His Delicious Revenge: The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All

She said with a kind of insane brightness, ‘It’s so untidy in here. I must apologise.’

She moved quickly, gathering it up under the cover of the envelope that lay beside it, and pushing them both on to a shelf in the bookcase.

Caz was glancing round. ‘This is a pleasant room.’

Better than the place you found for Evie…

Aloud she said, ‘Thank you. Won’t you sit down?’

‘I have been sitting,’ he said. ‘On a plane, and then in the car that picked me up at the airport. May I help with the coffee instead?’

She hesitated, then led the way to the kitchen. It was a comfortable size, but tonight it felt cramped, as if by the simple action of turning from the sink to the worktop and from the worktop to a cupboard, she would brush against him.

She was almost surprised to discover she’d managed to assemble the coffee beans, the grinder and the percolator without any physical contact with him whatsoever.

Yet it was the mental awareness of him that she found so disturbing. The consciousness that he was leaning against the doorframe silently observing her flustered preparations.

She said, holding up a bottle, ‘I’ve also found some brandy, but I think it’s what Della uses for cooking, so I can’t vouch for it.’

He grinned. ‘No point being snobs in an emergency. Where do you keep your glasses?’

‘Top cupboard on your right.’

As she spooned the freshly ground coffee into the percolator and added boiling water, the aroma filled the air, replacing the faint, expensive hint of musk that she’d detected from the cologne he wore.

When she’d decided to let him in, it was with the fixed intention of provoking him into making a pass, and then reporting him to the police for sexual harassment.

But wiser counsels had soon prevailed. The fact that she’d admitted him when she was alone and only wearing a bathrobe would do her case no good at all, she admitted silently. Besides, he’d said he wouldn’t pounce, so she would have to make all the running—another serious black mark against her.

And the fact that this was Della’s flat, and her friend totally disapproved of what she was doing stopped her in her tracks, at least for tonight, and warned her to think of something else.

‘I’m hoping this might relax you,’ Caz remarked, handing her a rounded crystal glass. ‘You look like a kitten caught in headlights—as if you don’t know which way to run. Am I really so scary?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, of course not. It was just—such a surprise. Besides, I’m not really dressed for entertaining.’

If she’d expected some leering riposte, she was disappointed.

Caz frowned slightly. ‘I should have telephoned ahead. Warned you I was calling round, or maybe made a date for a more convenient time.’

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘Considering the amount of twitch in the air, maybe I should reserve my reasons for another time too.’

‘I have a better idea,’ Tarn said. ‘Why don’t we just—start again.’ She held out her hand. ‘Good evening, Mr Brandon. What an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Change Mr Brandon to Caz,’ he said, the warm strong fingers closing round hers. ‘And it will become an unmitigated pleasure.’

And I’m an unmitigated fool not to throw this brandy over you here and now and scream what you’ve done to your face—tell you what a bastard—what a love rat you are. Although you wouldn’t recognise or understand the word ‘love.’ And, anyway, you’d just shrug it off and walk away. Water off a duck’s back. But some day soon, you’ll be made to care…

She allowed her long lashes to sweep down in demure concealment, in case he read the truth in her eyes. ‘Very well—Caz.’

‘A moment I might have missed if I’d called in advance,’ he said softly as he released her hand. He paused. ‘So where’s your flatmate this evening?’

‘At a hen party. Someone’s birthday.’

‘You didn’t want to go?’

She sent him a wry glance. ‘I decided to settle for a quiet night in.’

‘Which I’ve spoiled,’ he said softly. ‘However, your loss is my definite gain.’

She set a tray with cups and saucers, adding a jug of cream. Caz carried it into the sitting room, placing it on the small table in front of the sofa, and she followed with the percolator. She sat at one end of the sofa, and he occupied the other, stretching long legs in front of him.

‘I like the shampoo you use,’ he commented unexpectedly. ‘Apple with a hint of vanilla.’

Tarn busied herself pouring coffee, leaning forward so that the swing of her hair could conceal the sudden warmth invading her face.

She said, ‘You’re—very perceptive.’

‘I’m on a steep learning curve,’ he said. ‘Finding out about you.’

Her throat tightened nervously. Was he serious? Given his money and resources, if he really started to probe her background, what might he not unearth?

With a supreme effort, she kept her voice light, and her hand steady as she passed him his coffee. ‘Well, that shouldn’t take long. There isn’t very much to discover.’

‘On the contrary,’ he said slowly. ‘I suspect it could take a lifetime.’

He reached for his brandy glass and raised it. ‘To us.’

She drank without repeating the toast. ‘Isn’t that still slightly presumptuous?’

‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I simply have to win you round to my way of thinking, that’s all.’

Her breathing quickened. ‘And if I can’t be won?’

‘Do you mean “can’t”?’ he asked. ‘Or is it really “won’t”?’

She moved a restive shoulder, replaced her glass on the table. ‘Does it make a difference?’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Whichever it is, you’ll find I don’t give up easily.’

There was a silence, then she said jerkily, ‘Mr Brandon—Caz—this whole conversation is making me—uneasy. I think you should drink your coffee and leave.’

‘I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable with the situation.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, I was thinking it was like a foretaste of the future. Me—back from business trip. You—with your hair just washed and no makeup. Both of us enjoying a nightcap together, knowing exactly how the evening will end, but content to wait. To savour every lovely moment.’

His gaze rested on her startled, parted lips then moved down to the flurried rise and fall of her breasts under the concealment of her robe.

He added with sudden roughness, ‘For God’s sake, Tarn. Don’t you know that I’m nervous too. Have you forgotten what I said the other night?’