Irresistible Temptation (2 page)

Olivia disregarded that. 'But he does live here?' And, receiving a brief, affirmative nod, 'Then why won't you fetch him for me?'

'Because he's not here now,' she was told. 'He's away for the weekend, so it's unlikely he was expecting any visitors, least of all you. Now, take your hand away from the door and clear off quietly, like a good girl.'

'Not here?' Olivia repeated, stunned. 'Oh, I don't believe it.'

The silvery eyes became chips of ice. 'Well, I don't propose to allow you to search the house, Miss—er?'

'I'm Olivia Butler. Has Jeremy not mentioned me?'

Slowly and silently he shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

It was a setback, but not irretrievable, she told herself.

She took another deep breath, forcing a smile. 'Well, it doesn't really matter. I—I'm sorry that I've arrived at a bad time, and clearly I should have checked with Jeremy first, but no real harm done.'

'I think,' he said softly, 'that I'll be the judge of that. What exactly do you want, Miss Butler?'

'Firstly, I'd like to come in,' she said. 'I've been on a hot, stuffy train and I'd like to freshen up.'

'Naturally,' he said. 'But what makes you think this is an appropriate place to do it? Was there no restroom at the station—Euston—Waterloo or whatever?'

'Paddington,' she said. 'Of course there was. But that's not the point.'

'Then what is the point?' He was still blocking the doorway. 'I would really like to know.'

No more beating round the bush, Olivia decided.

She said, 'I've come here to live—to be with Jeremy.'

He didn't appear to move, and there was no visible change in his expression, yet Olivia sensed a new and dangerous tension in the atmosphere. She felt as if he'd taken one menacing stride towards her, and she had to overcome the impulse to take a step backwards.

That's very enterprising of you,' he drawled, after a long pause. 'Did you know that Jeremy is married?'

'I certainly know that he's separated,' she corrected coolly. 'And, anyway, I think that's our business, not yours.'

'On the contrary, I concern myself with all kinds of things.' He paused again. 'I suggest you give me the address where you'll be staying, and I'll pass it on to Jeremy when he returns. Then, if he wishes to make contact, he can.'

'Address?' Olivia repeated in bewilderment. 'But I'm staying here—to wait for him.'

'No,' he said. 'You're not.'

'I don't understand…'

'It's perfectly simple. You want to move in. I'm telling you it's not going to happen.'

Her lips parted helplessly. 'You mean you're turning me away?'

'Now you're getting there,' he approved sardonically. 'Foolish it may be, but I don't give house room to indigent girls who turn up out of the blue claiming acquaintance with a member of the household.

'I'm far from indigent, and it's rather more than acquaintance,' she said hotly.

'So you say.' He shrugged, and the dressing gown slipped a fraction. 'Sorry, darling. Better luck elsewhere.'

'But I've nowhere else to go.' Olivia heard and despised the faint squeak of panic in her voice. 'I—I don't know anyone in London.'

'Then here's some excellent advice.' His voice was suddenly harsh. 'Go back to wherever you came from, and we'll pretend this never happened.'

The momentary fear gave way to anger. 'I don't need your advice,' she said curtly. 'Nor am I leaving. And when I see Jeremy I'll tell him exactly the kind of welcome I received at his home. You can count on that.'

'Whereas you, sweetheart, can't count on a thing.' She felt her anger matched by his. 'It's a pity you didn't check he'd be around before you set out Not that it would have made any real difference,' he added, with another perilous shrug. 'I still wouldn't let you stay. Now run along.'

'Damn you,' she said furiously. 'Who the hell do you think you are? And just what right have you to tell me what to do?'

'I happen to own this house.' His voice was like ice. 'Which gives me any rights I choose to assume, lady.'

'But Jeremy…'

'Jeremy is my guest—my temporary lodger, nothing more. Whatever he may have told you, or you chose to believe,' he added with crushing emphasis.

She wanted to scream at him—call him a liar. But there was something about his words which held the ring of truth.

She also wanted to die. But not, she decided, before she had murdered this sneering man in front of her. Until she had hurt and humiliated him, and ground him into the dust before dancing on his unmarked grave.

But that, unfortunately, had to be in the long term. Right now she needed somewhere affordable to stay.

