The Seduction Game

He sighed. ‘I was afraid of that. Mrs Pritchard will be so disappointed.’

Tara had the curious impression she was involved in some kind of alternative reality. Or had her opponent simply escaped from somewhere?

She said hoarsely, ‘What’s Mrs Pritchard got to do with anything? And how did you know my name?’

‘Well, you can’t possibly be Becky. You’re not wearing a wedding ring.’

He made himself sound like the voice of sweet reason, Tara thought furiously. Was there any family detail Mrs Pritchard hadn’t confided to him?

‘And she told me she’d made you one of her steak and kidney pies, because you like them so much,’ he went on, then paused. ‘I got the impression she thought you might be prepared to share it with me,’ he added wistfully. ‘And, after all, I did rescue your cat.’

Her lips moved for several seconds before any audible words were formed. Then, ‘You—want some steak and kidney pie?’ she asked slowly and very carefully. ‘Is that what you mean?’

‘What else?’ His face was solemn, but the blue eyes were dancing in challenge.

Tara wasn’t cold any more. She was blazing—burning up with temper. He’d made a total fool of her—reduced her to a shaken mass of insecurity—and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She couldn’t even admit it. And they both knew it.

She swallowed deeply, forcing an approximation of a smile to her rigid mouth.

‘Then of course you shall have some.’ She shifted the indignant Melusine to look at her watch. ‘After all, I wouldn’t want to forfeit Mrs Pritchard’s good opinion. Shall we say eight o’clock?’

‘My God,’ he said slowly. ‘Under that stony exterior beats a living heart after all. I’ll be counting the minutes.’

Count away, Tara told him silently. By seven-thirty both I and my steak and kidney pie will be halfway back to London. And I won’t be coming back until you’re safely out of the picture. You may have charmed the Pritchards, but I’m not falling for your line. Not any more. I’ve been there and done that.

She made herself smile again. ‘Well—see you later.’

She walked away without haste, and without looking back, although she was aware that he was watching her every step of the way.

Look as much as you want, she thought. It’ll be your last opportunity.

As she closed the front door behind her she realised she was trembling all over. She halted, trying to steady her breathing, and Melusine, mewing violently, jumped from her arms and mooched into the kitchen, whisking her tail.

Tara went up to her room to retrieve her travel bag. She couldn’t resist a surreptitious peep out of the window, but Adam Barnard was nowhere to be seen. The ladder had disappeared too, so presumably he was putting it back where he’d found it. He certainly made very free with other people’s property, she thought, fuming. Well, she couldn’t stop him snooping round Dean’s Mooring, perhaps, but she could tip off the local police about his activities.

And she could find out which estate agency was handling the sale of the property and express the family’s interest in acquiring it. That would deal with unauthorised use of the mooring.

She stared across at the cabin cruiser. What was an unshaven scruff like Adam Barnard doing in charge of something so upmarket and glamorous? she wondered uneasily. He couldn’t be the owner, yet the boat didn’t have the look of a hire craft either.

But for that matter what was he doing here at all—and alone? He didn’t give the impression of a man addicted to solitude. And some women—probably flashy blondes—might even find his brand of raffish attraction appealing, she thought, ruthlessly quelling the memory of her own brief, unlooked-for response to him.

Just a slip of the reflexes, she assured herself. And no harm done. Which didn’t altogether explain why she was beating such a swift and ignominious retreat.

Tara bit her lip. To run away, of course, would be an open admission that she found him dangerous. That she’d taken his teasing seriously. And that would put her at the far greater risk of appearing an over-reactive and humourless idiot.

Although there was no real reason why she should care what he thought.

And why am I standing here debating the matter, anyway? she demanded vexedly.

Because you haven’t been able to pigeon-hole him, said a small voice at the back of her mind. Because so far he’s won every round. Because he’s a puzzle you can’t solve. Not yet.

He’d asked her if she was hiding from something, but she could well have levelled the same question at him. What could possibly have brought him to this secluded patch of river?

Unless, of course, the boat really was stolen, and he really was some kind of criminal.

The thought brought a renewed sense of chill. But, to be fair, he’d hardly made a secret of his presence, she reminded herself. After all, making Mrs Pritchard’s acquaintance was tantamount to telling the world.

On the other hand, he could be mounting some terrific double bluff. Making himself so visible and agreeable locally that no one would suspect a thing.

It disturbed her that he’d gained so much background information about her family, and so easily, too. If he was just a passing stranger, what possible use or interest could these details be to him?

Which led her back to the possibility that Adam Barnard did not see Silver Creek simply as a convenient backwater in which to pass a few lazy days.

So, what was his true motivation? And if he was up to no good could she afford to go and leave the house to his tender mercies? Maybe his needling of her had been a deliberate ploy, intended to goad her into flight.

If so, she thought with sudden grim resolution, he’s going to be unlucky. Because I won’t be driven away, after all. Not before I’ve found out a little in turn about the so-clever, so-attractive Mr Barnard.

Down in the kitchen, Melusine was sitting huffily by the fridge.

‘My poor girl.’ Tara ran a caressing hand down her back. ‘You’ve had quite a day. I’d better start making it all up to you, before you walk out on me.’

The Chinese had a curse, she recalled, as she opened a can of tuna and poured milk into a dish. ‘May you live in interesting times.’

Certainly the current situation seemed to be quite fascinating enough to fit into that particular frame.

And all she had to do was make sure that the curse did not fall on her. A task well within her capabilities.

But, even as she smiled to herself in quiet confidence, a sudden inner vision of Adam Barnard’s tanned face leapt into her mind.

In one shocked moment Tara saw the mocking twist of his firm lips, the little devils dancing in his blue eyes, and wondered if, perhaps, she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.

By the time eight o’clock came, Tara felt as if she’d been stretched on wires. More than once she’d been tempted to revert to Plan A, and put some serious distance between herself and the enigmatic Mr Barnard.

At the same time she found herself preparing vegetables, putting the pie in the oven to reheat, and setting two places at the kitchen table.

When the bell finally rang, she took a deep breath, wiped damp palms on her denim-clad hips, and went to let him in.

For a moment she barely recognised him. He was clean-shaven, his hair was combed, and the torn jeans and shirt had been replaced by pale grey trousers and a black rollneck sweater which looked very like cashmere, and he was carrying a bottle of wine.

Nor was he alone. Before Tara could speak, Buster jumped up at her with a joyous yelp, then squeezed past and dashed along the passage towards the kitchen.

‘Oh, God,’ Tara wailed. ‘He’s after the cat. He’ll kill her.’

‘Not a chance.’ Adam Barnard laid a detaining hand on her arm as she prepared to set off in pursuit. ‘He’s a young male. It’s in his nature to hunt.’

‘Then why the hell did you bring him?’ She glared up at him.

‘So that they can get things sorted. If they’re going to be neighbours, they need to get along.’