A Stranger's Kiss

remembered the red dress. ‘Not always.’
    ‘It’s odd. Adam said you were a widow, but I had anticipated something merrier.’ Tara started at the word but managed to keep the smile in place.
    ‘He just seems to catch me at my worst moments. He’s been something of a Galahad,’ she added, in an attempt to suggest that his motives had been entirely pure.
    ‘Adam is the sort of man any damsel in distress could trust with her life, her heart…’
    Oh, God, this was so much worse than she had imagined!
    ‘Is he good?’ she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the infant in her arms. ‘Charles Adam.’
    ‘It should have been the other way around…’ The door opened and she looked up. ‘Speak of the devil and he’s bound to appear. Hello, my darling.’
    Adam stiffened in the doorway as he took in the sight of her sitting cradling the baby. ‘Tara?’
    ‘I asked her to come,’ Jane said, a little defiantly, Tara thought. ‘I wanted to meet her. I hope you’ve brought enough grapes for three.’
    ‘No.’ Tara rose to her feet and placed the baby gently in his crib. ‘I must go.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ Jane said. ‘Sit down, Tara. Adam won’t stay long and he’ll take you home if I ask him nicely. Won’t you, darling?’
    Adam scowled at her. ‘If you insist.’ He was curt to the point of rudeness.
    ‘I do.’
    He shrugged, not looking at her and she was forced to sit through agonies of embarrassment as he dropped a careless kiss on Jane’s cheek, painfully aware of how his voice softened for her.
    ‘How are you today?’
    ‘Desperate to go home. I hate this place.’
    ‘Next week,’ he said, firmly. ‘And the little tadpole?’ He leaned across and touched the baby’s cheek. ‘Hello, Charlie.’
    ‘Don’t call him that! His name is Charles!’ To Tara’s horror, Jane’s face suddenly crumpled. ‘Oh, Adam, I’m sorry, I just wish...’
    ‘Sssh. It won’t be long.’ He sat on the bed and gathered her into his arms to comfort her. ‘It won’t be long now, I promise.’
    Tara muttered an excuse and almost ran from the room. He caught her a hundred yards down the road. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded, turning her back towards the car park. ‘I said I’d take you home.’
    ‘There’s no need. I need some fresh air. Hospitals make me feel queasy.’ At least this one did.
    ‘Really?’ He gave her a hard look. ‘Or was it just a ploy to get me to chase after you?’
    ‘Why on earth should I do that?’
    ‘I have no idea.’ He opened the car door for her and she got in quickly before he could touch her. ‘Why did you come here?’
    ‘Jane rang and asked me to come and see her.’
    ‘Why?’ He was relentless.
    ‘You’ll have to ask her that.’
    But she knew. Jane hadn’t asked her to come to warn her off her man. She wanted to demonstrate to her rival that she had no chance. Wanted Tara to sit and hold the child that she and Adam had made, touch it, see how closely Adam was bound to her. She must have known that Adam would be visiting her this afternoon and had specified just the right time for Tara to call.
    When the stage was set and all the players had been allocated their parts, she had produced the tears, turning the agony-screw, forcing her to witness Adam holding her, comforting her. Then she had thrown in the final humiliation, the consolation prize of a lift home. And Adam had accused her of being a good actress.
     

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    ‘JANE sends her apologies for the tears.’ He glanced across at her as they waited at the exit to the car park for a gap in the traffic. ‘Apparently it’s quite common. The hormones go all to pieces.’
    ‘You’re quite the expert.’ Her voice was scratchy and she hated herself for it. She had lost her heart, the least she could do was hang onto her self-respect. He must never know how much she was hurting.
    ‘Hardly that,’ he said as he pulled out, neatly avoiding a cab that cut across him.
    The journey continued for some time in silence, each of them deep in their thoughts. Tara closed her eyes in an effort to blot out the overpowering presence of the man she loved, edgily aware of the precarious nature of her self-control. But the faint scent of some citrus based cologne, mingled with the leather of the upholstery and something wholly insubstantial that called to her, focusing every nerve-ending, until she gave up the unequal struggle and turned to look at him.
    She had thought, in the first