The Argentinian's Baby Of Scandal - Sharon Kendrick

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as Charlotte would be prepared to humiliate herself in order to wheedle herself a way back into his life.

      And I don’t want to feel this way, she thought. I want to go back to the way it was before, when I tolerated him more than idolised him and was often infuriated by him.

      The car pulled into the driveway of his Dalkey house but instead of being relieved that the journey was over, all Tara could feel was a peculiar sense of disappointment. Blindly, she reached for the door handle, her usually dextrous fingers flailing miserably as she failed to locate it in the semi-darkness.

      ‘Here,’ said Lucas, sounding suddenly amused as he leaned across her to click a button. ‘Let me.’

      Of course. The door slid noiselessly open because it was an electronic door and didn’t actually have a handle! What a stupid country girl she must seem. But Tara’s embarrassment at her lack of savvy was exacerbated by a heart-stopping awareness as Lucas’s arm brushed against hers. She swallowed. He’d touched her. He’d actually touched her. He might not have meant to but his fingers had made contact and where they had it felt like fire flickering against her skin.

      Scrambling out of the car into an atmosphere even stickier than earlier, she cast a longing look towards the heavy sky, wishing it would rain and shatter this strange tension which seemed to be building inside her, as well as in the atmosphere. She scrabbled around in her handbag to fish out her key but her fingers were trembling as she heard a footfall behind her and Lucas’s shadow loomed over her as she inserted it tremblingly into the lock.

      ‘You’re shaking, Tara,’ he observed as she opened the door and stepped into the house.

      ‘It’s a cold night,’ she said automatically, even though that wasn’t true. But he didn’t correct her with a caustic comment as he might normally have done.

      And the strange thing was that neither of them moved to put on the main light once the heavy front door had swung shut behind them, and the gloom of the vast hallway seemed to increase the sense of unreality which had been building between them all evening.

      There was something in the air. Something indefinable. Tara felt acutely aware of just how close Lucas was. His eyes were dark and gleaming as he stared down at her and she held her breath as, for one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She felt as if he was going to pull her into his arms and crush his lips down on hers.

      But he didn’t.

      Of course he didn’t.

      Had she taken complete leave of her senses? He simply clicked the switch so that they were flooded with a golden light, which felt like a torch being shone straight into her eyes, and the atmosphere shattered as dramatically as a bubble being burst. A hard smile was playing at the edges of his lips and he nodded, as if her reaction was very familiar to him.

      ‘Goodnight, Tara,’ he said in an odd kind of voice. And as he turned away from her, she could hear the distant rumble of thunder.

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE NEXT FEW days were an agony of indecision as Tara tried to make up her mind whether or not to accept Lucas’s job offer. She tried drawing up a list of pros and cons—which came up firmly weighted in favour of an unexpected trip to America with her boss. Next she canvassed her friend Stella, who told her she’d be mad not to jump at the chance of joining Lucas in New York.

      ‘Why wouldn’t you go?’ Stella demanded as she folded up one of the tiny smocked dresses belonging to the twin baby girls she nannied for. ‘You loved New York when we went last Christmas. Apart from the ice-rink incident, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘And that man really should have been looking where he was going. It’s a no-brainer as far as I can see, so why the hesitation?’

      Tara didn’t answer. She thought how lame it would sound if she confessed that something felt different between her and Lucas and that something unspoken and sexual seemed to have flowered between them that night. Or would it simply seem deluded and possibly arrogant to imply that Dublin’s sexiest billionaire might be interested in someone like her?

      But something had changed. She wasn’t imagining it. The new awkwardness between them. The shadowed look around his eyes when she’d brought in his breakfast the morning after that crazy dinner, which had made her wonder if his night had been as sleepless as hers. The flickering glance he’d given her when she’d put the coffee pot down with trembling fingers before he’d announced that he was flying to Berlin later that morning and would be back in a couple of days—and could she possibly give him her answer about accompanying him to America by then?

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she’d answered stiffly, wondering why she was dragging her feet so much when she knew what she ought to say. She practised saying it over and over in her head.

       It’s a very kind offer, Lucas—but I’m going to have to say no.

       Why?

      Because... Because I’ve fallen in lust with you.

      How ridiculous would that sound, even if it weren’t coming from someone who could measure her sexual experience on the little finger of one hand?

      But it was easier to shelve the decision and even easier when he wasn’t around So Tara just carried on working and when she wasn’t working, she did the kind of things she always did when Lucas was away. She swam in his basement pool and began to tidy up the garden for winter. She made cupcakes for a local charity coffee morning and went to Phoenix Park with Stella and her young charges. She listened to Lucas’s voicemail telling her he’d be late back on Thursday night and not to bother making dinner for him.

      And still the wretched weather wouldn’t break. It was so heavy and sticky that you felt you couldn’t breathe properly. As if it was pressing against your throat like an invisible pair of hands. Sweat kept trickling down the back of her neck and despite piling her rampant curls on top of her head, nothing she did seemed to make her cool.

      On Thursday evening she washed her hair and went to bed, listening out for the sound of Lucas’s chauffeur, who had gone to collect him from the airport. It wasn’t even that late, but several days of accumulated sleeplessness demanded respite and Tara immediately fell into a deep sleep, from which she was woken by a sudden loud crack, followed by a booming bang. Sitting bolt upright in bed, she tried to orientate herself, before the monochrome firework display taking place outside her bedroom window began to make sense. Of course. It was the storm. The long-awaited storm which had been building for days. Thank heavens. At least now the atmosphere might get a bit lighter.

      Another flash of lightning illuminated her bedroom so that it looked like an old-fashioned horror film and almost immediately a clap of thunder echoed through the big house. The storm must be right overhead, she thought, just as heavy rain began to teem down outside the window. It sounded loud and rhythmical and oddly soothing and Tara sank back down onto the pillows and lay there with her eyes wide open, when she heard another crash. But this time it didn’t sound like thunder. Her body tensed. This time it sounded distinctly like the sound of breaking glass.

      Quickly, she got out of bed, her heart pounding and her bare toes gripping the floorboards. What if it was a burglar? This was a big house in a wealthy area and didn’t they say thieves always chose opportunistic moments to break in? What better time than amid the dramatic chaos of a wild thunderstorm?

      Pulling on her dressing gown, she knotted the belt tightly around her waist and wondered if she should go and wake Lucas. Of course she should—if he was back. Yet she was dreading knocking on his bedroom door in a way she would never have done before she’d agreed to have dinner with him. Back then—in that unenlightened and innocent time before she’d started to fantasise about him—she wouldn’t have been in an angsty state of excitement, wondering what she’d find. She knew he didn’t wear pyjamas because she did his laundry for him. And that was the trouble. She knew so much about him and

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