A Stranger's Kiss

explain,’ he assured her, easily. ‘It was a pleasure.’
    ‘Yes,’ she agreed, then a faint blush coloured her cheeks as she realised what she had said. ‘I didn’t mean that—’
    ‘Didn’t you?’ His soft laughter flickered against her like a caress. ‘If you meant that the pleasure was all mine, I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful.’ She tore her eyes away from his mesmerising gaze. She had apparently jumped straight out of the frying pan and into the fire. And this time she would have to rescue herself. Her eyes fell on the paper he had been reading and she seized on this, attempting once more to edge free of his grasp.
    ‘You were working and I’ve disturbed you,’ she said, in an effort to distract him.
    ‘Profoundly.’ His eyes remained firmly fixed upon her. ‘But I have to tell you that I have no complaints.’
    She swung to face him, certain now that he was laughing at her. ‘I must go.’
    ‘No, Tara. If you go now you’ll make a liar out of me,’ he objected. ‘Not very polite. And your...friend might be waiting outside. He seemed determined to press his suit.’
    ‘I’m sure he’ll have gone. He’s made his point.’
    ‘It’s a regular occurrence, then?’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘Is he your husband?’
    The colour drained from her face. ‘No.’ She shook her head, thankful that Jim Matthews proposals of marriage did not include anything as romantic as professions of undying love. ‘No, he’s not my husband.’
    ‘Just some poor love-sick swain.’ For a moment pity seemed to touch his eyes. But only for a moment. ‘In that case, now I’ve chased him away you can stay and have dinner with me. I can recommend the pepper steak.’
    He ignored her sharp intake of breath at his arrogant assumption that she would accept this peremptory invitation. A glance brought a waitress immediately to their table and he had ordered steaks and salad before she could make any objection. ‘You can bring the claret now,’ he told the girl.
    Once she had gone he unwound his arm from Tara’s waist and offered her his hand. ‘Perhaps we’d better introduce ourselves, if somewhat belatedly under the circumstances. Adam Blackmore. How d’you do?’
    It was a beautiful hand. Large, square, with long square-tipped fingers that she was certain were as experienced in pleasure as his mouth had been. Then she started, hardly able to believe the direction in which her mind was wandering. Free now, she knew the sensible thing to do was to get up and leave. And she was renowned for her common sense but his kiss seemed to have driven sense out of the door along with Jim Matthews. She surrendered her hand, trying desperately to ignore the rise in her pulse rate as he took it and held it firmly in his own.
    ‘How d’you do?’ she replied, a little breathlessly. ‘Tara Lambert.’ Rebellion made her add, ‘But I think you should know that I’m a vegetarian.’
    His grip tightened, his eyes narrowing to take in the strong lines of her face, the drama of dark well-defined brows, a straight no-nonsense nose. His gaze lingered momentarily on her mouth before meeting her eyes head on. ‘No, Tara Lambert. I don’t think so.’
    She wanted to be angry, but found she couldn’t be. ‘No,’ she admitted, her mouth widening in a smile. ‘But I couldn’t resist.’
    Adam Blackmore’s eyes strayed towards the door. ‘Perhaps you should try, once in a while. Then you wouldn’t find yourself in such dangerous situations.’
    ‘He’s not—’ she began, vigorously, but he cut off her words.
    ‘Isn’t he?’ His look was measuring. ‘Who said I was referring to him?’ They were interrupted by the arrival of the wine and he poured two glasses. ‘Try this. Tell me what you think.’
    Tara knew it was ridiculous to feel vexed that he would not listen. She had thrown herself at him somewhat recklessly after all, although she hadn’t expected her chosen knight errant to be quite so practised in his fielding. Under the circumstances he had every right to assume the worst. So be it. Let him think what he wanted, it really didn’t matter. This was one of those isolated moments in time, like a conversation with a stranger in a train. When you reached your destination the acquaintance was at an end. He was simply amusing himself. And she told herself that there was no reason why the fun should be all one way.
     With a flick of her wrist, she swirled the wine in the glass,