Irresistible Temptation Page 2

  'I don't understand…'

  'It's perfectly simple. You want to move in. I'm telling you it's not going to happen.'

  Her lips parted helplessly. 'You mean you're turning me away?'

  'Now you're getting there,' he approved sardonically. 'Foolish it may be, but I don't give house room to indigent girls who turn up out of the blue claiming acquaintance with a member of the household.

  'I'm far from indigent, and it's rather more than acquaintance,' she said hotly.

  'So you say.' He shrugged, and the dressing gown slipped a fraction. 'Sorry, darling. Better luck elsewhere.'

  'But I've nowhere else to go.' Olivia heard and despised the faint squeak of panic in her voice. 'I—I don't know anyone in London.'

  'Then here's some excellent advice.' His voice was suddenly harsh. 'Go back to wherever you came from, and we'll pretend this never happened.'

  The momentary fear gave way to anger. 'I don't need your advice,' she said curtly. 'Nor am I leaving. And when I see Jeremy I'll tell him exactly the kind of welcome I received at his home. You can count on that.'

  'Whereas you, sweetheart, can't count on a thing.' She felt her anger matched by his. 'It's a pity you didn't check he'd be around before you set out Not that it would have made any real difference,' he added, with another perilous shrug. 'I still wouldn't let you stay. Now run along.'

  'Damn you,' she said furiously. 'Who the hell do you think you are? And just what right have you to tell me what to do?'

  'I happen to own this house.' His voice was like ice. 'Which gives me any rights I choose to assume, lady.'

  'But Jeremy…'

  'Jeremy is my guest—my temporary lodger, nothing more. Whatever he may have told you, or you chose to believe,' he added with crushing emphasis.

  She wanted to scream at him—call him a liar. But there was something about his words which held the ring of truth.

  She also wanted to die. But not, she decided, before she had murdered this sneering man in front of her. Until she had hurt and humiliated him, and ground him into the dust before dancing on his unmarked grave.

  But that, unfortunately, had to be in the long term. Right now she needed somewhere affordable to stay.

  She wasn't poor by any means, she reminded herself. She had a respectable balance in her current account, and a credit card. She could get by until she found a job.

  And she'd intended to pay her way with Jeremy. That went without saying. It was going to be a partnership, not charity.

  But common sense told her that her resources would soon dwindle if she had to fork out for a London hotel, even for a couple of nights. Nor had she the least idea where to start looking. Anything in this vicinity would be right out of her range.

  She looked at the case beside her, and groaned inwardly. How far could she carry it before her arm came out of its socket?

  In her home village, she thought, swallowing, they wouldn't treat a stray dog like this.

  She looked stonily at her persecutor. 'I don't suppose you'd let me leave my luggage here while I go and look for a room?'

  'Quite correct,' he said. 'I wouldn't. And for two pins I'd let you tramp the streets to teach you a much-needed lesson. But I can't do that, because London is not a place where you turn up on the off-chance. You could end up in all kinds of trouble—things you've never envisaged in your worst nightmares. And I don't want that on my conscience.

  'Thanks for the pious platitudes,' Olivia said. She was shaking inwardly with rage. 'What have you in mind? The coal shed?'

  'Alas, no.' He reached forward and picked up her case, handling it easily. 'You'd better come in while I talk to someone.'

  'You mean I'm being allowed to pollute your sacred portals?' She followed him into a wide hall. On the left, a flight of stairs carpeted in pale green led to the upper floors. On the right, an open door showed her a room fitted out as an office, with a fax machine, a photocopier and a state-of-the-art computer sitting on a workman-like desk. This was where the music was coming from, too.

  'Not for long,' he tossed back over his shoulder, leading the way to the rear of the house. 'And don't consider going for squatters? rights, either.'

  She'd been about to ask what computer system he used, attempt to establish that she had a life and a career, and wasn't just some helpless hopeful. Now all she hoped was that the whole thing would crash spectacularly at some crucial moment.

  He stood back, allowing her to precede him. 'You can wait in here. Please don't make yourself too comfortable. I'm just going to make a phone call.'

