The Seduction Game. Sara Craven
her first long look at the creek itself.
And stopped in utter astonishment and swiftly mounting anger. She’d expected the usual tranquil expanse of water, ruffled only by moorhens or a passing duck, with Naiad as a centrepiece.
Instead she was confronted by another boat, a large cabin cruiser, smart, glossy, and shouting money. And tied up, for pity’s sake, at their landing stage.
She said aloud, furiously, ‘What the hell...?’ and halted, her attention suddenly riveted by the loud, excited barking of a dog just below the window, and Melusine’s answering yowl of fright
‘No,’ Tara exploded. She was across the room in two strides, and flying down the stairs, dragging back the bolts on the front door with hands that shook with rage as well as fear for her pet.
She hurled herself outside, colliding heavily as she did so with another body, much taller and more muscular than her own. Was aware, shockingly, of bare, hair-roughened skin grazing her cheek. Heard a man’s deep voice say, ‘Ouch,’ and felt strong hands steadying her.
‘Let go of me’ She tore herself free. ‘My cat—where is she?’
‘She’s safe. She’s roosting in that tree over there.’
Swinging round, Tara saw Melusine crouching on a branch twenty feet from the ground. And, leaping joyously below, still barking, a golden Labrador dog, not long out of puppyhood.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ she said savagely. ‘That’s just bloody wonderful. Call your damned dog off, will you? And when you’ve got him under control, the pair of you can clear out. This is a private landing.’
‘But apparently not a happy one.’ The interloper’s faint drawl was composed, even amused. All she could see of him was a dark shape between herself and the setting sun. She took a step backwards, shading her eyes.
She registered dark blond hair, in need of cutting, and cool blue eyes. A strong face, with a beaky nose, high cheekbones, and a firm, humorous mouth above a jutting chin. Not conventionally handsome by any means, but searingly attractive, she thought with a shock of recognition. He had a good body, too, lean and tanned, and clothed only from the waist down in faded denim which emphasised his long legs and flat stomach.
She felt a sudden sensuous tingle quivering along her nerve-endings that she had not experienced since Jack. And she resented it. More than that, feared it.
Dry-mouthed, she hurried into speech. ‘There’s not much to be happy about. You’re trespassing, and your dog has tried to kill my cat.’
‘Dogs chase cats. That’s a fact of life. They rarely if ever catch them. That’s another. And if he did get near I wouldn’t give much for his chances.’
His laconic drawl was infuriating. He turned towards the Labrador, put two fingers in his mouth to utter a piercing whistle, and called, ‘Buster.’ The dog came instantly to his side, eyes sparkling with excitement and tail wagging.
Tara glared at them both.
‘And what chance does my cat have—stuck there in that tree?’
‘Is she really stuck?’ he asked mildly. ‘I can probably do something about that.’
Tara took a deep breath. ‘The only thing that you can do is go. You’ve no right to be here. If you weren’t trespassing, none of this would have happened.’
‘And just what are your rights in all this?’
Tara jerked a thumb. ‘That happens to be my house.’
‘Really?’ The straight brows lifted. ‘Now I could have sworn it belonged to a Jim and Barbara Lyndon, who are both in their fifties and currently in South Africa. I must have been misinformed.’
‘They’re my parents.’ His easy assurance was unnerving. ‘And may I ask how you came by that information? ’
He shrugged. ‘People in the village are very helpful.’ He paused. ‘So it’s not really your house at all.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
Tara gritted her teeth. ‘If you want to split hairs...’
‘An excellent idea,’ he agreed affably. ‘You see, I was also told that this landing was a shared one with Dean’s Mooring.’
‘Back in the mists of time, perhaps.’ She hated the defensive note in her voice. ‘However, Mr Dean never used it. He didn’t even have a boat.’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But, you see, I have. And as clearly no one is using the Dean’s Mooring share at the moment, I’m borrowing it.’
‘But you can’t—not without permission from the owner,’ she protested wildly.
‘And do you know how to contact him?’ He was grinning openly now.
Tara could have ground her teeth. ‘Hardly,’ she returned stiffly. ‘As I’m sure you’re already aware, Mr Dean died some time ago.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And I left the ouija board in my other jeans. Well, they say possession is nine tenths of the law, so it looks as if we’re going to be neighbours.’
‘But you can’t just—move in and take over like this.’
‘The evidence suggests I can—and I have. So why don’t we work out a co-existence pact.’
Because I don’t want you here, she thought. It’s too lonely—too remote to share with some passing stranger. And because you worry me in ways I don’t understand.
She hurried into speech. ‘You must see that’s impossible. You could be anybody.’
‘On the lines of escaped criminal, rapist or axe murderer, I presume.’ He gave her a weary look. ‘Would you like to see my driving licence—my gold card?’
‘The only thing I’d like to see is you and your boat sailing away,’ Tara said inimically. ‘There’s a marina about six miles upstream. You should find everything you need there.’
‘I think it’s a little premature to be discussing my needs,’ he drawled. ‘Besides, I’m quite contented where I am. And, as I was here first, maybe it’s you that should be moving on. But I won’t make an issue of it,’ he added kindly. ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t play loud music or throw wild parties. I like my peace and quiet.’
For a moment she couldn’t move or speak. Her eyes blazed into his—fire meeting ice. Then, with a small, inarticulate sound, she marched back to the house and went in, slamming the door behind her with such violence that a blue and white plate fell off the wall and smashed at her feet.
‘Oh, hell,’ said Tara, and, to her own surprise and disgust, burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWO
‘MELUSINE.’ Perched on an inadequate pair of steps, Tara held out a coaxing handful of meaty snacks. ‘Come on, darling.’
But Melusine only gave her a baleful glance, and continued to hang on to the precarious safety of her branch.
Tara groaned inwardly. She’d hoped against hope that Melusine would rescue herself somehow, but her pet clearly had other ideas. She wouldn’t climb down, and it was physically impossible for Tara to reach her.
Which left a drive to the village and a phone call to either the fire service or the local RSPCA, she thought despondently.
Nothing, but nothing, was going according to plan.
However, that still didn’t excuse or explain the pathetic bout of crying she’d indulged in earlier, she reminded herself. She didn’t usually walk away from confrontations, or behave like a wimp afterwards.
I handled the whole thing so badly, she thought, as if I’d forgotten every management skill I ever learned. But he caught me off-guard. Put me