by Liz Fielding
‘I’m from Maybridge Securities, miss,’ he said, briskly. ‘The occupant of this flat is away so be a good girl and give yourself up. It’ll save a lot of bother.’
She sagged against the door. Adam had said he would have her flat watched. She released the safety chain and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry, but you gave me such a scare. I’m Tara Lambert.’ He was unresponsive. ‘This is my flat. We came back a few days early, Mr Blackmore...’ She had no need to explain. ‘You can check direct with him. He’s home.’ Unless he was at the clinic with Jane.
The man seemed unimpressed. ‘If you could just identify yourself?’
‘I don’t have to identify myself. I live here. I...’ Tara sighed. The man was simply doing his job, however unwelcome. ‘Wait here.’ She closed the door.
Whatever had happened to the smooth ordered existence that had been her life before Adam Blackmore had erupted into it?
The guard rapped on the door again. She was taking too long and he was getting suspicious. She fished her passport from her dressing table drawer.
‘Tara!’
Adam’s voice on the other side of the door was the last straw. She flung it open and handed the passport to the security man. Adam took it from him.
‘It’s all right, Frank. You can leave it to me.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Blackmore, but the lady seemed to be fiddling with the lock...’
‘Don’t apologise. You were just doing your job.’
‘Right, Mr Blackmore.’ He seemed relieved. ‘I’ll get off. Shall I keep up the patrols now the lady is home?’
‘No,’ Tara intervened quickly. ‘Thank you.’ Frank departed and before she could prevent him Adam was inside. She followed him and snatched her passport from his hand. ‘Still hell-bent on your knight errant act?’ Tara asked, angrily. ‘You’ll be trading in that black monster of yours for something white at this rate.’
‘Any time, my lady.’ He bowed ironically. ‘Knight Errant Unlimited. And you already know my fee,’ he drawled. ‘One kiss, to be collected at my convenience.’
Her face whitened and he was immediately all concern. ‘No, no… I’m sorry. That must have been unpleasant. I should have let them know you were back, but to be honest when I got back from the clinic I just crashed out.’
He rubbed at his stubbly chin a little ruefully and Tara softened.
‘You’d better sit down.’
He looked around. ‘I like this. It’s very pretty. Have you lived here long?’
‘Nearly seven years. I moved in when they finished the conversion.’ He ignored her invitation to sit down, but wandered around, examining the beams.
‘These are genuine. When I saw them the other night I assumed they were just fakes.’
‘Like you, Adam, I have no time for fakes.’ She wished he would go, but he apparently had no intention of leaving. ‘Would you like a cup of...’ She stopped, self-consciously.
‘I’d love a cup of coffee,’ he said, gently. He followed her into the tiny kitchen alcove and spotted the eggs. ‘Frank interrupted your supper.’
‘Nothing special. I was just going scramble some eggs.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like some?’
He grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
A few minutes later they were sitting either side of a solid wooden table tucking into the meltingly soft eggs. Tara was very quiet, determined not to do or say anything provocative. She never wanted to be accused of being a tease again.
But Adam’s face showed his concern. ‘Are you all right, Tara?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Frank was just doing his job. You might have been anyone.’
‘I know. I’m all right... really.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re as jumpy as a kitten.’ He placed his hand over hers and she duly jumped. He withdrew it quickly. ‘Oh, I see. It isn’t Frank, it’s me. Do you want me to go?’
She wanted him to go. She wanted him to stay. She just wanted him, but he belonged to someone else. It was unbearable. But he misunderstood her silence.
‘You’re expecting someone. I should have realised.’ He stood up. ‘Mr Lambert, perhaps? Although he doesn’t appear to spend much time here.’ He caught sight of the photograph on the mantle and took it down for a closer look. ‘Your wedding photograph.’ His mouth twisted slightly. ‘The bridegroom is rather underdressed for the occasion by most standards.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Your wedding night must have been...interesting.’
