‘I DON’T believe it! He’s thinking of coming to the wedding!’
‘Your father’s thinking of flying all the way from Sydney? To attend your mother’s wedding to another man?’ The fair-headed young man shot a quick glance at the slim girl who sat beside him in the passenger seat as he drove competently along the busy dual carriageway. ‘That’s a little unusual,’ he added cautiously.
‘But typical of my parents!’ Tamsin Reed said wryly, stowing the airmail letter she’d just read back in her handbag. Hazel eyes beneath their sweep of thick, dark lashes gazed bleakly at the passing countryside bathed in the early-morning spring sunshine. Long, silky brown hair framed her oval face, emphasized the high cheekbones and wide, generous mouth set above a small, unexpectedly determined chin. ‘I mean, why can’t they be normal and fight and argue like most divorced couples?’ Her mouth curved in a grin, but the flippancy in her voice was at war with the unhappiness in her eyes. ‘I just don’t understand any of it. They still care about each other, like each other. I always thought…’ She furrowed her forehead. ‘In fact, if it wasn’t for that damn man I’m sure they would have got back together,’ she muttered vehemently.
‘I thought you liked Andrew. Isn’t it the next exit?’
Tamsin bent her head to consult the map, the sweep of soft hair cascading over her shoulder, shielding her face. ‘Mmm. Then first left after the roundabout.’ She wriggled her feet back into the navy blue court shoes she’d discarded earlier. ‘I do like Andrew,’ she admitted with reluctant but innate honesty, thinking briefly of the courteous, unassuming widower who would shortly be her stepfather. ‘It’s not him. It’s his son.’ Her husky voice and golden, green-flecked eyes reflected her contempt. ‘Junior,’ she added derogatorily. ‘If he hadn’t interfered, practically forced them together…he’s the most manipulative, conniving…’ She pressed her lips together, swallowing back a lurid epithet.
That was one of the drawbacks of sharing a house with three rugby-playing males, she thought with rueful amusement. It was all too easy to pick up some of their less admirable habits. Not that she would be sharing with them for much longer, she reminded herself with a pang of sadness. She was going to miss them.
Her eyes flicked to the favourite of her flatmates. Especially Tom, she mused wistfully, and his undemanding, uncomplicated friendship. It was he who had helped her through the bewilderment and misery of her parents’ long separation and ensuing divorce.
Deliberately, she pushed the painful memories to the back of her mind, her expressive eyes lighting up with curiosity and interest as she caught her first glimpse of their destination.
‘Bit of a contrast to Gatwick,’ Tom echoed her first thought as he reduced speed and turned into the entrance of the south-coast airport, which until now had just been a name on a map. Glancing to the left, she surveyed the small, one-storey building, which was opposite a field of grazing cattle. One extreme to the other, she thought, fighting back the sudden inane desire to burst into giggles. How on earth would she ever adjust to this after the frenzied activity of the major airport?
‘Still, you don’t have to take the job even if you’re offered it.’ Tom turned into the staff car park as instructed in the letter inviting her for the interview.
Tamsin shrugged noncommittally. The interview was a mere formality, with her going through the motions for appearance sake. Little more than a casual chat to discuss pay and conditions. She’d been given a verbal assurance that the post of senior duty officer was hers. And Tom was wrong. She did have to take the job. Unemployed for the past five months since the airline for which she’d worked had gone into receivership, she was in no position to do anything else. In no position to tell her loathed benefactor exactly what he could do with his job offer, had instead been forced to swallow her pride, fight her every instinct and accept.
‘Thanks for bringing me down,’ she said, smiling, as Tom pulled to a halt. Dwindling savings had forced her to sell her own car a month ago. Fishing in her handbag, she retrieved a comb, ran it through her silky curtain of hair and wound it with practised skill into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. Checking her face in a small compact mirror, she reapplied pink gloss to her lips and, reaching in the back of the car for her jacket, slipped it over her crisp cream blouse.
‘How do I look?’ She grinned at her companion. ‘Efficient? Capable? Business-like?’ She was completely unaware that the overriding impression was one of total femininity, that the subtle hint of slender curves beneath the utilitarian blue suit was far more tantalizing than any blatant emphasis, that the severe hairstyle drew instant attention to the lovely, dark fringed eyes.
