Liz Fielding - British Bachelors - Tempting & New

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘What does your boyfriend think of his mother’s decision?’

Tavy bit her lip. ‘I—I don’t think he knows.’

‘How convenient.’

The note of contempt in his voice stung.

She turned on him. ‘Patrick will be devastated when he hears,’ she said hotly. ‘And, anyway, just what business is it of yours? How dare you walk into this village, making assumptions, passing judgements on people you barely know?’

‘Because outsiders can often see the whole picture,’ Jago returned, unruffled. ‘Whereas you, my sweet, are incapable of looking further than the end of your charming nose.’

‘You know nothing,’ she hurled back at him, her voice shaking. ‘Nothing at all. You’ve mixed in dirt for so long, you can’t recognise or appreciate decency.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Back to that, are we? If that’s the case, what do I have to lose?’

One stride brought him within touching distance, his fingers gripping her slender shoulders, rendering her immobile. He bent his head and his mouth took hers in a long hard kiss that sent strange echoes reverberating through every nerve of her body, and sent the world spinning helplessly out of synch.

His lips urged hers apart, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth’s inner sweetness and explore it with a fierce and sensual insistence totally unlike his previous gentleness. It was impossible to breathe—to think. Or, even, to resist...

At the same time, his hands slid down to her hips, jerking her forward, grinding her slender body against his. Making her shockingly aware that he was passionately and shamelessly aroused.

And, worse still, making her want to press even closer to him. To wind her arms round his neck and feel the silky gloss of his hair under her fingers. To make the kiss last for ever...

When he finally released her, she was trembling inside, with fury that she had not been the one to step back first, and disbelief at her body’s own reaction to this stark introduction to desire.

She wanted to call him a brute and a bastard, but somehow her voice wouldn’t work.

He, of course, had no such problem. He said harshly, the tawny gaze scorching her, ‘A word of advice. Open your eyes, Octavia, before it’s too late.’

Then he turned and crossed the road to where a Jeep was parked under a chestnut tree, swung himself into the driver’s seat, and roared off without a backward glance.

Leaving her staring after him, a shaking hand pressed to her swollen mouth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS A subdued afternoon. Lloyd Denison listened gravely to everything Tavy had to say, although she kept back her encounter with Jago and its shameful aftermath, then retired to his study with the comment, ‘She does not deserve you, my dear, and never did.’

He was distressed for her, thought Tavy, but not particularly surprised.

She did her best to be upbeat, checking online that she had the requisite qualifications to train for a B.Ed, although she found with dismay that she’d have to wait until September to apply for the following year.

Which meant she had to find some way to support herself in the interim period.

And, to her bewilderment, there was still no word from Patrick, making it difficult to altogether dismiss Jago’s unpleasant comments.

I’ll just have to tackle him myself, she thought.

Accordingly, after breakfast the following morning, she asked if she might absent herself from Morning Prayer and borrow the Peugeot. ‘There’s something I need to do.’

‘Yes, of course you may.’ Mr Denison studied her for a moment. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

She forced a smile. ‘Not right now.’

Market Tranton’s streets were quiet as Tavy made her way across town to the modern block where Patrick had his flat. She was just about to turn into the parking lot when a car pulled out in front of her, forcing her to brake sharply.

It was a convertible with the hood up, but she recognised it instantly, as it sped off. It was Fiona Culham’s car, and she was driving it, wearing sunglasses and with a scarf tied over her blonde hair.

Tavy sat very still for a moment, aware that her pulses were drumming oddly, as she told herself that there was probably a perfectly logical explanation, and that driving straight back to Hazelton Magna was the coward’s way out.

Then, taking a deep breath, she turned into the car park and found another car hurriedly departing, leaving an empty bay. An elderly woman was just emerging from the main entrance as she arrived, and she held the door open with a friendly smile. Tavy took the stairs to the first floor, and rang Number Eleven’s bell.

Patrick answered the door almost immediately. He was bare-legged, wearing a towelling robe and an indulgent smile.

‘So, what have you forgotten...?’ he began, then paused gaping as he registered his visitor’s identity. ‘Tavy—what the hell are you doing here?’

‘I think it’s called “wising up”.’ She couldn’t believe how calm she sounded when, by rights, she should be falling apart. ‘May I come in?’

There was another pause, then he reluctantly stood aside. She walked into the living room and looked around. The table in the window still held the remnants of breakfast for two, while the bedroom door was open affording a clear view of the tumbled bed.

‘So,’ she said. ‘You and Fiona.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As it happens. I didn’t know you’d been spying on us.’

‘Spying?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I had no idea until I saw her driving away.’ She paused. ‘When did it start?’

‘Does it matter?’ His tone was defensive. He looked uncomfortable. Even shifty.

‘I think I’m entitled to ask.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said impatiently. ‘You’re a nice kid, Tavy, but it was never really serious between us. Surely you realised that.’

She said quietly, ‘I’m beginning to. But what I can’t quite figure is why “we” happened at all.’

He shrugged. ‘When I came down here, I needed a local girlfriend, and you...filled the bill.’

‘And was that why we only met outside the village—so that you could dump me for Fiona without looking quite so much of a bastard?’

‘Oh, do we really have to pick it all over?’ he asked irritably. ‘Let’s just say we had some nice times together and leave it there. Things change.’

Yes, thought Tavy. I’ve lost my job. I may lose my home and now I’ve lost you—except it seems that I never had you in the first place.

She lifted her chin. Smiled. ‘In that case,’ she said. ‘Let me wish you both every happiness.’ She paused. ‘I presume you will be getting married.’

‘Yes, when her divorce is finally settled, among other things.’ He didn’t smile back. ‘Until then, perhaps you’d be good enough to keep your mouth shut about us.’

‘Who,’ she asked, ‘could I possibly want to tell?’

And walked out, closing the door behind her.

She drove steadily back to Hazelton Magna. About a mile from the village she pulled over on to the verge, switched off the engine and sat for a while trying to gather her thoughts and gauge her own reactions. Waiting, too, for the pain to strike as if she’d just deliberately bitten down on an aching tooth.

After all, Patrick was the man she’d believed she was in love with—wasn’t he?

Only, there was nothing. Not even a sense of shock. Just a voice in her head saying, ‘So that’s it.’ Rather like being handed the solution to a puzzle—interesting, but not particularly important.

Looking back with new and sudden clarity, she could see she’d been flattered by Patrick’s attentions because of the memory of that long-ago crush.