by Craven, Sara
‘We know who you mean.’ The policeman nodded. ‘But he couldn’t have done this because we picked him up on Bank Holiday Monday. Got into a house with alarms and a security camera,’ he added with a chuckle.
‘I see,’ Tara said slowly, and with dismay.
‘He didn’t mention he’d been here, so we’ll have another word with him,’ the policeman went on. ‘But we’ve got a puzzle here,’ he added, pulling a face. ‘Difficult to see us getting a result over this.’
Later, a breakdown truck arrived and removed the car, the mechanic promising it would be ready the next day.’
With Adam silent at her side, Tara watched it go. She said stiltedly, ‘Thanks for all your help. But don’t let me keep you any longer. I’m sure you have things of your own to do. People waiting for you.’
‘I’ve come down here to work,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m going nowhere.’
‘Oh.’ She digested this. ‘Are you—staying somewhere local?’
‘As local as it gets.’ He nodded towards Dean’s Mooring. ‘I’m camping over there for a few days.’
‘But how can you?’ Tara protested. ‘There’s no electricity—no water.’
‘Sweet of you to be concerned.’ His tone was derisive. ‘But they were both connected earlier today, together with the telephone. I need to have a good look at the interior—decide what structural alterations will be necessary.’
‘Oh,’ she said, touching the tip of her tongue to dry lips. ‘I—see.’ She paused. ‘You—you didn’t bring Buster?’
‘Not this trip. He’s being looked after for me.’
‘By Caroline, I suppose?’ She kept her tone casual, hating the swift shaft of pain that transfixed her.
‘Naturally.’
‘Well—I hope this rain doesn’t get any worse.’ Now she sounded almost inane, she thought despairingly. ‘I’m sure you’ll find holes in the roof over there.’
‘Then I’ll just have to make sure they don’t find me.’ Adam bestowed a wintry smile on her, and departed.
Tara turned, with a silent sigh, and trailed back into the house.
Melusine jumped down from the dresser to greet her with a chirrup.
‘Traitress,’ Tara muttered as she bent to stroke her. ‘Let’s see what’s left for supper.’
She felt too depressed and on edge to be really hungry, so she compromised with cheese on toast.
In a way, she wished it had been the so-called antiques dealer who’d slashed her tyres. She could have understood that. Now she had the worry of knowing there was someone else who actually wished her harm. X—the unknown factor, she thought.
It should have been comforting to look across at Dean’s Mooring and see a light burning downstairs. But it wasn’t. In some strange way it made Tara feel lonelier—more isolated than ever.
‘Great,’ she muttered, as thunder rumbled in the distance. ‘That’s all I need.’
She tried to settle down with her book, but Melusine, who hated storms too, kept prowling round, clearly spooked.
‘Come on, baby.’ Tara lifted her gently into her arms, trying to subdue her own nervousness. ‘Let’s have an early night, and try to sleep through it.’
For a while this plan looked like it was working. The storm seemed to be receding, and Tara was just drifting into slumber, when the entire room was enveloped in sudden blue light and an almighty crash of thunder sounded directly overhead, shaking the whole house.
‘Oh, God.’ As Melusine yowled and shot under the bed Tara sat bolt upright, her mouth dry, her heart pounding as lightning flashed and the heavens roared again. She’d forgotten that storms could get trapped, circling endlessly, in river valleys.
I’m never going to sleep now, she thought, waiting for the next onslaught. I’ll make myself some tea—see if that helps.
She got out of bed, slipping on her robe as she went out on to the landing and switched on the light She was halfway down the stairs when the next flash came. She paused with a gasp, closing her eyes, waiting for the inevitable roll of thunder. When she opened her eyes again it was to find everything still pitch-black, with no friendly overhead bulb to show the way.
‘Oh, no,’ Tara groaned. ‘Not the electricity. It can’t do this to me.’
She waited for a moment, hoping it was just a temporary glitch, then cautiously began to feel her way down the rest of the stairs.
