Sara Craven - His Delicious Revenge - The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All

She said, ‘It may be a long time before I believe that.’

‘Also I would prefer her not to know that we have her diary.’ He paused. ‘In future, perhaps you should telephone in advance and make sure your visit is convenient.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and rose from her chair. ‘I shall. But let me assure you, Professor Wainwright, that nothing I’ve done or shall do for Evie will ever be wasted.’

The theatre bar was crowded, and alive with an excited buzz of conversation.

No doubt in anyone’s mind that this was an occasion, thought Tarn drily as she waited for Caz to return with their interval drinks.

She’d felt as if she was strung up on wires as she’d dressed for the evening, choosing a plain black knee-length shift topped with a taffeta jacket striped in emerald and black. Her hair she’d fastened in a loose knot on top of her head, and she wore jet pendant ear-rings.

She looked, she thought judicially surveying the finished article in the mirror, the image of a girl ready for a date with the most attractive man she’d ever met.

Not at all like someone who’d spent her recent days and nights wondering whether or not that same man might be a drug smuggler, and if she should take her suspicions to the authorities.

Eventually, she’d told herself wearily that she was crazy. Because being a womanising bastard and love rat did not make Caz Brandon a felon, much as she might wish it. And watching him get his just deserts did not necessarily mean jail.

Della had arranged to be elsewhere when Caz came to pick Tarn up.

‘I don’t trust myself not to scream, “She’s out to get you, and not in a good way,”’ she’d commented candidly.

Tarn said with difficulty, ‘Dell—this isn’t a joke.’

‘No,’ Della returned. ‘In my view, it has all the makings of a tragedy. But that’s your choice, honey.’

Now Tarn watched as he threaded his way through the general melee carrying her spritzer and his own Scotch and water. It took a while because he was constantly being halted to respond to greetings.

When he reached her side, Tarn said, ‘Do you know everyone here tonight?’

‘I know some, but I think a lot of the others believe they know me because of some past introduction.’ His voice was rueful. ‘If I had to remember their names, I’d be in difficulties.’ He handed over her drink. ‘Here’s to Act Two.’ He added softly, ‘And I don’t necessarily mean the play.’

‘Ah, but I do.’ She sent him a smile. Made it teasing. ‘It’s absolutely wonderful—especially as I haven’t the faintest idea what to expect next.’ She gave a faint whistle. ‘Lance Crichton certainly knows how to put the audience’s emotions through the wringer.’

Caz nodded. ‘When Bateman made that last entrance, I thought the woman next to me was going to fly out of her seat.’

Tarn shuddered. ‘I thought I might too. Although I’ve never heard of the actor who plays him. Proving how out of touch I am.’

‘Rufus Blaine? He did a season at Stratford in minor roles, and people at the time were saying he was a star in the making. I think this Bateman portrayal has confirmed that.’ He paused. ‘Curious, isn’t it, how the wicked usually get far more interesting roles than the good?’

Tarn shrugged. ‘It sometimes seems the same in real life.’

‘Isn’t that a little cynical?’

‘Probably.’ She added lightly, ‘Blame it on Bateman, and the shocks in store for us. I can hardly wait.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ He hesitated. ‘I was afraid you were regretting having accepted my invitation.’

‘What made you think that?’

‘You seemed very quiet when I came to pick you up.’

‘Did I? Perhaps I find dating the boss a daunting prospect.’

‘Has it occurred to you that I might be a little daunted too?’

‘Frankly, no. Why should it?’

He said slowly, ‘Because you’re different. There’s something guarded—unfathomable about you, Tarn.’

Why—because I’m not a pushover, falling enraptured at your feet?

‘A woman of mystery?’ she asked, brows lifted. ‘Flattering but untrue, I’m afraid. What you see is what you get.’

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that only time will convince me of that.’

At that moment, the bell sounded to signal their return to the auditorium.

And she really had been saved by it, Tarn thought, quashing a sudden bubble of hysteria as she walked sedately beside him back to the stalls. Because Caz Brandon was going to be no pushover either. He was far too perceptive for his own good—or hers.

Dear God, she thought, I shall have to be so careful. So terribly careful.

THE word ‘Careful’ sang in her brain as she sat tautly beside him in the back of the car on the journey back to the flat, waiting for him to lunge at her.

But it didn’t happen. Instead he chatted about the play, the performances, and the almost unbearable tension of the final act. And when the car drew up outside the apartment block, he dismissed her protests and escorted her to her door.

He watched as she fumbled in her bag for her key. ‘Am I going to be asked in again for coffee?’

‘My flatmate will be asleep,’ she said, hoping that a wide awake Della wouldn’t suddenly appear to make a liar of her. ‘I—I don’t want to disturb her.’ She added, ‘Besides, your driver’s waiting.’

‘Of course,’ Caz said softly, and smiled at her. ‘And I can wait too.’

His gaze travelled down to her mouth and she knew that he was going to kiss her. Knew as well that there was no realistic way she could avoid this. That she must, at least, appear willing if her long term plan was to succeed.

Her whole body stirred as he bent towards her, and she felt the slow, painful thump of her heartbeat echo through every nerve-ending in her skin. Careful…

His hands were gentle on her shoulders, drawing her towards him, then his lips touched hers, brushing them swiftly, lightly in a caress as fleeting as an indrawn breath. A tease that promised but did not fulfil.

Then he released her and stood back, the hazel eyes quizzical as they scanned her flushed face.

‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly. ‘Sleep well. I’ll be in touch.’ And went.

As she walked on unsteady legs into the sitting room, she heard from the street below the sound of the car pulling away, and stood rigidly, one clenched fist pressed against her breast.

Clever, she thought stormily. Oh, God, he was clever. But she could play games too. And somehow—however difficult it became—she intended to win.

Her interior warning to take care continued to hang over her, as the spring days brightened and lengthened, and Caz’s campaign began in earnest.

However Tarn soon realised that he seemed to be keeping it deliberately low-key, not crowding her or bombarding her with demands for her company. Certainly not trying to sweep her off her feet as he’d done to Evie with high profile dates. But a couple of times a week, they dined together, or visited a cinema, or went to a concert or another play, the arrangements invariably made through text or voicemail on her mobile phone.

It would have been much easier, she thought unhappily, if she hadn’t been forced to remind herself quite so often that the time spent with Caz was simply a means to an end and nothing more. Because that should have been a given.

She didn’t want to enjoy any part of these occasions, much less allow the reasons for them to slip from her mind, even momentarily. It worried her too that when she was alone, she sometimes found that she was smiling to herself, remembering something he had said or done, and was then forced to pull herself together, thankful that, knowing what he really was, she had the power and the will to resist his charm.