by Maggie Cox
‘Look who’s talking.’
Her suddenly shy green eyes were provoking all kinds of delicious responses in Mac’s newly relaxed body. He wondered if she was naked beneath her robe and thought he would very much like to see his wife as nature intended once more. Well…not just once more. For ever and ever till death us do part—just as he had promised in their marriage vows. His chest tightened with sudden longing. No amount of success at work could compare with how he felt when he was with Tara. For a while there when they were first together, she’d made him feel like a better man. A good man. How had he so hopelessly lost sight of everything they’d had in preference for forging ahead in his career? In the advertising business they called him ‘The Magician’ because he had a reputation for making a success of even the most difficult accounts. The advertising campaigns he took charge of were innovative and thought-provoking as well as clever. ‘Works of art,’ one impressed business analyst in a national newspaper had commented. But as far as his marriage was concerned, Mac was nowhere near being a magician. More like the kiss of death, he thought, pained.
He’d gone very quiet and Tara was curious to know why. Yet again she thought she saw agitation in his eyes, and before she could consider the wisdom of such an action she put her hand on his knee and squeezed it a little. ‘You’re frowning,’ she told him. ‘What is it, Mac? What’s on your mind?’
Glancing down at her pale, slender hand on his knee, Mac swallowed hard. She couldn’t know that her touch was burning him, making him ache as though he would never stop—not until she touched him some more; not until they could be naked together in bed. Not until he’d assuaged himself of five years’ worth of dreadful separation—then and only then would he feel whole again…healed.
‘I’ve been thinking about going away for a while. Taking a holiday.’
‘Oh.’ Abruptly withdrawing her hand, Tara reacted as though she’d been scalded. Disappointment and hurt brought a lump to her throat. To cover her confusion, she flicked through the magazine on her lap, the colours melding and blurring in front of her eyes.
So much for getting back together…
‘I’d like you to come with me.’
Her heart thudded as if she’d just missed a step. ‘On holiday? Where?’
‘Ireland. A friend of mine has a holiday home there. It’s only a few yards from the sea. I can’t guarantee warm weather or blue skies, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk and stroll on the beach and get to know each other again.’
His intense blue eyes became the sole focus of Tara’s surprised, hungry gaze. ‘When were you thinking of going?’
Inwardly Mac breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t said an out-and-out ‘no’ so there had to be hope.
‘Tomorrow or the day after.’ The sooner the better as far as he was concerned.
‘And how long for?’ Tara twisted a strand of silky blonde hair round her finger and let it go again.
‘As long as we like. The house will be empty until Christmas.’
‘Oh, Mac.’ Suddenly agitated, Tara rose to her feet, walked across the room then turned to face him, her back to a bank of miniature palm trees in huge ceramic tubs, the smooth wooden floor blessedly cool beneath her tingling bare soles. ‘Why don’t we just put ourselves out of our misery and get a divorce? We’re fooling ourselves if we think we can make it work between us again!’
Now it was Mac’s turn to get to his feet. ‘How do you know until we give it a proper chance? I still care for you, Tara. Why else would I want to try again?’
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Tara was taken aback by the sincerity in his captivating voice.
‘But you were going to marry someone else,’ she reminded him softly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
His nostrils flared a little. ‘No. I believe I would have come to my senses before I did anything as serious as that. Amelie really wasn’t the marrying kind.’
‘And you are?’
Her question hung suspended between them, like an axe poised to split a log in two. Briefly, Mac dipped his head. ‘I screwed up, Tara. I made a mess of things. Aren’t people allowed to make mistakes in that perfect little world you inhabit?’
Shamefaced, she nodded. Of course they were. God knew she’d made enough of them herself. She lifted her chin.
‘All right. I’ll come to Ireland. We’ll talk, spend some time together…but I’m making no promises about anything and I’m going to have to insist on separate bedrooms.’