‘Now don’t overdo it,’ she murmured drily, her gaze immediately following Tom’s as it rested admiringly on the sleek, silver grey sports car that slid into a space at the far end of the car park.
‘Isn’t that—?’
‘Yes,’ she cut in, her expression tightening. ‘The man himself. Jordan Keston.’
Jordan Keston. The legendary troubleshooter who invested in ailing companies and turned them into viable commercial concerns. The quality papers lauded his business acumen; the tabloids were more interested in promoting his playboy, jet-setting image. Jordan Keston, she mused acidly, apparently had a great many ‘close friends’ of the petite brunette variety.
‘A millionaire at thirty-six…’
She snorted contemptuously, infuriated by the open admiration in Tom’s voice. ‘And how exactly do you think he’s achieved that?’ she demanded. ‘By utter ruthlessness, by walking over everything and anyone in his path. By using people, playing power games for his own ends.’
‘A lot of companies he’s taken over were on the brink of collapse,’ Tom returned equably. ‘He’s saved a lot of people’s jobs. If he hadn’t salvaged Lyne Air Services, you wouldn’t be having this interview today,’ he added logically.
‘St. Jordan to the rescue on his white charger,’ Tamsin scoffed, her attention drawn against her will to the sports car again. Two long, lean, dark-trousered legs emerged from the driver’s seat, followed by a muscular torso, the expertly tailored jacket doing little to minimize the latent power in the broad shoulders. A breeze ruffled the blue-black hair, and with an impatient gesture he swept back an unruly lock that fell across his forehead.
Jordan Keston, her future employer. Tamsin’s eyes glinted with green sparks, her body tensing. Jordan Keston. The man responsible for her parents’ divorce. And in three weeks’ time he would technically be her stepbrother. A muscle flickered in her small jaw, her teeth clenching together. What was she doing even thinking of accepting a job with him? She couldn’t go through with it, couldn’t bear to put herself in the position of having to be even remotely grateful to him…
‘It’s nearly ten to…’ she heard Tom remind her from a long way away and mechanically reached for the door handle and scrambled out of the car.
‘I’ll wait for you in the terminal,’ he murmured as he joined her. ‘Good luck, Tam.’
She smiled back at him, and was thrown completely off balance as he bent his head abruptly and kissed her resoundingly full on the lips.
She was too startled to even think for a second, and by the time she’d collected herself, he was walking away towards the terminal building. She stared after him with wide, troubled eyes. Tom had never kissed her like that before…just the odd hug, the occasional brotherly peck on the cheek. They were friends, their relationship strictly platonic. She’d never suspected for a moment that he felt anything more towards her. She shook herself. Heck, it had only been a kiss. A one-off.
Her expression pensive, she began to walk across the car park to the Lyne Air Services administration block and then stiffened.
Jordan Keston was standing by his car, watching her, his eyebrows drawn together in an ominous dark line across his forehead, the firm, straight mouth unsmiling, grim disapproval etched into every line of the harsh, uncompromisingly masculine features. She was too far away to see his eyes but she knew instinctively that they would be as bleak, as cold as a winter’s sky.
His unrestrained pleasure at seeing her again was hard to take. She tried to grin but her lips wouldn’t function as she demanded. What the hell was he looking so disapproving for anyway? Had he witnessed Tom’s brief embrace? It had hardly been X-rated, and considering his own lifestyle, certainly didn’t warrant such grim censure. Or perhaps it was her mere existence he objected to and was regretting making the job offer that she was fully aware had only been made as an indirect favour to her mother.
Just as she was about to reach him, he stooped, locked the car door, then pulling himself to his full height without even a cursory acknowledgement of her presence, swung on his heel and moved across the gravel with long, fluid strides.
Well, thanks a bunch! Tamsin glowered after his retreating figure. The rude, insufferable oaf. What was he trying to do? Clarify immediately their future roles of employer and employee? Remind her that shortly she would be nothing more than a minnow in the periphery of his immense empire. Snob. Arrogant, condescending snob.
