The Seduction Game. Sara Craven
The sudden sound of her adversary’s voice behind her made her jump. The steps lurched and Tara cried out, grabbing at the trunk of the tree in front of her.
‘Do you have to creep up on me?’ she snarled as she steadied herself.
‘It wasn’t intentional,’ he said. ‘I could see she wouldn’t budge, so I came to help. You need a longer ladder.’
‘Full marks for observation,’ Tara said between her teeth as she descended from the steps. The tatty jeans, she saw, had now been topped by an equally ancient checked shirt with a tear in one sleeve. ‘Unfortunately, this is as good as it gets.’
‘Not necessarily.’
She gave him a caustic look. ‘You have a ladder stashed on board your boat? How unusual.’
‘Not on board,’ he said. ‘But I noticed one earlier in an outhouse behind the cottage.’
‘You certainly haven’t been wasting your time.’ Tara felt cold suddenly. ‘And what about the contents of the cottage itself? Have you made an inventory of those too?’
‘I’ve had a look round.’ He nodded. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted. Especially,’ he added pointedly, ‘as I believe you have a key.’
Tara flushed, silently damning the kindly but eager tongues in the village. ‘That’s for security purposes. I don’t pry into other people’s business,’ she added, lifting her chin.
Although she had been in Dean’s Mooring, her conscience reminded her. After Mr Dean’s death, she’d helped her mother clear out what little food there’d been, and strip and burn the bedding he’d used. Amid the squalor, there’d been several nice pieces of furniture, she recalled uneasily. Things which could easily tempt someone for whom honesty wasn’t a major factor.
‘Then you must be a saint.’ He paused. ‘But you don’t seem to be working any miracles where your cat’s concerned, so shall I fetch that ladder?’
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, and stuff his ladder where the sun didn’t shine, but discretion suggested a more conciliatory approach. After all, she didn’t want to spend the night at the foot of a tree, wooing an unresponsive cat.
‘Thank you,’ she said unsmilingly.
‘God, how that must have hurt,’ he said mockingly, and set off towards Dean’s Mooring.
Frowningly, she watched him go, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, covering the ground with his long, lithe stride. No matter how grave her doubts about him, she could not deny he possessed a lethal physical attraction. Which was not the kind of thing she needed to notice, she thought, biting her lip.
Her safest course might indeed be to pack up and return to London. Or even go down to Becky’s, she reminded herself without enthusiasm.
But that would leave her parents’ house defenceless, as well as Dean’s Mooring. Knowing that she was there, able to keep an eye on both properties, might prompt him to cut his losses and depart. If, indeed, he was there to steal.
She couldn’t believe he had just stumbled on Silver Creek by accident. On the contrary, he appeared to have done his homework thoroughly.
But the shabby clothes and generally unkempt appearance—at least two days’ growth of stubble, she’d noticed disapprovingly—didn’t match the glamorous cruiser. Unless he’d stolen that too, of course.
People with boats like that tended to enjoy showing them off on the broader stretches of the river. Mixing with others in a similar income bracket. So he must have a reason for hiding himself away in this secluded corner.
All in all, he was an enigma, and someone she could well do without. But he couldn’t be driven away. That was already more than clear.
Maybe sheer boredom and the total lack of amenities would do the trick in the end, and all she needed was patience.
I can only hope, she thought, sighing, as she watched him return, the ladder balanced effortlessly on his shoulder.
She watched him set it against the tree and wedge it securely, then stepped forward. ‘You’d better let me go up for her. She’s not very good with strangers.’
‘I wonder where she learned that,’ he murmured, his mouth slanting. ‘All the same...’
He put his foot on the bottom rung, and started to climb.
Melusine watched his approach, back hunched.
He’d either be scratched or totally ignored, Tara thought, smouldering with annoyance at his highhanded performance. And either would be more than acceptable to her. Serve him right for being an arrogant swine.
He reached the branch, stretched out a hand, and made a soft chirruping sound.
And Melusine, treacherous bloody animal that she was, rose gracefully, picked her way towards him, and jumped lightly on to his shoulder.
He murmured to her soothingly, then descended swiftly and competently, bending slightly so that Tara could retrieve her purring feline.
‘I have to thank you again,’ she said, her voice so wooden she could have spat splinters.
‘I’m sure it won’t become a habit,’ he returned. He scratched gently under Melusine’s chin, which she arched ecstatically to accommodate him. ‘She’s friendlier than you give her credit for.’
‘Not usually.’
He grinned again, the cool blue gaze looking her over with unashamed appraisal. ‘Then she’s like most women—contrary.’
‘And you’re like most men—sexist,’ Tara shot back at him.
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I believe in two genders, and thank God for each and every difference between them. But it doesn’t make me a bad person,’ he added his eyes fixed on the swift tightening of Tara’s mouth.‘So, what’s her name?’
‘Melusine,’ she said curtly.
‘A witch name,’ he said musingly, then laughed softly. ‘Now, why does that not surprise me?’ He stroked the cat’s glossy head with his forefinger. ‘How do you do, my proud beauty? I’m Adam Barnard. And I hope you’re none the worse for your ordeal.’
Adam Barnard Tara felt the name stir in her mind with something like pleasure.
She hurriedly covered her involuntary reaction with waspishness. ‘You’d better leave the ladder where it is. When your dog gets loose, Melusine will be back up the tree again, looking for sanctuary.’
‘I may join her.’ His tone was grim, the tanned mobile face suddenly austere as he looked her over. ‘Did no one ever tell you the Cold War is over?’
Tara’s lips tightened. ‘I didn’t come down to play good neighbours.’
‘Just as well.’ He shrugged. ‘Clearly you’d be lousy at it. As a matter of interest, why are you here looking for splendid isolation?’ The blue eyes quizzed her. ‘Hiding from something?’
‘Certainly not.’ Tara returned his gaze levelly. ‘I came to do some work on the house. It’s a while since anyone’s been here, and I don’t want it falling into rack and ruin...’
‘Like Dean’s Mooring,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, actually. I think it’s a tragedy to leave the place abandoned like that, with no one to care for it.’
‘Is that what the previous owner did? Cared?’
There was an odd note in his voice.
‘I—I don’t know,’ Tara said defensively. ‘I didn’t know Mr Dean very well. No one did. He hardly ever went out, and no one came to see him. Even when he was ill he wouldn’t have the doctor, or the district nurse. But