She wasn't poor by any means, she reminded herself. She had a respectable balance in her current account, and a credit card. She could get by until she found a job.

And she'd intended to pay her way with Jeremy. That went without saying. It was going to be a partnership, not charity.

But common sense told her that her resources would soon dwindle if she had to fork out for a London hotel, even for a couple of nights. Nor had she the least idea where to start looking. Anything in this vicinity would be right out of her range.

She looked at the case beside her, and groaned inwardly. How far could she carry it before her arm came out of its socket?

In her home village, she thought, swallowing, they wouldn't treat a stray dog like this.

She looked stonily at her persecutor. 'I don't suppose you'd let me leave my luggage here while I go and look for a room?'

'Quite correct,' he said. 'I wouldn't. And for two pins I'd let you tramp the streets to teach you a much-needed lesson. But I can't do that, because London is not a place where you turn up on the off-chance. You could end up in all kinds of trouble—things you've never envisaged in your worst nightmares. And I don't want that on my conscience.

'Thanks for the pious platitudes,' Olivia said. She was shaking inwardly with rage. 'What have you in mind? The coal shed?'

'Alas, no.' He reached forward and picked up her case, handling it easily. 'You'd better come in while I talk to someone.'

'You mean I'm being allowed to pollute your sacred portals?' She followed him into a wide hall. On the left, a flight of stairs carpeted in pale green led to the upper floors. On the right, an open door showed her a room fitted out as an office, with a fax machine, a photocopier and a state-of-the-art computer sitting on a workman-like desk. This was where the music was coming from, too.

'Not for long,' he tossed back over his shoulder, leading the way to the rear of the house. 'And don't consider going for squatters? rights, either.'

She'd been about to ask what computer system he used, attempt to establish that she had a life and a career, and wasn't just some helpless hopeful. Now all she hoped was that the whole thing would crash spectacularly at some crucial moment.

He stood back, allowing her to precede him. 'You can wait in here. Please don't make yourself too comfortable. I'm just going to make a phone call.'

'And put some clothes on as well?' Olivia gave the dressing gown an acid glance.

'This,' he said softly, 'is my Saturday morning. I will dress—and do—as I like.' He tightened the sash with ostentatious care. 'Just remember, lady, you came knocking on my door, not the other way round.'

Biting her lip, Olivia walked past him. She found herself in a long rectangular room with one wall that seemed to be made entirely of glass. The main item of furniture was a long refectory table supplied with high-backed oak chairs. On the table, beside a newspaper folded open at an inside page, was a used plate and knife, an empty mug, and a dish of dark red jam. A lingering fragrance of coffee and warm croissant still hung in the air from the adjoining kitchen.

Despite her best efforts, Olivia felt her nose twitch longingly. It had been a long time since the blueberry muffin and carton of hot chocolate which she'd consumed at Bristol Temple Meads Station.

But something warned her that it would be an even longer time before the Owner offered her a sip of his espresso.

Swine, she thought. Greedy, selfish pig.

To take her mind off her empty stomach, she wandered over to the French windows. Beyond them, she saw a mass of greenery. No walls or fences, she noted, puzzled. Just a riot of tall shrubs and huge trees, already heavy with approaching autumn. There were late-flowering roses, too, and great banks of fuchsias and hydrangeas. Behind the leafy barrier she caught a glimpse of the more strident green of a lawn. And a sunlit dazzle of water.

She drew a swift breath of sheer appreciation. This garden seemed to stretch for ever, its only confine the wide gravelled path which circled it.

It was the last thing she'd expected to find, here in the middle of the city—this wonderful secret wilderness.

It was like the garden behind her parents' home, she thought, although on a vastly larger scale, and for a moment she was assailed by a pang of homesickness so strong that she could have cried out.

'Is something wrong?' The Owner had joined her, tapping out numbers on a cordless phone. Clearly he didn't miss much.

'I—I was just looking at the garden.' Olivia bit her lip. 'It's beautiful. Who—who does it belong to?'

'Everyone whose house backs on to it,' he returned laconically. 'It's a communal venture.'