  'And put some clothes on as well?' Olivia gave the dressing gown an acid glance.

  'This,' he said softly, 'is my Saturday morning. I will dress—and do—as I like.' He tightened the sash with ostentatious care. 'Just remember, lady, you came knocking on my door, not the other way round.'

  Biting her lip, Olivia walked past him. She found herself in a long rectangular room with one wall that seemed to be made entirely of glass. The main item of furniture was a long refectory table supplied with high-backed oak chairs. On the table, beside a newspaper folded open at an inside page, was a used plate and knife, an empty mug, and a dish of dark red jam. A lingering fragrance of coffee and warm croissant still hung in the air from the adjoining kitchen.

  Despite her best efforts, Olivia felt her nose twitch longingly. It had been a long time since the blueberry muffin and carton of hot chocolate which she'd consumed at Bristol Temple Meads Station.

  But something warned her that it would be an even longer time before the Owner offered her a sip of his espresso.

  Swine, she thought. Greedy, selfish pig.

  To take her mind off her empty stomach, she wandered over to the French windows. Beyond them, she saw a mass of greenery. No walls or fences, she noted, puzzled. Just a riot of tall shrubs and huge trees, already heavy with approaching autumn. There were late-flowering roses, too, and great banks of fuchsias and hydrangeas. Behind the leafy barrier she caught a glimpse of the more strident green of a lawn. And a sunlit dazzle of water.

  She drew a swift breath of sheer appreciation. This garden seemed to stretch for ever, its only confine the wide gravelled path which circled it.

  It was the last thing she'd expected to find, here in the middle of the city—this wonderful secret wilderness.

  It was like the garden behind her parents' home, she thought, although on a vastly larger scale, and for a moment she was assailed by a pang of homesickness so strong that she could have cried out.

  'Is something wrong?' The Owner had joined her, tapping out numbers on a cordless phone. Clearly he didn't miss much.

  'I—I was just looking at the garden.' Olivia bit her lip. 'It's beautiful. Who—who does it belong to?'

  'Everyone whose house backs on to it,' he returned laconically. 'It's a communal venture.'

  Then, into the phone, 'Sasha—sorry to annoy you at the weekend, but do you have any place available in that doss-house of yours?' The lines beside his mouth deepened in amusement as he studied Olivia's sudden rigidity. 'Yes, just one waif and stray—female—wandering in off the street'

  He laughed. 'No, not feline, although I'd say she had claws.' He listened for a moment, grinning. 'Not a chance, my love. She's definitely not my type, and claims to be spoken for anyway. You can? You're a saint I'll send her round.'

  He switched off the phone. 'Well, that's you fixed up.'

  She glared at him. 'It never occurred to you that I'd like to make my own arrangements, I suppose?'

  'Frankly, no.' His grin deepened. 'So, what was your major plan? Camping on my doorstep, looking hopeless and helpless, until Jeremy comes back?' He shook his head. 'You'd lower the tone of the neighbourhood.'

  'No, you'll be all right with Sasha,' he went on, ignoring her furious gasp. 'Her lodgers seem to be a transient population, so she's usually got a room free.'

  'Sasha.' Olivia paused 'Is she Russian?'

  'No.' His face softened momentarily, making him seem
almost human. Even attractive. And increasing that vague sense of familiarity. 'Just eccentric.'

  He gave her a level look with no amusement at all. 'And she's got a kind heart, so I would take it personally if she was made a fool of in any way. By someone doing a runner, for instance, without paying the rent.'

  'She'll be paid.' Olivia stopped trying to work out where she could possibly have seen him before, and reverted effortlessly to simply loathing him again. 'Although I don't expect to be staying there long.'

  'Of course not. You'll be waiting for Jeremy to provide a suitable love-nest, no doubt. And maybe he will. Only it won't be under my roof.'

  'And what the hell has it to do with you?'

  He shrugged, unruffled. 'As I mentioned, he's married. Maybe I have more scruples.'

  And, as if on cue, a girl's voice called, 'Declan—Declan, darling, where are you?'

  Olivia, glancing toward the hall, could see long bare legs descending the stairs. Up to that moment she'd thought no one could be wearing less than her reluctant host, but she was wrong.

