A Stranger's Kiss

But she didn’t know how to dispose of it and she could hardly leave it hanging in the wardrobe. With a sigh she threw it in her case and closed the lid.
    Adam had already begun to pack his clothes. His shoes, his toiletries were already in the case. She emptied the wardrobe and drawers and did a neat workmanlike job, denying herself the pleasure of lingering over the crisp cotton of his shirts, the smooth silk of his ties. Only his dinner jacket caused her a problem. It lay in a crumpled discarded heap behind the chair. She shook it out and was assaulted by his special scent, so evocative, so painful that she almost dropped it.
    Falling in love, Beth had said, hurts. You want it to stop almost more than anything else. Except not stopping. She had thought she had loved Nigel. But what had she known about love? There had never been this dreadful ache. The longing to hold him, touch him. The pain in the knowledge that she must never touch him.
    She and Nigel had been little more than children. Kissing, holding hands, never even... And then it had been too late. She tried desperately to conjure up his face, touching the little brooch he had made for her and she had worn faithfully every day for him as if somehow it could conjure up the fragile past. But the only face that appeared to haunt her was that of Adam Blackmore. And Beth was right. It hurt.
     

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    THEY descended through the murk of low cloud into Heathrow, the grey day reflecting Tara’s mood. At least they had been spared the silence of the outward journey. Adam had worked furiously on the new project all the way, waving away the food the stewardess offered without even asking if she was hungry. Not that she cared. Food would have choked her.
    He kept up a steady stream of dictation until her wrist had ached and she had enough in her notebook to keep her totally occupied throughout Monday when Adam would be at the clinic. She would need it.
    * * *
    How she got through the weekend was something else. Sleep seemed to deal with most of Saturday and she woke in the evening, wondering vaguely whether she had anything to eat in her tiny freezer.
    Food did not much appeal but she had no bread and no milk and she made a dash through a wet evening to a nearby store owned and run by an extended family of Italians, which never seemed to close. The sharp clear air brought a touch of colour to her cheeks and she was greeted warmly, as an old friend.
    It cheered her a little, and she decided that hungry or not she would make some scrambled eggs on toast before curling up in front of the television. She juggled the eggs and milk and loaf of bread as she struggled for her keys, finally managing to open the door without dropping anything. She had just put everything down in her tiny kitchen when there was a sharp rap at the door. She frowned. No one knew she was back so it couldn’t be Beth. Besides Beth wouldn’t make that unholy racket.
    Tara cautiously slid the chain across and opened the door a crack, letting out a startled scream as she saw the tall helmeted figure, night-stick at the ready.
    ‘Come on out, miss. It’s no good trying to escape.’ The fierce creature had a voice to match his appearance but his expression was obscured by the visor of his helmet. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He moved a step closer.
    She slammed the door. ‘What do you want?’ She tried to shout, but her voice was shaking too much.
    ‘I’m from Maybridge Securities, miss,’ he said, briskly. ‘The occupant of this flat is away so be a good girl and give yourself up. It’ll save a lot of bother.’
    She sagged against the door. Adam had said he would have her flat watched. She released the safety chain and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry, but you gave me such a scare. I’m Tara Lambert.’ He was unresponsive. ‘This is my flat. We came back a few days early, Mr Blackmore...’ She had no need to explain. ‘You can check direct with him. He’s home.’ Unless he was at the clinic with Jane.
    The man seemed unimpressed. ‘If you could just identify yourself?’
    ‘I don’t have to identify myself. I live here. I...’ Tara sighed. The man was simply doing his job, however unwelcome. ‘Wait here.’ She closed the door.
    Whatever had happened to the smooth ordered existence that had been her life before Adam Blackmore had erupted into it?
    The guard rapped on the door again. She was taking too long and he was getting suspicious. She fished