As she gained the hall she became aware of another noise making itself heard above the storm. A persistent knocking at the front door.
Her voice was tremulous. ‘Who—is it?’
‘Adam—open up.’ His voice was curt.
‘I’ll have to find the key.’ She ran her hands along the wall until she reached the hook where it hung, then fumbled it somehow into the lock and undid the chain.
‘Are you all right?’ She was caught in the powerful beam of a torch, and put up a hand to shield her eyes. As Adam stepped in he brought the cool, clean smell of rain with him.
‘Yes—but the storm’s knocked the power out.’
‘I saw your lights go off suddenly,’ he said abruptly. ‘That’s why I came over.’
‘You were—watching the house?’ Her hand went to the lapels of her robe, pulling them together. ‘Watching me?’
‘Yes.’
There was something about his tone. She said, ‘Something else has happened—hasn’t it?’
‘Perhaps. Probably nothing. I don’t know...’
‘Tell me.’
He sighed. ‘I saw a car’s lights coming down the track about an hour ago. I went out with the flashlight and it turned round and drove off.’ He hesitated. ‘I found that—odd, so I decided to—stand guard.’
‘Oh, God.’ Tara’s hand flew to her mouth.
He swore softly. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, you should.’ She paused. ‘Did you see what kind of car it was?’
‘I only caught a glimpse as it was turning. A big, dark saloon of some kind.’ He took her by the shoulders, turning her firmly towards the kitchen. ‘Let’s have some coffee. Is there any brandy here?’
Her teeth were chattering. ‘In the dining room. The sideboard.’
‘We’ll get some candles burning first, and the kettle on. With light, and a hot drink, it will all seem better.’
‘I wish I could believe that.’
She sat in the rocking chair, listening to the storm hammering at the house and watching Adam in the candlelight. She felt cold, but it wasn’t wholly through fear. Some of it was excitement, dangerous and illicit.
The coffee he made was strong, and judiciously laced with brandy. She felt the comfort of it penetrating down to her toes as she sipped.
She said, with a touch of constraint, ‘This is—very kind of you.’
He shrugged, the lean face suddenly remote. ‘When there’s an emergency people have to pull together.’ He paused. ‘The worst of it seems to have passed.’
She said, ‘Yes.’ And, in a little rush, ‘Do you think they’ll come back? Whoever was in the car?’
‘No.’ Adam shook his head. ‘They won’t. Because they know you’re not alone.’
She thought, But I will be...
She cupped her hands round the beaker. ‘I wish Buster was here. I’d have asked you to let him stay with me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t know your riverside idyll was going to develop a sinister side.’
‘Nor I.’ She was silent for a moment, bending her head so that her hair swung protectively across her face. ‘Adam—would you stay here tonight—please?’
‘As a substitute for Buster?’ he queried drily. The blue eyes rested on her thoughtfully, levelly. ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’
‘I don’t want to be by myself.’ Her voice shook. ‘I’m scared—and I’ve never felt that way before—not here.’
‘The storm’s nearly over,’ he said quietly. ‘The power will be back on soon, and the
car may well have belonged to lovers desperate for privacy.’
‘You don’t really believe that. Or why would you have stood guard?’
‘Because I’m crazy,’ he said grimly. He paused for a moment, then sighed harshly. ‘You win, Tara. I’ll get a few things and come back.’
‘I’ll make up the bed in my parents’ room.’ She got to her feet.
‘No need for that. I’ve a sleeping bag.’
‘Then I’ll get you some towels.’ She looked at him, trying to smile. ‘Adam—thanks.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Let’s get the night over with before we talk about gratitude.’
She was upstairs when he returned, a sleeping roll under one arm and a travel bag slung on his shoulder. He put the roll on the bed, glancing at the nightlight which she’d placed in a saucer on the bedside table. ‘Every modern convenience.’
‘Is there anything else you need?’ She hovered in the doorway.
