at him. Jack had always been a good-looking man—‘drop-dead gorgeous’ was what Karen had said—and even with a night’s growth of stubble on his chin Rachel had to agree with her. She assumed he had his Irish heritage to thank for his dark hair, which was usually too long and often unruly, and for his green eyes, as pure and clear as a mountain lake—what irony! And his strong, sensual features, which were too hard-boned to be really handsome.
The whole added up to a man with a tenacity of purpose even her father had admired. The fact that he was also tall and lean and moved with the sinuous grace of a big cat gave him the kind of sexuality few women could resist.
The miracle was that he’d married her. They’d fallen in love and theirs had been a fairy-tale romance. Rachel had believed that nothing and no one could come between them. But she’d been so wrong.
‘Did I miss something?’
Jack’s voice had an edge to it now that Rachel couldn’t mistake. She had to tell him, she thought. It wasn’t fair to let him go on thinking they were together again. But the temptation was there to put it off for the time being. She knew she’d need only to say the word for them to spend the rest of the day in bed.
But she couldn’t do that. Jack was like a drug, and it had been hard enough to wean herself off him the first time around. ‘I’m sure you know what I mean,’ she said, deliberately casual. ‘I know you’ve been sleeping with—with other women, Jack. You haven’t lived like a monk all these months.’
‘My God!’ Jack’s reaction was predictably violent and Rachel cast an anxious look over her shoulder to see if Mrs Grady was listening. But the housekeeper had left the room, evidently deciding to leave them to it. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’
Rachel’s mouth was dry. ‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? You have been seeing someone else?’
‘I’ve seen a lot of people,’ retorted Jack harshly. ‘What’s this all about, Rachel? What was last night all about? Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before you—?’
He broke off abruptly, turning away to rake unsteady fingers through his hair. All of a sudden he felt sick and dizzy; the aftermath of too much excitement? he thought bitterly. Or anticipation of the nightmare to come?
‘Jack?’
Rachel sounded almost concerned now, and he wondered if she’d guessed that something was wrong. But the last thing he needed was for her to feel sorry for him. He had some pride, albeit somewhat shredded after last night.
‘Just go away, Rachel,’ he said, gripping the overhanging lip of granite with both hands. He made a sudden decision. ‘I’ve got to go into the office.’ He straightened. ‘I’ll see you when I see you, right?’
Rachel touched his arm and he flinched. God, he had it bad, he thought. She’d only to lay a hand on him and he wanted to turn round and drag her—kicking and screaming, if necessary—into his arms. Despite his shaky equilibrium, and the fact that she’d apparently only been using him the night before, he still wanted her. And how pathetic was that?
‘You’re not dressed for the office,’ she said now, and Jack knew he had to turn and face her.
‘I was hungry,’ he said, even though the thought of the omelette Mrs Grady had offered to make for him was making him feel sick.
Rachel’s lips tightened. ‘I suppose you can’t wait to see her, can you?’ she said, and Jack blinked at the sudden attack.
‘To see her?’ he echoed. ‘Who the hell are you talking about?’
‘This woman,’ she persisted. ‘She works in your office, doesn’t she?’ She paused, and when he made no reaction she went on, ‘Karen Johnson? Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten her.’
Jack swayed back on the heels of his loafers. ‘How the hell do you know about her?’
‘I know.’ Rachel refused to tell him the woman had been here.
‘I can’t believe you were interested enough to investigate my life.’
‘Can’t you?’ His words pained her, but she managed to hide it. ‘I guess we don’t know one another very well anymore.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ he countered, feeling his heart quickening in tune with his rising agitation. ‘For God’s sake, Rachel, I didn’t move out of your bed!’
‘You know why I did,’ she cried, stung into defending herself, but Jack wasn’t in the mood for compromise.
‘They were my babies, too,’ he said savagely. And then, feeling as if he’d pass out if he didn’t get some air, he walked unsteadily across the kitchen floor. ‘Just go to hell, Rachel,’ he muttered, going out of the door.
Jack was sitting in his office in Plymouth, slumped over his desk, when the intercom buzzed. Scowling, he pushed himself up and pressed the answering button. ‘Yeah?’
‘You’ve got a call, Mr Riordan.’ His secretary sounded apologetic. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, but it’s your wife.’
‘My wife?’ Jack was stunned. He had no idea why Rachel should be ringing him after their altercation that morning. But he was ever the optimist, he thought dourly. ‘Put her on.’
‘Yes, Mr Riordan.’
The line went dead for a moment, and then a voice said, ‘Hello, Jack.’
It wasn’t Rachel. That was his first thought, and his spirits foundered. And because of that his response was savagely blunt. ‘Karen,’ he said, recognising her voice instantly after what Rachel had said. The way he was feeling now, if the woman had been in the immediate vicinity he’d have wrung her neck.
‘Darling—you remember me!’ she exclaimed, and Jack wondered how she expected him to forget. She’d been ringing him off and on for the past three months—ever since she’d been fired, actually. So many times, in fact, that he’d had to ask his secretary to monitor all his calls.
‘Don’t call me darling,’ he snapped, wondering why he didn’t just slam down the receiver. He’d done it before. ‘Do you want to tell me what you’re doing? Impersonating someone else is a criminal offence. If you ring this number again I’ll have you arrested. There’s a word for what you’re doing, Karen, and it’s harassment.’
‘Oh, Jack, don’t be so stuffy. You didn’t used to be like this when we were together.’
‘We were never together, Karen.’ Jack was wearily aware he’d said all this before. ‘We went out together once. And believe me, that was a mistake.’
Karen only laughed. ‘You don’t mean that, Jack.’
‘Yes, I do. And I mean it when I say I’m going to report you to the authorities. I should have done it before. But I guess I felt sorry for you.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Jack.’
Her tone had altered now, and he could tell he’d annoyed her. Well, good! Way to go. He hoped she’d got the message at last.
‘Feel
