either of you again. Goodbye.'

  She went out into the living room. It was still packed, but she could see Declan's tall figure by the window, with Melinda's red hair close by, as if she was pinned to him.

  Across the noise of music, chatter and laughter she thought she heard him call her name, but she didn't stop.

  And when she was out in the street, she began to run.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Olivia was breathless and panting by the time she reached Lancey Terrace, stumbling in her high heels.

  Hand pressed to her side, she stood for a moment, leaning against the wrought-iron gates leading into the garden, trying to calm herself. To get back in control.

  In her head, she could still hear Declan's voice calling her name, and she'd run because she was frightened he'd come after her. And she couldn't face him now, she thought. Her sense of betrayal was too deep.

  Their so-called truce was over for good. And smashed alongside it was every foolish hope, every impossible dream.

  All she needed now was a corner to hide in. She straightened, opening her small black bag and fumbling in it for her keys. But the key that emerged first was the one to the garden, which she must have inadvertently picked up with the others.

  She turned it in her hand, staring down at it in the lamplight, then turned, with sudden resolution, and fitted it into the lock.

  After all, she reasoned, if someone was indeed looking for her, the flat would be the place to target. So she wouldn't go home at once. She'd walk, and try to get her breath back, and her head together.

  It was a warm night, the air heavy and humid, but Olivia shivered as a stray breeze touched her bare shoulders and arms. In her headlong flight she'd forgotten all about her jacket, she realised with vexation. She wrapped her arms across her body, hugging herself as she walked.

  It was dark now, and the lights were on in the houses.

  Olivia glanced sideways into uncurtained windows as she passed, thinking how safe and cosy it all looked. And yet in every house the game of life went on, with sadness, betrayal, reconciliation and compromise. No one was immune.

  She shivered again, but from a sense of isolation rather than chill.

  Common sense dictated that at this time of night she should stick to the gravelled walk round the perimeter, but she turned off just the same, making her way across the centre of the garden, her steps unerring in spite of the darkness because she'd walked the same route so many times. Bound for her own private sanctuary.

  She sat down, huddling herself into a corner of the bench as if she wished to make herself invisible, waiting for the peace of the place to touch her.

  But the usual alchemy didn't seem to be working. Her head seemed to be filled with images—Maria Attwood's pain-filled eyes, Melinda's predatory, possessive fingers hooked into Declan's arm, Jeremy's evasive expression.

  But it was Declan she saw most, the silvery eyes stormy and full of anger. But not filled with guilt—the acknowledgement of betrayal that she'd have expected. Or even any regret for the hurt he'd caused.

  How could he? she thought, her throat tightening convulsively. Oh, how could he? And the first scalding tear trickled down her cold face.

  She wept silently, her head bowed, her body rigid. Around her, she could hear all the noises of the night—the rustle of the wind in the leaves, the yowl of a marauding cat, a swift burst of music as someone opened then closed a window, and in the distance a faint rumble of thunder. The fluttering breeze brought the scent of rain.

  She thought, It's time I was getting back. She lifted her hands, scrubbing her eyes as a child might do, then stood up.

  The bushes parted and stirred, and a narrow beam of light caught her, held her. As she shaded her eyes from the dazzle Declan said grimly, 'I guessed I'd find you here.'

  'Go away from me.' Her voice shook. 'Leave me alone.'

  'Don't be a little fool. We have to talk.'

  'There's nothing to talk about. You've already said everything—and to Maria. You told her I was having an affair with Jeremy—even though you knew—you must have known…' Her voice broke. 'Oh, what's the use?'

  'Listen to me, and listen well.' His voice was soft but resonant 'I told Maria nothing of the kind. She's still in total ignorance about your ill-conceived passion for her worthless husband, and that's the way it's going to stay.'

  'But she knew who I was,' she protested. 'She knew my name.'

  'Then she heard it in another context.' There was a further growl of thunder, closer this time, and the first swirl of heavy raindrops. 'But we can't stand here discussing the matter. We'll be drenched. Come on in the house.' The flashlight played over her. 'Mother of God, where's your jacket?'

  'I left it behind,' she said furiously. 'And I'm going nowhere with you.'