The colour rose to her cheeks. ‘He’d broken his leg.’ Riding his motor-cycle much too fast because he was late for the wedding rehearsal.
‘And you were married in the hospital chapel? A rush job, was it?’
‘There were circumstances—’
He was examining the photograph closely. ‘It’s difficult to see because of the traction, but you don’t appear to be—’
‘I wasn’t,’ she finally snapped, taking the picture from him. She looked at it, looked at those two happy faces. ‘I think you’d better go now, Adam.’
He made no move. ‘You were both very young. What were you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘Eighteen,’ she murmured.
‘Too young. How long did it last?’
‘Not long.’ No time at all, in fact. She replaced the photograph, very carefully. ‘He died the night this photograph was taken.’
‘Died? The day you were married?’ He stared for a moment at the photograph as if trying to understand. ‘I’m sorry, Tara. I had assumed you were parted, but this...’ He moved towards her as if to offer some comfort, but she knew that if he touched her she would not be able to help herself and she stepped from his reach and walked quickly to the door.
‘I’d like you to leave, Adam.’
For a moment she thought he wouldn’t go. Then he picked up his soft well rubbed leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. But in the doorway he paused and turned back to her. ‘Seven years is a long time to be alone, Tara. He wouldn’t have wanted it.’
‘I prefer it that way.’ At least she had, until Adam Blackmore had kissed her.
‘No, Tara. You’re a woman made for love. We both know it. Hanna saw it too.’
‘Please, Adam...’ she begged.
But he hadn’t finished. ‘Is it guilt? Is that why you blow hot and cold?’ He was suddenly very angry. ‘Living isn’t a sin, Tara. Nor is loving.’
She knew that, but surely it was wrong to desire a man who belonged to someone else? ‘Please! Just go!’ She closed her eyes to blot out his face and when she opened them again, he had gone.
* * *
Sunday was bleak. She rang Beth to let her know that she was back but refused her invitation to lunch. One look at her gaunt face and she would know what her friend was going through. She needed just a little time to put her mask in place before she was prepared to face the world.
She went for a long walk along the river. There were already daffodils in the gardens on the opposite bank making a brave effort to cheer the greyness of the day. It might even have felt quite warm if she hadn’t spent the last few days in a hotter climate.
But the wind whipped some colour into her cheeks and the exercise made her blood tingle with life. Until she met Adam Blackmore she had been happy. She told herself that she could be happy again. It would take a little time and she had plenty of that. But first she had to get through Monday.
She woke heavy-headed, for once in her life unwilling to face the day. A shower helped and as she dressed, layering on her armour, she became stronger. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her face was a little paler than usual, her eyes darker. But apart from that there was nothing to betray the fact that the shell that had protected her heart for so long had been shattered and now it lay in her breast, bruised, battered, aching. She rested her hand lightly over the place to reassure herself that it continued to beat.
Life went on.
It was a lesson she had learned once and she would learn it
again, given time.
Work was the answer. If for a few weeks she was tied to her agreement with Adam Blackmore, so be it. She would cope. She would have to. At least the sun was shining and Tara stepped out briskly, lifting her chin to the world, unaware of the admiring glances that her cool dark beauty attracted from men pausing momentarily in their own swift progress to watch her pass.
She took the main lift. Somehow the private lift seemed too personal and she wanted to get her relationship with Adam back onto a strictly impersonal plane.
She was greeted with unexpected warmth by the receptionist and several other staff members who crowded in alongside her. They seemed to think she belonged. They were wrong. She was an outsider. A temporary secretary. That was the way she had always wanted it. Until she met Adam Blackmore.
She rode the last stage to his private domain by herself. His office was empty, the desk immaculate as always. She hadn’t expected him to be there; he would be at the clinic, holding Jane’s hand. She shook herself and went through to her own office.
Her own desk was, in stark contrast, piled up with post and messages. She took off her coat and filled the coffeemaker before starting work. She had a feeling she would be needing it.
