A Stranger's Kiss

fine thank you.’ She helped herself to yoghurt and pitta bread and coffee, not quite feeling up to tomatoes, olives or goats cheese.
    ‘Did you sleep well?’ he enquired, politely.
    ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘Did you?’
    He raised his head to look at her. She knew he wasn’t seeing the navy dress, but what he imagined, with a good deal of justification, was beneath it.
    ‘What do you think?’ he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, instead launching into a discussion of the day’s programme. ‘We have a meeting at the bank this morning. It should be over by twelve and we’ll have lunch, then work here this afternoon. There’s a cocktail party at the British Embassy this evening and then a change of plan. We’ve been invited to dinner with the commercial secretary and his wife.’
    She made a note in the diary. ‘When did you arrange that?’
    ‘I saw Mark at the restaurant last night when he was on the point of leaving and walked with him to his car.’ His look made her flinch. ‘I was gone all of five minutes, quite long enough apparently for Hanna to talk you into a look at the desert by night. But then a blind man could have seen you wouldn’t take much convincing.’
    ‘But he said...’ She stopped, unwilling to betray herself. If she admitted to leaving because of Hanna’s implication that Adam was otherwise engaged he would know just how vulnerable she was.
    ‘Yes?’ he prompted.
    ‘He was a perfect gentleman.’
    ‘How disappointing for you. But then, he hasn’t seen you in your underwear. Yet. I can guarantee he won’t manage my self-restraint.’
    ‘If Hanna Rashid sees me in my underwear, Adam, it will be at my invitation.’
    ‘You’re playing with fire, Tara.’ He stood up, his breakfast half eaten. ‘But you’re a grown woman and hardly my responsibility.’
    ‘And you need me too much to send me packing, no matter how much you’d like to.’
    His look was a warning that she was on the edge of insolence, but Tara knew that they had long ago stepped across the boundary that should remain in any professional relationship. And she knew without doubt that but for Jane she would already have taken Beth’s advice to enjoy herself. Adam Blackmore had already managed to go a fair way to breaking her heart and all the pain and none of the pleasure seemed a little hard.
    The day proceeded very much according to plan. Hanna Rashid was there, but in the background and Adam casually seated himself alongside Tara, cutting out the other man at lunch.
    There was a well-furnished office at the villa and Tara spent the afternoon typing up her notes and dealing with correspondence, while Adam was on the telephone.
    At four Hanna Rashid arrived, much to Adam’s ill-concealed annoyance. ‘But I promised the beautiful Madame Lambert I would show her the desert. The sunset.’
    ‘Then it will have to be some other time, Hanna. She’s here to work and she’s too busy to go gallivanting off to look at the sunset. Or any other interesting things you might have in mind to show her.’
    He looked at Tara and shrugged. ‘Another time,’ he promised. And his eyes told her it would be soon. His smile would break your heart she thought, if you were fool enough to believe it. She smiled back warmly, but only because she knew it would make Adam furious.
    She paid for that smile with an onslaught of work that left her lying in the bath at six-thirty, trying to recoup sufficient energy for the long evening ahead.
    She wore a dark red evening suit, the skirt a little shorter than usual. It wasn’t part of her business wardrobe. There was a limit to that. And she was rewarded with a faint smile when she descended to the drawing room.
    ‘Hanna won’t be there, this evening, Tara,’ he reminded her.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Then isn’t that rather a waste?’
    ‘If that’s supposed to be a compliment, Adam, thank you.’
    ‘Anytime. A drink?’
    ‘Just a tonic water, please.’ He handed her a tall frosted glass and she took a long, cooling sip. ‘Any instructions for this evening?’
    ‘Just enjoy yourself.’
    ‘And are those your plans, too?’ He raised his own glass with a cool smile and a slow flush darkened her cheekbones.
     He took the barely touched drink from her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
    The cocktail party was just another version of dozens she had been to. No better, no worse. But the Commercial Secretary, Mark Stringer and his wife Angela were good company