The Seduction Game. Sara Craven

touching her throat like velvet and filling her mouth with the fragrance of blackcurrant.

      As Adam went to refill her glass she swiftly covered it with her hand.

      ‘I’d better not have any more.’

      ‘Why not? You haven’t got work tomorrow, and you’re not planning to drive anywhere, are you? At least, not tonight.’

      She heard that note of laughter in his voice again, and her mouth tightened. He sounded as if he’d been perched inside her head for the last hour or so, observing her mental struggles.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I know my limitations.’

      ‘That’s fine,’ he said equably. ‘As long as you make sure they don’t obscure your potential.’

      ‘My goodness.’ She offered him the potatoes. ‘Do you write books on self-improvement, by any chance?’

      ‘I don’t write books at all.’ With equal politeness, he passed her the celery. ‘But I apologise if I sounded sententious.’

      She flushed. ‘No—I didn’t mean... That is...’

      Aware that she was foundering, she stopped.

      ‘Sometimes a direct question is best,’ Adam remarked pensively.

      ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Tara said coldly, concentrating on her plate.

      ‘You want to know what I do for a living.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Why not just ask?’

      ‘Because that’s entirely your own business,’ she came back at him, trying to retrieve the situation. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

      ‘No,’ he said drily. ‘But that hasn’t stopped you burning up with curiosity from the moment we met. And you have good reason,’ he added, after a brief pause. ‘Do you spend a lot of time down here on your own?’

      ‘I’m sure Mrs Pritchard has already told you the answer to that,’ Tara said, with a snap.

      ‘Is that what’s riling you? That I’ve stolen some kind of march on you?’

      ‘Of course not. Cooking and gossip are her specialities. Everyone knows that.’ She put her knife and fork down, colour rising in her face. ‘Oh, God, that sounds so bitchy.’

      ‘Just a touch,’ he agreed.

      She gave him a furious look. ‘I’m not usually like it.’

      ‘Then it must be my malign influence,’ he said smoothly. ‘May I have another piece of pie? You can throw it at me, if you wish.’

      She was startled into an unwilling laugh. She pushed the dish towards him. ‘Please help yourself.’ She paused. ‘I haven’t made a pudding, but there’s cheese and fruit.’

      ‘And all of it for an unwanted guest,’ he murmured. ‘How incredibly magnanimous. And I’m a draughtsman.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Tara, completely taken aback.

      He lifted an eyebrow as he transferred meat and pastry to his plate. ‘Surprised that I’m so respectable?’

      ‘No,’ she denied too swiftly.

      ‘It’s a hellish life, but someone has to do it.’ He grinned at her. ‘Feel reassured?’

      No, she thought, but I don’t know why.

      She said, ‘Is that the intention?’

      ‘I think so. For better or worse we’re going to be sharing some space.’ He leaned across and poured more wine into her glass. ‘Let’s drink to a better understanding.’

      Now, of course, would be the time to tell him she wasn’t staying. To come out with some glib excuse for leaving and getting on with her life, well out of harm’s way.

      But, for some reason she couldn’t for the life of her explain, she remained silent.

      Adam lifted his glass, and she raised hers obediently in turn.

      He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. His blue eyes seemed to glitter in the candlelight, and the table between them was suddenly very narrow.

      Tara was staring back at him, as if mesmerised. In those few strange seconds she knew—as if it had already happened—as if he had come to her and drawn her up, out of her chair, into his arms—the touch of his mouth on hers, the brush of his hands on her naked skin. Knew it, and wanted it with a sudden ache of longing too deep for words.

      He said softly, ‘To us.’ And drank.

      While Tara sat completely still, her lips slightly parted in shock, and her fingers frozen to the stem of her glass.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FORTUNATELY, Adam didn’t appear to notice her paralysed state, much less guess its cause. He drank the toast, then put down his glass and returned to the remainder of his meal.

      Tara, suddenly aware that her hand had started shaking, carefully replaced her own glass on the table too.

      She was over-reacting badly, and she knew it. Just as she’d done from the moment she set eyes on him.

      It was only a toast, she argued silently. Simply one of those things that people said. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. And so silly to get het up about something so trivial. So very silly.

      But, all the same, she knew that she should never have let herself be talked into sharing her supper with Adam. Wine and candlelight, she thought, her heart hammering. A seriously bad idea. And she needed to bring the evening to an end with despatch.

      She clattered the cutlery noisily on to her plate and rose. ‘I—I’ll get the cheese.’

      ‘Fine.’ Adam got to his feet too. ‘If you’ll show me where everything is, I’ll make the coffee.’

      It was a perfectly reasonable offer, Tara thought wrathfully as she carried the used dishes to the sink. She could hardly tell him that coffee was off the menu and she was having second thoughts about the cheese, too.

      Behave normally, she advised herself. And once you shut the door behind him make sure it stays closed.

      There’d been a new pack of coffee among the groceries. She retrieved it from the small larder, then walked over to the dresser and stretched up to the top shelf for the cafetière.

      ‘Allow me.’ He was standing right behind her.

      ‘Oh—thank you.’ She moved hastily out of the way as Adam reached past her. She was aware, fleetingly, of the faint fragrance of some expensive cologne. He’d not been wearing it earlier when she’d cannoned into him. Then, there’d only been the fresh, clean, quintessentially male scent of his skin, she remembered, suppressing a gasp.

      ‘Is something wrong?’

      The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was nervous. That would be putting herself in his power, she reminded herself grimly.

      ‘Not a thing.’ She flashed him a meaningless smile, and busied herself arranging cheese, grapes and a few apples on a wooden platter.

      ‘You’re like a cat on hot bricks.’ Adam set the kettle to boil, then looked past her with a faint grin. ‘You should follow her example instead.’

      Turning, Tara saw that Melusine had given up her vantage point on the draining board and was now occupying the rocking chair in the corner, her paws tucked neatly under her and her green eyes inscrutable. Buster was stretched out, snoring, on the rug below.

      ‘You see,’ Adam went on. ‘Initial differences can be settled, and peaceful co-existence achieved.’

      ‘Natures, however, do not basically change,’ she said crisply. ‘And Melusine and I like our own space.’

      ‘Well,