  The redhead who now appeared and stood, posing co, in the doorway was using a peach-coloured towel as an inadequate sarong.

  'Darling,' she said, pouting reproachfully. 'I woke up and couldn't find you. It was horrid.' She glanced towards Olivia, her glance hardening fractionally. 'But I didn't realise you were—entertaining.'

  Her laugh was slightly metallic. 'If this is your latest, then your taste must be slipping.'

  Indignant colour flared in Olivia's face at this piece of gratuitous rudeness, but before she could speak Declan stepped forward.

  'Wrong on all counts, Melinda, my sweet Ms Butler is just a passing acquaintance.' He sent Olivia an edged look. 'And, hopefully, passing out of my life for good very soon. Now go back to bed, and I'll see you presently.'

  The girl sent him a radiant smile, the tip of her pink tongue caressing her lower lip. 'Is that a promise?' she asked huskily.

  'Trust me.' His voice was low-pitched, intimate. The air in the room seemed suddenly alive—electric.

  For a shocked moment, Olivia was aware of a slight frisson—a tingle down her own spine.

  The Owner might be loathsome, but he was also undeniably sexy—if you liked that sort of thing. As the redhead falling out of the peach towel obviously did, for she was turning and trailing obediently back upstairs.

  Olivia felt oddly desolate, suddenly. But small wonder, she thought. After all, she'd arrived expecting a blissful reunion with Jeremy, leading to a passionate consummation, and instead here she was, an intruder, forced into the role of voyeur in someone else's love-life.

  There was a strange silence in the room that she needed to break.

  She cleared her throat. 'I gather you don't have any moral scruples about your own conduct?'

  'Correct.' His grin was unabashed. 'But I'm not married, and never have been. That makes a difference.' He paused. 'Nor am I a home-wrecker.'

  The atmosphere tingled again.

  Olivia said coldly and clearly, 'If you'll give me this woman's address, I'll go.'

  He picked up a message pad and wrote on it. 'It's on the other side of the garden. You'll be able to pick up a black cab at the end of the road if you can't walk that far with your luggage.'

  'I hope you don't expect me to thank you effusively.' Olivia accepted the slip of paper, then stalked into the hall and picked up her case.

  'I gave up believing in miracles a long time ago.' He unfastened the front door and held it open for her. 'Goodbye, Ms Butler.'

  'Oh, that's such a final word,' she said with saccharine sweetness. 'I much prefer au revoir, don't you?'

  'Not,' he said, 'where you're concerned. 'I'll tell Jeremy where he can find you. Against my better judgement, I may say,' he added grimly.

  The door slammed, shutting her out into a sunlit day which seemed suddenly to have lost its warmth.

  'To hell with him,' she muttered, hefting her case down the steps. 'Jeremy will be back soon—and then our life together will begin.

  She gave a last look back at the house.

  'And there isn't a tiling you can do about it,' she added defiantly, just as if he was listening.

  She walked away, without looking back, but found herself wondering, at the same time, if he was standing at one of the windows, watching her go. And, if so, precisely why should it matter to her anyway?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Broodingly, Declan stood at the study window, watching Olivia's slim figure walk away. He was already regretting the quixotic impulse to suggest Sasha as a temporary refuge for her.

  I should have taken her to Paddington—put her on the next train west Saved a hell of a lot of trouble all round, he told himself irritably.

  He saw her stop and put down her case, flexing her fingers before transferring it to her other hand and walking on. Her straight back looked gallant, and somehow vulnerable, and he cursed silently. He knew that if he'd been dressed he'd have felt obliged to go after her. Help her with the bloody thing. Take her to Sasha's and introduce her, even.

  And yet there was no obligation on his side. On the contrary, he reminded himself bitterly. All he'd probably done by his intervention was make a bad situation worse.

  For a moment or two he let his thoughts dwell unpleasantly on Jeremy Attwood, and the things he would have to say to him on his return.

  That done, the ball would be in Jeremy's court This is his damned mess. Let him sort it out, he told himself curtly as he turned determinedly away from the window.

