Irresistible Temptation (16 page)

No, Olivia thought. It's you that makes it compulsive.

She'd been to the TV studios with him, and watched him in front of the camera—seen how it loved him, felt the excitement, the sense of danger he exuded. It had stirred the fine hairs on the nape of her neck and sent a shiver tingling down her spine.

Because she was working hard, it left her little time to brood over Jeremy.

He'd come back from his golf tournament, full of beans about how well it had gone, and the triumphant part he'd played in it all.

'This is going to do me no harm at all with the company,' he'd told her smugly, before embarking on an exhaustive description of the hotel they'd used as a base, and the amount of champagne that had been drunk over the weekend.

She was pleased for him, naturally. After all, the success of his career was vital for their future, as she constantly reminded herself.

But she still hadn't told him where she was working, or Declaims part in it all, and with every day that passed it became more difficult.

It wasn't altogether her fault, she told herself a touch defensively. She'd tried several times to mention her job, but Jeremy had brushed her attempts aside with a brief, 'Good for you, sweetheart.' And eventually she'd given up.

Nor could she say that the evening they'd spent visiting various nightclubs had been unmitigated pleasure either. She liked to dance, but Jeremy had seemed to prefer propping up the bar and pointing out various celebrities, whose names, frankly, meant very little to her.

'Why did we come, if we're just going to stand about all night?' she'd asked him, tugged between amusement and exasperation.

'To be seen,' he'd told her, with total seriousness.

It had been almost a relief when she could plead an early meeting at work the following morning to cut the evening short.

But this weekend would be different, she told herself with determination, because Jeremy had promised to spend her birthday doing exactly what she wanted. He'd been full of extravagant ideas, she remembered, smiling. Tickets for a top show officially sold out for months ahead but obtainable through 'connections.' A table at the newest and most fashionable restaurant—again like gold dust, he assured her. Or he could arrange, through a client of his firm, a trip in a hot air balloon, or a drive round a leading motor racing circuit in a Formula One car.

But she'd managed to persuade him that she wanted none of these things.

'I'd like a really quiet day,' she'd coaxed him. 'I haven't been on the river yet I thought we could go down to Greenwich—or to the Tower.'

'The Tower of London?' He'd given her a look of total incredulity. 'Whatever for?'

'Because I've never been,' she'd said patiently. She'd paused. 'And I've started taking an interest in history again,' she'd added, with slight awkwardness.

'But it's the kind of thing foreign tourists do,' he'd persisted sulkily.

She'd laughed, trying to win him round. 'OK, if it will make you feel better, let's talk in French all the time we're there. And then I'll cook you a special dinner back at the flat It'll be fun.'

They wouldn't be under scrutiny this time, she thought, with a flutter of nervous excitement, because Sasha was spending the weekend with friends in Richmond But she'd save that piece of information as her own special surprise for him, because she wanted the evening to evolve gently— naturally.

Jeremy had shrugged. 'Well—if that's what you want,' he'd said flatly. 'I just hope to God we don't see anyone I know.'

It hadn't been the response she'd hoped for, but when it came to it she was sure he'd enter into the spirit of the thing. And on Sunday, she planned happily, maybe she could persuade him to hire a couple of horses and ride with her in the park.

At the same time she felt a little guilty, because she knew her family were disappointed that she wasn't going home for the weekend.

But she needed to spend time with Jeremy, to recapture all the old ease and understanding they'd enjoyed, and move the relationship on.

That, she thought, was the most important thing. Without the physical commitment they were only leading half a life. It was no wonder there were problems.

Perhaps when they finally belonged to each other they'd be closer mentally and emotionally too. And there'd be no room for anyone else, even in her thoughts and dreams.

When she returned from her lunch-break on Friday, most of which she'd spent food-shopping for her birthday dinner, she found a cassette on her desk from Declan, saying he'd be out for the rest of the day, and she was free to go once she'd dealt with the material on the tape.

Brilliant, Olivia thought joyfully. She'd planned a menu that could be prepared ahead anyway, and this would give her all the time she could possibly need.

