Old Desires/A Stranger's Kiss (2-in-1 edition) (19 page)

She lowered her long lashes demurely. ‘Mmm. I like it.’

‘You like it?’ His eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘After that performance I expected a trifle more by way of comment.’

‘Did you?’ she asked, with apparent surprise. She lifted her shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. ‘Did you expect me to tell you that it’s an estate bottled Chateau Brane Cantenac from the Margaux region?’ She paused. ‘Nineteen eighty-three?’

He threw back his head and laughed, revealing strong white teeth. ‘I should have seen that coming.’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, oddly pleased that he had a sense of humour large enough to laugh at himself, then smiled sweetly. ‘Or maybe you should just have anticipated that I am quite capable of reading the label on the bottle. Although I do know enough to appreciate that this isn’t house plonk.’

‘No, Tara, it certainly isn’t that.’

A willowy blonde brought their steaks to the table. ‘Just the way you like it, Adam,’ she said, and gave Tara an assessing sideways glance. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

His smile for the girl was warm. ‘Give us a few minutes.’

Tara watched as the girl walked gracefully back to the kitchen. ‘You eat here often?’ she asked.

‘Now and then,’ he affirmed. ‘The food is good. I’ve never seen you in here before.’

‘No. I just dived in to avoid...’ She stopped self-consciously. ‘I had planned to stay and eat though.’ She regarded the steak with misgivings. She hadn’t planned to eat anything this expensive. Business wasn’t exactly booming and money was tight at the moment. But if she was going to pay for it, she might as well enjoy it. She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat.

‘Do you work near here?’ he asked.

‘Just down the road. And you?’

‘It’s convenient.’ There was something in his voice that made her look up, but his face was impassive and he didn’t elaborate. ‘What do you do?’

Tara considered the question. When two people ran a small business they did everything, even the foot-wearying job of delivering leaflets with details of their secretarial and computer staff agency to all the office blocks in the area during the weekend. But he didn’t mean that. ‘I’m a secretary,’ she said.

‘Better than the one who typed this, I hope,’ he said, flicking a disdainful finger at the report he had been reading when she interrupted him and which he had pushed out of the way.

‘Probably,’ she agreed, not about to let an opportunity slip her by. ‘If you need secretarial help I could find someone for you.’

‘You?’ he asked, suddenly quite still. She could almost hear the sound of shutters going up and instinctively sensing that this was not an appropriate moment for a sales pitch she let it go.

‘No, not me. I have a job.’ She changed the subject. ‘And you? What do you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing exciting. I sit behind a desk all day, moving figures around.’

Tara looked sideways through her lashes at the figure beside her. She hadn’t seen him on his feet but she’d been close enough to know that, under the civilising business suit, Adam Blackmore had the lean, hard figure of an athlete. He might spend all day behind a desk, but it raised the question: what did he do with his nights?

Tara felt her cheeks grow warm at the direction her thoughts were taking. They grew warmer as she realised that he was regarding her with scarcely veiled amusement.

‘Yes?’ he enquired.

She touched her cheeks self-consciously. ‘It’s the wine. I’m not used to it.’

‘I see.’ She had the uncomfortable feeling that he did. All too clearly. ‘Are you driving?’

‘No. I don’t live far.’ That had been the urgency behind her wish to shake off Jim Matthews. If he had managed to follow her home he would lay siege to her there as well as the office and there would be no more peace.

Adam refilled her glass. ‘In that case, another glass won’t hurt.’ He ignored her protest. ‘The colour in your cheeks suits you.’

Glad that her fair skin never managed more than the faintest of blushes Tara sipped the wine. ‘This really is very good.’

‘Yes. I bought a few cases on a trip to Bordeaux a while back.’

‘And you keep it here?’ she asked, surprised.

‘This was the site of an old public house. There are very old cellars that run right under the road.’ He eyed her sideways. ‘The owner of this place lets me keep all my wine in them.’

Tara nodded. ‘The Queen’s Head. I remember them uncovering the cellars during the excavations but I assumed the developers would have filled them in.’

‘You speak sacrilege, Tara Lambert. Good cellars are hard to find.’

‘It’s not a subject that crops up in my line of business. You must know the owner pretty well if you trust him with your personal wine stock,’ she said. ‘Especially if it’s all as good as this.’

Adam Blackmore smiled slightly. ‘I suppose you could say we’re pretty close.’

The waitress whisked their plates away and Adam asked if she would like a pudding.

She shook her head.

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thank you. That was delicious, but I’ve eaten far too much already. And I really must go.’ He signed the bill, brushing aside her insistence that she pay for her meal and unwound from the bench. He had seemed dangerous seated, but standing, facing her, she was able to truly appreciate the wide, square shoulders and the fact that he topped her own five feet and seven by a good six inches.

He helped her on with her coat, the touch of his hand on her shoulder sending an unexpected lick of heat through her body. The urgency of it shocked and disturbed her and she moved quickly away, grabbing for her umbrella to cover her agitation. When she turned back he had opened the door for her.

‘Thank you, Adam. For everything.’

‘Everything? Are quite you sure about that?’ He laughed softly at her confusion, then took the hand she had offered politely and tucked it under his arm. ‘I’ll walk you home. Just in case your erstwhile pursuer has decided to hang around,’ he added, before she could object.

A small stab of disquiet fluttered in her abdomen. ‘There’s no need. He’s not dangerous,’ she assured him.

‘No. Just a nuisance.’ His voice was cool. ‘I won’t be. Which way?’

‘But you haven’t a coat,’ she objected. It wasn’t especially cold for early March. But cold enough. He ignored her objection, simply waiting for her to answer his question. ‘It’s this way. At least it’s stopped raining.’

‘So it has and the fresh air is welcome.’

