The Price of Retribution

‘Of course.’

‘And not because you find me physically repugnant?’

She leaned back in her chair. ‘Now you’re laughing at me.’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Simply trying to establish quite an important point. Well?’

She hesitated. Sent him a defensive look. ‘You don’t make things easy, do you?’

‘Perhaps not,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe because I prefer to aim for—ultimately and mutually rewarding.’

The words seemed to shiver along her nerve-endings as if her senses were suddenly awakening to undreamed-of possibilities. Her skin was warming as though it had been brought alive by the stroke of a hand. Her nipples were hardening, aching, inside the lace confines of her bra. And while the immediacy of her response might be shocking, it was, to a certain extent, understandable.

Because instinct told her that Caz Brandon was not simply suggesting the likelihood of sensual delight, but offering it to her as a certainty.

An overwhelming prospect for someone of her ludicrously limited experience, she thought, and stopped right there, suppressing a gasp.

Oh, dear God, what was she doing to herself? Was she going completely crazy? Because she knew perfectly well that whatever he might be promising was never going to be fulfilled.

Evie, Evie, she whispered under her breath. If this is how he came on to you, no wonder you simply fell into his hands. He could make anyone believe anything.

Yet she was in no real danger, she reminded herself emphatically. Not when she could visualise her foster sister lying in that bed, in that clinical room, her slender body reduced to painful thinness, and her once-pretty face a haggard mask of unhappiness. That was the image that would armour her against succumbing to the wiles of the man confronting her across the candle-lit table.

He said, ‘I was always told that silence means consent. But with you I need assurance. Does it?’

She pulled herself together, and met his gaze directly. She said in a low voice, ‘How can I possibly answer you? We hardly know each other.’

‘How strange that you should think so,’ he said. ‘Because I felt a kind of instant recognition, and thought you were conscious of it too. As if it was inevitable I would look up some evening and find you standing on the other side of the room.’

He was actually shaking his head. ‘It’s never happened to me before. If I’m to be candid, I didn’t particularly expect it or want it.’ His smile was brief almost harsh. ‘You’re an extra complication, Tarn Desmond, in an already crowded existence.’

‘So I believe.’ The swift, taut reply was framed before she could stop herself. Fool, she castigated herself silently. Imbecile. Although his private life was hardly a state secret. That there were pictures of him with various glamorous companions all over the Internet. With one exception…

His slow answering grin mingled amusement with pleasure.

‘So you’ve been checking up on me,’ he said. ‘That’s encouraging.’

‘Professional interest,’ she told him coolly. ‘I like to know the calibre of the people I work for.’

His former words were still ringing in her head. Presumably this was his tried and tested line, she thought, the sheer arrogance of the man catching her by the throat.

It should have made her furious—hardened her resolve, but instead she felt momentarily flurried—almost bewildered.

‘And yet you took Philip Hanson at face value,’ he said. ‘Why was that?’

‘A momentary glitch,’ she said after a swift, startled silence. She’d almost forgotten that particular fiction. ‘He was very convincing.’

‘He must have been.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You’d certainly pulled out the stops when you were dressing that evening, and all for someone you hardly knew. Was that wise?’

‘I didn’t dress for him,’ Tarn defended. ‘I wanted to make an impression at the party.’

‘Then you certainly succeeded,’ Caz told her. He frowned. ‘Yet I still wonder why he steered you towards us. I’m not complaining you understand, just—slightly puzzled.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t tried to track him down since?’

She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I suppose I really do have to treat it as a stupid, unkind joke.’

‘If so, it was one that signally misfired,’ Caz returned drily. ‘We should both be grateful to him.’

‘Both of us?’ Her brows lifted. ‘I rather think all the gratitude’s on my side. Because I must also thank the girl who’s having a baby, and created a vacancy for me, however temporary.’

‘This is beginning to sound like an Oscars ceremony,’ he said. ‘In a minute, you’ll be blessing your parents for having you.’

Perhaps, she thought. If I’d ever known them. If they hadn’t left me alone in the world, dependant on strangers.

Aloud, she said, ‘And what’s so wrong about that?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Except it’s a task you should really leave to me.’

Tarn looked away. She said, ‘If all this is another joke, can we end it here and now, please. I think it’s gone quite far enough.’

‘This is a beginning,’ Caz told her quietly. ‘Not a closing. But I can see I’m going to have to work damned hard to prove to you that I’m serious.’

And with that, the waiters appeared to clear their plates, and produce dessert menus, giving Tarn a much-needed breathing space as she contemplated what to say next. How to react.

Tricky, when all she really wanted to do was empty the remains of that expensive wine over his head, call him a treacherous, unfeeling bastard and storm out.

But that would only provide her with a momentary satisfaction. While he could laugh off his brief humiliation as a lovers’ tiff, and every man in the restaurant would be on his side.

And what she wanted—required—was for him to experience the kind of pain that he’d inflicted on Evie.

And it will happen, she vowed inwardly. I’ll make it happen.

‘Tell me something,’ he said, when the panna cotta with its red berry coulis had been ordered for them both. ‘Is there someone in New York? Someone you plan to go back to?’

‘Why do you ask?’ She drank some more wine.

‘Because I need to know what I’m up against. If it’s just the office hierarchy thing that’s making you so elusive, or if there’s something or someone else.’

Or maybe I’m just trying to demonstrate that you’re not Mr Irresistible, she told him silently. On the other hand, it would be stupid to let you think I’m totally uninterested and alienate you completely. So it’s time to tug on the thread a little.

She met his gaze squarely. ‘There’s no-one,’ she said. ‘Not any more.’

This time it was the whole truth. Howard had reacted badly to the news that she would not be accompanying him to the Keys. And her subsequent explanation had left him not merely unmoved, but getting angrier by the moment.