Passion's Prey Read online

  'No—I think it's the personal touch in my cooking that people like.'

  'Maybe. But what about the rest—finance, advertising and so on?' He was still standing too close to her, the faint tang of him—sweat and warm male body—teasing her senses, and, running the tip of her tongue round her l i p s , she edged even further down the tabl e.

  'Oh, no. I haven't had time to think about that sort of thing.'

  'Well, you should do.' He gave a derisory snort. 'My dear girl, you may be a wonderful cook, but you're obviously one hell of a lousy businesswoman. Here you are, on the verge of a major breakthrough, and—'

  'No!' she broke in loudly. 'I don't want to get any bigger. I'm perfectly happy as I am.'

  'Running a small-time one-woman business from this kitchen table, you mean?' He smacked his hand down on it.

  'Yes. And I don't need any advice from you.' There was more hostility in her voice than she'd intended—after all, he was only taking a genuine interest in her cakes. Which Simon doesn't, a sneaky little voice whispered in her ear. And that's what's making you a bad-tempered little bitch, isn't it?

  She took a deep breath, then said slightly more calmly, 'Please, Jared, let me run my affairs my way.'

  He lifted one shoulder. 'Suit yourself. But I've got this friend who's head of a marketing firm in London. I'm sure—'

  'I told you—no. In any case, I'll probably be giving it all up soon when I—I get married.'

  Unsure of exactly what he had heard earlier, she could not quite meet his eye.

  'Ah, it's like that, is it?' His lips thinned, and Petra flared instantly.

  'I don't know what you mean—and no, it isn't.'

  'Simon Polruan's wife is to be just that—model wife of a model teacher.'

  The biting edge in his voice made her wince inwardly, but she sprang to Simon's defence.

  'You don't know what you're talking about. Being a headmaster's wife is a full-time job.'

  Even so, she'd already secretly made up her mind that, once she'd settled in to her new role, Petronella's Cakes would be poised for a re-launch. But Simon was in happy ignorance of this, so she certainly wasn't about to tell Jared.

  'OK, OK.' He held up his hand, as though he was bored with the whole subject. 'But look, are you quite sure you don't want me to get Sarah to give you the once-over?' He smiled—to himself this time. 'She'd do it for free, as a favour for me, I'm sure—'

  'Oh, yes, I'm sure she would.'

  That secret little smile rasped on her nerves, though why she should care in the slightest what memories lay behind that narrow, sensual smile she preferred not to imagine. He gave her a long, considering look. 'Can I help it if I'm irresistible to women?'

  She drew in a sharp breath—Jared Tremayne really was everything she loathed in a man.

  'You arrogant, complacent swine!'

  Another casual half-shrug. 'I'm sure you're right, Petra.'

  'Oh, I am!' Caught up by the tide of her anger, she was swept helplessly on 'But just because women have always thrown themselves at you—'

  She broke off with a little gasp and looked up, to see him regarding her, that tiny smile still playing round In thin lips. There'd always been a hint of cruelty in him, of course—she'd known that since childhood . . . And then, even though the kitchen was warm, she shivered as she remembered Sam stalking that helpless sparrow, with exactly the same intent, predatory expression which she now glimpsed in Jared's eyes.

  Suddenly the air all around her was tinder-dry. Lips parted, she stared at him, but then, before either of them could speak, the door burst open, rupturing the intense, dangerous silence.

  'Hi, darling. I'm here.'

  Simon came in, but was then brought up abruptly at the sight of the two of them, standing together. She couldn't look at him—Jared, his eyes a pale opal-grey, was holding her gaze, willing her not to break the thread between them. But somehow she wrenched herself free.

  'H—hello, Simon.'

  'Sorry. I didn't know you had a Vi sitor.'

  He was frowning slightly, and to her overstretched nerves it seemed as if the temperature in the kitchen had dropped several degrees.

  'Yes. Isn't it amazing?' She gave a strained laugh. 'Do you recognise—?'

  'I can see who it is, thanks,' he replied abruptly. 'How are you, Jared? It's been a long time.'

  'Hello, Simon.' Jared stretched out a hand, but as Simon took it he said, 'What are you doing back here?'