She gradually worked through the pile, dealing with what she could by herself and answering queries. Then she set herself to clear the work that Adam had dictated on the journey back from Bahrain.
It was late when she printed off the last memo and she was tidying her desk, leaving everything straight for the morning when she heard the lift arrive.
She prayed that he would go straight into his apartment, or even his office, giving her a chance to escape without speaking to him, but to no avail.
Her door opened. ‘Still here?’ he asked. ‘I thought you would have left hours ago.’
He looked tired and a pang of sympathy wrenched at her. She wanted to ease the tie from his neck, stroke the furrows from his forehead, kiss away the strain. ‘I wanted to finish everything.’
‘Of course,’ he said, dully. ‘Little Miss Perfect.’
Stung she asked, ‘How is Jane?’ She had to keep jabbing at the hurt, reminding herself that what she felt for this man was foolish nonsense.
‘Jane?’ He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Oh, she’s fine. So is Charles Adam Townsend, thank heavens.’
‘Congratulations.’ Her voice sounded quite normal she thought as she straightened her desk once more.
‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, right. I’ll pass it on to the appropriate quarters. If you’ve finished you’d better get home.’
‘Yes. I’ve left a list of messages on your desk, but I’ll fill you in tomorrow.’ It wasn’t so difficult if you kept to safe subjects, she thought.
‘Not tomorrow. Not ever.’ Shock lifted her head and she was confronted by his emotionless face. ‘I don’t want you to come back, Tara.’
‘Not…’ She stopped. Why was she surprised? She hadn’t exactly behaved like the perfect secretary during the last few days.
He was at her side in a stride. ‘Don’t look at me like that, damn you! I’ll keep to our agreement. If your temps are half as good as you I’ll have the better part of the bargain.’ He stepped back, clearly regretting the impulse that had brought them within inches of each other. He waved her away. ‘I’ve kept you from your own affairs long enough. Just get me someone here tomorrow who can type.’
‘Until Jane comes back?’
His mouth tightened. ‘Jane won’t be coming back.’
Of course not. She could hardly deposit the boss’s son in the fifth floor crèche every morning. She had been conscious of the dull ache in her chest all day, but now it threatened to explode. She clenched her hands. Keep to business. Think of business and it would be all right.
‘Would you like me to look for a new secretary for you?’ she asked, with every evidence of being completely calm. Completely in control. This seemed to anger him.
‘Why not? Just make sure she’s middle-aged and plain and wears flannelette underwear.’
Tara’s cheeks flamed. ‘I’ll keep those requirements in mind, Adam, but frankly, I prefer to make my judgements on skill and personality.’
‘Do you? Well, to be honest I don’t care overmuch whether she can even type, Tara. Just so long as she doesn’t answer back!’
There were tears burning against her lids now and she had to get out before they began to fall. She grabbed blindly for her bag and her coat. ‘I’ll bring someone in the morning. Walk them through the system.’
‘No. You managed. So must she. I don’t want you here.’ He caught her arm and swung her to face him. ‘Have I made myself clear?’
‘Let go of me!’
He looked down at his hand on her arm, as if wondering how on earth it had got there. Then his eyes flashed up into hers.
‘I’ll let go in my own good time.’
‘Adam!’
‘Before you go you’ll have to settle your outstanding obligations.’
‘I have no obligations to you—’
‘Your outstanding fee for services rendered.’
‘What—’
He drew her slowly towards him. She was shaking her head, pulling desperately in her need to get away. But there was no escape. His eyes fastened her to the spot like a butterfly on a pin. Barely conscious that he had released her she still could not turn and run.
He took her bag and coat from her lifeless fingers then, his hands at her waist, warm, strong, electric through the smooth cloth of her jacket, he drew her towards him. His mouth was closer now. Descending slowly, as if he didn’t want the moment to pass. Slowly, drawing her body along the length of his. Slowly, while he drank in every feature as if for last time. His lips touched her forehead, her brows, gently caressed her eyelids.