Then, into the phone, 'Sasha—sorry to annoy you at the weekend, but do you have any place available in that doss-house of yours?' The lines beside his mouth deepened in amusement as he studied Olivia's sudden rigidity. 'Yes, just one waif and stray—female—wandering in off the street'

He laughed. 'No, not feline, although I'd say she had claws.' He listened for a moment, grinning. 'Not a chance, my love. She's definitely not my type, and claims to be spoken for anyway. You can? You're a saint I'll send her round.'

He switched off the phone. 'Well, that's you fixed up.'

She glared at him. 'It never occurred to you that I'd like to make my own arrangements, I suppose?'

'Frankly, no.' His grin deepened. 'So, what was your major plan? Camping on my doorstep, looking hopeless and helpless, until Jeremy comes back?' He shook his head. 'You'd lower the tone of the neighbourhood.'

'No, you'll be all right with Sasha,' he went on, ignoring her furious gasp. 'Her lodgers seem to be a transient population, so she's usually got a room free.'

'Sasha.' Olivia paused 'Is she Russian?'

'No.' His face softened momentarily, making
him
seem almost human. Even attractive. And increasing that vague sense of familiarity. 'Just eccentric.'

He gave her a level look with no amusement at all. 'And she's got a kind heart, so I would take it personally if she was made a fool of in any way. By someone doing a runner, for instance, without paying the rent.'

'She'll be paid.' Olivia stopped trying to work out where she could possibly have seen him before, and reverted effortlessly to simply loathing him again. 'Although I don't expect to be staying there long.'

'Of course not. You'll be waiting for Jeremy to provide a suitable love-nest, no doubt. And maybe he will. Only it won't be under my roof.'

'And what the hell has it to do with you?'

He shrugged, unruffled. 'As I mentioned, he's married. Maybe I have more scruples.'

And, as if on cue, a girl's voice called, 'Declan—Declan, darling, where are you?'

Olivia, glancing toward the hall, could see long bare legs descending the stairs. Up to that moment she'd thought no one could be wearing less than her reluctant host, but she was wrong.

The redhead who now appeared and stood, posing co, in the doorway was using a peach-coloured towel as an inadequate sarong.

'Darling,' she said, pouting reproachfully. 'I woke up and couldn't find you. It was horrid.' She glanced towards Olivia, her glance hardening fractionally. 'But I didn't realise you were—entertaining.'

Her laugh was slightly metallic. 'If this is your latest, then your taste must be slipping.'

Indignant colour flared in Olivia's face at this piece of gratuitous rudeness, but before she could speak Declan stepped forward.

'Wrong on all counts, Melinda, my sweet Ms Butler is just a passing acquaintance.' He sent Olivia an edged look. 'And, hopefully, passing out of my life for good very soon. Now go back to bed, and I'll see you presently.'

The girl sent him a radiant smile, the tip of her pink tongue caressing her lower lip. 'Is that a promise?' she asked huskily.

'Trust me.' His voice was low-pitched, intimate. The air in the room seemed suddenly alive—electric.

For a shocked moment, Olivia was aware of a slight frisson—a tingle down her own spine.

The Owner might be loathsome, but he was also undeniably sexy—if you liked that sort of thing. As the redhead falling out of the peach towel obviously did, for she was turning and trailing obediently back upstairs.

Olivia felt oddly desolate, suddenly. But small wonder, she thought. After all, she'd arrived expecting a blissful reunion with Jeremy, leading to a passionate consummation, and instead here she was, an intruder, forced into the role of voyeur in someone else's love-life.

There was a strange silence in the room that she needed to break.

She cleared her throat. 'I gather you don't have any moral scruples about your own conduct?'

'Correct.' His grin was unabashed. 'But I'm not married, and never have been. That makes a difference.' He paused. 'Nor am I a home-wrecker.'

The atmosphere tingled again.

Olivia said coldly and clearly, 'If you'll give me this woman's address, I'll go.'

He picked up a message pad and wrote on it. 'It's on the other side of the garden. You'll be able to pick up a black cab at the end of the road if you can't walk that far with your luggage.'

'I hope you don't expect me to thank you effusively.' Olivia accepted the slip of paper, then stalked into the hall and picked up her case.

'I gave up believing in miracles a long time ago.' He unfastened the front door and held it open for her. 'Goodbye, Ms Butler.'

'Oh, that's such a final word,' she said with saccharine sweetness. 'I much prefer
au revoir
, don't you?'