Kate backed away while she could and turned away. And felt as if she were being hounded by jeering voices all the way to her room.
Tiarnan watched the space Kate had left for a long moment. She’d rapidly taken up a place in his life he wasn’t used to women occupying. He’d already drawn her into an intimate space that no other woman had occupied just by inviting her here, by letting her take care of Rosie. Apart from family, his wife was the only other woman who’d been that close; familiar darkness filled his chest. She didn’t count.
And even his wife had never taken such control of his every waking and sleeping thought as Kate was beginning to. He tried to rationalise that moment in New York when in the middle of an important meeting his mind had wandered helplessly and he’d had the lightbulb inspiration of asking Kate to join them on holiday. How right it had felt.
He’d tried to tell himself that it was for Rosie as much as himself; he was becoming more and more acutely aware, as she grew older, of the lack of a solid female role model in her life. Yet he’d never introduce anyone into their intimate circle who Rosie wasn’t completely comfortable with. When he’d mentioned asking Kate along on holiday to Rosie she’d been more excited about the prospect than she’d been about anything in weeks. The fact that they’d obviously bonded merely comforted him that he’d made the right decision. And he did genuinely feel grateful to Kate for stepping in to care for Rosie at such short notice. But he knew that for all his high-minded intentions a much baser desire lay behind the sudden impetus to ask her to come. He just wanted her in one place: in his bed, underneath him.
He recalled her obvious shock at the suggestion and felt curiously vulnerable before he quashed it ruthlessly. He had to wonder if this playing hard to get was just a game. Punishment for his earlier rejection? Or foreplay because she knew she was going to give in? A stab of disappointment ran through him; he didn’t want that, but couldn’t articulate why he couldn’t accept that calculated behaviour from her when he might expect it from another woman. Conflicting emotions rose up, muddying the clarity of his thought, his intention.
One thing was clear: he wanted to keep Kate close until such time as he could let her go again, and he knew that day would come. He couldn’t fathom any woman ever taking up that much space for ever. He’d never felt that way about anyone.
His conscience pricked. There had been one moment—that night ten years ago, when Kate had all but admitted she was a virgin. The realisation had tapped into something within him and he’d felt compelled to pull back, push her away. He’d found himself reacting from a place of shock—shock at how immediate and raw his response had been. And he’d been more curt than he had intended. The flare of wounded emotion in her eyes had seared through him, but after a moment it had been as if he’d imagined it.
And then her cool response had been all the proof he’d needed that she was exactly the same as every other woman. That momentary weakness he’d felt had been a lesson learnt—a lesson he’d needed in those months afterwards when he’d dealt with his duplicitous wife. If anything, what he’d experienced with Kate and subsequently with Stella had merely reinforced his own cynical belief system.
No, all he and Kate had was history—unfinished business. Thinking of how much he wanted her made him feel ruthless, and he never usually felt ruthless when it came to women. They didn’t arouse such passionate feelings. Grim determination filled him as he refused to look any deeper into those feelings. Bed Kate and get her out of his system. There was nothing more to it than that. And if she said yes tomorrow she’d only be proving to him that all this was a playful front. And that was fine. It was all he wanted—wasn’t it?
Kate lay on her back as the pre-dawn light stole into her bedroom, a tight knot low in her belly. She’d tossed and turned all night. And now she lay gritty-eyed, staring up at the ceiling.
Turmoil couldn’t even begin to describe what she’d been going through in the wee small hours. As if she even had to think about Tiarnan’s offer: of course she would not be going with him to some tropical island paradise to indulge in an affair. Yet, instead of feeling at peace with her decision, she was back in time and standing before Tiarnan in that library, with nothing but the firelight illuminating the room.
At the age of eighteen Kate, despite the fact that she’d been modelling on the international circuit for a couple of years and living in London, had still been unbelievably gauche and unsure of herself. But she’d learnt the art of projecting a cool, dignified façade from an early age, and she used it like an armour.
Kate had accepted Sorcha’s plea to come and spend Christmas with her and her mother in Dublin; her own mother had been on holiday with a new husband. When Tiarnan had shown up unexpectedly for the family Christmas party, Kate’s world had instantly imploded. She’d been in awe of him since he’d dropped her and Sorcha off at school one Sunday evening in his snazzy sports car. All the other girls in the boarding school had swooned that day. But Kate, as Sorcha’s friend, had got to see a lot more of Tiarnan than the others. And as the years had progressed she’d developed a crush of monumental proportions.
The night of that party, after only seeing him fleetingly at his father’s funeral some months before, and not for quite a while before that, to her he’d become even more handsome, more charismatic, with that cynical edge he still possessed today. Kate had been wearing a dress borrowed from Sorcha, far too tight and short for her liking, and had spent the evening avoiding Tiarnan’s penetrating speculative gaze, trying to pull the dress down to cover her thighs. Feeling utterly overwhelmed, and not a little dismayed at her reaction to seeing him again when she’d hoped she would have grown out of such feelings, Kate had slipped away to try and compose herself.
She’d gone into the library, ran smack-bang into Tiarnan, and all good intentions had disappeared instantly. Her crush had solidified there and then into pure grown-up lust. But then something amazing had happened. Alone in that darkened room … looking into his eyes … she’d sensed instinctively that he was looking at her for the first time as an adult. She’d seen it in the quality of his gaze when he’d arrived to the party—it was what had made her feel so self-conscious.
Realising this had been headier than the most potent drink. An electric awareness had sprung to life between them and she’d experienced a feeling of confidence for the first time in her life. A heady female confidence. The kind of confidence she faked for photographers and on the catwalk every day. She was tired of faking it. She wanted to know it. And she’d known that the only man who could teach her—who she wanted to teach her—was standing right in front of her. She’d known if she didn’t seize the moment then, she never would. With that brand-new confidence something reckless had gripped her, and she’d stepped up to Tiarnan and boldly told him she wanted him. And then she’d kissed him.
Kate cringed now in the bed, ten years later, as it all flooded back. To have Tiarnan respond to her untutored kisses had been the most potent aphrodisiac. He’d pulled her close and she’d gone up in flames, pressing herself even closer to him. It had only been when his hand had found the hem of her dress and started to pull it up that reality had intruded for a rude moment. She’d instinctively frozen, becoming acutely aware of her lack of experience and the fact that a very aroused Tiarnan Quinn was about to make love to her. In an instant he’d pulled back and put her away from him with hard hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with glittering angry eyes.
Her heart thudded. So much had happened that night. Whatever romantic notions she might have entertained for a brief moment had been ruthlessly ripped apart within minutes.
She’d looked down, mortified and he’d ruthlessly tipped up her chin and asked brutally, ‘Kate, are you a virgin?’
The flare of colour she had felt rising in her cheeks had told him her answer as eloquently as speaking it out loud. He’d spun away towards the fire, turning his back to her for a long moment. Their breathing had been harsh in the quiet room. She could remember how loudly her heart had been beating.
In that moment while he’d turned away Kate had struggled to claw back some composure.