  No 'Great to see you after all this lime', thought Petra involuntarily. But then, why should there be? Simon and Jared had never got on, even as boys growing up together in the village.

  'Oh, you know . . . ' there was that deliberately lazy drawl in Jared's voice that she hated ' . . . looking up old friends.'

  'Are you staying long?'

  Jared shrugged. 'No idea. My plans are rather—flexible.'

  Petra, realising that her fingers were nervously picking at the hem of her sweater, smoothed it down. For reasons she'd rather not guess at, he seemed intent on behaving at his infuriating worst. Over Simon's shoulder she shot him a look, half anger, half entreaty; he returned it blandly, then turned back to Simon.

  'I've rented the cottage next door, you see.' And, as Simon stared at him, he added casually,

  'On a three-month let.'

  'Oh, have you?' He made not the slightest effort to sound pleased. But at least, with Simon living several miles away at his school, there wasn't much chance of his finding out just where Jared had slept last night. Who's been sleeping in my bed? asked Baby Bear. She bit her lip on the inane giggle, then looked up as she realised that Jared was repeating,

  'Haven't I, Petra?'

  'What? Oh, yes, that's right. Three months.'

  Both men were watching her. They were much of a height, both tall and well built—both good-looking in their very different ways. But any resemblance ended there. Jared was wild, unpredictable—dangerous; Simon was strong, solid—dependable. Her heart swelling, she went over to him, put her arms round him, and, almost—but not quite—ignoring a sardonic pair of grey-blue eyes on her, kissed his cheek.

  Then, taking hold of his hand, she said, 'Simon's just landed a really plum job, you know.'

  Ignoring his half-hearted protests, she went on, looking the other man straight in the eye, 'Head of a boys' boarding-school in Shropshire—he'll be one of the youngest heads in the country.'

  'When do you start?'

  'Next term—January.'

  'Shropshire—January,' Jared said, almost to himself, then, 'That's really great. Congratulations.' He gave Simon a warm smile, and mercifully only Petra seemed to pick up the subtle undercurrent beneath his words.

  'And what about you, Jared? What are you doing with yourself these days?'

  'Oh, this and that. I'm trying my hand at writing at the moment.'

  'A book, you mean?'

  'Well, not exactly.'

  Petra glowered at him. Why the hell did he have to be so—so devious about it?

  'Hmm. I've often thought I'd like to give writing a try. Trouble is, I never seem to have the time.'

  'Yes, that's often a problem,' Jared agreed smoothly.

  Petra couldn't stand this a moment longer: Simon, happily unaware of those currents that she—and Jared as well, she was sure—could feel swirling around them, that treacherous undertow pulling at all three of them and threatening to drag them down. She looked pointedly up at the pine clock on the wall. 'Darling, we really ought to be going. Simon's taking me out to lunch,' she added more coldly to Jared's left shoulder. She paused for him to get the message and leave, but he only said, 'How nice for you,' and went on propping up the unit, so finally she went on, through her teeth,

  'Well, I'll go and get ready, then. I shan't be long.' And, with a smile which was entirely and only for Simon, she quitted the room.

  She closed her bedroom door, then realised that she was trembling in every limb. She stood in the middle of the carpet, struggling for
composure, her lingers twining and untwining endlessly. How could she stand it—three months' living next door to him, when he'd obviously set himself up to be her tormentor, pure and simple? No, not pure—not where Jared was concerned. And certainly not simple.

  She took a lot of care choosing what she was going to wear. There were not that many good clothes in her wardrobe—

  — she had been working too hard the last couple of years for a wild social life

  — but, even so, she discarded most of them before pulling out the outfit on the rail at the end. It was a black and white tweed Chanel-style suit—chain-store variety, though that certainly didn't show

  — edged with black velvet braiding and with gilt buttons. She'd bought it last autumn for a reception at Simon's school, when she'd desperately wanted to look good to impress his rather starchy colleagues—and at the stunned looks in some of their eyes she'd thought she'd probably succeeded. Throwing the suit, and the blouse that went with it—in palest sea-green silk-look polyester—down on to the bed, she flew through to the bathroom, shedding garments as she went, and leapt into the shower . . .

