Marriage By Deception. Sara Craven

she told herself uneasily.

      She’d expected to find tonight’s situation relatively simple to deal with. For a few hours she’d planned to be someone else. Only she hadn’t put enough effort into learning her part. Because Sam Alexander didn’t seem convinced by her performance. He was altogether far too perceptive for his own good—or hers.

      And she was looking forward to the time, fast approaching now, when she could thank him nicely for her meal and leave, knowing she would never have to see him again.

      And it had nothing to do with his awful hair, or the nerdy glasses, or his frankly contradictory taste in clothes. In fact, it was strange how little all those things, so unacceptable at first, had come to matter as the evening wore on.

      And, in spite of them all, she still couldn’t figure him for a man who would have to look too hard for a woman. Not when there was a note in his voice and a look in those extraordinary blue-green eyes that made her whole body shiver, half in dread, half in excitement.

      But I don’t want to be made to feel like that, she thought. Not by a complete stranger, anyway. Someone I’m not even sure I can trust…

      ‘Would you like a brandy with your coffee?’ Sam was asking. ‘Or a liqueur, maybe?’

      ‘Nothing, thanks.’ Ros glanced at her watch. ‘I really should be going home.’

      ‘Already?’ There was faint mockery in his tone as he checked the time for himself. ‘Scared you’re going to turn into a pumpkin?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘But it’s getting late, and we both have to work tomorrow.’

      And, more importantly, something was warning her to get out while the going was good, she realised.

      ‘You’re quite right, of course,’ he said slowly. His glance was speculative. ‘Yet we both have so much more to learn about each other. You don’t know my favourite colour. I haven’t asked you about your favourite film. All that sort of stuff.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We seemed to skip that part.’

      ‘We could always order some more coffee,’ he suggested quietly. ‘Fill in some of the gaps.’

      She forced a smile. ‘I don’t think so. I really do have to run.’

      ‘I’m sorry you feel that.’ He was silent for a moment. Then, ‘So, where are you based at the moment, Janie? Which store?’

      She swallowed, as another pit opened unexpectedly in front of her. ‘No—particular one,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m helping launch a new lipstick range—so I’m travelling round quite a bit.’ She forced a smile. ‘Variety being the spice of life.’

      ‘That’s what they say, of course.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face in shadow away from the candlelight. His voice was quiet, almost reflective. It engaged her, locking her disturbingly into the unexpected intimacy of the exchange.

      ‘But I’m not sure I agree,’ he went on. ‘I’d like to think that I could stop—running. Stop searching. That just one person—provided she was the right one—could give my life all the savour it needs.’

      There was a tingling silence. Her throat seemed to close, and deep inside she was trembling, her whole body invaded by a languorous weakness. She wasn’t used to this blatantly physical reaction, and she didn’t like it. Didn’t need it.

      Let this be a lesson to me never to interfere again in other people’s concerns, she thought, swallowing, as she called herself mentally to order. And now let me extricate myself from this entire situation with charming finality. And, hopefully, no hard feelings.

      She gave a light laugh. ‘Well, I hope you find her soon.’ She pushed her chair back and rose, reaching for her bag. ‘And thank you for a—a very pleasant evening.’

      ‘I’m the one who’s grateful. You’ve given me a lot to think about,’ he returned courteously, as he got to his feet in turn. ‘It’s all been—most intriguing. Goodnight, Janie.’

      ‘Goodbye.’ She smiled determinedly, hoping he’d take the point. Politeness demanded that she offer her hand, too.

      The clasp of his fingers round hers was firm and warm. Too firm, she realised, as she tried to release herself, and found instead that she was being drawn forward. And that he was bending towards her, his intention quite obvious.

      She gasped, her body stiffening in immediate tension, and felt his mouth brush her parted lips, very slowly and very gently. Not threatening. Not even particularly demanding. Nothing that should cause that strange inner trembling again. But there it was, just the same, turning her limbs to water. Sending a ripple of yearning through her entire being. Just as if she’d never been kissed before. And as though she was being taught in one mind-numbing lesson where a kiss might lead.

      When he raised his head, he was smiling faintly.

      ‘No,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Not what I was expecting at all.’

      She said between her teeth, ‘Good. I’d hate to be predictable. Now, will you let me go, please?’

      ‘Reluctantly.’ His smile widened, but the turquoise gaze, boring into hers, was oddly serious. ‘And certainly not without something to remember me by.’

      He picked up the dark red rose from the table and tucked it into the square neckline of her dress, sliding the slender, thornless stem down between her breasts.

      Then he stepped back, looking at the effect he had created. Seeing how the crimson of the flower gleamed against the cream of her flesh.

      And a muscle moved beside his mouth. Swiftly. Uncontrollably.

      She felt her nipples swell and harden against the hug of the dress, and had to bite hard on her lower lip to dam back the small, urgent sound rising in her throat.

      He said softly, ‘Janie—stay, please. You don’t have to leave.’

      There was the hot, salty taste of blood in her mouth.

      She said huskily, ‘Yes—yes, I do.’ And barely recognised her own voice.

      Then she turned and walked quickly away, across the restaurant and into the foyer. Knowing as she did so that he was still standing there, silent and motionless, watching her go. And praying that he would not follow her.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ROS let herself into her house. Moving like a sleepwalker, she went into the sitting room and collapsed on to the sofa, because, as she recognised, her legs no longer wished to support her.

      ‘My God,’ she said, in a half-whisper. ‘What on earth did I think I was doing?’

      Fortunately there’d been a cab just outside the restaurant, so she’d been able to make an immediate getaway.

      Not that Sam Alexander had been anywhere in sight as she’d driven off, and she’d craned her neck until it ached to make certain.

      But all the same she hadn’t felt safe until her own front door had closed behind her.

      And, if she was honest, not even then. Not even now.

      I should never have started this, she thought broodingly. I should have left well alone.

      Because men like Sam Alexander could seriously damage your health. If you let them.

      And it was useless to pretend she hadn’t been tempted. Just for a nano-second, perhaps, but no less potent for all that. Which had never been part of the plan.

      Oh, God, the plan.

      Unwillingly, her mind travelled back ten days, reminding her how it had all begun…

      ’Ros, just listen to this.’

      As her stepsister hurtled into the room, waving a folded newspaper, Ros stifled a sigh and clicked ‘Save’