Authors: Sara Craven

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Women, #General

The Seduction Game (18 page)

BOOK: The Seduction Game

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‘Only some of it,’ he said. ‘I hoped you’d tell me the rest.’

‘What is this—a mutual counselling session?’ Tara raked her hair back from her face with an angry, defensive hand.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I just—need to know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, tautly. ‘But a couple of hours in bed doesn’t give you the right to—pick over the bones of my life.’ She stood up.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Our making love was a really terrible mistake, wasn’t it?’ The blue eyes looked up at her with a kind of anguish. ‘But I wanted you so much, and I could have sworn you wanted me too. I knew it was wrong, but I thought I could make it right—somehow.’

‘I think you’d better go.’

‘May I stay?’ he said. ‘If I promise faithfully not to talk about anything personal?’

‘You don’t belong here,’ she said stonily. ‘You don’t belong in my life.’

‘Except,’ he said softly, ‘that we still have unfinished business—you and I.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘You’re going to find me an architect—remember. Fellow professionals—we can meet on that level, surely?’

‘Why not?’ She lifted her chin. ‘It shouldn’t take long. I’m very good at my job.’

‘I,’ he said gravely, ‘could not even begin to list your many general and particular talents.’

He reached for his jacket, then paused, taking a flat square package from the pocket.

‘I brought this for you. A memento of our brief association to replace the painting you tore up.’ He paused. ‘If you want to dump this too, I recommend the Serpentine.’

He walked across and put it into her unresisting hand.

‘Goodnight, Tara.’ He put a hand on her cheek, cupping the side of her jaw, letting his thumb stroke its vulnerable line.

She felt his touch reverberate along each nerveending and explode in every bone. As Adam lowered his head she lifted her face mutely to receive his kiss.

His mouth was achingly cool, breathlessly tender. And the hand that touched her face was trembling suddenly.

Take me, she screamed silently. Insanely.

She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts—parting her thighs. She yearned to fall with him to the softness of the carpet—draw him into her—know the velvet steel of his possession once more.

Adam lifted his head and stepped back. His smile was polite—the departing guest expressing thanks for a pleasant time.

‘Call me,’ he said, ‘when you’ve drawn up a suitable short-list, and we’ll talk. See you around.’

She had been standing, watching the closed door, for quite some time before she remembered the package she was holding. She tore off the wrapping, screwing it into a ball which Melusine pounded on joyfully.

It was a compact disc. ‘Delius’, she read. ‘A Walk to the Paradise Garden’.

Only, she thought, there was no paradise. Not any more. Not ever. And her face crumpled like that of a hurt child.

CHAPTER TEN

L
EO listened with obvious shock to all Tara had to tell him about Tom Fortescue.

‘It all fits with the feedback I’ve been getting about him,’ he said, frowning. ‘People who’ve crossed him would suddenly find important files deleted from their computers, deals screwed up, whispering campaigns against them—all kinds of covert nastiness.

‘But this time he’s overreached himself. I suppose he got away with it so often he became arrogant—and careless,’ he added coldly. ‘But his luck’s just run out. It’s a police matter now. I presume Janet will be willing to make a statement?’

‘I think so.’ Tara sighed. ‘I’m afraid she’s been badly frightened—and hurt, too.’

‘Bullies always pick on the vulnerable,’ Leo said. ‘Fact of life.’ He eyed Tara narrowly. ‘And you still don’t look your usual vibrant self, my pet. Has this nonsense hit you that hard?’

Tara shrugged, and murmured something evasive. ‘And Adam Barnard—what about him? Are we going to find him his architect?’ His gaze became speculative. ‘He asked for you personally, you know.’

‘I’m a clever girl,’ she said, secure in the knowledge that Leo would not recognise the underlying irony in her words.

‘How did you meet him?’

‘He has a place near my parents’ house on the river.’

How simple that sounded, she thought, and how casuaL And that was the way she had to see it. The way she had to reduce the situation to its essence. Then, maybe, she could learn to bear it.

‘Have you met his partner?’ Leo asked. ‘Gorgeous creature.’ He shook his head. ‘If I wasn’t an old married man...’ He went off, chuckling, leaving Tara sitting rigidly in her chair, staring ahead of her.

Correction, she told herself, as pain slashed through her. It would be a cold day in hell before she could bear any of it.

Time went on. Days passed, and became weeks. Tara immersed herself in work, interviewing clients wanting to expand their workforce, and nervous hopefuls who needed to move onwards and upwards in their chosen fields.

Sometimes marrying one to the other was so easy, she thought. But finding someone for Adam was proving a problem—probably because she so badly wanted to get it right.