He moved with the easy grace, the controlled power of a feral cat, one part of her mind observed with detachment. And was as equally dangerous and unpredictable, she added mentally. The irrational prickle of fear that suddenly tingled involuntarily down her spine irritated her still further.
She wasn’t in awe of Jordan Keston or intimidated by him in any way. His name might be respected on Wall Street but she viewed his business activities as little more than those of an acquisitive, marauding pirate, motivated solely by a ceaseless desire for power. Megalomania. She had, she remembered with a pixie grin, told him so on one occasion…
‘Jordan…’
From the corner of her eye, Tamsin saw a slender, immaculately groomed, dark-haired woman pick her way delicately across the gravel towards Jordan. Reaching his side, she smiled up into his face, touching his arm with a proprietorial hand, the gesture indicative of familiarity and long acquaintance.
Oh, yuk. Tamsin’s mouth turned down with distaste. What a nauseating sight to have to endure at this hour of the morning. The brunette was practically drooling over him. And Jordan, she thought with disdain, judging from that lazy, appreciative smile quirking the corners of his firm mouth, was lapping it up.
She came to an abrupt halt as her heart gave an unexpected twist. She couldn’t remember the last time Jordan had actually smiled at her, looked at her with warmth, amusement…
Shaking herself irritably, she propelled herself forward toward the building through which Jordan and his companion had just disappeared. Opening a glass door marked with the Lyne Air logo, she found herself in a small reception area, the smell of paint and pristine cream walls indicating that it had been recently decorated. Jordan was nowhere to be seen, had presumably disappeared behind one of the doors lining the wide corridor ahead.
‘May I help you?’ The pleasant-faced receptionist glanced up from her typing.
‘I have an interview with Jo—Mr. Keston. Tamsin Reed.’
‘Oh, yes.’ The receptionist checked her name against a list. ‘Would you like to take a seat?’
So she wasn’t the only interviewee today, Tamsin reflected with surprise as she sat down in a hard-backed chair lined up against the wall. She crossed her slim legs. It seemed a little unfair on the other candidates, not to mention a waste of time, when the position was already taken. Although, of course, she still hadn’t made up her mind to accept Jordan’s offer, she reminded herself. Working for an airline no one had ever heard of in a small provincial airport was hardly a career move upwards.
She grinned. Now who was sounding arrogant and condescending? And being unemployed was even less of a strategic career move! But not for the first time, she wondered what potential Jordan had seen in the company, especially at a time when so many of its larger competitors were facing difficulties.
Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and she uncrossed her legs, her fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. Was Jordan keeping her waiting on purpose? Oh, stick your job—
‘Miss Reed?’ The receptionist glanced towards her as the intercom buzzed. ‘You may go in now. Second door on the left.’
‘Thank you.’ Unhurriedly, Tamsin rose to her feet and moved down the corridor, uncomfortably aware of just how tenuous was her outward calm. Her mouth was dry, her stomach churning as if she were on a roller coaster.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chided herself mentally. It was only Jordan behind that door, the interview itself a complete charade. She swallowed. That was the trouble. Jordan. She only had to look at him, hear his voice, and a scorching blaze of antagonism would fire through her. Everything about him grated on her, had from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. His raw, aggressive masculinity, his unassailable confidence, his arrogant assumption that he only had to click his fingers and everyone would jump to obey his imperial commands.
She eyed the closed door and her small chin squared resolutely. Well, this was one puppet who wasn’t going to jump when he pulled the strings. He wasn’t going to rattle her or play any of his overbearing power games with her today. Or think she was going to do a grovelling, grateful routine for his largesse in giving her a job. As far as she was concerned, he would be damn lucky to have her on his staff.
A brisk, confident smile on her lips, she pushed open the door and faltered. Jordan, his face an expressionless granite mask, was sitting behind a large oak desk, and next to him was the brunette with whom she’d seen him earlier.
‘Good morning, Miss Reed.’ His voice was cool and impersonal. ‘Please sit down.’ The blue eyes swept over her with clinical detachment.
