And then she’d taken the drastic step of becoming pregnant in a bid to secure her own happiness, and Tiarnan had been forced to collude in a devastating lie.
He forced his mind away from dark memories. He’d witnessed too much as a child. He knew well enough that his father had been no innocent party, but the machinations of the first female role models in his life had inured him to their ways and moods as he’d grown up. He’d vowed long ago not to be at the mercy of any woman, and yet despite everything, all his lessons learnt, he’d been caught too. Rage still simmered down low in acknowledgement of that.
A ripple of cynicism went through him. Even in Kate’s innocence ten years ago she’d been manipulative too, just like the rest. Her innocence had been hidden beneath a veneer of sophistication that had fooled him completely until the moment he’d felt that hesitation. A telling gaucheness, an untutored response. It had cut through the haze of lust that had clouded his judgment that night.
Tiarnan could remember the spiking of betrayal and desperation he’d felt. He’d believed her to be experienced. For a second he’d been seduced into believing them to be on equal ground, both knowing what was happening.
Certainly there’d been no indication when she’d found him alone in the library. He’d offered her a drink and she’d taken it … Her hair had gleamed like spun gold in the firelight. A storm had howled outside. There had been a Christmas party going on in the house. Tiarnan had been making a rare home visit …
She had been wearing a dark red silk dress. Ruched and short, it had clung to her breasts and the curve of her hips. Her long legs had been bare, she’d worn high heels. She had taken the glass of whiskey and smiled at him, and for the first time Tiarnan had allowed himself to really notice her. In truth he’d noticed her as soon as he’d arrived that evening, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Some defence of his must have been down.
He’d noticed her before—of course he had—he’d have to have been dead not to. But strictly as his sister’s friend. They’d both been tall and gangly, giggling blushing girls, but that night for the first time Tiarnan had seen that Kate had become a woman.
It was a quality that his own almost eighteen-year-old sister still hadn’t quite achieved. But he’d had to concede that Kate had always possessed a quiet air of mature dignity, of inherent sophistication. A quiet foil to Sorcha’s rowdiness and effervescence. Sorcha, his sister, had just come through a traumatic time after the relatively recent death of their father, and Tiarnan had taken the opportunity to thank Kate for being there for her.
Kate had blushed and looked down into her glass before looking back up, something fierce in her eyes. ‘I love Sorcha. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister and I’d do anything for her.’
Tiarnan could remember smiling at her, seeing her eyes widen in response, and then the flare of his arousal had hit so strong and immediate that it had nearly knocked him sideways. The air around them had changed in an instant, crackling with sexual tension. Even though Tiarnan had tried to deny it, to regain some sanity.
Standing there with her skin glowing in the firelight, her lush body firing his senses … He could remember how choked his voice had felt with the need to push her away when all he’d wanted to do was kiss her into oblivion.
‘You know I’ve always considered you like a sister too, Kate.’
For an infinitesimal moment Kate had just looked at him, and then she’d carefully put down the drink and come closer to him, her blue eyes glittering, pupils huge. And she’d said huskily, ‘I don’t see you as a brother, Tiarnan. And I don’t want you to see me as a sister.’
His arousal had sky-rocketed. On some level Tiarnan hadn’t been able to believe he was being so wound up by an eighteen-year-old girl. But in fairness she wasn’t like other eighteen-year-olds. She’d already been a model for a couple of years, was already living independently in London. And he couldn’t believe she was standing there and seducing him. Or how out of his depth he felt in that moment. At the age of twenty-eight he was no novice around women, but he’d felt like one then.
She’d stepped right up to him and placed her hands around his face. Then, stretching up, she’d pressed her mouth to his. He’d put his hands on her waist, to try and set her back—but he’d felt her curves, and then she’d leaned closer into him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest … and he’d been lost. From that moment Tiarnan had been overtaken for the first time in his life by pure, unadulterated lust. It had felt like the most necessary thing in the world to pull her even closer, to deepen the kiss, taste her with his tongue.
Things had become heated and urgent in seconds, and only that telling movement she’d made, which had brought him back to sanity, had stopped the night ending a lot differently.
Tiarnan’s focus came back from the heat of that memory. The vividness of it shocked him. He knew if he was asked he wouldn’t be able to recall his last sexual liaison with such clarity. He stepped away from the window with a jerky movement and did the only thing he could do to ensure he’d have a modicum of sleep that night. He took a cold shower and vowed to himself as he did so that very soon he’d have Kate Lancaster in his bed—once that had happened these provocative memories would return to where they belonged: in the past.
Madrid, one week later
‘Signorina Lancaster, you have a call.’
The phone felt slippery in Kate’s hand. She knew who it was, and her body was already responding as if he was right there in the room with her.
‘Gracias.’
She heard a click on the line and then a voice, deep, authoritative. ‘Kate.’
His voice reached right down inside her and caused a quiver. She pressed her legs together and gripped the phone even tighter.
‘Tiarnan. What a surprise.’
‘Hardly,’ he responded drily. ‘I live about ten minutes from your hotel, and Sorcha told me you’d got the messages I’ve left. Apparently you’ve been too busy to get back to me.’
‘I did speak to her earlier—and, yes, I’ve been extremely busy.’
‘But now you’re finished working?’
‘Yes.’ Relief rushed through her. Escape was in sight. She was still getting over the shock of having been sent on this last-minute assignment to Madrid—right into Tiarnan’s territory, and so soon after their last meeting. Which she had no intention of repeating.
‘I’m going home tomorrow—’
‘Evening,’ Tiarnan finished smoothly for her. ‘So you have plenty of time to let us take you for lunch tomorrow.’
‘I’m afraid I—’ Kate stopped. He’d said us.
‘Rosie is here. She’d like to see you.’
The words of a lame excuse died in Kate’s throat. As much as she hated him for doing this to her, she knew that he would never in a million years use Rosie in any kind of manipulative way. He would know that she’d spent time with Rosie, but probably had very little idea just how much. Kate liked Rosie. She’d used to help Sorcha look after her whenever Tiarnan was in New York on business—which had been frequently enough, as he had offices there. He had sometimes left Rosie with Sorcha for a night or two a couple of times a year when she’d been younger. It had always turned into a joint effort, as Sorcha had been living with Kate in New York until just before she’d met her husband.
Sorcha, up until her pregnancy and the birth of her own daughter, hadn’t possessed a maternal bone in her body, so Kate had always been the one to make sure Rosie was wrapped up warm, had eaten well and was tucked in at night. Sorcha used to joke that Kate had been born with a double helping of maternal instinct to make up for the lack of her mother’s. The three of them would go to Central Park on adventures, or to the movies and for ice cream afterwards. Kate had always felt a kinship with the small, serious dark-haired