with a crisp white blouse and she’d folded her tan-coloured jacket across her lap. She looked fresh-faced and pretty and when she trained her wary green gaze his way Mac knew an almost irresistible desire to get her alone, in the most intimate situation he could think of.
She got to her feet as he drew level, and her scent drifted round him, stirring memories strictly of the bedroom variety.
‘I got your message. I can’t stay long—I’m helping Beth with a stock inventory. What is it, Mac? What was so urgent that you couldn’t just tell me on the phone?’
Going for broke, he squared his shoulders. ‘I’ve decided I don’t want a divorce after all,’ he replied evenly.
‘You don’t?’ Big as saucers, Tara’s green eyes were visibly apprehensive. ‘Then…then what do you want?’
‘I want you, Tara…back in my life. I want us to have a proper marriage.’
CHAPTER THREE
TARA heard what Mac said but wondered crazily if she’d imagined it. All the way to his hotel she’d been frantic with nerves; terrified but excited at the thought of seeing him again—acknowledging that their unexpected encounter in the museum had stirred up so many hopes and dreams that she really should have let go of long ago. Especially after what had happened… But now, staring up into a fathomless blue gaze that clearly had no intention of letting her off the hook—not even for a second—she clutched her jacket to her chest and remembered that the only feelings she should have towards him were ambivalent at best—hostile at worst.
‘Is this some kind of bad joke? Because if it is, I really don’t appreciate it. One minute you’re telling me you’ve met someone and you want a divorce, the next… What’s going on, Mac?’
He told himself to take it easy, not to push so hard or he’d more than likely frighten her away for good. His insides clenched at the thought. Now that he’d seen her again he knew what he was doing was right. It was actually a shock to him that he’d survived so long without her. Maybe not so much survived as existed. How could he have contemplated for even a second marrying someone like Amelie? The French girl didn’t even let her guard down in bed; she was far too obsessed with her appearance, too controlled to get low down and dirty, too…too cold. Mac only had to glance at the hectic colour seeping into Tara’s cheeks to remember how warm his wife had been in that department—an erotic revelation of passion and fire.
‘It’s not a joke, Tara. Amelie and I broke up.’
A sharp spasm of jealousy coiled through her at the mention of his girlfriend’s name. Before she had a name the woman had been a hazy nothing in her mind. ‘Amelie’ made her flesh and blood, real, and that hurt.
‘So what am I? Any port in a storm?’
‘Of course not.’ He looked offended. Too bad, Tara thought wildly, when he didn’t seem to care what he did to hurt her.
‘We got along once upon a time,’ Mac continued, sliding a hand into a pocket of his dark blue suit. ‘Is it so crazy to imagine we might get along again?’
‘You’re serious about this, aren’t you?’ Inside her chest, Tara’s heart was beating double time. Of all the reasons Mac could have given for why he wanted to meet up with her, a reconciliation was the furthest—the last thing in the whole wide world she could have imagined. What was behind it, she wondered, and why was he torturing her like this when the mere sight of him was tying her insides into some kind of intricate macramé?
‘So serious I’ve taken a month’s leave of absence.’
‘Well, that must be a first! Are you sure they can spare you, Mac? I always thought you were so indispensable.’
To her surprise, a self-deprecating little grin hijacked his perfect mouth. ‘So did I. Obviously that’s not the case. Fortunately I have some good people working for me—people I can trust to do a good job. I really have no worries about being absent for a month.’
‘And what will you do with all that free time, Mac?’ Tara asked, tucking a stray blonde strand behind her ear. ‘Maybe some therapy might be a good idea?’
‘Therapy?’
‘For your workaholism…or are you still in denial?’
He could hear the hurt in her voice, the anger behind the bitter accusation, and regret twisted through Mac at the pain he must have caused her when time after time he’d put his working commitments before his relationship. Sighing heavily, he glanced round at the reception desk, at the interested glances they were getting from the smartly dressed brunette who sat behind it, who suddenly pretended to be looking at some paperwork.
‘We can’t talk here. Can we go somewhere?’
‘Where do you suggest? Aunt Beth’s shop? Your hotel room perhaps?’ Her green-eyed gaze disdainful, Tara unfolded her tan jacket and slipped it on. Flipping her hair out from behind the collar, she bit down on her lip to stop it from quivering. ‘You’ll get over your break-up with your girlfriend. I’m sure you could charm her into patching things up—you always did have a way with women, didn’t you, Mac?’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘Perhaps you weren’t always working when you said you were. Perhaps you were seeing someone else when you walked out on me that night…’
Mac saw red. He had never cheated on Tara, nor felt any desire to. Sure, women came on to him, he wasn’t blind—but neither was he promiscuous, and when he’d told Tara he had to work late at the office, well, that was exactly what he was doing.
‘First you accuse me of workaholism—a label I’m quite willing to entertain, by the way, because it’s probably true—but you go too far accusing me of having affairs with other women. What would have been my motive? You were always more than enough woman for me, Tara—don’t pretend you can’t remember…’
Coupled with his words, one glance from that suddenly heated blue gaze made Tara feel a surge of desire so strong that her knees nearly buckled beneath her. ‘Well, I’ve changed! I’m not—I’m not interested in that side of things any more.’ She blushed furiously, wanting the floor to open up and swallow her when Mac grinned knowingly and nodded. ‘I have other more important things to think about,’ she blustered on, ‘I have a fulfilling job working for Aunt Beth, I have—’
‘Why did you give up your dancing, by the way?’
Because right then the answer seemed to mysteriously evade her, Tara folded her arms across her chest and fixed Mac with an angry glare.
‘That’s none of your damn business! I’m a free agent now, remember? I don’t have to explain anything to you. After five years I—’
‘You’re still my wife.’ His voice was deadly serious—possessive, almost. Tara felt a little shiver dance down her spine.
‘Well, we can soon remedy that. You’ve got some time off—why don’t we find ourselves a solicitor and get some papers drawn up? Unless you’ve already done so, that is?’
‘I told you before, Tara, and my assertion still stands. I don’t want a divorce. I want a reconciliation. Understandably, you’ll want some time to consider my wishes, but, as you rightly say, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands at the moment so I can give you my full, undivided attention. Why don’t we start by having dinner together tonight?’
‘I can’t. I’ve got a date.’ As she tossed her head, Tara’s green eyes sparkled with triumph.
‘A date?’
‘With a man.’
‘You’re seeing someone?’ The muscle in the side of Mac’s impossibly beautiful cheekbone twitched tellingly.
‘Is that so hard to believe?’
Mac glanced down at his watch,