Old Desires/A Stranger's Kiss (2-in-1 edition) (28 page)

‘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 that 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.

‘I’m from Maybridge Securities, miss,’ he said, briskly. ‘The occupant of this flat is away so be a good girl and give yourself up. It’ll save a lot of bother.’

She sagged against the door. Adam had said he would have her flat watched. She released the safety chain and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry, but you gave me such a scare. I’m Tara Lambert.’ He was unresponsive. ‘This is my flat. We came back a few days early, Mr Blackmore...’ She had no need to explain. ‘You can check direct with him. He’s home.’ Unless he was at the clinic with Jane.

The man seemed unimpressed. ‘If you could just identify yourself?’

‘I don’t have to identify myself. I live here. I...’ Tara sighed. The man was simply doing his job, however unwelcome. ‘Wait here.’ She closed the door.

Whatever had happened to the smooth ordered existence that had been her life before Adam Blackmore had erupted into it?

The guard rapped on the door again. She was taking too long and he was getting suspicious. She fished her passport from her dressing table drawer.

‘Tara!’

Adam’s voice on the other side of the door was the last straw. She flung it open and handed the passport to the security man. Adam took it from him.

‘It’s all right, Frank. You can leave it to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Blackmore, but the lady seemed to be fiddling with the lock...’

‘Don’t apologise. You were just doing your job.’

‘Right, Mr Blackmore.’ He seemed relieved. ‘I’ll get off. Shall I keep up the patrols now the lady is home?’

‘No,’ Tara intervened quickly. ‘Thank you.’ Frank departed and before she could prevent him Adam was inside. She followed him and snatched her passport from his hand. ‘Still hell-bent on your knight errant act?’ Tara asked, angrily. ‘You’ll be trading in that black monster of yours for something white at this rate.’

‘Any time, my lady.’ He bowed ironically. ‘Knight Errant Unlimited. And you already know my fee,’ he drawled. ‘One kiss, to be collected at my convenience.’

Her face whitened and he was immediately all concern. ‘No, no… I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant. I should have let them know you were back, but to be honest when I got back from the clinic I just crashed out.’

He rubbed at his stubbly chin a little ruefully and Tara softened.

‘You’d better sit down.’

He looked around. ‘I like this. It’s very pretty. Have you lived here long?’

‘Nearly seven years. I moved in when they finished the conversion.’ He ignored her invitation to sit down, but wandered around, examining the beams.

‘These are genuine. When I saw them the other night I assumed they were just fakes.’

‘Like you, Adam, I have no time for fakes.’ She wished he would go, but he apparently had no intention of leaving. ‘Would you like a cup of...’ She stopped, self-consciously.

‘I’d love a cup of coffee,’ he said, gently. He followed her into the tiny kitchen alcove and spotted the eggs. ‘Frank interrupted your supper.’

‘Nothing special. I was just going scramble some eggs.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like some?’

He grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

A few minutes later they were sitting either side of a solid wooden table tucking into the meltingly soft eggs. Tara was very quiet, determined not to do or say anything provocative. She never wanted to be accused of being a tease again.

But Adam’s face showed his concern. ‘Are you all right, Tara?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Frank was just doing his job. You might have been anyone.’

‘I know. I’m all right... really.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re as jumpy as a kitten.’ He placed his hand over hers and she duly jumped. He withdrew it quickly. ‘Oh, I see. It isn’t Frank, it’s me. Do you want me to go?’

She wanted him to go. She wanted him to stay. She just wanted him, but he belonged to someone else. It was unbearable. But he misunderstood her silence.

‘You’re expecting someone. I should have realised.’ He stood up. ‘Mr Lambert, perhaps? Although he doesn’t appear to spend much time here.’ He caught sight of the photograph on the mantle and took it down for a closer look. ‘Your wedding photograph.’ His mouth twisted slightly. ‘The bridegroom is rather underdressed for the occasion by most standards.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Your wedding night must have been...interesting.’

The colour rose to her cheeks. ‘He’d broken his leg.’ Riding his motor-cycle much too fast because he was late for the wedding rehearsal.

‘And you were married in the hospital chapel? A rush job, was it?’

‘There were circumstances—’

He was examining the photograph closely. ‘It’s difficult to see because of the traction, but you don’t appear to be—’

‘I wasn’t,’ she finally snapped, taking the picture from him. She looked at it, looked at those two happy faces. ‘I think you’d better go now, Adam.’

He made no move. ‘You were both very young. What were you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’

‘Eighteen,’ she murmured.

‘Too young. How long did it last?’

‘Not long.’ No time at all, in fact. She replaced the photograph, very carefully. ‘He died the night this photograph was taken.’

‘Died? The day you were married?’ He stared for a moment at the photograph as if trying to understand. ‘I’m sorry, Tara. I had assumed you were parted, but this...’ He moved towards her as if to offer some comfort, but she knew that if he touched her she would not be able to help herself and she stepped from his reach and walked quickly to the door.

