Lynne Graham - Dangerous Passions

Still, a few moments later the skilful application of cosmetics had removed much of the evidence. The shadows around her eyes had disappeared beneath a dusky powder, and a creamy blusher had added colour to her pale cheeks. With the generous contours of her mouth outlined by a tawny lip-gloss, she was moderately pleased with the results. She might still be able to see her anxiety, but she was sure that Tom would not.

She changed from the shirt dress she had worn to the office into a pair of loose-fitting cotton trousers and a sleeveless vest. Because they were white, they accentuated the slight tan she had acquired during the hours she had spent in the garden and, like the make-up, they were a determined attempt to lift her spirits. Superficially, she looked good, she decided firmly. Good enough to convince Tom she wasn’t beaten yet.

It was still too early to go and meet him, however. Although Kingsmere was a small town, it did have its rush-hour, and Jaime had no intention of trying to find anywhere to park near the bus station. She planned to wait until Tom had had time to get outside the terminal. That way she hoped to be able to pick him up without having to park at all.

She was standing in the living-room, gazing impatiently out of the window, when the sleek Mercedes glided to a halt behind her small Renault. It was barely four-thirty, and she hadn’t even thought about leaving yet. She had estimated it would take her ten minutes at most to reach the town centre. And Ben must have known that, she hazarded. How she wished she had left early. It was galling being so predictable.

Even so, she couldn’t prevent the shiver of apprehension that shivered down her spine as Ben turned off the ignition, and got out of the vehicle. Tom was getting out, too, hauling his school haversack off the back seat, and looking not a little apprehensive himself now that the excitement was over and he had to face his mother.

She had to go to the door, Jaime knew that. She had to open the door, and behave as if nothing monumental had happened, not least because she knew the car’s arrival would have caused quite a stir in the neighbourhood. There was no way she could grab Tom and drag him inside without creating a disturbance, but the very idea of being civil, when she felt so angry , almost choked her.

Tom was first up the steps, his guarded expression revealing his awareness of the enormity of what he had done. It was the first time he had done anything without clearing it with his mother first, and Jaime guessed he wasn’t as confident as he would like her to think. He didn’t know how she was going to react, and he wasn’t yet old enough not to care.

His hair was wet, Jaime noticed, and, looking beyond her son to the man who had followed him through the garden gate, she saw that Ben’s hair was damp, too. So Tom had had his swim, she thought painfully, realising that the small betrayal hurt more than anything.

‘Uncle Ben said that, as you weren’t feeling well, he’d bring me home,’ Tom volunteered now, brushing past his mother and into the hall of the house. He glanced at her defiantly. ‘I must say, you look OK to me.’

‘Do I?’ Jaime managed the flat rejoinder, and then steeled herself to turn back to Ben. ‘How kind of you to think of me!’

‘You don’t think so,’ observed Ben, halting on the flagged path below her. ‘Do you?’

Jaime stifled the desire to agree with him, and lifted her shoulders. ‘It’s not important. Tom’s home now. I’m grateful.’

Ben tossed his car keys and caught them, and then thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He was wearing black denims and a beige silk shirt, which accentuated the darkness of his skin. But for all that, he still had a look of fatigue around his eyes, and Jaime found herself remembering what her mother had said.

‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Tom came forward. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

Ben’s mouth twisted. ‘I don’t think so.’ His gaze shifted to Jaime. ‘I don’t think your mother wants company right now.’

‘Mum?’

Tom was still looking frustratedly at her when they all heard the sound of running footsteps coming down the street. Dragging her gaze away from her son’s, Jaime turned her head to see who it was, and then felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Angie Santini stopped at the gate.

‘Tom!’ Angie exclaimed, sweeping back the tumbled weight of her hair with a knowingly sensual hand. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting outside the lab for ages!’

Tom coloured and, evidently satisfied with this result, Angie came through the gate. But her attention had moved to the other male present, and Jaime’s feelings did a quick about-face as the girl’s eyes lingered on Ben. She gave his leanly muscled frame a thorough appraisal, and then glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at the Mercedes parked outside.

‘Nice car!’ she murmured, a knowing smile lifting the corners of her lips, and Tom squeezed past his mother again to make the introduction.

‘It’s my uncle’s,’ he said proudly, and Jaime’s fists clenched as she turned back into the house.

She was in the kitchen, pulling saucepans out of the cupboard, when she became aware that she was no longer alone. Red-faced from her exertions, she turned, expecting to find Tom and Angie behind her. But it wasn’t her son and his girlfriend. It was Ben standing in the open doorway, and her feelings coalesced into a burning resentment.

‘I thought you were leaving!’ she exclaimed, slamming a saucepan down on to the drainer, and Ben took a deep breath before walking into the room.

‘I think you should calm down,’ he said, as she turned to face him. ‘You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you go on like this.’

‘What would you know about it?’ Jaime’s hand itched to slap his impassive face. ‘You come here and seduce my son with expensive toys, and expect me to be happy about it!’

‘He’s my son, too,’ replied Ben, in a low, forceful voice, and Jaime caught her breath. But when her eyes darted anxiously past his shoulder, Ben raised a soothing hand. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Tom’s outside with—Angie, is it? I’d say he has his hands full for now.’

‘Well, Angie is quite a handful, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,’ muttered Jaime, turning back to the sink, and then stiffened when Ben moved to rest his hands on the drainer at either side of her.

‘You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?’ he murmured, his breath lifting the hair at the nape of her neck, and Jaime lifted a hand to protect the vulnerable flesh.

‘Don’t—don’t be silly,’ she snapped, but she didn’t trust herself to turn towards him. She was too intensely conscious of the heat of his body behind her, and the faint smell of him, that mingled shaving soap and deodorant, and the musky male scent of his skin.

‘You don’t have to be,’ he continued, and she wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her weakened senses. His lips grazed the skin of her knuckles, and she withdrew her hand abruptly, only to regret having done so when his mouth touched the sensitive curve of her nape. ‘Compared to Angie, you’re as ripe and luscious as a peach.’

‘Fat and overblown, is that what you mean?’ retorted Jaime witheringly, desperate to dispel the disturbing intimacy of his words, but Ben was not deterred.

‘You’re not fat, and you know it,’ he said, stepping closer, and Jaime had to press her stomach against the sink to avoid brushing against him. ‘You were never thin. That was one of the things I liked about you. You hadn’t sacrificed shape for style.’

‘Un—unlike—Maura,’ Jaime choked, hoping the mention of his dead wife’s name would bring him to his senses. But it didn’t.