‘That’s your only stipulation?’ Mac tried, but he couldn’t in all honesty prevent the grin that started to hijack his mouth. He’d persuaded her to go to Ireland with him—would it really be so much of a stretch to believe that he could persuade her into his bed once they got there? She was fooling herself if she thought there was no chemistry between them any more. If the sexual sparks flying between them were visible, he knew they’d be glowing red-hot.
‘I must need my head testing!’ With a disparaging glance at Mac, she spun round on her heel and pushed through the double ranch-style doors that led back into the women’s changing area.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘TARA! You’re going away…why didn’t you tell me?’
Having sprinted the last hundred yards down the road when he’d spotted his friend outside her aunt’s shop, Raj descended breathlessly on Tara as she heaved her suitcase into the back of Mac’s silver Mercedes. Mac himself was checking out of his hotel and would be joining her any minute now with his own luggage.
Frowning, she pushed a drifting lock of blonde hair out of her face and regarded the tall, handsome Asian with concern. ‘Why? Is anything the matter?’
‘Nothing’s the matter with me. I’m just upset you didn’t tell me about your trip. I wouldn’t have known about it at all if your aunt Beth hadn’t mentioned it to my father. She said you are going to Ireland with a friend. Who is it? What “friend” are you going away with?’
It took a moment or two for his surprisingly possessive tone to sink in. When it did, Tara felt a distinct spurt of annoyance. It was taking all her courage as it was to risk two weeks in an isolated house with Mac on the Irish coast; the last thing she needed was for Raj to sound annoyed about it.
‘As a matter of fact he was—is my husband. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know before but I only found out about the trip myself two days ago. I was going to send you a postcard—a couple if you’re good.’
For once, Raj didn’t appreciate the pretty blonde’s humour. He was feeling undeniably disgruntled that she was going away with another man. Of course he knew he was getting married himself soon, but he’d been hoping to enjoy at least another couple of months of Tara’s company before he assumed the responsibilities of wedlock and all that entailed.
‘Why are you going away with the man who deserted you so long ago? I didn’t know you were seeing him again.’
Taking a moment to compose herself, Tara mentally counted to ten and slammed down the lid of the boot. The day promised to be unseasonably warm and she slipped the sunglasses on her head down over her eyes. ‘My private business is just that, Raj, private. I don’t feel the need to explain myself to anyone. Please respect that.’
‘Now you’ve hurt my feelings.’ He did a good impression of being mortally offended. ‘I thought we were friends. Can’t you understand that I care about you? And I don’t trust this “sometimes” husband of yours—I don’t trust him one little bit. If anything goes wrong while you’re away he will have me to answer to when you get back!’
‘Oh, Raj!’ Laughing out loud at the unaccustomed macho stance he had unconsciously taken up, Tara threw her arms round her friend and hugged him tight. ‘What would I do without you? You’re so funny and sweet. You help keep me sane, you know.’
As Raj helplessly succumbed to her endearing manner, his own arms sweeping affectionately round her small, slender waist, neither of them noticed the tall, fair-haired man in the tailored black trousers and black polo-nec
ked sweater who walked up beside the car, deposited his two smart suitcases on the pavement then regarded them both with suspicion in his icy blue eyes.
Raj saw him first and, sensing his withdrawal, Tara poked him playfully in the ribs. ‘And let that be a lesson to you! You’re not going to get rid of me so easily.’
‘When you’re quite finished, Tara, we have a plane to catch.’
At the sound of Mac’s chilly tones, she let go of Raj and spun round, her normally pale cheeks bright with two hectic spots of colour.
‘Mac! I didn’t hear you come up.’
‘Obviously.’ A muscle jerked in the side of his jaw and Tara didn’t need to be a fully paid-up member of Mensa to deduce that he was annoyed. Very annoyed.
‘Let me introduce you,’ she said quickly, wiping her hands nervously down her jeans. ‘This is Raj—Raj Singh. He and I are—are friends.’ Why did the plain, unadulterated truth suddenly sound so feeble? She didn’t have a damn thing to feel guilty about where Raj was concerned but the way Mac was looking at her, he could have just walked in on them in bed together. Her stomach clenched angrily. He had no right—none whatsoever—to turn something that was perfectly innocent and good into something more questionable.
