A Stranger's Kiss

that if he touched her she would not be able to help herself and she stepped from his reach and walked quickly to the door.
    ‘I’d like you to leave, Adam.’
    For a moment she thought he wouldn’t go. Then he picked up his soft well rubbed leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. But in the doorway he paused and turned back to her. ‘Seven years is a long time to be alone, Tara. He wouldn’t have wanted it.’
    ‘I prefer it that way.’ At least she had, until Adam Blackmore had kissed her.
    ‘No, Tara. You’re a woman made for love. We both know it. Hanna saw it too.’
    ‘Please, Adam...’ she begged.
    But he hadn’t finished. ‘Is it guilt? Is that why you blow hot and cold?’ He was suddenly very angry. ‘Living isn’t a sin, Tara. Nor is loving.’
    She knew that, but surely it was wrong to desire a man who belonged to someone else? ‘Please! Just go!’ She closed her eyes to blot out his face and when she opened them again, he had gone.
    * * *
    Sunday was bleak. She rang Beth to let her know that she was back but refused her invitation to lunch. One look at her gaunt face and she would know what her friend was going through. She needed just a little time to put her mask in place before she was prepared to face the world.
    She went for a long walk along the river. There were already daffodils in the gardens on the opposite bank making a brave effort to cheer the greyness of the day. It might even have felt quite warm if she hadn’t spent the last few days in a hotter climate.
    But the wind whipped some colour into her cheeks and the exercise made her blood tingle with life. Until she met Adam Blackmore she had been happy. She told herself that she could be happy again. It would take a little time and she had plenty of that. But first she had to get through Monday.
    She woke heavy-headed, for once in her life unwilling to face the day. A shower helped and as she dressed, layering on her armour, she became stronger. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
    Her face was a little paler than usual, her eyes darker. But apart from that there was nothing to betray the fact that the shell that had protected her heart for so long had been shattered and now it lay in her breast, bruised, battered, aching. She rested her hand lightly over the place to reassure herself that it continued to beat.
    Life went on.
    It was a lesson she had learned once and she would learn it again, given time.
    Work was the answer. If for a few weeks she was tied to her agreement with Adam Blackmore, so be it. She would cope. She would have to. At least the sun was shining and Tara stepped out briskly, lifting her chin to the world, unaware of the admiring glances that her cool dark beauty attracted from men pausing momentarily in their own swift progress to watch her pass.
    She took the main lift. Somehow the private lift seemed too personal and she wanted to get her relationship with Adam back onto a strictly impersonal plane.
    She was greeted with unexpected warmth by the receptionist and several other staff members who crowded in alongside her. They seemed to think she belonged. They were wrong. She was an outsider. A temporary secretary. That was the way she had always wanted it. Until she met Adam Blackmore.
    She rode the last stage to his private domain by herself. His office was empty, the desk immaculate as always. She hadn’t expected him to be there; he would be at the clinic, holding Jane’s hand. She shook herself and went through to her own office.
    Her own desk was, in stark contrast, piled up with post and messages. She took off her coat and filled the coffeemaker before starting work. She had a feeling she would be needing it.
    She gradually worked through the pile, dealing with what she could by herself and answering queries. Then she set herself to clear the work that Adam had dictated on the journey back from Bahrain.
    It was late when she printed off the last memo and she was tidying her desk, leaving everything straight for the morning when she heard the lift arrive.
    She prayed that he would go straight into his apartment, or even his office, giving her a chance to escape without speaking to him, but to no avail.
    Her door opened. ‘Still here?’ he asked. ‘I thought you would have left hours ago.’
    He looked tired and a pang of sympathy wrenched at her. She wanted to ease the tie from his neck, stroke the furrows from his forehead, kiss away the strain. ‘I wanted to finish