HE WAS standing at the kerbside waiting to cross the road.
It was him! Taylor thought chaotically, battling through
the gathering dusk and the sheer volume of rush-hour
traffic to catch another glimpse of that proud, dark head,
of the striking height and self-assured stance that were
unmistakably his.
She heard the rear door of the taxi slam behind her, heard
Craig issuing instructions through the driver's window.
But her mind and body were in turmoil, and as the taxi
shot forward she swivelled round on her seat, scanning
with blood-pumping anticipation, the busy street through
the rear window.
The man was nowhere to be seen. So she had just imagined
him there, or been totally mistaken, she realised. As
always.
Nervous tension dissipated beneath the familiar
disappointment, the desolation that spread through her
veins, as chilling as the late-winter afternoon. Beneath
the thick grey overcoat she shivered, and was only warmed
by the murmur of the infant waking in his car seat beside
her, as the little starfish hand curled tightly around the
finger that she readily proffered.
"You're a scamp," she cooed at the appealingly chubby face
beaming up at her from its knitted blue bonnet, but her
finely drawn features, framed by a bob of gleaming brown,
were etched with obvious tension.
She had been so sure it was him. She had even neglected to
wave to Craig, she berated herself, still trying to shrug
off the unsettling aftermath of mixed emotions fifteen
minutes later when the taxi dropped her in the lamp-lit
suburbs.
Still clutching her purse, with the baby seat suspended
from her other hand, she started walking towards one of
the high, Victorian villas.
A shadow fell across her path, large and ominous, and she
gasped, dropping her purse, fear for the child she carried
tightening her fingers around the handle of the little
chair as the tall dark figure loomed from out of the
shadows.
"Jared!" 'Hello, Taylor." With one fluid movement, he
stooped to pick up her purse, the long, dark overcoat he
hadn't bothered to fasten spreading to remind her of a
raven swooping to its prey, the hair that waved over his
collar gleaming ebony beneath the streetlamp.
"So it was you." Jared Steele. A leader in enterprises
covering everything from finance to the highest
technology. Thirty-eight years old, now, she calculated —
twelve years older than she was. Rich, powerful and, as
she had found out to her cost, unscrupulous.
Too stunned to thank him, her fingers closed around the
rectangle of black leather he had retrieved for her. Her
hands were shaking and she had to swallow to try and
moisten her uncomfortably dry throat. "Outside the
studios. Crossing the road..." But he hadn't used the
crossing. He must have flagged down a taxi... "You
followed me!" she breathed, annoyance surfacing with the
over-riding excitement that made her pulses race, her legs
go weak, which owed more to coming face to face with him
like this than her first, initial dread of being mugged.
"I wanted to see you." 'Why?"
He didn't answer and following his gaze to the little baby
seat, she realised suddenly what was going through his
mind.
"You've been busy since I saw you last."
Of course. What other conclusion could he have
drawn? "When was that?" she enquired pointedly, ignoring
his hard unspoken question. In the eighteen months since
that last bitter row he had never come looking for her.
She wondered why he had decided to now.
He shrugged and, ignoring her in turn, said, "I must
confess this was the last thing I expected." His mouth
appeared chiselled out of granite as he dropped another
glance to the sleeping infant. Those deep-set eyes were
shielded by his dark and enviably long lashes, eyes that
could reduce one to pulp with just one withering look,
Taylor remembered, or evoke the most thrilling and
dangerous thoughts in any woman under eighty. "After all
your protestations about having babies. What was it? An
accident?" His voice, which had always had the power to
arouse her with its smoky sexuality held a derisive edge
and his breath rose in a warm cloud on the frosty air. "We
both know maternity wasn't on your agenda. Or perhaps it
was just me you weren't partial to, not having children.
That's one conclusion my ego's going to have to deal with,
isn't it, Taylor?"
"Why?" His comments stabbed at her, opening old and
painful wounds. "Because I was so obviously instrumental
in losing yours!"
His head seemed to jerk back as though she had laid a whip
across his face. But if he was recoiling from such frank
and blatant words, she thought, pushing angrily past him,
perhaps he would know what it was like — how it had felt —
when he had used them — and so mercilessly — on her.
"I must congratulate you. You've done well for yourself.
Make-up artist — and with a top production company." His
voice lacked praise, his remarks only serving to let her
know that it was no accident — this meeting; that he had
actually been checking up on her. "But then you always
were ambitious, weren't you?" he said.
A little shiver ran through her from his chilling tone
because, of course, they had argued about that too.
"And lover boy outside the studios." He was right behind
her, his deep voice insistent, taunting. "Might I hazard a
guess that he'd be the child's father?"
So he had seen her with Craig; noticed that affectionate
kiss the man had given her as he had handed her into the
taxi. Some deep emotional pain stopped her from
immediately putting him straight.
"How terribly astute of you," she breathed, hurting from
the memory of the scarring rows that her miscarriage, if
not wholly initiating, had only succeeded in exacerbating.
"Is he living here with you?" A toss of his chin indicated
the three-storey house as he drew level with her along the
short driveway.
"If you mean are we sleeping under the same roof..."
Taylor forced herself to stay calm, keep her clear, mellow
voice low as she reached the front door, put her key in
the lock '...the answer's "yes.""
She didn't get to turn the key, her small gasp of shock
the only emotion she allowed herself to show, as hard
fingers on her wrist pulled her to face him. Under the
stern glare of the security light his angular features
looked grim and bloodless.
