Edge Of Deception. Daphne ClairЧитать онлайн книгу.
feathered her ear as he bent to speak into it. ‘Believe me, this isn’t where you want to hear it.’
He didn’t relinquish his grip, and reluctantly she went with him. Better to capitulate than make a scene.
He led her through a doorway into a short passage and, opening another door opposite, found a switch and turned on the light.
‘Philip’s study?’ Tara hesitated. Chantelle’s husband was the advertising manager of a community newspaper and brought some of his work home. The small room was dominated by a wide desk on which stood a computer surrounded by paper trays and folders. Shelves and filing cabinets lined the walls up to the ceiling.
‘I’m sure Phil won’t mind.’ Sholto drew her inside and shut the door before releasing her arm. There was very little space to move, even though Sholto remained standing just in front of the door.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
The only chair was a leather-covered swivel one before the desk. Tara glanced at it and said, ‘No, thanks.’ She felt at enough of a disadvantage without having him tower over her. As long as she remained standing in her high-heeled red shoes there was only a matter of inches between their respective heights.
Sholto looked at her thoughtfully, then shrugged.
‘So, what’s the big secret?’ Tara asked.
‘It’s no secret—that’s rather the point.’
‘If it isn’t a secret, why on earth did you need to drag me in here? It’s going to look a bit rude, you know. I’ve barely arrived.’
‘I know exactly when you arrived.’ His teeth snapped together.
Fleetingly Tara wondered if he’d been as aware of her presence as she had been of his, even before he looked up and saw her.
He said, ‘I wish I’d known you were going to be here—’
‘If I’d known you were going to be here I’d never have come!’
‘Do you hate me so much, Tara?’ he enquired softly.
Dark lashes swept down to conceal the look in her eyes. ‘As much as you hate me.’
The silence stretched. Then the beautiful, spine-tingling voice spoke at last. ‘I never said I hated you.’
She looked up, her eyes holding his in challenge. ‘You said you loved me—once.’
‘It was true—once.’
She had thought she’d got over being hurt by him, buried her feelings for him in the grave of their dead love. But the dispassionate admission somehow found an unguarded place in her heart, making her inwardly wince.
‘No,’ she said, striving to equal his coolness. ‘You lusted for me. I don’t believe you know what love is.’ Maybe he was incapable of either love or hate. Of any really strong emotion.
He didn’t move, and his face remained stony. ‘If that’s what you want to believe,’ he said, as though it didn’t matter to him.
She had never wanted to believe it. She’d come to that conclusion inevitably, as the result of bitter heartache. His indifference still stung. But she’d matured since their last encounter. ‘Why don’t you spit out what you want to say,’ she invited him, ‘and let me go back to the party? I came here to enjoy myself. And I’m sure the lady you just left is missing you.’
‘Still a good-time girl?’ he jeered, his hands going into his pockets as he leaned back on the door. ‘All right. This isn’t the time and place I’d have chosen, but I’d rather you heard it from me than as party gossip. I would have written to you, if I could find your address. I’m getting married. The lady I left just now is my fiancée.’
Thank God for make-up. Would the light foundation, the touch of blusher, hide the sudden drain of colour from her cheeks? She fervently hoped so. Her hand made a small movement, an involuntary groping for the chair, but she quickly halted it. She wasn’t going to let him know that she felt as if she’d been punched in the midriff, that a strange, hollow void had just opened somewhere near her heart.
Despite the casual stance, his eyes were watchful, as though he was getting ready to catch her.
I won’t let him have the satisfaction, Tara vowed. She lifted the forgotten glass in her hand and swallowed most of the drink, giving herself time to recover. Her voice was admirably steady when she said, ‘Congratulations. You must introduce me. She does know about me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well—’ she gave him a bright, unseeing smile ‘—I hope it works out for you both.’
‘Thank you.’ His voice was clipped, and for the first time she thought she discerned a faint discomfort. ‘You’re here alone, tonight?’
A pity she hadn’t arrived with some gorgeous man in tow. Trying to recall the woman Sholto had been with, she had a vague impression of pale, smooth hair falling to white, sloping shoulders, of a full mouth and compact curves. ‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted, ‘this time.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘From choice,’ she assured him coolly. Not that it was any of his business.
A tight smile touched his mouth. ‘I never imagined otherwise. Trawling, are you? I don’t suppose you’ll leave on your own. You’re as lovely as ever—to look at.’
Her eyelids flickered at the brief, deliberate pause. She hoped he didn’t realise how deep the barb had gone. ‘Isn’t it time we went back?’
‘Yes.’ Decisively he took his hands from his pockets and opened the door, waiting for her to precede him.
A perverse impulse stopped her as she was passing him, her eyes defiantly lifting to his. ‘I wish you luck,’ she said, and leaned forward to place a light kiss on his mouth.
That was what it was supposed to be—proof that she wasn’t shattered, that she wished him well. But, tantalised by the warm familiarity of his mouth, the seductive scent of his skin, her lips lingered wistfully.
She felt an answering movement of his mouth, and his hands gripped her shoulders as his lips opened and drove against hers.
‘Sholto?’
At the sound of the enquiring feminine voice, he thrust Tara away so roughly that her back came jarringly in contact with the door frame. She saw the fierce desire in his eyes before they turned murderous and then he dragged them from her to the woman standing hesitantly by the open door to the lounge, where the party went on noisily behind her.
‘Averil.’ Sholto held out his hand, stepping forward to draw her to his side.
As Tara shakily straightened herself, Sholto put his arm about the other woman. ‘This is Tara,’ he said, his voice hard, uninflected. ‘I’ve told you about her. Tara, I want you to meet Averil Carolan, my fiancée.’
CHAPTER TWO
AVERIL GAVE HER a stiff smile. Her eyes were the light, almost achromatic hue of bleached denim. Although she wore high-heeled shoes, her head was barely level with Sholto’s black tie, the pale hair contrasting with his jacket as his arm curled possessively about her shoulders. There’d be blond hairs adhering to the fine wool when he took his clothes off, Tara thought.
Banishing the picture edging into her mind, she held out her right hand. ‘How nice to meet you. I was just giving Sholto my best wishes for you both.’
Averil’s hand briefly met hers. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced up at Sholto, whose expression was enigmatic, his eyes resting on Tara with suspicion lurking in their depths.
The solid feel of the glass tumbler in her left hand was comforting. She tried a social answering smile, and