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Her hand was abruptly removed and he strode forward, leaving her to hasten after him into the mall.
She gave a sigh. And a twist of her mouth. It had been stupid of her to do that. And not because it had annoyed him instead of lightening him up. Because any physical contact at all with the man was not a good idea in the least...
Not after last night. Not after that kiss—that disastrous, dangerous, completely deranged kiss that she should never have let happen!
No, any physical contact with him that wasn’t forced on her by the necessity of playing the role he was paying her to play, was totally défendu. Totally forbidden. And she mustn’t forget it. Not even to wind the man up. Or try and lighten him up. It was just too risky...
Because, however overbearing and obnoxious he could be, she was just too damned vulnerable to what he could make her feel.
Sobered, she followed him into the mall.
* * *
‘Fraulein, how very good to meet you!’
Hans Neuberger was shaking Tara’s hand genially, his face smiling. He had a nice face, Tara decided. Not in the least good-looking, and late middle-aged—a good twenty years older than his wife—but with kindly eyes.
She smiled warmly back. ‘Herr Neuberger,’ she returned.
‘Hans, please!’ he said immediately, and she liked him the more.
They were in the magnificent Art Deco salon once more, and Hans Neuberger had just arrived. He’d kissed Celine dutifully on the cheek, but she’d turned away impatiently. Tara thought her a fool to treat her kindly husband with such open indifference.
‘Hans! I’m glad to see you!’
Tara turned. Marc was striding in, holding out his hand to his guest in greeting. She stared, disbelief etching her features.
Good God, the man could smile! As in really smile! Not the cynical, humourless indentation of his mouth she’d seen so far, or that infinitesimal chink she’d seen at lunchtime, but an actual smile! A smile that parted his mouth, reached his eyes to crinkle them at the edge. That lightened his entire face...
She felt her breath catch.
Gone, totally, was the hard-faced, bored, impatient, ill-tempered expression she was so used to. Just...gone. It made him a completely different person—
She reeled with it, still hardly believing what she was seeing. And she felt something shift inside her, rearrange itself. Marc Derenz...smiling! It was like the sun coming out after thunderclouds...
She stared on, bemused, aware that her pulse had suddenly quickened and that it had something to do with the way Marc’s smile had softened his face, warmed his eyes... It warmed something in her as well, even though it was not directed at her in the least.
But what if it were—?
No. She shut her mind off. It was bad enough coping with the utterly unfair impact the man had on her when he was being his usual ill-humoured self. She could not possibly think how she would cope if he were capable of being nice, for heaven’s sake!
It was a resolve she had to stick to throughout dinner. She was helped in that by focussing her attention on Celine’s husband. Hans Neuberger really was far too nice to be landed with a shrew like Celine. He was clearly hurt and bewildered by her dismissiveness, and Tara did her best to divert him.
‘I think Marc said you’re based in Frankfurt? All I know about it is the huge annual book fair. Oh, and that it was the birthplace of Goethe.’
Hans’s kindly face lit up. ‘Indeed—our most famous son! And Germany’s most famous poet—’
Celine’s voice was sharp as she cut across him. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hans, don’t start boring on about poetry! Who cares?’
The rudeness was so abrupt that Tara stared. Hans was silenced, looking stricken. Tara felt immensely sorry for him and rallied to his defence.
‘I’m afraid I know very little about German poetry—it didn’t really come into my English Literature course at university, alas,’ she said politely.
‘Speaking of university...’ Marc’s voice interjected now, as he picked up the baton. ‘Has your youngest—Trudie—graduated yet?’
As Hans answered Tara saw Marc throw a glance at her. There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Appreciation. Appreciation, evidently, for coming to Hans’s rescue as she had.
She blinked for a moment. Then gave a minute nod.
