dart of familiar pain gripped her momentarily. She knew she wasn’t his type because she’d seen one of his incredibly soignée girlfriends at close quarters, the memory of which made her burn with embarrassment even now. She’d been out with a group of girlfriends, visiting her in New York from Dublin, celebrating a hen night. Kate, very reluctantly, had been dressed in a French maid’s outfit, complete with obligatory fishnet tights and sparkly feather duster, when she’d walked slap-bang into Tiarnan as he’d been emerging from an exclusive Madison Avenue restaurant, an arm protectively around a petite dark-haired beauty.
Kate had felt about sixteen and fled, praying that he hadn’t recognised her. And then, to add insult to injury, one of her friends had chosen that moment to relieve the contents of her stomach in a gutter nearby…She’d never forget the look on Tiarnan’s face, or his date’s, just before they’d disappeared into the darkened interior of a waiting chauffeur-driven car.
Bitter frustration at her weak and pathetic response to him burned her inside. Would his hold over her never diminish? And now she was imagining him here, walking towards her, up the steps. Coming closer. Desperation made her feel panicky. When would the world right itself and the real person be revealed? Someone else. Someone who wasn’t Tiarnan Quinn.
She was barely aware of the Hollywood actor speaking in awed tones beside her, but when he said the name Tiarnan Quinn everything seemed to zoom into focus and Kate’s heart stopped altogether. Reaction set in. It was him—and he was now on the stage, coming closer and closer, his eyes narrowed and intent on her.
Kate’s instinct where this man was concerned was always to run, as far and as fast as possible. And yet here and now she couldn’t. She was caught off guard, like a deer in the headlights. And alongside the very perverse wish that she could be facing anyone else—even sleazy Stephanides—was the familiar yearning, burning feeling she got whenever this man came near.
‘Kate.’ His voice was deep, achingly familiar, and it impacted on her somewhere vulnerable inside, where she felt her pulse jump and her heart start again. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
Somehow she found her voice—a voice. ‘Tiarnan…that was you?’
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Kate had the strongest sensation that she’d been running from this man for a long time and now it was over. But in actual fact he’d caught her a long time ago. A wicked coil of something hot snaked through her belly even as she clamped down desperately on every emotion and any outward sign of his effect on her.
With a smooth move she didn’t see coming, Tiarnan came close and put his hands around her waist, thumbs disturbingly close to the undersides of her breasts. His touch was so shocking after years of avoiding any contact beyond the most perfunctory that she automatically put her hands out to steady herself, and found herself clasping his upper arms. Powerful muscles were evident underneath the expensive cloth of his suit. Her belly melted and she looked up helplessly, still stunned to be facing him like this. Shock was rendering her usual defences around him useless.
He was so tall; he’d always been one of the few men that she had to look up to, even in the highest of heels. He towered over her now, making her feel small, delicate. She was aware of every slow second passing, aware of their breaths, but she knew rationally that things were happening in real time, and that no one was aware of the undercurrents flowing between them. At least she hoped they weren’t.
‘I believe you owe me a kiss?’
This was said lightly, but Tiarnan’s grip on her waist was warm and firm, warning her not to try and run or shirk her duty. She nodded, feeling utterly bewildered; what else could she do in front of the wealthiest, most powerful people in San Francisco? How much had he paid in the end? She’d forgotten already. But it had been a shockingly high amount. Half a million dollars? She had the very strong feeling that he was claiming far more than a kiss, and that coil of heat burned fiercer within her.
He pulled her closer, until their bodies were almost touching, and all Kate could feel was that heat—within her and around her. It climbed up her chest and into her face as Tiarnan’s head lowered. Overwhelmed at being ambushed like this, and feeling very bewildered, Kate fluttered her eyes closed as the man she’d failed so abysmally to erase from her memory banks pressed his firm, sensual mouth against hers. It had been ten years since they’d kissed like this, and suddenly Kate was eighteen again, pressing her lips ardently against his…
Kate put a shaky finger to her mouth, which still felt sensitive. As kisses went it had been chaste enough, fleeting enough, but the effect had been pure devastation. She’d been hurtled back in time and Pandora’s Box was now wide open. A flare of guilt assailed her; she’d fled the thronged ballroom as soon as she’d had the chance.
They’d been grabbed for photos with the press pack behind the stage straight after Tiarnan had claimed his kiss. Dizzy with the after-effects, she’d stood there smiling inanely. His hand had been warm on her elbow, his presence overwhelming. It was still a complete mystery to her as to why he was here at all, but she hadn’t even had the wherewithal to stick around and make small talk. She’d run. Exactly like that night in New York on the street.
Bitter recrimination burned her. She was falling apart every time she saw him now, and if she’d not already made an ass of herself in France, mooning at him like a lovesick groupie, then tonight would certainly have him wondering what on earth was wrong with her. How was it possible that instead of growing immune to him she was growing ever more aware of him? Where was the law of physics in that?
She’d fled, not really thinking about where she was going, and now she realised that she was in the hotel bar, with its floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glittering view of downtown San Francisco in all its night-time vibrancy. The sound of a siren wailing somewhere nearby failed to root her in reality. The bar was blissfully dark and quiet. A pianist played soothing jazz in the corner. Kate took a seat at a table by the window. After a few minutes someone approached her. She looked up, thinking it would be the waiter, but it was a stranger—a man. He was wearing a suit and looked a little the worse for wear.
‘Excuse me, but me and my buddies—’ he gestured behind him to two other men in crumpled suits at the bar, who waved cheerfully ‘—we’re all agreed that you’re the prettiest woman we’ve ever seen. Can we buy you a drink?’
Kate smiled tightly, her nerve ends jangling. ‘Thanks, really…but if you don’t mind I’m happy to get my own drink.’
He swayed unsteadily, with a look of affront on his face, before lurching back to his friends. Then she saw one of the other men make a move towards her, as if taking up the baton. She cursed her impulse to come here, and turned her face resolutely to the window, hoping that would deter him.
She heard a movement, a deep voice, and then a looming dark shape materialised in the glass. She looked up and saw the face of her dreams reflected above her own. Disembodied. Throat dry, she looked round and up. Tiarnan stood there, looking straight at her, eyes like blue shards of ice against his dark skin. Her heart leapt; her palms dampened.
A waitress appeared next to him, and when she asked if they’d like a drink Tiarnan just looked at Kate and said, ‘Two Irish whiskeys?’
Kate nodded helplessly, and watched as Tiarnan took the seat opposite her, undoing his bow tie as he did so and opening the top button on his shirt with easy insouciance. His voice, that distinctive accent with its unmistakable Irish roots, affected her somewhere deep inside. It was a connection they shared—both being half Irish and brought up in Ireland.
He jerked his head back towards the men sitting at the bar. ‘You could