Tara moaned as if in mortal agony, but his mouth was relentless in its soft seduction. It courted her temples, wooed the curve of her jaw and the delicate, sensitive skin below her chin. The touch of his lips to hers was both a relief and a menace. Somewhere, deep inside she knew she should be fighting for her survival. There was some good reason why she should fight this seductive pleasure. But her body wasn’t listening.
Softly his lips moved across hers, tempting, flirting, drawing from her little whimpers and moans of longing that she wasn’t even aware of. His tongue flickered teasingly and her lips parted in welcome. This was the kiss she had waited for all her life. Nothing had ever prepared her for the singing sensation, the glorious power she felt surging through her. Nigel had never made her feel remotely like this. Nigel...
She wrenched herself free and fell back against the desk. What on earth was she doing? A few minutes ago this man had said he never wanted to see her again. He was simply extracting payment for a totally imaginary good deed.
‘Tara!’ He reached for her to help her to her feet, but she rejected him.
‘That’s enough!’ She straightened, drawing herself to her full height. Not enough. Not nearly enough, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Adam stepped back. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to consider your fee paid in full, Adam.’ She fumbled in her bag. ‘Here’s the key to your private lift. I shan’t be needing it again.’ She flung it on the desk, pushed past him and ran.
She tried the button to summon the main lift. But the door opened behind her and she would not wait. She fled to the stairs and began to run helter-skelter down them. She had to get away whatever it took.
She reached the ground floor gasping, almost retching. And still she had not escaped. He was there, swearing softly as he lifted her, carried her to his car. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream that she just wanted to be left alone. But the grim cut of his face was a warning that it would make no difference. He was in no mood to listen.
They reached her flat in a few moments and once more he was at her side before she could move. The pain in her chest was beginning to subside, but she hadn’t the strength to push him away when he lifted her from the car and carr
ied her up the steps.
‘Open the door, Tara.’ She opened her bag with shaking fingers and found her keys, jabbing desperately at the lock until it slid home and the door swung open. He carried her through without a word and deposited her on the sofa.
She heard the sound of water running and then he was handing her a glass of water. ‘Sip this.’ She did as she was told. He sat for a while in the chair opposite, saying nothing, elbows on his knees, his head slumped forward, simply waiting until she had recovered sufficiently to sit up. Then he stood up and left, quietly closing the door behind him.
She heard the car start and drive away and then for a long time there was nothing but silence.
* * *
Beth exclaimed with delight when she opened the office door and found Tara already at work.
‘Hello early bird. You’re a sight for sore eyes! I’ve been rushed off my feet.’ She chattered on about the sudden upturn in business as she plugged in the coffeemaker. ‘I don’t know what you did for the gorgeous Mr Blackmore, but we’ve placed two senior secretaries at Victoria House and I’m looking for a permanent junior. Do you know anyone?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘And I’m going to see Jenny on Thursday about getting some computer staff in there.’
‘Just be sure to get off the lift at the right floor.’ Tara advised, cryptically, without looking up from the file. ‘There are one or two girls I’ve interviewed recently, who might do. And I’ve sent Mary Ogden to work for Adam while I find someone permanent for him.’
‘Mary?’ Beth said doubtfully. ‘She’s very good of course, but I wouldn’t have thought she was quite his style.’
Tara considered the starchy fifty-year-old. ‘On the contrary, although I can’t guarantee she fulfils every one of his stringent requirements, I believe she will suit him admirably.’
Beth gave her a long look, then shrugged. ‘You know your business I suppose and you’ve worked for the man. What was the overseas trip like?’ Tara finally raised her head and Beth smothered a gasp as she saw the painful shadows beneath her eyes. She started to say something, but changed her mind and forced a laugh instead. ‘Perhaps Mary is a good idea after all.’ She busied herself with her post and the day’s work began.
