His Delicious Revenge: The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All

Her legs were shaking under her as she walked down to the car. She sat huddled into a corner of the rear passenger seat, staring out at the busy London evening with eyes that saw nothing.

She wasn’t even aware of the route Terry had taken, rousing herself only when the car drove through a security checkpoint and down a ramp to a private underground car park.

‘The lift is here, madam. You press the button marked “P” for the penthouse, and “G” for the garage on your return. Mr Brandon will arrange for me to be waiting for you here by the lift gates.’

If his driver was staying on call, Caz could not be planning a lengthy seduction, she thought, her throat tightening. He must think he had her in the palm of his hand, she told herself, as she forced a smile and murmured her thanks.

She pressed the button and was swept smoothly and swiftly to the top floor of the building. As the lift doors slid open, she saw Caz descending a shallow flight of stairs at the other end of a carpeted corridor.

As he reached her, he said quietly, ‘So you’re here.’

‘I thought you’d asked me.’

‘I did. But with you I can never be certain.’ He took her hand. ‘Come and meet the others.’

Others? Tarn repeated silently, as she walked beside him. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

But, as they went up the stairs, she could hear music playing softly and the sound of voices.

She found herself in a vast lamplit room, and confronted by a huge picture window offering sweeping views of London by night.

On the right hand side of the room, two girls in neat black skirts and white blouses were putting the finishing touches to a circular table laid for four and gleaming with silver and crystal.

On the left hand side, three beautifully sculpted sofas upholstered in cream linen had been arranged round a fireplace, illumined by the glow of a gas fire.

All, she thought, exactly as Evie had described.

A tall fair man rose to his feet from one of the sofas, and waited smiling as Caz and Tarn approached. His companion was a dark, pretty girl, whose pale pink wool dress, although beautifully cut, did not completely conceal the fact that she was pregnant.

‘Tarn, may I introduce the Donnells, two of my oldest friends. Brendan—Grace—this is Tarn Desmond.’

‘It’s good to meet you at last.’ Brendan Donnell’s handshake was firm, his blue eyes dancing. ‘God knows, Caz has talked about little else.’

Tarn flushed. ‘I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.’

‘Only a slight one,’ said his wife. She patted the sofa. ‘Come and sit beside me while Caz gets you a drink. I’m on the orange juice, sadly, although I’ll allow myself a glass of wine at dinner, if Bren’s not looking.’

Tarn was glad to sit, her mind still reeling from the scuppering of her plan for the evening. Before many minutes had passed, she’d learned that Brendan was managing director of the Lindsmore Investment Group, that they had recently moved out of London to a house in the depths of rural Surrey, and that Grace, currently on maternity leave, had been a corporation lawyer.

‘I planned to go back when the baby was born,’ she confided. ‘But now I’m not so sure. The house needs work and I’m really enjoying getting it all organised. And we have a garden too, with a small orchard, which has always been my dream. I see a total change of career looming.’

She paused. ‘What about you, Tarn? Have you always worked on magazines?’

‘For much of the time, yes,’ Tarn returned evasively.

‘And you and Caz met when you were job-hunting,’ Grace said musingly. ‘Now there’s a lucky chance.’

At that moment, Caz returned with the white wine she’d asked for, so she was saved from having to reply and was able to smile rather tautly and thank him instead.

What the hell was he playing at—introducing her to his friends? she raged inwardly. And without a word of warning either so that she couldn’t think of an excuse. It seemed out of place as well as out of character. She certainly couldn’t remember Evie referring to anyone called Donnell in her letters, or noticed the name in her diary. And could these really be the powerful friends she’d been warned against? That also appeared unlikely. So what was happening? And what had he been saying about her?

But almost before she knew it, she was no longer having to pretend her enjoyment of making a new acquaintance, because it was impossible to harbour resentment over the collapse of her scheming when she was having such a good time.

Certainly the evening she’d planned had never included helpless laughter. Or eating very much for that matter.

Yet the dinner supplied by the very efficient catering company was wonderful too, from the excellent clear soup, through the flavoursome casserole of spring lamb with baby vegetables to the wickedly rich chocolate mousse and splendid cheese board. In spite of herself, Tarn found she was doing the meal full justice.

Also it was clear that Caz had never had any intention of attempting to move their relationship to a more intimate level, because Brendan and Grace were not vanishing when dinner was over, thus leaving them alone together, but apparently spending the night in his spare bedroom.

‘I have some baby shopping to do in the morning,’ Grace confided. ‘So, it’s a dual purpose visit.’

And so was mine, thought Tarn bleakly. Finding some way of luring him to disaster.

She let herself back into the empty flat, tossed her bag to one side and sank down on the sofa. The evening had not turned out at all as she expected, or planned for. In fact, a degree of re-thinking was called for.

Because now there were other even more disturbing factors to add to the mix…

The evening had ended pleasantly with coffee and brandy and more conversation on topics ranging from the serious to the frankly frivolous, and she’d experienced real reluctance when she looked at her watch and said that she must go.

‘But we’ll meet again.’ Grace hugged her. ‘I’ll get Caz to bring you down to the hovel. Are you any kind of a photographer? You could take some before and after pictures—of me and the house,’ she added with a giggle.

A nice thought, Tarn acknowledged silently. What a pity it could never happen.

Using her need to ‘freshen up’ as an excuse, she’d seen the rest of the flat, even managing a look at Caz’s bedroom. The bed was indeed vast just as Evie had artlessly confided, and for a moment Tarn had been assailed by a disturbing image of the two of them naked and passionately entwined, Evie surrendering eagerly to every sensual demand that he made of her.

Tarn found herself backing away hastily, shutting her eyes, a little gasp that mingled pain with horror rasping her dry throat.

But thinking of them together was perhaps something she needed to do, she told herself, in order to counteract the unexpected pleasures of the evening, and remind her of the real reason why she’d accepted this invitation.

‘So,’ Caz said as he walked with her to the lift. ‘Am I forgiven?’

She was momentarily startled. ‘For what?’

‘For changing tonight’s rules of engagement.’ He shook his head. ‘There was a moment as you arrived when you looked as if you were about to face a firing squad.’

‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘Well—hardly. Your friends are charming.’

‘I’m glad you think so. They were also charmed.’ He sent her a frowning glance. ‘Yet suddenly here you are at a distance again. Why?’

Her heart missed a beat. ‘You—you’re imagining things.’

Caz said softly, ‘Prove it,’ and took her in his arms.

For an instant, his face seemed to swim before her startled eyes, then his mouth came down on hers, and not in the customary fleeting graze of a kiss that she expected either. She’d learned to deal with that, after a fashion. But this time his intentions were clearly very different. He was there to stay.

Her first instinct was to brace her hands against his chest and push him away, because her own intentions were entirely different too. Yet what logical reason did she have to remain aloof? Reason indicated that by now she should at least appear to want to be in his arms, and that any form of resistance might simply lead to him giving up the chase, which would destroy her ultimate objective. Having come so far, could she really risk that?

Besides, in practical terms, the way he was holding her suggested that fighting him would be like trying to push over a brick wall.