She sped through her work, grabbed her bag and fled, ignoring a spiteful comment from Carol about switching to part-time working.

As she fitted her key into the lock there was a flurry of barking and Humph joined her, his tail wagging furiously, followed closely by Sasha.

'You're early, darling.' She held out a yellow padded envelope. 'This package came for you by messenger. Were you expecting something?'

Olivia smiled at her as she bent to stroke Humph, who was frisking round her legs. 'No, but it's my birthday tomorrow. Maybe that's got something to do with it'

'Oh, how exciting. I love birthday surprises. My beloved was so good at them.' Sasha clapped her hands. 'Do open it, darling.'

Laughing, Olivia obeyed, extracting a beribboned box of Belgian chocolates, and a card bearing a reproduction of Van Gogh's
Sunflowers
.

Sweetheart,

Sorry I can't be with you tomorrow, but Tom's off sick and I'm being sent to a conference in Edinburgh in his place. Just one of those things, I guess. Have a wonderful time, anyway.

With love, Jeremy                                                                                                                                    

'What beautiful chocolates,' Sasha enthused, then, her voice sharpening, 'Olivia, are you all right? You look quite ill.'

'No.' Olivia grabbed frantically at her control. 'I'm fine—really. I—I'd made some plans, you see, which aren't going to happen after all. I'm a bit disappointed.'

'You look totally shattered,' Sasha told her candidly. 'Let me make you some coffee with a lot of brandy in it.'

'I'm not ill,' Olivia assured her. She pinned on a smile. 'Just making a fuss about nothing.

'Hmm.' Sasha gave her a dubious look. 'Well, if you say so, of course.'

When the older woman had pattered back to her own premises, Olivia took the lid off the dustbin and dropped the chocolates and the card inside, following them up with the bags of food she'd chosen so happily.

Her eyes were burning and her throat hurt She should have agreed to the balloon ascent, or the trendy restaurant, she thought bitterly. Then she wouldn't be spending the weekend alone.

And how strange—and how telling—that she didn't believe Jeremy had been forced into this conference at all. It was simply a useful excuse for him to seize on.

And chocolates too—the world's most impersonal gift As if she was one of his damned clients, instead of the girl he claimed to love.

She let herself into her flat and curled up in a corner of the sofa, arms wrapped round her body.

She could always go home, but her mother for one would want to know the reason for her change of plan. She hadn't mentioned Jeremy by name, of course, but they knew that a man was involved in her decision to stay in London for her birthday, and had been clearly intrigued. So she did not feel she could face the kindly but searching inquisition which would follow if she arrived on the doorstep after all.

Besides, it might also seem a tacit suggestion that they were somehow second-best, and she would never hurt them like that.

No, if anyone had to be hurt, it must be herself alone, she thought, as anger and disillusionment twisted inside her.

And it was perhaps a good thing that she was growing used to her own company, because it seemed, unhappily, as if she would be enjoying a lot more of it in future.

Declan felt a touch of weariness as he let himself into the house. It had been one hell of a week—for all kinds of reasons, he thought grimly. He needed a shower, and a drink—and then he had some very hard thinking to do.

As he put down his briefcase he heard a noise from upstairs, and Jeremy came into view carrying a travel bag. He checked when he saw Declan.

'Oh, hi,' he said with studied nonchalance. 'I didn't expect to see you.'

'No one ever seems to,' Declan commented drily, studying the bag with a slight frown. 'Did you mention you were going away this weekend?'

'Last-minute decision. Hell of a lot of pressure at work, so I thought I deserved a break.' Jeremy's gaze slid away evasively.

'Going alone?'

'Alas, yes,' Jeremy's tone was airy. 'I'm afraid Maria has made other plans.'

'How unlucky.' Declan's smile did not reach his eyes. Anger was building inside him, coupled with another emotion that wasn't so easy to analyse.

'Well—see you late Sunday evening,' Jeremy said, making for the door.

'No doubt,' Declan agreed levelly. 'How's the flat-hunting going, by the way?'

