Read Online The Seduction Game by Sara Craven - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Craven
Ads: Link
now here she was, dizzy with lust over the first attractive man to cross her path, she derided herself.
Except, of course, that wasn’t strictly true. Not by any means. She’d met men every day of her life over the past years, who were more charming, more glamorous than Adam Barnard would ever be.
And, quite apart from Becky’s well-meaning efforts, she’d had plenty of opportunities to embark on new relationships. But she’d always steered clear, retreating behind her barrier of cool reserve when someone threatened to come close.
It wasn’t difficult. She only had to recall the devastation that Jack had left behind him.
She was afraid of being hurt again. Of being used. Of being savaged and abandoned.
And, most of all, of being found out. Of being exposed all over again as dull—unlovable—undesirable.
Because love—or what passed for it-hurt. That was what she needed to remember. All she needed to remember. She could never again allow herself to become the broken thing of three years ago.
She’d worked hard to gain control of her life—of herself—and she wasn’t going to jeopardise that for a passing attraction, however potent.
She’d created her own safety net—a private hedge of thorns around herself. And if Adam Barnard knew what was good for him he’d stay on his own side of it.
Not that she’d given him a chance to do otherwise. Now that she’d recognised the potential danger he could pose, she would deal with it.
And eventually he would grow tired of the cool, unchanging civility. The lack of response, unsmiling, even uncomprehending, to his advances.
And, like the others, he would move on. Find some other warmer, more willing lady. Leave her in peace.
Only this time peace might not be so easy to come by, a sly voice whispered in her head.
Sighing, she got to her feet and went downstairs, with Melusine weaving round her legs. She poured the cat some milk, then filled the kettle and set it to boil. She took a carton of orange juice from the fridge and drank a glassful, gasping at its cold tartness against her throat.
While she was waiting for the kettle she went back up to the bathroom and began running water into the tub, adding a capful of fragrant oil, filling the room with the dusky scent of geraniums. Her disturbed night had left her with vague aches and pains, and a strange restlessness which she wanted to soak away.
She made herself a strong mug of coffee and sipped it while she lay submerged, letting the hot, scented water work its magic on her.
Everything’s going to be all right, she assured herself, stretching luxuriously. There may have been a few underground tremors, but the citadel still stands. And that’s how it will stay.
She finished her coffee and lifted herself from the tub, swathing herself in a towel.
She was humming to herself as she re-entered her bedroom, chose underwear and a T-shirt and cotton trousers for the day ahead. The early overcast sky was clearing and the sun was coming through. It was going to be a hot day if she was any judge.
She paused, her attention caught by a movement outside. She went to the window and stood for a moment, watching the river. A moorhen had emerged from the reeds and was swimming sedately, her brood a brown ripple in her wake, but that wasn’t what she had seen. Or she didn’t think so.
And then she saw him, across the river, walking on the opposite bank among the clustering silver birches which sparkled in the early sunlight.
A dark figure, tall and purposeful, the dog frisking round him.
Another early riser, she thought. Or perhaps he couldn’t sleep either. She felt a tingle of something like pleasure curl along her nerve-endings. Felt her throat tighten.
As she watched, he stopped suddenly and turned towards the house, as if aware of her scrutiny. As if across the gleaming water their eyes had met and locked, holding them in thrall to each other.
But that’s nonsense, Tara thought, feeling her breathing
Except, of course, that wasn’t strictly true. Not by any means. She’d met men every day of her life over the past years, who were more charming, more glamorous than Adam Barnard would ever be.
And, quite apart from Becky’s well-meaning efforts, she’d had plenty of opportunities to embark on new relationships. But she’d always steered clear, retreating behind her barrier of cool reserve when someone threatened to come close.
It wasn’t difficult. She only had to recall the devastation that Jack had left behind him.
She was afraid of being hurt again. Of being used. Of being savaged and abandoned.
And, most of all, of being found out. Of being exposed all over again as dull—unlovable—undesirable.
Because love—or what passed for it-hurt. That was what she needed to remember. All she needed to remember. She could never again allow herself to become the broken thing of three years ago.
She’d worked hard to gain control of her life—of herself—and she wasn’t going to jeopardise that for a passing attraction, however potent.
She’d created her own safety net—a private hedge of thorns around herself. And if Adam Barnard knew what was good for him he’d stay on his own side of it.
Not that she’d given him a chance to do otherwise. Now that she’d recognised the potential danger he could pose, she would deal with it.
And eventually he would grow tired of the cool, unchanging civility. The lack of response, unsmiling, even uncomprehending, to his advances.
And, like the others, he would move on. Find some other warmer, more willing lady. Leave her in peace.
Only this time peace might not be so easy to come by, a sly voice whispered in her head.
Sighing, she got to her feet and went downstairs, with Melusine weaving round her legs. She poured the cat some milk, then filled the kettle and set it to boil. She took a carton of orange juice from the fridge and drank a glassful, gasping at its cold tartness against her throat.
While she was waiting for the kettle she went back up to the bathroom and began running water into the tub, adding a capful of fragrant oil, filling the room with the dusky scent of geraniums. Her disturbed night had left her with vague aches and pains, and a strange restlessness which she wanted to soak away.
She made herself a strong mug of coffee and sipped it while she lay submerged, letting the hot, scented water work its magic on her.
Everything’s going to be all right, she assured herself, stretching luxuriously. There may have been a few underground tremors, but the citadel still stands. And that’s how it will stay.
She finished her coffee and lifted herself from the tub, swathing herself in a towel.
She was humming to herself as she re-entered her bedroom, chose underwear and a T-shirt and cotton trousers for the day ahead. The early overcast sky was clearing and the sun was coming through. It was going to be a hot day if she was any judge.
She paused, her attention caught by a movement outside. She went to the window and stood for a moment, watching the river. A moorhen had emerged from the reeds and was swimming sedately, her brood a brown ripple in her wake, but that wasn’t what she had seen. Or she didn’t think so.
And then she saw him, across the river, walking on the opposite bank among the clustering silver birches which sparkled in the early sunlight.
A dark figure, tall and purposeful, the dog frisking round him.
Another early riser, she thought. Or perhaps he couldn’t sleep either. She felt a tingle of something like pleasure curl along her nerve-endings. Felt her throat tighten.
As she watched, he stopped suddenly and turned towards the house, as if aware of her scrutiny. As if across the gleaming water their eyes had met and locked, holding them in thrall to each other.
But that’s nonsense, Tara thought, feeling her breathing
Similar Books