  There was a full-length mirror in her wardrobe door. She turned, slowly surveying herself, and a little smile curved her lips. The blouse, together with a touch of tawny colour on her cheekbones, some mascara and a slick of peach lip-gloss on her full mouth, enhanced the brilliance of her eyes and the pale fire of her hair, while the short-cropped jacket set off her slender waist, and the knee-length skirt her long, slender legs.

  She gave a little nod of satisfaction. Tights were all very well for comfort — she wore them day in, day out—but for sheer glamour it just had to be worth the wrestling match with a suspender belt to wear slinky black twelve-denier stockings like these. Thrusting her feet into high-heeled black pumps and smoothing down her skirt, she took a last slow look at herself. Good. Sophisticated and cool that was the impression she wanted to create today. That would show him, once and for all —

  With a guilty little start she caught herself up. All of this ... it was for Simon, of course it was—and no one else. After all, it wasn't every day a girl celebrated her engagement, was it?

  Snatching up her bag, and the fine gold chain with a teardrop pearl on it, she ran lightly downstairs. Outside the kitchen door, though, she paused, her fingers on the handle. There was silence the other side. Good—that must mean Jared had finally taken himself off. She went in, then stood, frozen in the doorway, as she saw Simon, still in his car coat, leaning against the sink, staring out towards the village, which lay in a cleft of the valley below. Jared was sitting on one of the chairs, rocking it back and forth on two legs, apparently completely at his ease, and studying a knot in the pine table.

  As both men swung round towards her she met Jared's gaze first, saw that barely perceptible something in his eyes, and then they locked with hers until she felt as though she was falling endlessly through water, unable to breathe.

  'You look very nice, Pet.' Simon's voice, a shade constrained, broke the spell.

  'Thank you, kind sir.' She gave him a grateful smile, and went across to him, holding out the gold chain. 'Would you do this up for me, please? The clip's so tiny that I can never manage it.'

  'Wait a sec. I'll just take my driving gloves—'

  'No need. I'll do it.' Another voice, velvet-smooth, cut in, and another pair of hands reached for the chain to scoop it up out of her palm, so that she was forced to submit, standing, head bent, while Jared's fingers brushed against her nape, making the tiny pale hairs prickle.

  'Thanks.' But she didn't look at him, only gave Simon a dazzling smile. 'Right. I'm ready.'

  'Well,' Jared said languidly, 'I'll get started on making myself at home—settling in.'

  She turned and shot him a quiet scowl. Did everything he said have to be barbed—have a second meaning for her ears alone?

  'Or maybe I'll take it easy,' he continued as she followed Simon through the door. I'm still a bit jet lagged—though, how bad as I was last night, am I, Petra?'

  She felt his eyes on the back of her head, but would not look back. 'I really wouldn't know, Jared,' she said icily, then locked the door and took Simon's hand, 'Let's go, love, shall we?'

  'Well, enjoy your lunch.' Jared lifted a long leg over the wall between the two gardens. 'See you later, Petra. Bye, Simon. It's been a real—pleasure meeting you again.'

  As she buckled her seatbelt Simon switched on the Rover's ignition with a sharp little click.

  'I see he's lost none of the famous Tremayne charm,' he snapped irritably. He always was an absolute bastard, that one.'

  'Yes, he was, wasn't he?' she agreed absently, then, rousing herself from a far from pleasant reverie, put her hand on his arm. 'Please, darling, don't let's talk about Jared any more.' She managed a light laugh. 'I want to enjoy today.'

  'It's been a marvellous day, Simon. Thank you—and thank you for this.' She gave him a rather blurred smile, then looked down at her left hand, the diamond solitaire winking on her fourth finger. 'It's beautiful.'

  He moved closer to her on the sofa, taking her hand and holding it tenderly between his. 'As I told you, my sweet, nothing but the best for a beautiful Easter bride.'

  'An Easter bride,' she repeated softly, then, as a tiny icy finger touched her spine, she shivered. 'I just wish it wasn't so long, that's all.'

  'But it isn't, Pet.' He shook his head in admonishment. 'I've got to settle in to my new job, get to know the staff—and the boys, of course. And there's a lot of work to be done on the house we'll occupy.' He smiled at her reassuringly. 'The time'll soon pass, I promise you.'