  In the meantime, he had a problem of his own to deal with.

  He went swiftly up the stairs to the first floor. The drawing room was there, with its panoramic view over the garden, but he didn't waste a glance on it, heading instead for the door at the back of the room which led to his private suite. For his next task he needed to be fully dressed, with his head firmly together.

  He stepped through into the narrow passage, and turned right into his dressing room, grabbing some underwear, a white cotton shirt and a pair of jeans. He was on his way into the bathroom opposite when he realised that his bedroom door at the end of the passage was standing ajar, and he knew he'd left it closed.

  Still holding his armful of clothing, he moved noiselessly along the passage, his foot tangling in something lying on the floor in front of the door. Mouth tightening, he recognised the peach towel from the guest bathroom on the second floor, and swore under his breath.

  He pushed the door wide, and stood in the doorway. Melinda was propped artistically against the pillows of his bed, the covers draped across her hips.

  'Hello, darling.' Her smile was pure invitation. 'What an age you've been. Did you manage to get rid of the little brown mouse?'

  Declan leaned a shoulder against the doorpost He felt unutterably weary. 'What are you doing, Melinda?'

  'Waiting for you, darling, what else? You did tell me to.'

  'No.' He shook his head. 'I said I'd see you later. Not the same thing at all.'

  'Don't be picky, sweetie.' She moved slowly, luxuriously, stretching her arms above her head. 'Doesn't this bring back some happy memories?'

  'I won't deny that' Declan kept his eyes fixed steadily on her face. 'But I also remember that you're engaged—to Bill Fenner. Maybe you should, too.'

  'Bill's in Warwickshire, staying with his dreary family,' she said with a touch of impatience. 'That's why he didn't take me to the party last night. He can be so boring sometimes.'

  'And this is pay-back time—for being boring?' Declan sighed. 'No, Melinda. That's not how it works. Now go and get dressed, and I'll call a cab for you.'

  She lifted a hand, admiring the sparkle of the enormous diamond she wore on her left hand.

  'Of course,' she said, 'Bill might want to know why I ended up naked in your bed last night. He might feel you'd taken advantage.'

  'You actually ended up naked in the spare room bed,' Declan said dispassionately. 'I had to bring you here because you were dr
unk, and making a nuisance of yourself at the party. I'd have taken you home, but the cab driver refused to go any further in case you threw up. I undressed you for the same reason.' He gave her a level look. 'And Bill will almost certainly not want to hear about that.'

  'My word, haven't we got virtuous all of a sudden?' Melinda wasn't smiling any more. 'Could this be the influence of Little Miss Well-Scrubbed downstairs?'

  'No,' Declan said wearily. 'It's all my own idea. What we had is over now. We've both moved on, so let's leave it like that.'

  She threw back the covers and walked towards him, body moving sinuously. 'I could make you change your mind.'

  Once, he thought. But not any more. Once he'd have damned all thought of decency, and reached for her. But his mind had stopped wanting her a long time before his body did. A realisation that made him ashamed, because in those last weeks they'd spent together he knew he'd just been using her.

  He said more gently. 'You could probably bring a stone statue to life, Melinda. You're a beautiful woman. But you're not my woman—and that makes all the difference.'

  'Or perhaps you're just losing it,' she said contemptuously as she went past him. 'And I'll get my own cab,' she threw back over her shoulder.

  Maybe she was right, Declan told himself with wry derision as he stood under the shower a short while later. Certainly he hadn't put himself out to find female company lately. And the few dates he'd had had been strictly casual.

  He could say he'd been working too hard to pursue any personal relationships. As well as writing a weekly political column for the Sunday Clarion, his television commitments were burgeoning. A new series of Division Bell was starting next week on First City TV, and he'd also been asked to research and draw up a proposal for a series on Prime Ministers of the past, covering the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

  Never a dull moment, he thought drily. But it left him with little free time. And what there was he preferred to spend in Ireland, at his parents' stud farm, helping out with the horses rather than doing the social rounds.

  However, there'd been a girl at the party last night who'd made her interest in him perfectly clear—until Melinda had started behaving badly, and their hostess had quietly begged him to remove her.