The short-list she’d assembled was sound, but it lacked some vital spark. She could happily recommend any of them, but she needed a star. She wanted Adam to tell her that she was the best—that she’d done a terrific job.

She’d almost given up hope when Charlie Haydon came to see her. He didn’t have half the experience of some of the candidates, but he was almost touchingly keen, and his portfolio was slim but impressive.

‘I joined an old-established firm because I thought that was the thing to do,’ he confided. ‘Trouble is they’re not just established, they’re rooted in concrete—and Seventies concrete at that. I’m getting nowhere, and I want to design good buildings. I know I can.’

When he’d gone, Tara added him to her short-list, and drew a small but perfectly formed star beside his name.

She rang Adam’s work number, and was put through at once.

‘Adam?’ She kept her tone cool and crisp. ‘I’ve got four people for you to interview. Three men, one girl, and I have a really good feeling about one of them. When would you like to interview?’

‘The sooner the better, I think. Can you set something up for the beginning of next week?’ To her relief, he sounded equally businesslike, although just the sound of his voice made her quiver inside.

‘Yes, of course, although it may have to be spread over two days.’

‘That’s no problem.’ He paused. Then, ‘How are you now, Tara?’

‘Oh—fine,’ she lied brightly.

‘Any news of Tom Fortescue?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Tara bit her lip. ‘The police went round to interview him and he lost it completely—tried to attack them. They arrested him, and his parents turned up to bail him out. Apparently he’s always had problems, and had psychiatric treatment when he was a teenager. They thought he’d grown out of it. Now he’s had some kind of breakdown and is in hospital.’

She sighed. ‘Somehow I feel responsible.’

‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘Think of the threats he made, not just to you, but to Janet and her mother. He was stopped just in time. He was beginning to enjoy his own power. God knows what he might have felt justified in doing.’

She shuddered. ‘Yes,’ she said almost inaudibly. ‘Yes, I know you’re right.’

‘Really?’ There was sudden laughter in his voice. ‘While I’m ahead, can I invite you to a party?’

‘Adam...’

‘It’s strictly business,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s to celebrate the relaunch of
Woman’s Voice
magazine at the West Lane Hotel.’

‘So why will you be there?’

‘We designed their new offices in Docklands. I thought it might give you a chance to network,’ he added silkily. ‘Leo mentioned to me recently he was hoping to extend the firm’s media base. I know he wants you to go.’

‘Oh.’ Tara gritted her teeth, realising she’d been ambushed. ‘I see.’

‘I’ll get my secretary to fax you the details,’ he went on. ‘And I’ll look forward to seeing you there.’

‘Oh,
hell
,’ Tara said stormily as she replaced her receiver.

There were phone calls from Becky to field, too. Her sister chatted airily about every subject under the sun—but never mentioned Adam. So clearly they’d been in contact, Tara thought broodingly, although her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask outright.

She could always develop a last-minute illness, she told herself, as she zipped herself into her little black dress a few nights later.

If this party hadn’t been hanging over her head she might have enjoyed her day. She’d been called by an ecstatic Charlie Haydon, telling her Adam had offered him the job, and two of her other recommendations had similarly good news to report.

But I don’t have to stay, she consoled herself, as she tried to restore some
élan
to her pale face with blusher. I can call in briefly, do the rounds to keep Leo happy, then vanish.

She gave herself a last unhappy look in the mirror. She would have to do something to pull herself together—put her life back in order before her parents returned the following week, she thought. She couldn’t present them with another emotional disaster.

She delayed as long as possible before taking a cab to the hotel. The party, she knew, was being held in the Park Suite, and it should be in full swing by now. Hopefully her arrival would pass unnoticed. Also her speedy and subsequent departure.

She was greeted by a hubbub of noise and a sea of people in which it would be easy to float for a few moments, she thought, taking up her position on the sidelines in an effort to be unobtrusive.

‘Hi,’ said an amused voice. ‘You must be Tara.’

She found herself confronted by a lean brunette, with high cheekbones and smoky eyes.

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I’m not sure...’

‘Bernie—as in short for Bernadette—Vance,’ the other girl introduced herself, pulling a face. ‘I work with Adam. He told me to look out for you. I’d just about given you up,’ she added candidly. ‘But now you’re here, have some champagne.’

She signalled to a waiter, and Tara accepted the glass she was given.

‘So, you’re the girl who pointed Charlie Haydon at us,’ Bernie went on. ‘I’m seriously impressed.’

‘Thank you.’ Tara sipped her champagne and tried not to look round the room for Adam.