  'Well, you're not staying here to catch pneumonia.' The light clicked off, and two swift strides brought him to her side. Before she could register what was happening, he'd lifted her bodily, hoisting her over his shoulder.

  For a moment she was stunned—rendered dumb with outrage. Then she began to pound his back with her fists. 'Put me down. Put me down at once.'

  'It'll be a pleasure,' he said 'Once we're indoors out of this rain: And stop wriggling, damn you.' And he administered an admonitory tap to her rear.

  She would have yelled, but being carried at speed through heavy rain with her head dangling towards the ground wasn't conducive to anything but a few grunts of discomfort, she discovered.

  But once they were inside the French windows, and he'd lowered her to the floor, she found her voice easily enough.

  'You bastard.' She was shaking with rage—and another, very different emotion that she didn't wish to examine too closely. 'Do you realise how many assault charges I can bring against you?'

  Declan finished securing the French windows and looked at her.

  He said slowly, 'Then I may as well be hanged for a sheep as lamb.' And he walked across to her and took her in his arms.

  He wasn't gentle. His kiss was fuelled by anger. And the same emotion sparked her response. Their mouths explored hungrily, made predatory by the same burning need. She felt the heat of his tongue against hers. And instead of trying to push him away her hands curled into the folds of his shirt, holding him closer.

  When they broke apart they were gasping, their gazes locked, like opponents measuring each other. Or as if a spell had been cast, binding them together throughout eternity.

  The lights flickered suddenly, and the thunder roared almost overhead, making Olivia jump.

  'Heavens.' Her laugh shook with nervousness, and she shivered.

  Declan drew a breath, his hand closing on her bare shoulder. 'You're freezing. Come with me.'

  She found herself going with him up the stairs and into a large square room, with another set of French windows opening on to a wrought-iron balcony beyond. The walls and carpet were the colour of warm sand, and two big sofas covered in deep green linen flanked an elaborate marble fireplace. One wall, she saw, was composed solely of bookshelves.

  Declan had gone through a concealed door at the back of the room, but he was back almost at once, carrying a navy silk robe that she recognised.

  'Go and have a shower while I organise a hot drink,' he directed crisply. 'Your dress needs drying, so leave it out.'

  She said huskily, 'Lend me an umbrella and I'll go
home.'

  He turned at the door, his brows lifting. He said quietly, 'Ah, no, Olivia. We both know better than that'

  The hot water stung her skin, reviving her magically. She reduced the temperature and let it flow through her hair, as if she was performing some ritual cleansing, ridding herself of the evening's dirt and wretchedness.

  She towelled herself until her skin glowed. She combed her damp hair back from her face, staring at herself critically in the mirror. She looked pale, but her lips were reddened and slightly swollen, and she touched them gently with the tip of her finger. Remembering.

  Declan's robe was far too big, so she wrapped it round her, then wound the sash round her slim waist, anchoring it securely. The sleeves were too long, too, and she turned them back almost to her elbows.

  She thought, I look like a geisha…

  A faint scent of the cologne he used still clung to the robe. Eyes closed, she breathed it, then lifted a fold of the silk to her cheek and held it there.

  When she went back into the drawing room Declan was seated on one of the sofas, a tray of coffee on the table in front of him, pouring cognac into goblets.

  He said, 'You'll be glad to know the storm's passed over.' He studied her, a smile touching his eyes. 'And the robe looks better on you.'

  A mixture of shyness and excitement tangled in her throat. 'I don't think so.' She stood behind the sofa opposite, resting her hands on its padded back. She said, 'I shouldn't be here.'

  'Give me one good reason.' His voice was calm.

  'Your cousin…'

  'Maria's gone to an old schoolfriend in Chelsea. She needs a woman to talk to tonight. Ellie's a great girl. She'll hold her and comfort her, and pour drink into her, then put her on the train back when she's ready. Now come and have your coffee.'

  She didn't move. She said, 'Jeremy never gave a damn about me, did he? Not from the first. I suppose I was just a novelty because I wouldn't go to bed with him. Maria said there's always been other women.'

  'Yes.' His voice was gentle.

  'He made me believe he cared for me while we were in Bristol, but when I came here everything changed. But I didn't want to admit it' She paused. 'The weekend of my birthday—he said there was a conference, but I knew somehow that there wasn't'