The Forbidden Mistress. Anne Mather

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      There was only one way to find out and, deciding that clothes were unlikely to deter a confirmed attacker, she opened her bedroom door a crack. And caught her breath weakly. Tom was outside, on the landing, gazing at her with obvious satisfaction.

      ‘So you are here,’ he said, smiling, and she knew at once that this was no coincidental encounter. He must have returned to the office and discovered that both she and his car were missing. It would have needed no great leap of intelligence to guess where she’d gone.

      Anger overcame her previous apprehension. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, and he was left in no doubt she resented his intrusion.

      ‘This is my house,’ he said mildly, his smile slipping into a sickly sort of cajolery. ‘Come on, Grace. Don’t be like that. I’m entitled to come home if I want to.’

      Grace’s lips tightened. He had a point. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I got a shock when I heard someone else in the house.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Did you forget something?’

      ‘I thought I might take a shower, too,’ he said, and Grace’s feelings of frustration stirred anew.

      ‘You had a shower this morning,’ she reminded him, and Tom shrugged.

      ‘Now I need another,’ he said. ‘It’s dusty at the site. You know that. I don’t want to turn up at the pub smelling of cement.’

      Grace shrugged. ‘Okay.’ She withdrew back into her own room. ‘I’ll see you back at the office.’

      ‘Or we could drive back together,’ he suggested as she was closing her door. But Grace chose not to answer him.

      It took her exactly four minutes to get dressed. It wasn’t until she’d snapped the fastener on her trousers that she felt able to breathe easily again. It was ridiculous, she knew. She slept in the house, for God’s sake, and Tom had never intruded on her privacy in the past. Perhaps he did feel grubby after visiting the site. There was a lot of brick dust flying around.

      Her hair took slightly longer. She hadn’t washed it, but she did brush it out and plait it again. Then, content that she looked as neat as possible, she put her make-up in her bag and left the room.

      She was hurrying down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Now what? she wondered grimly. She wanted to get back to the garden centre before Tom reappeared. Wrenching open the door, she prepared to give whatever salesman was on the threshold short shrift, and then felt a hollowing in her stomach at the sight of the man who was standing outside.

      Why Oliver Ferreira should have this effect on her, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he’d shown any particular interest in her. After all, as soon as his ex-wife had appeared, he’d forgotten all about her.

      Yet, just the sight of his lean dark face and muscled body and she was struggling to control feelings she hardly recognised. A navy blue shirt under a dark blue suit complemented his brooding sensuality, and she knew the craziest need to reach out and touch him, as if she couldn’t quite believe that he was real. But he was real enough, she knew, as dark eyes shaded by sinfully long lashes appraised her in a way that made her nerves tingle. Oh, God, she thought, feeling her skin moisten in response, he was even more attractive than she remembered.

      ‘Grace,’ he said, in obvious surprise, and although she was flattered that he remembered her name, the frown drawing his dark brows together was hardly encouraging. And, instantly, she knew what he was thinking. Thank goodness he hadn’t arrived any sooner and found her only half dressed.

      ‘Hi,’ she said. She sounded breathless, she thought unhappily. She hoped he wouldn’t attribute that to his sudden appearance. ‘Um—have you come from the garden centre?’

      ‘I was looking for Tom, actually,’ he said, without really answering her. Then his eyes moved past her to the stairs behind her.

      ‘And you’ve found him,’ declared Tom, and she glanced almost disbelievingly over her shoulder. Tom was coming down the stairs, clad only in a towel. ‘Come in, Oliver,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did Bill tell you we were here?’

      Grace perched on a stool at the bar sipping her iced tea through a straw. Tom and Oliver were standing nearby, each holding a glass. Tom’s lager, Oliver’s Diet Coke. Oliver had hardly touched his, she noticed. He’d only agreed to have it to be polite, she was sure.

      For her part, Grace would have loved to order a Bacardi and Coke, just to lift her spirits. The day had been going downhill ever since she’d made that crack about Tom bringing Gina to the pub. Now she was here at The Crown, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow her. Oliver had hardly spoken a word to her since Tom’s embarrassing entrance. And who could blame him? The implications of that ‘we’ and the fact that she and Tom had been at the house in the middle of the day were too gruesome to contemplate.

      She hunched her shoulders, feeling humiliated. She’d had no conception that Oliver might come to the house looking for his brother. Or that Tom would appear, half naked, giving weight to any suspicions Oliver might have. He probably hadn’t known she was still sharing Tom’s house. Though that was one little titbit Sophie would have loved to share.

      Perhaps she had, Grace reflected gloomily. Perhaps she was only kidding herself that Oliver had seemed taken aback when she’d answered the door. And on top of everything else, why should he care? She was sure he hadn’t been lonely for female company since Sophie walked out.

      She tried to tune into what Oliver and Tom were talking about. It seemed they were discussing the weather, ludicrous as that was. She wondered when Tom was going to get round to the real point of this meeting. If she were Oliver she wouldn’t buy Tom’s air of bonhomie for a minute.

      ‘Your table’s ready, Mr Ferreira.’

      The waitress from the pub’s dining room appeared just as Grace was considering making an excuse and leaving, and Tom nodded his thanks before emptying his glass. Oliver, meanwhile, put his untouched Coke on the bar and held out his hand to help her down from the bar stool. For a moment, his cool fingers gripped her arm and her eyes darted to his. But he wasn’t looking at her and he clearly felt none of the heat that spread along her veins at his touch.

      The dining room wasn’t busy. It was early yet, barely half past twelve, but it had been obvious from the start that Oliver had wanted to get this meeting over and done with. Grace guessed that was why he’d come to the house when Tom wasn’t at the garden centre. Perhaps he’d hoped to avoid a formal gathering at somewhere public like The Crown.

      Whatever, Tom had been having none of it and he’d insisted Oliver come back to the centre and see for himself how successful it was. Consequently, Oliver had driven Tom back in his car, while Grace had taken the Volvo, as before.

      But for the remainder of the morning the situation had not been ideal. Oliver had renewed his acquaintance with the members of staff who’d been there since his father’s tenure, and Tom had done his best to behave as if he weren’t facing financial ruin. Grace, meanwhile, had tried to concentrate on the web site she was designing. The idea was to expand Ferreira’s mail-order business by advertising online.

      They were seated at a table in the window. Menus were produced and Grace regarded the choice of entrées with a heavy heart. She wasn’t hungry. Indeed, if she was honest she felt physically revolted at the thought of food. She couldn’t bear to look at Tom’s deceitful face and СКАЧАТЬ