Miss Reed? Tamsin gazed back at him in disbelief. He was treating her, looking at her—no, assessing her—as if she were a total stranger. As if this were a genuine interview…
‘What the hell are you playing at, Jordan?’ She swallowed the words before they formed on her lip, conscious of and inhibited by the other woman’s presence. Who on earth was she anyway? Jordan’s latest ‘inseparable companion’? she wondered caustically. If she moved any closer, she’d be practically sitting in his lap.
‘Sara Lyne.’
Tamsin’s eyebrows shot up as Jordan made the brief introduction. Lyne? As in Lyne Air? Or mere coincidence? Moving across the carpet to the chair placed strategically in front of the table, Tamsin exchanged cool smiles with the other woman. Attractive in rather an obvious sort of way. Pity about that particular shade of lipstick. She was slightly appalled at the surge of antipathy that tore through her towards a woman with whom she’d yet to exchange two words.
‘You have worked in the field of aviation for the past five years, since you were eighteen?’ Jordan began without preamble the moment she was seated. He leaned back in his own chair as he surveyed her, the movement causing the dark jacket to tauten across his powerful shoulders. A ray of sun filtered into the room, danced over the thick, dark hair.
Tamsin focused her eyes at a point above his head. ‘Yes,’ she agreed with barely veiled exasperation. This was becoming more and more absurd. He knew damn well she had. Her eyes flicked back to his face, traced the line of the tenacious jaw, encompassed the hard, cynical mouth and the square, decisive chin. He would need to shave at least twice a day to avoid six o’clock shadow, she thought inconsequentially as her sense of smell was teased by the faint, subtle fragrance of expensive male aftershave.
‘As you can see from my c.v.,’ she said with deliberate innocence, addressing his left lapel, ‘I joined the company initially as a seasonal traffic assistant, was then offered a permanent position in Reservations where I spent—’
‘But you were only directly involved with Operations for two of those years?’ he cut through with ill-concealed impatience.
Tamsin’s eyes glinted. How a courteous man like Andrew Keston could have sired such an offspring was one of the wonders of the modern world. ‘Yes,’ she said tightly.
Her gaze fell to the table. One lean hand rested palm downwards in front of her eyes, the strong, supple fingers splayed across a pile of papers. A sprinkle of fine dark hair covered the tanned wrist revealed below the cuff of the brilliant white shirt. Disconcerted and infuriated at the way her stomach suddenly dipped, Tamsin stared resolutely down at the carpet, forcing herself to concentrate on the deep, assured voice.
‘Lyne Air commenced operations some fifteen years ago, primarily as a charter company. Four years ago, the company entered into a franchise agreement with one of the major airlines, operating various scheduled domestic and European services on their behalf. Very shortly, Lyne Air will be operating these services under its own route licence and flight numbers, undertaking its own handling completely.’ He paused. ‘Do you feel that with your limited operations experience, you are sufficiently qualified not simply to assist in running an existing department but to help reorganize its basic structure? Retrain staff? Recruit new staff as necessary?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Tamsin assured the carpet confidently.
‘Well, frankly, I do not.’
‘What?’ Tamsin’s head jerked up, her eyes flying to his face. She’d risen at the crack of dawn, come all the way down from London to be told within the space of two minutes that she didn’t have the necessary qualifications for a job that she’d already been offered! He couldn’t possibly be serious. This was simply an example of his warped sense of humour. He was deliberately trying to wind her up…
The hard, flagrantly male features were as unyielding as rock, the firm mouth drawn into a tough, uncompromising straight line. Her eyes locked into the dark blue ones, searched their fathomless depths. They were devoid of all warmth or humour, detached, indifferent. He was serious.
Jordan had never intended offering her the job of senior duty officer. He’d been playing one of his power games from the start, though to what end she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. But then, when had she ever been able to understand this cold-blooded, devious, manipulative, power-crazy excuse for a human being? She fought back the smouldering anger that threatened to engulf her completely, refused to allow anything Jordan did or said provoke her into losing her temper. Fight ice with ice. How could she have been so stupid, so naive as to have let him dupe her yet again, to have trusted him, believed a word he said? Well, to hell with Jordan Keston! And to hell with his tinpot airline—
‘Sit down. I haven’t finished.’