‘How do you do?’ Plain good manners overriding his sense of outrage, Mac extended his hand to the other man. Their hands clenched briefly then quickly dropped away—neither man exactly keen to prolong the tense exchange. ‘I’m Macsen Simmonsen. Tara’s husband.’ He knew why he’d added that last and didn’t much care that he was obviously staking his claim. His gut had felt sucker-punched when he’d crossed the road and seen Tara embracing the other man. Was he the date she’d supposedly not had the other night when they’d gone to dinner?
‘You’d better take great care of her when you go away. She’s very precious to me, you know,’ Raj stated proudly, puffing out his chest a little. Tara would have laughed if the whole scenario weren’t so intensely awkward but, with Mac’s broad shoulders also visibly straightening beneath his black cashmere sweater and his eyes sufficiently wary for her to be on her guard, the less she said right now, the better.
‘She’s very precious to me too,’ he said pointedly, breaking his gaze from the other man’s to stare at Tara. She was grateful she had her sunglasses shielding her eyes because his words had electrified her with their sincerity. Surprised and elated all at the same time, she was suddenly excited at the previously anxious prospect of spending two weeks alone with him—‘getting to know each other again.’
‘Anyway, we’d better be on our way.’ Glancing down at the gold watch encircling his wrist, Mac opened the boot to store his suitcases inside. ‘We really do have a plane to catch. Ready, Tara?’
‘I just need to say goodbye to Aunt Beth. Bye, Raj—I really will send you a postcard.’
‘Hurry back,’ he said meaningfully, uncaring that her husband was looking on.
‘Take care of yourself too,’ she murmured softly, before opening the door of Memories are Made and disappearing inside.
‘So…is he the guy who cancelled your date the other night?’ He’d waited until they’d boarded the plane and were seated before Mac returned to the subject that he’d been brooding on all through their drive to the airport. Head lowered, intent on fastening her seat belt, Tara glanced up at him in surprise. She’d guessed he’d been ruminating on something during their car journey but surely he didn’t really think that she and Raj had some kind of romantic attachment? By the grave look in his electric blue eyes, Tara deduced that he did.
‘I told you. I didn’t really have a date at all. And for your information—’ she yanked at the seat belt to loosen it a little before fastening it and blew out an irritated breath ‘—it’s as I said—Raj and I are friends. Is that such a difficult concept for you to embrace, Mac?’
‘The way he was looking at you was a little more than “friendly”, Tara.’ Mac tore his gaze away, his stomach muscles clenching at the very idea of another man desiring her. When they’d been apart it had been such an abstract idea that he was able to fool himself that it didn’t matter if she was seeing somebody else because he’d had no contact with her. If he couldn’t see her then it couldn’t hurt. But now, having seen her—having inhaled her scent, her beguiling personal fragrance infused with the warmth of her body; having seen the myriad different greens that made up the colour of her beautiful eyes; having witnessed her smile, shy but unbelievably sexy—he just couldn’t conceive of even allowing another man to come within six feet of her without his say-so. But he also knew she wouldn’t welcome such unwarranted possessiveness when he’d been the one to walk out on their marriage in the first place.
‘You’re totally imagining things. In the first place, Raj isn’t interested in me that way, and in the second…’
Mac met her mutinous green eyes and couldn’t help smiling. Even if he was feeling jealous as hell.
‘And in the second,’ she reiterated, pausing to draw breath, ‘he’s getting married at Christmas to a beautiful Indian girl in Kerala.’
‘Then exactly what is your relationship with him? And don’t tell me you’re just “friends” again. You’re a beautiful girl, why wouldn’t he be interested in you? Even if he is engaged to someone else.’
‘Don’t you believe that men and women can be just friends?’
‘In a word? No.’ Shaking his head, Mac retrieved the glossy in-flight magazine from its designated pocket and began to flick through it. ‘Sooner or later, sex always comes into it.’
