Read The Seduction Game Online
Authors: Sara Craven
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Women, #General
The Seduction Game (6 page)
Oh, Melusine, she thought, stroking the small proud head. If you only knew what a mess I am.
She was still bewildered with herself, at the way she’d behaved with Adam. Once she’d made the decision to have supper with him she should have remained in control throughout, as she’d planned.
Interviewing, after all, was her thing. She should have been able to find some topic of mutual interest on which she could have drawn him out, discovered what made him tick, just as she’d intended. She was good at it. An interested and encouraging listener. Even quite hopeless clients would leave her office probably convinced she’d be their friend for life, and godmother to their children as well.
But this time all the revelations had seemed to be on her side instead. She wasn’t sure what she’d given away—or how. But somehow he’d made her stilted—awkward—commonplace. Pushed her on to the defensive.
Where, she realised helplessly, she still remained.
She turned over on her side, staring towards the window, and Melusine, fed up with the constant disturbance, yowled reproachfully and jumped to the floor.
It had been nearly three years since she’d experienced that fatal drag of sensual awareness towards a man. Since she’d even been remotely tempted to acknowledge her body’s need. Its sheer physical hunger for human contact. For warmth and affection.
But then, after Jack, it had seemed safer to remain in the wilderness that his departure had created.
‘Jack.’ She said his name aloud, wrapping her arms round her body, waiting for the shock of pain and humiliation that the evocation of his memory aroused even now.
That was why she tried so hard not to think about him. To relegate him to the back of her mind where he belonged. But tonight, it seemed, he was not to be so easily dismissed.
She’d been twenty-three when they met, heart-whole, with a string of casual relationships behind her, none of which she’d been prompted to translate into any real intimacy.
She had not long joined Marchant Southern, and her career was still at the fledgling stage when, fatefully, she had been invited to a drinks party in the boardroom of her father’s company. Gordon Fairclough, one of the other directors, had been celebrating his birthday.
She’d noticed Jack instantly. He’d been with a group of other men, all twenty-somethings, but he’d stood out, tall, dark-haired and swarthy. He’d been talking and laughing, his eyes constantly raking the room, and as he’d seen Tara his gaze had narrowed appraisingly, appreciatively, until she’d turned away in slight confusion.
She’d said to Anna Fairclough, who’d been at school with her, trying to sound casual, ‘Who’s that? Tall, blue pinstripe, dark red tie.’
Anna peered obligingly through the crowd. ‘Oh, some new whizz-kid accountant type, I think.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Jack—Jack—something. Dad says he’s—’ She broke off to greet another acquaintance with extravagant delight, and Mr Fairclough’s opinion was lost. Tara drifted off to find her parents, and refill her wine glass at the buffet
She felt a light touch on her arm. ‘Actually, it’s Jack Halston.’ He was smiling down at her. ‘Anna’s a shocker for names.’
She smiled back, aware she had flushed a little. ‘She always was.’
‘Do you work for Grainger Associates? I’m still a new boy, but I’m sure I haven’t seen you around.’
She said lightly, ‘It’s a big company. A lot of people work here.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But I’d have noticed you.’ He wasn’t smiling any more, and the dark gaze was intense, burning into hers. He said quietly, ‘You know that, don’t you?’
From some far distance she heard herself say, ‘Yes.’
In retrospect—and she’d gone over the scene in her mind, time after agonising time—she couldn’t have made it more easy for him if she’d tried.
Within a week they were dating. Within the month they were lovers, and she was lost, carried away on a tide of newly discovered passion, gladly surrendering her virginity to him. Consumed by unfamiliar but intoxicating greed.
Jack was experienced and sophisticated, but he seemed delighted by her comparative naivety, and almost amused by her physical innocence.
‘You’re my own private anachronism, sweet,’ he teased her as he coaxed her out of her inhibitions.
She was sharing a flat with two other girls, but when Jack asked her she moved in with him. And for the first time became aware that her parents had reservations.
‘But it’s so unfair,’ she argued heatedly. ‘Becky and Harry lived together before they were married. What’s so different?’
‘Darling, you’ve only known him a comparatively short time.’ Her mother looked worried. ‘Are you certain you want to make this kind of commitment quite so soon?’
‘I love Jack,’ she said. She looked at them both, willing them to understand. To give her their blessing. ‘When it’s right and good, you just know.’
‘What happened to that other boy you were seeing—Mark Roberts?’
‘Mark?’ Tara echoed in astonishment ‘That was all over months ago. And you weren’t keen on him either,’ she added accusingly, rounding on her father. ‘You said he had no ambition, remember? Well, you can’t say that about Jack.’
‘I shouldn’t dream of it.’ Jim Lyndon’s tone was mildly ironic. And the look he sent his wife was halfwarning, half-resigned.
For the first few months, Tara was in paradise. Marchant Southern only occupied a fraction of her attention. The rest of her creative mind was devoted to making Jack happy. To ensuring the flat was always spotless and tidy, cooking the pasta dishes he loved, keeping his clothes in pristine condition. She was on a learning curve, and her goal was becoming the ideal wife—whenever Jack asked her.
Not that he seemed in any hurry to do so, and this was the only cloud on her horizon. She wanted to wear his ring—to have his baby. It was the next logical step towards the perfect happiness she saw as her right.
I’m so lucky, she would tell herself each day, listening to girlfriends and colleagues telling unhappy stories about tiffs, rifts, and the unending search for Mr Right. Jack and I were made for each other.
Once, she tried to tell Anna how she felt, but her friend’s response was muted, and the subject rapidly changed.
Poor Anna, Tara thought. Judging by her remarks about being too trusting, she’s going through a rocky patch with Gavin. It was tactless of me to advertise my own happiness like that.