The low-timbred voice halted her as she began to rise to her feet.
‘Really?’ she enquired coolly, amazed at the control in her voice. She wanted to pummel that hard, deep chest, yell at him. ‘Well, I have. You may have time to waste. I don’t.’
‘Sit down,’ Jordan repeated quietly. His eyes sought and held hers, and to her chagrin and disbelief, Tamsin found herself sinking back into the chair as if some part of her over which she had no control was acquiescing instinctively to his authority. ‘However,’ he continued smoothly as if there had been no interruption, ‘although I don’t feel that you have the necessary qualifications for senior duty officer, there is another vacancy within the company for which you may wish to be considered.’
Tamsin’s eyes darkened suspiciously as he paused, but she couldn’t stop the pinprick of curiosity.
‘We are looking for someone with a wide, all-round airline experience, not necessarily expertise in any one field, to assist in Operations, Traffic, Reservations when there is an increased workload in any of those departments. To cover sickness, leave.’ He swivelled sideways in his chair away from the desk, stretching out cramped, lean legs in front of him. ‘The position would be a temporary one initially, reviewable at the end of the season.’ He named a salary that was fair if not lavish, and then catching Tamsin totally off guard, enquired curtly, ‘Any questions?’ Giving her no time to conjure up one out of her suddenly blank mind, he bent his head over the pile of papers in front of him. ‘Right, thank you, Miss Reed,’ he said dismissively without glancing up again. ‘We’ll be in touch in due course.’
Slowly, Tamsin rose to her feet, a feeling of complete unreality engulfing her as she walked across the room to the door. Nodding absently to the secretary, she stepped out into the sunshine, came to an abrupt halt and burst into laughter, the tension easing from her body.
From senior duty officer to general dogsbody—and a temporary one at that—within the space of five minutes. And even then he hadn’t actually confirmed that the job was hers. She’d allowed Jordan to dominate her completely. Except for a brief minor rebellion, which he’d quickly squashed, she’d just sat there. Meekly. Like a lump of passive jelly. Had barely spoken two words.
She began to walk towards the terminal building. Well, that was two more than Sara Lyne, she reminded herself. The brunette hadn’t spoken once—her whole attention, like her own, had been focused on Jordan. She grinned. So Jordan liked his women small, dark—and silent! The smile stiffened on her lips and she kicked a pebble ferociously with her foot, her eyes dark amber. What malevolent quirk of fate had ever brought Jordan Keston into her life? she wondered despondently. If only she had been cycling down that lane a few seconds earlier, a few seconds later…She’d been so happy that summer’s evening, four years ago. It had been her nineteenth birthday and she’d been spending a few days’ leave with her mother in the family home in Berkshire…
Tamsin’s long, gleaming brown hair cascaded over her bare golden shoulders as her tanned legs whisked at the pedals of her old bicycle. It had been a glorious day. In fact it was a glorious, wonderful life. Her mouth curved in a wide smile of pure contentment. Would her father still be there when she arrived home?
The celebratory birthday lunch to which her father had been invited at her insistence had been more of a success than she’d dared hope for. It had almost been like old times, her parents laughing and teasing each other, reminiscing. Neither had her father appeared to be in any rush to depart after lunch, so tactfully disappearing for the evening to visit an old school friend had seemed the least she could do.
Her smile widened. Everything was going to be all right. Her parents had finally come to their senses after all these months of separation, and a reconciliation was in the offing. She was convinced of it.
Humming under her breath, she free-wheeled down the steep, winding hill, revelling in the speed, the rush of sweet-scented, late-evening air on her heated skin. She rounded a bend, saw the dark green Land Rover, heard the squeal of brakes…then everything became totally confused. She was lying in the ditch, winded, her head spinning.
‘You damn little fool. You could have been killed…cycling in the middle of the road, out of control…’
From a long way away, she heard the deep, irate voice, was vaguely aware that someone was kneeling over her. Her dark lashes flicking upwards, she looked up dazedly into a pair of furious blue eyes, received a hazy, blurred impression of hard, aggressive male features.