A roar of blood thundered in Tara’s ears. To prevent Mac witnessing the heat that suddenly flooded her cheeks at his reference to sex, she stared out of the small cabin window, thinking it wasn’t only the fact that the plane was about to take flight that made her feel a long, long way from terra firma.
Mac woke up in a sweat, the last vestiges of a hear-trending dream tearing him apart—making his chest hurt, his heart pound. He’d heard a baby crying, a baby in distress. Tara’s baby? His son? And he was inconsolable with grief because he was too late to save it…
Jackknifing up into a sitting position, he dragged his hands through his hair, faintly shocked at the sweat standing out on his forehead, the dryness of his mouth, the pain in his throat. He blinked hard, once, twice, then stared towards the window where the misty morning light was filtering in through the unshielded glass because he’d forgotten to draw the heavy velvet drapes closed last night. Slowly, he came to. When his heart had stopped pounding, he reached for the small bottle of mineral water on the nightstand and, opening it, drank thirstily. Glancing at the broad gold watch that still encircled his wrist, he registered that it was just past seven in the morning. He must have slept pretty deeply because he hadn’t stirred all night since his head had touched the pillow around eleven. They’d got to the house quite late because they’d stopped in a nearby town for dinner and by the time they’d arrived—negotiating potentially treacherous winding roads in the dark to find the place—both he and Tara were too tired to do much else but find their respective rooms and go to bed.
Now, as he struggled to break the ties of sleep and wake properly, he inhaled a deep, steadying breath to ground himself. That dream had cut him to the quick and the feelings it had engendered still clung to him like the sticky gossamer of a spider’s web. He just hoped it wouldn’t return to haunt him later on in the day because he didn’t think he could look Tara in the eye if it did.
Gazing round the room, he took stock of his new surroundings. Apart from his generously proportioned double bed with its quaintly old-fashioned patchwork quilt, there were two stately old wardrobes made of dark wood either side of the door, a matching dressing table and a rather appealing love seat upholstered with plush red velvet beneath the huge bare window.
Swinging his long, muscular legs onto the thickly carpeted floor, Mac got up, stretched and padded across to the window to inspect the view. His friend Mitch had promised that it was pretty spectacular and, as Mac’s
sleepy blue eyes focused on the ocean lapping gently onto a wide expanse of white sandy beach as far as the eye could see, he knew he hadn’t lied. Sighing deeply, he folded his arms across his hard, muscled chest, silently acknowledging if he couldn’t make his case to Tara for a reconciliation here, then surely he wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere.
She felt like a child again, light and easy and free, unhindered by pain and regret and deep unhappiness. Kicking off her sandals and turning up the hems of her jeans, she ran barefoot into the white foaming surf, exclaiming out loud when the icy water washed over her feet and made her shudder. It was the most wonderful place she’d ever been to, she thought, glancing round herself in awe. There were green rolling hills to her back, with Mac’s friend’s lovely whitewashed house nestling amongst them, a cobalt-blue sky above and the vast Atlantic Ocean with its panoramic white sandy beach stretching for miles alongside it. Bliss. Briefly closing her eyes, Tara breathed deeply, inhaling the tangy salt sea air and the sound of seagulls squawking above, and knew she could never regret coming here—not even if there was no prospect of a happy ending for Mac and her in sight. Her eyes flew open at that. Mac. How were they going to cope with their sudden enforced ‘togetherness’ when they hadn’t been able to cope all those years ago, when their feelings for each other still ran deep? Until Mac had abandoned her, of course… Had she been wrong not to tell him about the baby? Could things have been different between them if she had?
‘Tara!’
She pivoted at the sound of her name, her heart bumping against her ribs at the sight of Mac, striding down the beach towards her, dressed casually in light blue jeans and a white T-shirt. The sun paid homage to his tall blond good looks, glinting off the rich gold strands of his hair and highlighting the firm set of his jaw and shoulders. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Tara crossed her arms in front of her chest because she’d opted not to wear a bra under her faded denim shirt.