It was at a housewarming party thrown by some newly married friends when she first realised that Jack might have other ideas about the future of their relationship.
The house was only half furnished. They sat on packing cases, drank supermarket plonk out of paper cups, ate vegetable curry from plates that didn’t match, and laughed a lot.
Later, lying in bed, watching him undress with the usual slow curl of anticipation deep within her, she said, ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I thought it was a shambles. I can’t believe they’d actually invite people round with the place in that state.’
Tara propped herself on an elbow. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I’m perfectly serious.’ He looked at her in the mirror, his eyes steady and rather hard. ‘The house may be all right one day—if Fiona doesn’t start dropping babies and they can afford to do it up properly. But they’ve got married on a shoestring, and that’s ridiculous.’
‘But they love each other,’ she protested, feeling a sudden chill.
‘Naturally, my sweet dope, or they wouldn’t be married at all. But Colin still has a way to go in his job, and they’d have done better to postpone.’
Is that
how you feel?
She wanted to ask him, but the words somehow wouldn’t come. Because, she realised, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
how you feel?
She wanted to ask him, but the words somehow wouldn’t come. Because, she realised, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
Then he came to bed, and her doubts were swept aside in their lovemaking.
And when, some six weeks later, he told her he was taking her out for a special dinner because he had something to ask her, she decided, fizzing with suppressed excitement, that he’d clearly had a change of heart.
It was a wonderful meal, but Jack seemed edgy. Or perhaps he was just nervous, she thought tenderly. But why? Surely he knew what her answer would be?
When they reached the coffee stage, and he’d still said nothing, Tara nerved herself.
‘You...you said you had something to ask me,’ she prompted him, smiling.
He nodded rather jerkily. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. You see, darling, there’s a whisper that Cadham, our head of department, is taking early retirement.’ He laughed. ‘Frankly he’ll be no great loss. His ideas are rooted in the Dark Ages. Everyone’s saying our whole section needs someone young and vigorous to pick it up and shake it into the Millennium.’
There was no need to stir her coffee but she did so, watching it swirl round the spoon. Aware of a sudden odd tension within her.
She said quietly, ‘And do you have someone in mind for the job?’
Jack laughed again. ‘Of course, my sweet. I’m hoping they’ll offer it to me.’
‘To you?’ She couldn’t keep the note of incredulity out of her voice, and he looked annoyed.
‘OK, I know I’m not tops in order of seniority, but what does that matter? I can do the job. And I seriously want it.’
She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. ‘Then if Peter Cadham does retire, you’d better apply for it. I hope you won’t be too disappointed if things don’t go your way.’
‘Ah, but I intend they shall,’ Jack said softly. He stretched a hand across the table and took hers. ‘And you, my love, can help.’
‘You think they’ll come to Marchant Southern for candidates?’ She was bewildered. ‘They never have in the past. And if they did I wouldn’t be dealing with it. I’m too junior myself.’
She saw his mouth tighten, and realised he hadn’t relished the word ‘junior’.
‘To hell with Marchant Southern,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m talking about your father. You know as well as I do that he’ll have a big say in the appointment.’ His tone softened, became appealing. ‘I thought you could use your powers to persuade him to speak up for me.’
So that was what the intimate dinner had been leading up to. She felt sick with disappointment, and suddenly afraid.
She said, stammering a little, ‘But I couldn’t. And why should he listen to me anyway?’
‘Because you’re supposed to have some expertise in recruitment, for one thing,’ he said. ‘And you’re Daddy’s little girl, for another. And he’ll want you to be happy.’
His fingers tightened round hers, almost hurting her.
‘Think about it, love. You want to get married, don’t you? Well, look on this as a stepping stone—a short cut. We’d have to wait years on my present salary. If I got Cadham’s job we could have everything we wanted, without scrimping and scraping.’
He smiled at her coaxingly. ‘I want to spoil you—treat you as you deserve. Give you a proper setting. And if I was his son-in-law your father could be sure of my total company loyalty, as well,’ he added insinuatingly.
She said huskily, ‘Jack—I’d be just as happy to start in a small way. We could get married and go on living in the flat You’ll get a promotion eventually—I know it. Maybe something better will come along—with another company.’
‘Sweetheart.’ He was still smiling, but there was an undercurrent of irritation now. ‘I don’t want to move. My sights are set. I don’t know why you’re making all this fuss. I thought you’d be pleased. That you’d be glad to do this little thing for me.’
She looked down at the table. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I know quite how I feel. But I’ll speak to my father, if that’s really what you want. Although I can’t guarantee a thing,’ she added. ‘You must understand that.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Tara. Your old man’s always given you and your sister anything you’ve ever wanted. Everyone knows that.’
Tara crumpled her napkin into a ball. ‘Then everyone knows more than I do,’ she said stonily. ‘And now I’d like to go home, please.’
The next ten days were a nightmare, with constant pressure from Jack colliding headlong with her own reluctance.
Eventually, wearily, and wanting to avoid their first real quarrel at all costs, Tara agreed to phone her parents and suggest she join them at Silver Creek for the weekend.
Jack, she knew, would not accompany her. He’d been down once, just for the day, in those first ecstatic weeks, but he’d seemed ill at ease in his surroundings.
Afterwards, Tara could see why. He’d expected to find a millionaire’s weekend retreat—a mansion with sculpted lawns sweeping down to the water, probably with its own tennis court and a swimming pool. Instead he’d found a shabby family home with only one bathroom, and an elderly sailing dinghy.
She was on edge all weekend, wondering how to bring the subject up. In the end her father did it for her, mentioning casually over a game of Scrabble that they were drawing up a short-list for Peter Cadham’s job.
‘You’ll miss him,’ Barbara said, frowning over her tiles.
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