"Didn't it seem to matter to you that you're still
married?" Eyes, as dark as night, seemed to pierce the
depths of hers, boring into her from a mask of anger and
disbelief. "Didn't it ever occur to you to ask me for a
divorce?"
Almost as tall as he was in her high-heeled boots, she
could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead, feel
his anger beating against her like ravaging fire. But his
nearness alone seemed to be stripping her of her self-
possession, without the heat of his accusations that had
she been in his shoes, she had to agree, she would have
richly deserved. His accusations, however, only fuelled
her own anger. Besides, Josh was growing fretful, sensing
the insecurity of the situation, and forcibly she pulled
herself free, saying, "Why? I seem to remember you had no
qualms about having a mistress and a wife!" She opened the
front door now, flicked on a switch just inside.
Light spilled out, illuminating the wide Victorian
hallway. It was cluttered with toys, boxes and coats and a
baby buggy.
"Are you going to ask me in?" For an answer she simply
left the door open behind her, her shoulders stiffening
beneath the stylish coat when she heard him close it,
muting the growl of a car in the suburban road.
Without glancing back, she took the post she had picked up
into the long, narrow kitchen, doing her best not to trip
over the two yowling Siamese cats that had suddenly
besieged her, vying for her attention, brown tails lightly
flaying her calves.
Carefully, she set Josh down on the small sofa at one end
of the narrow room, tossing aside a cushion, a shopping
bag, a pile of folded garments, in need of ironing.
"Very domesticated."
The deep drawl from behind her had her turning sharply.
Jared was standing in the doorway, looking, as his name
suggested, like a man of steel. But with his hands rammed
deep into his pockets, long legs planted firmly apart, he
was too fine a male specimen for Taylor's eyes not to be
drawn to the impeccable cut of the dark suit he wore under
the long coat. With unsparing cruelty her gaze was dragged
over the wide shoulders and the hard lean lines of his
waist and hips and, as he stood there surveying the chaos
of the cluttered kitchen with marked disdain curling his
mouth, all she could think of was how it had felt to sink
her nails into that broad, bare back while she had sobbed
out his name...
The memory rocked her, threatening her equilibrium and,
moving across to the fridge, in a less than steady voice
she asked, "Why did you want to see me?"
He came in then, every footstep measured, slow,
precise. "I don't think that takes too much working out."
Wary green eyes clashed with darkest brown, her perfectly
straight nose and softly tapered chin lifting as she
opened the fridge, took out a tin of cat food. What was
she supposed to deduce from that? Had the mysterious
Alicia decided she had had enough of playing nursemaid to
a husband she didn't love? Was she finally giving him up
to be with Jared?
Pain cut deep, but she gritted her teeth. The cats were
going mad, particularly Thai, the male Siamese who was
making his demands known now by clawing at her coat and
yowling vociferously. On top of that, Josh had started to
make his presence felt with small whimpers from the sofa,
depriving her of the luxury of any self-pity.
Dumping the opened can of food down on the worktop, Taylor
slid off her coat. Then wished she hadn't when she noticed
the way Jared's gaze skimmed over her, taking in the
willowy lines of her body beneath her cream polo-necked
sweater and the full, bottle-green skirt that fell in soft
folds over the spiked-heeled black boots.
"You've got thinner," he observed, making no attempt to
hide his blatant appraisal of her figure.
An insidious tension crept through her as she tossed her
coat down on one of the high stools near the breakfast bar
that Craig had made during one of his more adventurous DIY
moments. Opening a drawer, she rummaged for a spoon,
reached for the partially used can of cat food.
"I hardly think my weight's an issue here." She stooped to
scoop the contents into the two bowls on the floor beside
the breakfast bar. Two ravenous heads dived into them
before she had even finished.
"I think it's very much an issue." Those dark eyes were
still assessing her, raking over her flushed features and
the chic hair, now unintentionally tousled, as she
straightened from her task. "But then you were never much
more than a reed at the best of times, were you?" he said,
with an almost bored glance towards the cats who were
putting on a show of not having eaten in weeks.
"If you say so."
Josh's demands had replaced the cats' with his sudden
persistent crying, and Taylor swung away to free him from
the confines of his seat. His little face was red and
crumpled. "He needs feeding — and changing," she noted as
she lifted him up, her tone suddenly weary, the shock of
this unexpected meeting with the man she had longed, yet
half dreaded, to see again, taking its toll on her nerves.
"And you look as though you could do with some help." He
was there beside her, too big, too awesome and far, far
too close.
"I'm perfectly capable," she returned with her voice
cracking, and moved quickly away from him, wondering what
he was thinking as he watched her carrying Josh across the
kitchen. That the baby's hair, so close to hers, was
almost the same rich brown? That Josh's wispy curls must
have been inherited from his father since hers was so
thick and sleek?
"As capable of wringing a man's heart?" Taking the baby
bottle out of the fridge, she met those dark eyes with a
guarded question in her own. "What?"
"How long was it, Taylor?" 'How long was what?" She
slammed the fridge closed. Outside, in the hallway, she
caught the sudden, unexpected sound of the front door
being opened. "How long before you jumped into another
man's bed after leaving mine?"
Something flared in her eyes, locking her jaw tight. "How
dare you even ask that when —"
She bit back her words, her body stiffening from the
footsteps moving along the hall, tension warring with
anger inside of her. He had come here assuming the worst
about her, and through a crazy desire to lash out at him
she hadn't put him straight. Now she was torn between
wishing she had and relishing his being taken down a peg
when he realised that he had made a total fool of himself.