The Seduction Game by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

long and rather trying day.’
    ‘With myself as the chief trial, no doubt,’ he said cheerfully. He swallowed the rest of his coffee and pushed his chair back. ‘So, to prove my heart’s in the right place, I’ll rid you of my presence as soon as I’ve helped with the washing up.’
    It was pathetic to feel relieved, but she did. She hadn’t calculated he would be nearly as easy to shift.
    She said, too swiftly, ‘There’s no need for that. I can manage, thanks,’ and saw his mouth twist in wry acknowledgement.
    ‘Then I’ll simply thank you for a pleasant evening,’ he continued. ‘And hope to find you in a more relaxed mood at our next encounter.’
    She offered him a tight-lipped smile as she rose too.
    ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. I haven’t come down here for a rest cure.’
    The blue gaze swept her thoughtfully. ‘Well, I can hope,’ he said. He signalled to Buster, who rose and padded to his side, tail swaying adoringly.
    ‘And then,’ he added as he walked to the door, ‘you can tell me all about it.’
    ‘All about what?’ Tara’s brows drew together as she accompanied him out of the kitchen and along the passage to the front door.
    He said quite gently, ‘About the man who locked you up and threw away the key. That’s what. Goodnight, Tara.’
    He bent his head, and for one scared, searing moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But even as she stiffened in recoil he took her chin in his hand, turning her face slightly so that all she experienced was the brief, fugitive brush of his lips across her cheek.
    Then he opened the door, and, on a rush of cool river air, was gone.

    Tara couldn’t get to sleep that night. She’d taken her time before retiring. Had washed up and tidied the kitchen while Melusine went for her nightly roam. Had gone round the ground floor rooms making notes about what needed doing until she heard Melusine mewing to be let in again.
    If there was any justice, she should have gone out like a light, she thought fretfully as she twisted and turned, and punched her pillow into shape for the umpteenth time.
    She tried to tell herself that her sleeplessness was due to the fact that she’d drained the cafetière while she was clearing up, but she knew she was being dishonest. That it wasn’t merely the heavy-duty presence of caffeine in her bloodstream that was bothering her.
    There was something far more basic—more fundamental—at fault. Something she didn’t want to examine too closely.
    If she’d been at the flat, she’d have accepted her insomnia as a temporary hiccup in life’s regularity. She’d have got up and got on with something more useful than lying staring into the unforgiving darkness.
    Under normal circumstances she’d have done the same here. She could even have made a start on washing down the walls in the dining room, she realised with irritation.
    But that would have meant using lights, which would have been clearly visible from the Caroline, and, in turn, might have brought Adam Barnard to investigate. To check up on her. And that was the last thing she wanted.
    As it was, she’d felt absurdly self-conscious—lighting the lamp in her bedroom, using the bathroom at the side of the house, knowing that he was there, out on the dark water, able to track her movements if he wished. That he could be aware of the exact moment when she climbed into bed and drew the covers over her. She’d never had to deal with this kind of enforced intimacy before, and somehow she didn’t know how to cope.
    Her skin still seemed to burn where he had kissed her, as if she’d been marked in some way. And yet there was nothing. She knew that because she’d spent a long time in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her pale face and scared eyes.
    Just as she’d spent an even longer while standing at her window, her whole body chilled and tense in her thin cotton nightshirt, as she’d waited and watched through a chink in the curtains for the lights on