  'Yes, you're right.' But she did not quite manage to return his smile. 'Look, are you sure you won't have tea before you go? I can easily—'

  'No, I must go, love. My office is still upside down, and I've got to sort out all the students'

  files ready for my successor.'

  He stood up and moved towards the door, but then paused.

  'And you really don't mind—about Christmas, I mean? Mother's nerves have been so bad lately that I think it's best if we stick to our original arrangement.'

  'Well, I could take over all the cooking . . . ' Petra began, but when he frowned slightly she went on quickly, No, I don't mind at all, darling. Mum and Gran are expecting me, anyway.'

  'Good. That's settled, then.'

  She stood, quite passive, as he took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips, but then—she wasn't sure why; something inside was impelling her—she put her arms round him, drawing him close to her, her lips opening under his to intensify the kiss. She moved her body against his, and Simon slid one arm down her back, pulling her nearer still. Next moment, though, as a shudder ran through her she jerked back out of his embrace. But he smiled down at her again, apparently quite unaware of her sudden reaction.

  'Simon,' she said hesitantly, 'you—you do find me attractive, don't you?'

  'Of course I do, darling.' He looked astonished. 'You must know that. But we—well, we've agreed that we prefer to wait, haven't we?'

  'Yes, I know,' she murmured softly.

  After all, Simon was always in total command of his emotions—she'd known that since childhood. In thin case . . . But that's what you want, isn't it, her inner voice whispered to her, everything calmly ordered, totally under control? Yes, it is, she thought fiercely, and, picking up his gloves, held them out to him.

  'I'll see you off.'

  She stood outside her gate, waving as, with a last toot of the horn, the Rover's tail-lights disappeared round a bend in the lane that led down to the village. Finally her hand dropped to her side, but she still stood motionless, almost oblivious of the cold evening air, until at last she roused herself, turned—and saw Jared, propping up his own doorway, silhouetted in the light from his kitchen, and watching her.

  She gave a violent start but then, ignoring him, went down her path. Her hand was on the doorknob when he called softly, 'Petra.'

  Sh
e hesitated, then stopped. 'What?' But she did not glance in his direction.

  'Come here.'

  'No.'

  'Come here.'

  He did not raise his voice, but still she found herself walking back up her path and down his. She halted a few paces away from him, even in high heels having to look up at him. The light fell full on her face; his was in deep shadow.

  'What do you want, Jared? I'm busy. Those Dundee cakes—'

  She stopped abruptly as he reached for her left hand and brought it up to the light.

  'That's a pretty bauble. He has better taste than I'd have credited him with.'

  'I suppose—on Simon's behalf—I should take that as a compliment,' she replied tightly.

  'Not altogether.' He paused. 'Why have you done it, Petra?'

  'What? I don't know what you mean.' She wrenched her hand away, as though his fingers were burning her flesh.

  'Oh, yes, you do.' His tone was inexorable now. 'You weren't engaged last night—whatever you might have told me to the contrary. We both know that. No—' as she opened her mouth to protest'—don't bother to lie to me. And now here you are, with a brand-new fiance, and a brandnew diamond solitaire. So, I ask myself—why?'

  'That's none of your damned business,' she flung at him. 'I've told you, you may be living next door—and heaven knows that's bad enough—but just keep out of my life, will you?'

  She sensed more than saw the faintest smile tug at his mouth. 'It won't work, my sweetheart.'

  'And don't call—W—what do you mean?'

  'You're not going to marry him, you know.'

  'Of course I am,' she said loudly. 'Simon and I are getting married on Easter Saturday—in the village church.'

  'You aren't going to marry him,' he repeated, as though she had not even spoken, 'because I'm not going to let you.'

  'You aren't—!' She stared up at him, her eyes darkening with shock. And exactly how do you propose stopping me?'

  'Oh, Petra, do I really have to spell it out to you?'

  At the lazy sensuality in his voice she took a step away, flinging her hands up as if to protect herself from him, though lie had not moved a muscle. But then, as she went to escape, he caught her by the wrist, turning her back to face him.