‘I’d like you to leave, Adam.’

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t go. Then he picked up his soft well rubbed leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. But in the doorway he paused and turned back to her. ‘Seven years is a long time to be alone, Tara. He wouldn’t have wanted it.’

‘I prefer it that way.’ At least she had, until Adam Blackmore had kissed her.

‘No, Tara. You’re a woman made for love. We both know it. Hanna saw it too.’

‘Please, Adam...’ she begged.

But he hadn’t finished. ‘Is it guilt? Is that why you blow hot and cold?’ He was suddenly very angry. ‘Living isn’t a sin, Tara. Nor is loving.’

She knew that, but surely it was wrong to desire a man who belonged to someone else? ‘Please! Just go!’ She closed her eyes to blot out his face and when she opened them again, he had gone.

* * *

Sunday was bleak. She rang Beth to let her know that she was back but refused her invitation to lunch. One look at her gaunt face and she would know what her friend was going through. She needed just a little time to put her mask in place before she was prepared to face the world.

She went for a long walk along the river. There were already daffodils in the gardens on the opposite bank making a brave effort to cheer the greyness of the day. It might even have felt quite warm if she hadn’t spent the last few days in a hotter climate.

But the wind whipped some colour into her cheeks and the exercise made her blood tingle with life. Until she met Adam Blackmore she had been happy. She told herself that she could be happy again. It would take a little time and she had plenty of that. But first she had to get through Monday.

She woke heavy-headed, for once in her life unwilling to face the day. A shower helped and as she dressed, layering on her armour, she became stronger. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her face was a little paler than usual, her eyes darker. But apart from that there was nothing to betray the fact that the shell that had protected her heart for so long had been shattered and now it lay in her breast, bruised, battered, aching. She rested her hand lightly over the place to reassure herself that it continued to beat.

Life went on.

It was a lesson she had learned once and she would learn it again, given time.

Work was the answer. If for a few weeks she was tied to her agreement with Adam Blackmore, so be it. She would cope. She would have to. At least the sun was shining and Tara stepped out briskly, lifting her chin to the world, unaware of the admiring glances that her cool dark beauty attracted from men pausing momentarily in their own swift progress to watch her pass.

She took the main lift. Somehow the private lift seemed too personal and she wanted to get her relationship with Adam back onto a strictly impersonal plane.

She was greeted with unexpected warmth by the receptionist and several other staff members who crowded in alongside her. They seemed to think she belonged. They were wrong. She was an outsider. A temporary secretary. That was the way she had always wanted it. Until she met Adam Blackmore.

She rode the last stage to his private domain by herself. His office was empty, the desk immaculate as always. She hadn’t expected him to be there; he would be at the clinic, holding Jane’s hand. She shook herself and went through to her own office.

Her own desk was, in stark contrast, piled up with post and messages. She took off her coat and filled the coffeemaker before starting work. She had a feeling she would be needing it.

She gradually worked through the pile, dealing with what she could by herself and answering queries. Then she set herself to clear the work that Adam had dictated on the journey back from Bahrain.

It was late when she printed off the last memo and she was tidying her desk, leaving everything straight for the morning when she heard the lift arrive.

She prayed that he would go straight into his apartment, or even his office, giving her a chance to escape without speaking to him, but to no avail.

Her door opened. ‘Still here?’ he asked. ‘I thought you would have left hours ago.’

He looked tired and a pang of sympathy wrenched at her. She wanted to ease the tie from his neck, stroke the furrows from his forehead, kiss away the strain. ‘I wanted to finish everything.’

‘Of course,’ he said, dully. ‘Little Miss Perfect.’

Stung she asked, ‘How is Jane?’ She had to keep jabbing at the hurt, reminding herself that what she felt for this man was foolish nonsense.

‘Jane?’ He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Oh, she’s fine. So is Charles Adam Townsend, thank heavens.’

‘Congratulations.’ Her voice sounded quite normal she thought as she straightened her desk once more.

‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, right. I’ll pass it on to the appropriate quarters. If you’ve finished you’d better get home.’

‘Yes. I’ve left a list of messages on your desk, but I’ll fill you in tomorrow.’ It wasn’t so difficult if you kept to safe subjects, she thought.

‘Not tomorrow. Not ever.’ Shock lifted her head and she was confronted by his emotionless face. ‘I don’t want you to come back, Tara.’

‘Not…’ She stopped. Why was she surprised? She hadn’t exactly behaved like the perfect secretary during the last few days.

He was at her side in a stride. ‘Don’t look at me like that, damn you! I’ll keep to our agreement. If your temps are half as good as you I’ll have the better part of the bargain.’ He stepped back, clearly regretting the impulse that had brought them within inches of each other. He waved her away. ‘I’ve kept you from your own affairs long enough. Just get me someone here tomorrow who can type.’