A Stranger's Kiss

those green eyes and her blood quickened in urgent response. Then the look was gone and she might have simply imagined it, it might simply have been a trick of the light, because his mouth was a straight hard line and his eyes held not the faintest gleam of warmth.
    ‘I think I prefer you in the armour plating, Mrs Lambert. You keep better time.’
    She fizzed with anger and she was still bubbling with it when Hanna welcomed them both to his luxurious town house. He at least knew how to compliment a woman and lost no time in doing so.
    He took her hands in his and kissed them both. ‘How beautiful you look tonight, Tara.’ She felt Adam stiffen at her side and was glad.
    ‘Thank you, Hanna.’ She offered him her warmest smile and allowed herself to be drawn into the room. She took a glass of champagne and raised it to him. ‘Your good health,’ she offered, knowing that Adam could hear every word.
    ‘That is in your hands, beautiful madame. Where you hold my heart.’
    Tara glanced at him quickly, wondering if he was making fun of her, but he seemed perfectly serious. She sipped the champagne nervously. ‘Won’t you introduce me to some of your friends?’
    ‘Of course.’ He was immediately the perfect host and although he claimed the first dance with her, he surrendered her to Mark Stringer with good grace.
    She suddenly felt a great deal safer. ‘How’s the invalid?’ she asked.
    ‘Chickenpox confirmed,’ he said, glumly. ‘I was just explaining to Adam that Angela was confined to barracks.’
    ‘Oh, I am sorry. Send her my condolences.’
    He nodded. ‘I will.’
    The evening moved steadily on. Adam was apparently oblivious to her presence. Whenever she allowed her eyes to stray in his direction, he was deeply involved in conversation with one of the bankers present, or paying extravagant attention to one of the many beautiful woman in the room.
    Only once did their eyes meet across the length of the room, then someone stepped between them and when she looked again he had disappeared. Not that she lacked attention herself. She had partners in abundance and Hanna was there to escort her into supper, attentive and charming, loading her plate from the buffet with foods strange and familiar. After a while, however, it all became rather cloying and she missed Adam’s astringent conversation but he was talking to some fair beauty and didn’t notice her mute appeal for rescue.
    Too much attention from Hanna Rashid, allied to the champagne was giving her a headache and the moment his attention was claimed by someone else, she took the opportunity to escape to the cool of the garden.
    Tall french windows opened out onto a veranda and a flight of shallow steps led down to the path. The sound of splashing water drew her on into the darker part of the garden, until beyond the trees she saw a pool, lit by submerged lamps with a curved dolphin that threw up a small fountain from its spout. She stood for a moment watching the water play against the light. It was cooler than she had expected and a shiver caught her by surprise, making her wish she had brought her wrap, but she was unwilling to return to the house and the attentions of Hanna.
    She had tired of the flirtation. If she had hoped to prick Adam into some response she had not succeeded. Which was perhaps as well.
    She began to stroll about the garden and in a few moments came upon a little summer house half concealed by bougainvillaea and scented herbs. There was a huge sofa, loaded with soft cushions and she sank into it, grateful to be away from the noise and clamour of the party.
    The first hint that she was not alone was the soft plop of a champagne cork.
    ‘It is a beautiful refuge from the world, no?’ Hampered by soft cushions and long skirts, Tara tried to rise but Hanna pressed a glass into her hand. ‘This will revive you.’
    ‘Will it?’ She laughed, nervously.
    ‘I promise.’ He leaned over her, kissed her shoulder, cutting off her escape. Before she could protest he had joined her on the sofa, but he was at least a foot away and it seemed churlish to object. The man was a practised flirt; he would be congenitally incapable of resisting a pass, nevertheless, she wasn’t about to encourage him further.
    She looked around for somewhere to put the unwanted drink and he took it from her, put it down. ‘Darling, Tara. How clever of you to find my little pavilion.’ He kissed her hands, then, without warning his mouth was blazing a