Phantom Marriage

‘And he’s proving an extremely adept pupil,’ James informed her, the smile he gave his son for a few brief seconds transporting her to the past to the James she had once known, although the smile was doused when he turned to her.

‘Did my daddy like chess?’ Simon asked her curiously.

Tara swallowed hard, dragging her eyes away from James’s lean fingers toying with one of the small black pawns, her whispered ‘Yes’, a brief whisper of sound. Dear God, she had thought she had known pain, but it had been nothing to this raw agony she was experiencing now. What was the matter with her? Was she still stupid enough to believe in fairy godmothers who had only to wave their magic wands and everything was rosy? What did she want? It was a question she daren’t answer, and one that haunted her all through the long afternoon.

It was a relief to go to bed and know that in the morning she would be returning to London with the weekend safely behind her. Apart from the trauma of Mandy’s accident it had raised too many ghosts, brought too much fresh pain. With sudden terrible clarity she remembered those first few seconds when she had seen Mandy lying on the grass; when James had moved towards her, grasping her arms, his grip somehow comforting and reassuring; her body turning traitor as it responded instinctively to the lean masculinity of the hands gripping her arms.

CHAPTER SIX

SOME time during the early hours Mandy’s thin, high-pitched cry brought her from sleep, her reactions automatic as she hurried towards the twins’ room.

The bedroom door was already open when she reached it, but that fact didn’t register until she was inside and saw the tall male figure bending over the narrow single bed.

‘Mummy!’ Silently, Tara took the precious weight of her daughter from James, rocking her much as she had done when she was a baby. Mandy’s crying had woken Simon, who was sitting up in bed, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

It took half an hour to settle Mandy back in bed and asleep. James had slipped away quietly while Tara was talking to Mandy, soothing and comforting her.

‘It was all dark and wet, Mummy,’ Mandy told her, shivering, ‘and I thought I was never going to escape…’

Making sure that both twins were asleep, Tara switched off the light and hurried back to her own room. Once there she couldn’t sleep. A warm bath would help to relax her, she decided, but later, sheathed in her silk negligee set, droplets of water gleaming on her skin, Tara acknowledged that she was no nearer sleep, her nerves were still tense. There was a brief tap on her bedroom door and as she swung round it opened to admit James, a beaker in one hand.

‘A malted drink,’ he informed her, proffering the beaker. ‘I heard you moving about and guessed you were having trouble getting to sleep. It must be hard for you, trying to bring up the twins on your own,’ The terse admission touched the inner core of pain she tried so hard always to deny, her fingers trembling as she took the beaker and thanked him coolly.

‘Look—’ He raked angry fingers through his hair,

his expression bitter and compressed. ‘We’re both adults now, Tara,’ he said grittily, ‘we both inhabit the same league—for God’s sake can’t we at least make an effort to treat one another as normal human beings?’

His words caught her off guard. She turned, to hide her expression from him, and stumbled awkwardly against him, her foot catching in the hem of the skirt. He reached instinctively to catch her, steadying her, mockery lightening his eyes as he drawled softly, eyeing the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, ‘Quite takes me back. Remember?’ He had removed the beaker from her nerveless fingers and Tara shuddered deeply, wrenching her eyes away from the mesmerising scrutiny of his.

‘You might not have changed, James,’ she told him thickly, trying to control her shallow breathing, ‘but I have.’

‘Meaning?’

There was an ominous ring to the word, but Tara refused to heed it. Every instinct she possessed screamed to her to bring this scene of intimacy to an immediate end.

‘Meaning I don’t want you near me… touching me,’ she added huskily, underlining the words by withdrawing from him.

Savage fingers clamped round her arms, the dark blue eyes as cold and hard as steel.

‘Oh, you don’t, do you?’ he murmured softly. ‘Well, let’s just see how true that statement is, shall we?’

Fear caught her by the throat; a different fear from the one she had experienced this morning, but equally paralysing. She tried to take a step backwards, gasping as her thin silk robe parted, leaving her exposed to the cynical cruelty of his gaze. Ice blue eyes moved insolently over the soft curves of her breasts, the delicate rise and fall of the fine lace covering them more an enticement than a barrier to the steely probing glance.

Tara reached instinctively for the lapels of her gown, but James’s free hand grasped her wrists, forcing them down with a painfully harsh grip, his soft, ‘No need for modesty—not where we’re concerned, surely?’ bringing a sick shudder to her slender frame.

His fingers probed the area already scorched by his eyes, flicking aside the fragile protection of her robe to expose the slender curves of her body in the pale sea green nightgown.

‘Silk,’ James drawled admiringly, wringing a fresh shudder from Tara as his thumb rubbed sensuously against the fabric covering her breast. ‘There are generally only two reasons why women wear expensive nightwear,’ he commented sardonically, ‘and they are either because it was a gift from some doting male, or because they hope to use it to entice a lover. I wonder which is true in your case, Tara?’

‘Neither,’ she told him furiously. ‘It was given to me by one of Chas’s clients and I don’t…’ Just in time she caught herself back from admitting that she didn’t have a lover to wear the nightgown for; had never had a lover, apart from him.

‘You don’t what?’ James sneered. ‘Adorn yourself in silk and satin for the delectation of your lovers? I wouldn’t have thought a woman of your experience would make a mistake like that. Haven’t any of them ever told you how arousing it can be undressing one’s lover?’

‘I suppose you’re speaking from experience,’ Tara grated at him, forcing herself to stand rigid without betraying her body’s reaction to its close proximity to his. ‘I suppose a man like you would need that kind of deliberate titillation to…’

‘To what?’ James mocked. ‘Stimulate my flagging desires? Don’t bank on it, Tara,’ he warned her.

With a tremendous effort Tara managed to summon all her flagging willpower, desperation lacing her voice as she said huskily, ‘Look, James, I think this has gone far enough. I’m tired, and… and I’d like you to leave my room, or…’