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To please Sue she joined her in ordering steak Diane, followed by a rich chocolate mousse, although she noticed that James refused the rich sweet in favour of a wedge of Stilton and some water biscuits. In honour of the occasion he had also ordered a bottle of wine—a warm, full-bodied Burgundy of which Sue had only taken a mouthful before pulling a wry face.
James had laughed, and Tara had forced herself to empty her glass even though privately she shared a little of Sue’s dislike of the wine.
It was hot in the restaurant and while they were waiting for their coffee Tara surreptitiously removed her waistcoat, conscious that her cheeks were already betraying a heated flush—a combination of the unaccustomed strength of the wine and her own tense state. James was talking to Sue and as she straightened up from slipping her waistcoat on to the back of her chair, Tara found that his glance was focused on her, his eyes probing the soft hollows of her throat and the fragile bones of her shoulders before moving slowly downwards. Her heart seemed to lodge in her throat, her mouth was dry. Under the thin cotton of her dress her skin burned, the totally unexpected burgeoning of her nipples beneath his deliberate scrutiny, flooding her with shamed embarrassment. She longed to reach for the protection of the waistcoat she had just discarded, but her mortification was too great for her to do anything but sit rigidly in her chair, longing for the evening to be over. Tears seemed to have lodged in the back of her throat. What on earth must James think of her? She still couldn’t fully understand what had happened, but even in the midst of her inexperience she was aware of the sudden melting sensation in the pit of her stomach, the desire beating up hotly inside her.
Her hands started to shake, the palms damp her face paling. It was just a silly schoolgirl crush, she told herself, something millions of teenage girls experienced—childish really. But there was nothing childish about the physical longing swamping her; about her suddenly urgent need to feel James’s lean hands on her body where his eyes had lingered.
‘Tara?’ She realised that Sue had asked her a question and forced a shaky smile. ‘Are you okay? You look pale. I was just saying that I’m ready to leave, unless you want more coffee.’
Shaking her head, Tara fought down the feelings tearing into her, deliberately hanging back as they left the restaurant in the hope that Sue would get into the front of the Porsche with James.
She was out of luck. As James unlocked the car Sue announced sleepily, ‘Mm, I’ll sit in the back. I’m going to stretch out there and I’ll probably be asleep before we get home.’
The night had turned cool, and Tara shivered in her thin dress as she slid into the Porsche’s luxurious seat.
‘Cold? The heater will soon be working.’
James made no further comment until he brought the car to a halt outside Tara’s home.
She fumbled with the door handle in her anxiety to get out of the Porsche, biting back a startled cry as James leaned across her, his breath fanning her cheek, as he thrust open the door. Tara thanked him without daring to look up, turning quickly to say goodnight to Sue, her slight movement checked by the pressure of James’s hand on her arm as he said quietly, ‘She’s asleep.’
Tara knew she had started to tremble. She started to move away, startled eyes widening as James muttered something under his breath, his arms fastening round her, his lips brushing the slightly parted curve of hers.
His husky, ‘I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I met you,’ discomposed her even more. Common sense told her that she ought to move away, to make some mundane comment that would break the spell which seemed to hold them both in thrall, but instinct urged her to remain where she was, savouring the intoxicating proximity of James’s body, the heady delight of the hand that curved just below her breast.
‘Sue was right.’ In the darkness James’s eyes gleamed softly. ‘That dress does suit you. I like it.’ His hand cupped the soft swell of her breast, his thumb stroking lightly over the sudden hardening of her nipple. Tara sucked in her breath in mingled shock and desire. James bent towards her and excitement spiralled crampingly through her.
‘God, I must be going crazy! You’re still a child…’
‘No, I’m not.’ All at once it was too late to pretend any more, tonight without being aware of it she had crossed the Rubicon that divided adolescence from womanhood, and she knew with an instinct as old as time that what she felt for James was no mere teenage idolatry. ‘I love you, James,’ she heard herself saying huskily. ‘I want you, I…’
His groaned, ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ was lost against her skin as he buried his mouth in the warmth of her throat. Tara knew that she should object, but everything that was feminine in her was glorying in her response to his touch. In the back seat Sue stirred and James drew away. He was breathing hard, a disturbing glitter icing his eyes, and Tara knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he wanted her.
‘Tara, it’s no use,’ he told her emphatically. ‘It just can’t be. If you were older, more experienced, or if I were less…’ She saw him shake his head. ‘I just
can’t do it to you, much as I want you. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘So what is fair?’ Tara hissed back, for once forgetting the huge gulf between them; fogetting his married status and the difference in their ages and knowing only that he was a man who desired her and whom she in turn loved intensely. ‘Is it fair to make me feel like this and then push me away?’
His smile was full of self-mockery. ‘Oh, Tara,’ he said softly, ‘Don’t tempt me. It’s for your sake that I’m doing this. Have you the slightest idea of the effect you have on me, or just how hard I’m finding it to stop myself from driving home with you and taking you to my bed? I want you in the fullest sense of the word. I’m a man, Tara, not a boy, and I’m way, way beyond playing the games you haven’t even started to experiment with yet.’
In the back seat Sue moved restlessly again. Torn with pain and chagrin, Tara pushed away his restraining arm and got hurriedly out of the Porsche, tears stinging her eyes.
In the morning Tara couldn’t understand what had come over her. In her narrow single bed she rolled herself up into a small tight ball, groaning with the realisation of her own folly. It had to be the wine; she could think of no other reason for her behaviour. She had actually let James see how she felt about him—no, not simply let him see, but told him.
In the normal course of events she would have spent part of her Sunday with Sue, but feeling completely unable to face James, Tara told her mother after breakfast that she intended to go out for a walk and would be gone for most of the day. Her mother raised no objections; before her friendship with Sue Tara had been a keen walker.
Congratulating herself on removing herself from any further embarrassment, Tara pulled on a casual denim jacket to match her jeans and opened the front door. Sue would think her behaviour odd, she knew, but she could always explain it away somehow later. If only fate would be kind and somehow make it imperative for James to leave the country without her ever having to set eyes on him again!
Tara was so engrossed in her thoughts that at first she didn’t notice the scarlet Porsche cruising slowly towards her. As she drew level with it it stopped, and her eyes widened as she recognised it and James. Footsteps faltering, Tara glanced wildly behind her, but it was too late. James was already slamming the car door and advancing purposefully on her, his mouth compressed in a grim line.
‘Running away won’t solve anything, Tara,’ he said curtly, grasping her arm. ‘You and I have to talk. I intended waiting until you showed up at the house, but something told me that you might prefer flight to fight.’
‘We’ve nothing to say to one another,’ Tara muttered, refusing to lift her head to meet his eyes. ‘Please let me go, you’re hurting me!’
‘I could hurt you one hell of a lot more if we don’t talk this thing through now,’ James interrupted brusquely, swearing suddenly as he saw her face, and hustling her into the car without ceremony. Tara felt too weak to object.
‘Tara.’ Through her tears she saw James push one hand wearily through his hair. He was frowning and she longed to smooth away the furrows with her fingertips. ‘Tara, there’s no need to feel bad about what happened last night, or to feel that you can’t face me again. No, don’t deny it,’ he said softly when she started to protest. ‘I’ve been there—a long time ago, perhaps, by your standards, but I can still remember. There’ll be other loves; other men,’ he told her softly, ‘and you can’t know how much I regret…’