‘Now there’s a loaded question,’ he drawled, then shook his head with sudden impatience. ‘Go to bed, Tara. It’ll soon be morning, then you’ll have your car back and you can leave.’
He walked across to the window, thrusting the curtain aside and staring into the darkness, his back straight, his shoulders rigid.
She said quietly, ‘Adam—you’re still angry with me, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I tore up your picture—said those things. I had no right...’
‘It’s not important.’ His voice was crisp and he didn’t look round. ‘Anyway, I’d planned to give you the painting, so in a way you had the rights of ownership.’
‘Oh.’ That rocked her slightly. She swallowed. ‘Well—goodnight.’
He turned then. His smile appeared to have been chiselled out of stone. ‘I think that’s too much to hope for—don’t you? Now, off with you, and let’s get what sleep we can.’
She trailed slowly across the passage and into her room. It seemed a lifetime since the storm had woken her, and the sheets felt chill and unwelcoming.
Still wearing her robe, she pulled the covers round her, then blew out her own nightlight.
She could hear Adam moving around, then the slight creak of the bed as it accepted his weight.
Far away, she heard the soft growl of the thunder, banished to a distance but still menacing.
Like my unknown enemy, she thought. And shivered in the darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE was dreaming again, dark, lonely disturbing images that brought the salt, scalding taste of tears into her throat. She was running from hands that snatched at her, wading through deep streams where weeds twined round her, dragging her down into their treacherous depths. Making her moan in fear and negation.
She reached out—somewhere—somehow—in silent appeal, and found her hands taken, her body enfolded in sudden strength and comfort. Her cheek pillowed against the warm humanity of muscle and bone.
She tried to open heavy eyelids. ‘Adam?’
‘I’m here.’ His voice was quiet and firm. ‘Don’t cry any more, darling. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.’
She whispered his name again, and sank down on to a quiet ocean of complete peace.
Then woke quietly and contentedly to the first gleam of dawn and early birdsong. For a moment she lay still, savouring her new inner calm, then began slowly to change position, attempting to stretch sleep-languid muscles, only to find she couldn’t move. That an iron weight seemed to be pinning her to the bed.
She looked over her shoulder, swallowing a gasp. Because part of last night’s dream had become reality. Adam was there, lying asleep behind her, his arm tucked round her, holding her warmly and intimately into the curve of his body.
She’d never slept with a man like this before. Never been held so close, she realised with drowsy wonder, or woken in his arms. Even after sex Jack had always turned away, seeking his own space.
Common sense told her that she should do the same, and quickly. That sleeping with Adam might be one thing, but waking with him was another and more dangerous proposition.
She tried to release herself gently from his encircling arm, only to feel it tighten. A murmur of sleepy expostulation reached her ears. His lips brushed her hair, and she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. Then, almost immediately, he was deeply asleep once more.
I’ll wait a little while, thought Tara. Then I’ll try again. Sighing, she closed her eyes, and drifted pleasurably away.
It was considerably later when she woke again, with hazy sunlight filtering through the curtains. And she was alone.
Tara sat up slowly, trying to fight down a ridiculous sense of disappointment
Adam had left, presumably to spare her embarrassment, and she ought to be feeling grateful, not wistful, she told herself firmly.
She slid out of bed and went along the passage, only to be halted at the bathroom door by the sight of Adam, his hair damp from the shower, a towel draped round his hips, standing at the basin shaving.
He paused, and smiled at her. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Er—yes.’ She could feel the slow tide of colour rising from the soles of her feet to her hairline. She lifted her chin, determined to deal with the situation. ‘I’m sorry about last night. About getting so scared. I’m not usually such a wimp.’
‘I’ve never thought of you in such terms.’ He was using the razor with long, clean strokes. She could, she realised with dismay, have watched him all day. ‘But last night wasn’t a one-off,’ he went on conversationally. ‘There’s been fear in your eyes since the first time I saw you.’