'Not bad.' Jeremy gave him a surprised look. 'A number of distinct possibilities, in fact.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' Declan said softly. 'Let's make your departure sooner rather than later, shall we?'

Jeremy's face went an unbecoming red. He glared at Declan, then stalked to the door, and slammed it behind him for good measure.

Declan strode into the dining room, and splashed whisky into a tumbler. He took a swift, angry swallow, then went to stand at the French windows, staring unseeingly at the sunlit garden beyond.

No prizes for guessing the identity of that little bastard's travelling companion, he thought savagely. And he'd played right into their hands by allowing her to leave work early. If he'd known, he'd have invented tasks to keep her around until midnight.

But he should have realised, he thought without pleasure. In the past couple of days she'd gone from thoughtful and a little subdued to looking as if she was lit from within with happiness. There had to be a reason.

Oh, to hell with them both, he told himself, drinking some more whisky. They deserve each other.

And he'd been wasting time and thought on Olivia which could have been devoted to a more worthwhile cause. He'd give Claudia a call—see if she'd like to have dinner. Maybe even advise him on the redecoration of the drawing room which was due. Or something.

He went to the phone and dialled her number. She was flatteringly pleased to hear from him.

'Dinner would be wonderful.' Her voice warmed. 'But why don't you come here? I'm having some other friends over on Sunday night—just for an informal supper. I nearly rang you, but I thought you'd probably be busy.'

'I have been,' Declan said lightly. 'Now I'm looking for some serious relaxation.'

'Oh.' She paused. 'Well, I'll be delighted to help—if you think I can.'

'I can guarantee the possibility,' Declan promised gravely.

He was smiling wryly as he replaced the receiver. If he was any judge, she'd be burning up her phone line for the rest of the day, trying to round up some unsuspecting souls for supper on Sunday night.

But so what? he thought with a shrug. She was beautiful, sexy, and exactly what he needed—for a while anyway. Because he was under no illusion that she was the other half of him—the woman he needed to complete his life.

And what he didn't understand, he brooded as he finished his whisky, was how he could suddenly be so sure.

The telephone rang again, and he reached for it 'Sasha?' he queried, frowning. Is something wrong? Now, slow down, and start from the beginning…

It was the most mail she'd received since she came to London, but it did little to lift Olivia's spirits. She'd cried herself to sleep the night before, and she was close to tears again as she opened the cards from family and friends in the West Country and read the loving messages, which somehow only emphasised her sense of isolation.

Her parents had sent her a bracelet of gold links, and she clasped it on to her wrist There was a bottle of her favourite scent from her sister, and a long silky scarf patterned in grey, black and silver from her aunt and uncle too. Beth's pretty amber earrings set in silver she'd keep for a special occasion—like going home next weekend.

But, for now, she had the next forty-eight hours to get through.

Breakfast over, she went down to Portobello with a rather more sober list than that of the day before. She was becoming accustomed to the noise and bustle of the market by now, and knew exactly which shops and stalls to call at.

Her shopping soon completed, she walked unhurriedly back to Lancey Terrace. On the way, she saw that the mews house she'd noticed on her first visit was still for sale.

What a naive idiot I was, she thought, remembering the sweet, silly dream she'd indulged in.

She unpacked her provisions and put them away, then gave her surroundings a critical glance. She could always improve the day by giving the flat a thorough cleaning, she thought without enthusiasm. And she'd start by throwing away Declan's roses, now drooping wanly on their stems.

I know the feeling, she muttered inwardly, as she carried them gently to the kitchen, scattering a drift of petals behind her as she went.

The knock at the door took her totally by surprise. It couldn't be Sasha, she thought as she went to answer it, and there was no one else—unless Jeremy had decided not to go to Scotland after all…

Her throat tightened in a kind of wistful hope as she opened the door on the chain.

'Many happy returns of the day,' said Declan. 'May I come in?'

'Yes,' she said, swallowing. 'Yes, I suppose so.'

'You overwhelm me,' he murmured as he walked past her. 'I thought for a moment you were going to make me poke your present round the edge of the door.'