‘I’ve been told to introduce you to some people.’ Bernie stared about her. ‘Now, where shall I start?’ she mused. ‘Emaciated model or advertising junkie—which would you prefer?’

Tara laughed in spite of herself.

‘Neither, honestly. I’m sure you have better things to do than nursemaid me.’

‘In other words, I walk away and let you do a runner.’ Bernie shook her head. ‘Adam would have my guts. He warned me you’d probably try it.’

‘How nice,’ Tara said too sweetly, ‘to work with a man who’s always right.’

‘Better that than having to work with a man behaving like a bear with a sore head,’ Bernie retorted vigorously. ‘And that’s what he’s been like, believe me.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘But at least tonight there’s someone in a worse state than he is. Caroline’s got to make a speech presently, and she’s dreading it. He’s with her now, trying to calm her down.’

‘Oh,’ Tara felt hollow. ‘I didn’t know she’d be here.’

Bernie gave her an astonished look. ‘I don’t think she had much choice. She is the new editor of
Woman’s Voice
, after all. This is her party.’

‘I—see.’ How could he be so cruel? Tara asked herself hotly. Putting us in the same room like this on such an important night for her.

She pinned on a bright smile. ‘She’s the editor and Adam designed the new offices. What a cosy arrangement.’

‘Keeping it in the family, you mean?’ Bernie shot her an amused glance. ‘Sorry, but it wasn’t like that at all. Caroline was approached for the editorial job quite a time after we were appointed. She was head-hunted, actually, much to her own surprise. I think she believed she was past it—which is nonsense, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Tara echoed. ‘Oh, there’s someone I know,’ she fibbed. ‘You don’t mind if I go and speak to her?’

She walked away quickly before Bernie could think of an objection, hiding herself among the laughing, chatting groups, until a swift glance assured Tara that her minder had moved on.

And I shall do the same, she told herself, putting her empty glass on a table.

There was a stir at the far end of the room, and a ripple of applause, and Tara saw Adam come in, with a familiar blonde figure walking beside him, holding his arm.

So, it seemed he had been forgiven after all. And she should be glad about it. Glad that those few hours of temporary madness hadn’t ruined more lives than her own. Only she wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

She turned away hurriedly, tasting the sudden scald of tears in her throat, colliding with someone as she did so, and muttering a hasty apology as she headed for the door.

‘Tara.’ A hand on her arm detained her. ‘My God, it is you.’

Tara looked at the man confronting her, her lips parting in shocked disbelief. ‘Jack?’

‘No other.’ His eyes appraised her. ‘You look—successful.’

And you’ve put on weight, she thought, remembering the swarthy good looks which had once seemed so desirable. Now he simply looked—complacent, even smug.

She said, ‘So you didn’t stay in Brazil?’

‘No, that didn’t really pan out.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve been back for a while. I’m doing consultancy work—independent financial advice—that kind of thing.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Damned if I know, actually.’ He shrugged again. ‘When you’re a spare man, all kinds of odd invitations turn up.’ He laughed. ‘So when this one arrived the other day I decided to accept with thanks. I’ve never been one to refuse free champers.’

The mass of people around them shifted, and, as if she was looking down a brightly lit tunnel, she saw Adam, standing alone, watching her. As their eyes met he raised his glass in an unsmiling toast, then turned away.

My God, she thought with bitter incredulity. So that’s why Jack was invited. As my consolation prize.

When Adam was asking me if I could forgive someone being unfaithful to me, it was because Becky had told him about Jack—about what happened between us. He was trying to gauge my reaction if he brought us together again.

‘Apart from the free champagne, I can’t say this bash has much going for it,’ Jack went on. ‘And I gather there are going to be speeches. Why don’t we go somewhere and have a real drink—fill in some of the gaps?’

In the first bitter days of betrayal Tara had fantasised about him saying those very words. Now, her impulse was to blast him out of sight.

Except that he was the lifeline that had been thrown to get her, with some dignity still intact, out of this room.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we?’ And saw his expression of self-approval deepen.

Bernie caught up with her at the door, her face ludicrously dismayed. ‘Tara—you’re not leaving. But Adam wants to introduce you to Caroline. Please wait.’

‘So sorry, my dear.’ Jack’s tone was patronising. ‘This lady and I have another engagement.’

She’d planned to dump him as soon as they got outside, but Jack had other ideas. Before she could speak, she found herself in a taxi with him, on her way to some bar he confidently assured her she would adore.

‘Best margaritas in London,’ he told her.

‘I don’t think I want anything else to drink, thanks,’ she told him crisply. ‘I have a headache.’

‘Hair of the dog, darling. That’s what you need.’

BOOK: The Seduction Game

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