‘You were driving like a maniac,’ she retaliated automatically but without much conviction. Her head was still whizzing round and she felt sick. ‘Far too fast for these narrow country lanes,’ she rambled and then broke off, gasping with shocked surprise as she felt warm male fingers sliding over her arms, moving slowly over the contours of her body, trailing the length of her bare leg. ‘Get your filthy hands off me.’ Adrenalin surging through her, she forced herself into a sitting position. ‘You nearly run me over and now…’ She was suddenly conscious of her isolation, the encroaching dusk. Her hands clenched together. ‘You damn pervert!’ She slammed her small fist upwards and caught him on the jaw, wincing with pain as her knuckles encountered hard muscle.
Caught totally off guard, the man reeled back on his haunches, the expression of incredulity on his face almost making her burst into laughter. Almost. Taking full advantage of his temporary distraction, she began to struggle to her feet.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’
She spun round, relief flooding her as she saw the tall, grey-haired man approaching her, kindly concern etched on his face. Then came the realization that this man must have been a passenger in the Land Rover, was probably tarred with the same brush. Her hands clenched again.
‘No, you don’t, you crazy little…’ firm fingers closed around her arm like a steel trap, holding her immobile. ‘No bones broken. Grazed elbow. The only real damage appears to be to her head,’ the man towering over her murmured laconically.
She? He was talking about her as if she wasn’t there, as if she were a child, Tamsin registered as she tried vainly to wrench herself away from his vicelike grip.
‘Would you please let me go, you damn great bully?’ she demanded savagely. Tilting her head upwards, she appraised her captor fully for the first time. There was something oddly familiar about the harshly chiselled male features, the tenacious angle of the square chin, the dark, unreadable blue eyes. Yet she was certain she had never met him before. The sleeves of his navy blue shirt were folded back to reveal strong, tanned forearms; close-fitting, faded denims were moulded to the narrow hips, powerful thighs and long, lean legs. He was not a man, she admitted grudgingly, that she would be likely to forget.
‘Only if you promise not to slug me again,’ he drawled. ‘Next time you might lay me out cold.’
Despite herself, the sheer absurdity of his words made her lips twitch. This man looked tough, resourceful, more than capable of handling any situation in which he found himself. At the same time, some instinct told her that he would never physically hurt anything smaller or weaker than himself. Neither, she was certain, some deep, feminine part of her acknowledging that masculine assurance, would he ever need to force his unwanted attentions on any woman.
He released her arm and rubbed his jaw with a lean hand. ‘Next time, pick on someone your own size, hmm?’
Very droll! The patronizing amusement in his voice made her hackles rise. She could have dealt with his anger far more easily. A fact, the taunting glint in the astute blue eyes informed her, of which he was fully aware. She regarded him disdainfully, vaguely conscious that the older man had walked across to retrieve her bike and shoulder-bag from the ditch.
‘All right, perhaps I did overreact slightly,’ she conceded coolly, ‘but what was I supposed to think when a total stranger starts pawing me?’
He smiled. ‘I have never “pawed” a woman in my life,’ he murmured in a low, silky voice, and to Tamsin’s incredulity, she blushed at the sudden unwanted images exploding in her head. This man would seduce a woman subtly, skilfully…Oh, God, she must have knocked her head after all.
She turned with relief to the older man as he joined them.
‘Back wheel’s buckled, I’m afraid,’ he said with a gentle smile, giving her the shoulder-bag. ‘Andrew Keston,’ he added, holding out a hand.
Keston? Her mind whizzed as she shook his outstretched hand and introduced herself, recognition dawning as she shot a glance up at the man looming by her side. Jordan Keston. Of course. The business tycoon. It was practically impossible to pick up a newspaper without seeing him plastered across it.
She saw the blue eyes narrow abruptly, a shuttered mask slam down over his face. Turning away, he took hold of the bike from his father and tossed it easily into the back of the Land Rover. ‘Where do you live, Miss Reed?’
The brusqueness in his deep-timbred voice, the cold indifference as he glanced over his broad shoulder flicked her on the raw. Now that she knew his identity, it was almost as if he was expecting her to turn into some creeping sycophant and was warning her off.