Tara tried a scornful laugh. ‘That’s nonsense. What have I had to be afraid of—up to now?’
‘That’s what I mean to find out.’ He rinsed his razor, then reapplied himself. ‘But, at a guess, I’d say life,’ he added almost casually.
‘Indeed.’ Tara straightened her shoulders. ‘Well, I have to tell you that I have a terrific life—work I love, a supportive family, and my own home.’
‘Every blessing,’ he murmured.
‘Exactly,’ she said with emphasis. ‘Last night, the combination of the storm and the possibility I was being—stalked threw me off balance, that’s all.’ She paused. ‘So, I—I’m sorry for disturbing you.’
He shot her a swift, enigmatic glance. ‘I think it’s a little late to apologise for that—don’t you?’
Her heart hammered against the cage of her chest. Nervously, she tightened the sash of her robe, a gesture clearly not lost on her companion, who raised an amused eyebrow.
‘Is the power back on?’ God, she sounded like a prim schoolgirl.
‘Not yet.’ He was grinning openly now, as if he’d read her thought, and she felt her body warm again self-consciously.
I really do need to be somewhere else, and fast, she told herself.
She said brightly, ‘Well, I’ll just go and let Melusine out.’
‘I’ve already done so—and she’s had some milk.’ Adam razed the last of the soap from his chin, and splashed his face with water.
‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Then I’ll make some coffee.’
He was drying his face and hands on another towel, taking his time, his blue eyes conducting a leisurely inspection of her—almost as if, she thought faintly, he was committing her to memory.
‘No,’ he said casually. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tara heard herself swallow. ‘Tea, then?’ she ventured.
He shook his head, smiling a little. ‘No tea—no cranberry juice, apple juice or freshly squeezed orange either.’ He flipped the handtowel back on the rail and came towards her, halting a matter of inches away.
Tara stared up at him, her eyes dilating, her throat tightening with something that should have been panic, yet somehow wasn’t...
She said, striving for normality, ‘Nothing, then.’
His smile widened. ‘On the contrary.’ He reached down and undid the sash of her robe. ‘I meant to
shave and be back in bed before you woke,’ he said softly. ‘But maybe it’s better this way.’
She felt the robe slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet. And she let it happen, as if she were mesmerised.
Her voice was almost a croak. ‘That’s—silly. You—don’t shave before you go to bed.’
‘You do if you care about your lady’s skin.’ His fingers stroked her cheek, light as thistledown, then teased their way down her throat to the delicate cleft between her breasts. ‘And I mean to be—infinitely careful.’
He slipped his hands under the thin straps of her nightgown, using them to pull her gently forward, and she came unresistingly, lifting her mouth to his as he bent towards her.
His lips were cool and fresh, exploring hers with a kind of exquisite, lingering deliberation. As he kissed her his hands moved, manipulating her nightgown straps so that the silken cups tautened over her breasts, tantalising them with the lightest of friction, bringing the rosy peaks to aching, delicious life.
She felt herself sigh against his mouth, a deep-drawn breath held for an eternity. As she descended into the sweet chaos of pure sensation she told herself, somehow, that she should hold back—walk away. That this was all wrong because Adam belonged to someone else, and it could only lead to heartbreak.
But, dear God, it was so long since she’d known what it was to be a woman. After Jack’s betrayal, she’d believed herself armoured for ever against the seductive craving of the flesh, but it was only a fragile shell, after all, and soon shattered. All it had taken was Adam—Adam...
He lifted a hand and twined it in her hair, bending her backwards so his lips could caress her throat and the fragile hollows of her ear.
She could feel the heated hardness of him pressing against her through the thin layers of fabric which divided them, and instinctively her hips moved, thrusting forward in mute offering and acceptance.
‘Wait.’ The word was a teasing breath against her skin.
But there was no patience in her, only a need that had to be satisfied.
His breathing ragged, Adam hooked his thumbs under the narrow straps and eased them off her shoulders, sending her gown to join the robe on the floor.