Fresh? She wondered if he indulged in cold showers for fun but didn’t voice the thought. The idea of Adam Blackmore in a shower of any sort was far too disturbing and she made an effort to pull herself together.

‘After a day behind your desk?’ she asked, moderately satisfied with the light bantering tone she achieved.

‘After a day behind my desk,’ he agreed and then smiled and she knew that he hadn’t been fooled for a minute.

‘It’s along here.’ They walked up the side street until they reached the courtyard which had once housed the mews for a great house long since demolished. The stables, coach house and quarters above had been converted into small attractive apartments and Tara’s small first floor flat had been her home, her refuge, for six years. As they climbed the steps to the first floor walkway she wondered if she had been quite mad to risk it all on a business venture when she could be earning a good salary working for someone else. Someone like Jim. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Adam looked around. ‘This is unexpected. I thought everything old had long since disappeared in Maybridge.’

‘The developers have done their best but there are still some gems and this was somehow overlooked in the rush to modernise. Maybe it wasn’t big enough for a car park,’ she added drily.

Adam held out his hand for her key and after the slightest hesitation she surrendered it. He slid it into the lock and pushed the door open for her. She paused in the entrance and turned to face him. Risk seemed to be in the air. ‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’ she offered, tentatively.

‘You’re safely home, Tara. I think perhaps you’ve taken enough chances for one day.’ Heavy lids cloaked the expression in his eyes but his mouth curved into a crooked smile. ‘Goodnight.’

He turned and was gone. His feet clattered briskly down the steps and she heard them ringing along the old rain-soaked cobbles of the courtyard before they were finally lost on the softer surface of the main road where they had to compete with the sound of traffic. She closed the door softly, not quite certain if she was glad or sorry that he had gone.

* * *

It was the sound of her telephone ringing that finally woke her.

‘Hello, Tara Lambert,’ she mumbled, still half asleep, into the receiver.

‘Tara? Are you ill?’ Beth Lawrence demanded.

‘Ill? No—’ She caught sight of the clock. ‘Beth, I’m sorry. I’ve overslept. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.’

‘No don’t come to the office. We’ve had a response to one of those leaflets you delivered at the weekend. You’ve an appointment at ten-thirty with a Jenny Harmon at Victoria House.’ She gave her the details and wished her luck.

She ducked under a cool shower to finish the job of waking up, twisted her shoulder length hair up into a business-like chignon and then dressed in the expensive charcoal grey suit that she kept for important meetings. She checked her document case to make certain she had all the figures she would need and, after a final glance in the hall mirror, set off briskly to keep her appointment.

The sun was making an effort this morning, lending an air of promise to the morning. Tara took only the very best secretaries on her agency books for temporary work and a client company that could afford accommodation such as Victoria House would make a big difference to their business. It would have a large clerical staff, all needing holiday, sickness and maternity cover.

In the twelve months that she and Beth had been running their secretarial and computer staff agency, there was no denying it had been a struggle to break even. This response to her efforts to win new business was just what they needed and it was up to her to make the best of it.

On one side of the ground floor was the wine bar that had been her refuge of the night before.

The reminder of her evening with Adam Blackmore brought a faint blush to her cheeks and a lingering regret that their meeting had been in circumstances that had shown her in such an unfavourable light. She had spent a restless night disturbed by the thought that he might assume she regularly threw herself at strangers in the hope of getting a free meal. No doubt he thought she always invited them back to her flat for...coffee.

For a moment the brilliant light-filled atrium, with its expensive boutiques lost its sparkle, but she took a deep breath and firmly banished him from her mind. If that was what he thought it was far too late to do anything about it. Certainly too late to withdraw her rash, uncharacteristic invitation. She should just be glad she would never have to face him again.

She stepped quickly onto the escalator and tried to compose herself on the stately ride up to the mezzanine. The receptionist checked her name off a list and told her to take the lift to the top floor where she would be met.

As she was whisked noiselessly upwards she mentally ran over all the things she would say to convince Jenny Harmon that she should give them a chance, determined to make a good impression. The lift came to a halt and the doors slid back.

The figure that filled the space was shadowed, brilliantly backlit by the great floor to ceiling arch of window that faced the entrance to the lift. Then he moved and the light caught the harsh planes of his face bringing it into sharp relief.

‘Adam!’ Tara’s breath left her in a little exclamation of shock as she said his name. The impact made by Adam Blackmore was no less in the clear light of day. Rather the reverse. For a moment they both stood quite still while Tara’s confident smile, in place for Jenny Harmon, faded under eyes about as welcoming as the Atlantic on a bad day.

Then the doors of the lift began to slide together, galvanising them both into action, Tara in an attempt to escape before they closed and she was whisked away at the whim of some unseen hand, Adam simply to place a well-shod foot in the way so that they opened again. He stood aside to let her out.

‘Tara.’ Not a question. No surprise. Her name was simply a statement of some unwelcome, but not unexpected fact.

‘Hello, Adam. I didn’t expect to see you here.’ Her voice sounded incredibly small and unconvincing even to her own ears. ‘You said your office was convenient, but I hadn’t realised—’

‘No? This is a simple coincidence?’ He didn’t wait for her reply but gripped her elbow and hauled her across the thickly carpeted hallway.

‘Adam!’ she protested. ‘I have an appointment...’ She glanced back, hoping that Jenny Harmon might miraculously appear and explain. There was no one and she needed to get a grip of herself, to calm the hectic pounding of her pulse that his unexpected appearance had accelerated out of control. He didn’t give her the opportunity, but opened one of a handsome pair of doors, propelled her firmly through and deposited her in a chair.

She had a brief impression of being on top of the world, of distant woods and the river framed in a series of arched windows that flooded the room with sunshine. Then he released her and she leapt to her feet. She wasn’t in Victoria House to admire the view.