‘I’m quite capable of making my own way home,’ she said icily. Of all the shallow, egoistical…‘Although doubtless it would ease your conscience to give me a lift,’ she added sweetly and scowled at the unresponsive muscled back.
‘I think the sooner your elbow is attended to, the better,’ Andrew Keston cut in softly, propelling her gently but firmly towards the Land Rover.
Frowning, Tamsin looked down and saw the blood trickling over her arm. Nausea ripped her throat and she gritted her teeth, fighting against the grey, swirling mist. She could hear the murmur of male voices but couldn’t distinguish the words as she desperately tried to claw her way out of the darkness that threatened to engulf her completely.
Tamsin’s eyes flickered open and she frowned, disorientated as she stared up at the familiar ceiling. What exactly was she doing lying on the chesterfield in the sitting room with a rug tucked around her? She turned her head and jolted at the disconcerting sight of Jordan Keston sitting, long legs stretched out indolently in front of him, in the armchair opposite her. And what exactly was he doing here?
‘You fainted,’ he drawled lazily, his eyes, dark, opaque blue pools, focused on her face.
Her gaze flew to her arm. She saw the small stickingplaster on her elbow and groaned inwardly. Oh, God, barely a scratch, little more than a graze and she had—
‘Your mother explained.’
‘Did she?’ she said shortly, her small chin squaring pugnaciously. OK. Laugh. It made her sound so utterly feeble, like a drooping Victorian heroine. Swooning at the sight of her own blood. And it was a phobia she had thought she’d finally overcome.
What a pathetic, neurotic idiot he must think her. Her jaw clenched. Who cared? He looked as if he owned the damned place, she thought with a surge of resentment, legs sprawled out in front of him, hands folded idly behind his dark head.
‘How did you know—’
‘Looked in your shoulder-bag,’ he cut in laconically. ‘Found your address on some library tickets.’
‘You had no right,’ she flashed and then closed her mouth, recognizing that he’d had no alternative. It was also fortunate that the old library tickets had her family address on them rather than the flat in Croydon. She ran a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She supposed she ought to thank him for bringing her home, she admitted grudgingly. But the words stuck in her throat.
She suddenly felt stifled, the large, beautifully proportioned room claustrophobic. Abruptly she flung back the rug, swinging herself into a sitting position, her feminine pride oddly piqued that there wasn’t the slightest flicker of male appreciation at the length of smooth, tanned leg revealed by the action. His face remained completely impassive. Yet, perversely, she admitted honestly, if he had evinced the slightest interest, she would have been equally irritated.
‘Where’s my mother?’
He lifted a dark eyebrow in the direction of the French windows. ‘Showing my father the garden.’ The straight mouth quirked. ‘Fellow rose buffs.’
‘Really?’ Tamsin said coolly, frowning as the sound of Andrew’s soft voice, followed by her mother’s unmistakable, attractive laugh, floated into the room. Rising to her feet, she watched her mother walk towards the house, her head tilted up towards the grey-haired man by her side, her face animated. Clad in a faded summer dress, her fair hair cut in a flattering bob, she looked absurdly young and happy.
Spinning round, Tamsin surveyed the lounging figure. ‘Now you’ve done your Sir Galahad routine, shouldn’t you be galloping off into the sunset?’ she enquired sweetly. Pointedly, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Have you far to go?’ With every fibre in her being, she suddenly wanted Jordan Keston and his father gone. Out of the house. Preferably to the other side of the world. Never wanted to lay eyes on either of them again as long as she lived.
‘Not far,’ he drawled, and with a lazy smile crossed one lean leg over the other, settling back even more comfortably into the chair. ‘I moved into Swallow Lodge this morning.’
‘What?’ Tamsin looked at him incredulously. She had witnessed the renovation taking place on the Lodge over the past few months and like her mother had been intrigued to know who had bought the beautiful old house set in the spacious grounds with the river frontage.
But Jordan Keston…a virtual neighbour. As the dark eyes drew and held hers, she felt an icy finger trail down her spine and an illogical, irrational feeling of foreboding twisting deep inside her.