The Married Mistress by Kate Walker

sounded revealingly uncomfortable.
    ‘I—was thinking of something I saw on TV last night…’ she invented rapidly, and was deeply thankful when he apparently seemed to believe her.
    At least, he said nothing, but simply shrugged and went back to his paper, bringing it up before his face again as if as some sort of defence against her.
    ‘It was a comedy programme,’ she embroidered unnecessarily. ‘A funny one.’
    ‘Obviously.’
    The dry comment made her realise how foolish she must be sounding and she forced her attention back on to preparing the coffee. For some strange reason the very simple task suddenly seemed to have acquired complications and difficulties that she had never encountered before. Impossibly, she couldn’t decide whether to put milk in her mug first or the coffee, and instead found herself frozen into immobility as she dithered from one move to the other and back again.
    ‘I take mine black.’
    Unnervingly, Damon had sensed her hesitation, even though he hadn’t lowered the paper again.
    ‘Coffee—I take it black.’
    ‘I know that!’
    Tension made Sarah’s voice tight and sharp so that she winced inwardly, just hearing it.
    ‘I remember!’ she added, struggling for calm. ‘It’s not that long ago.’
    ‘No, it’s not.’
    The inflexion he put on the words twisted a knife in Sarah’s heart, eliminating even the faint hint of amusement she had felt earlier. In an awkward, jerky movement she slammed the coffee-mug down on the table beside Damon’s elbow, heedless of the way that some of the hot liquid slopped over the side and onto the table.
    Then, purely for something to do and not because she was in any way really hungry, she opened one of the cupboards and pulled out the toaster, dumping it heavily on the worktop.
    ‘Toast?’ It was brusque to the point of rudeness, but it didn’t even make Damon put down his paper.
    ‘Please.’
    He was regaining some degree of control over his wayward senses, thank God. Another minute and he might actually be able to look in her direction without making a total fool of himself.
    Because he was determined he was not going down that road again. Yesterday he had let his libido get the better of him and had ended up feeling a total fool—and dirty into the bargain!
    Inwardly, Damon shuddered at the mental image of himself rolling on the bed with Sarah—on the bed that she had been sharing with Jason , for God knew how long. That was not going to happen again!
    But what was he going to do?
    He’d come here to talk some sense into Sarah, to persuade her to give their marriage a second try. He had expected that it wouldn’t be easy, that she would still be angry and distant because of the way they’d parted. What he hadn’t expected to find was that she’d already moved another man in and was living with him.
    Last night he’d vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to stick around. That as soon as the day dawned he would repack the bag he had so recently unpacked and head back to Greece, shaking the dust of London and this house from his feet for good. But the lack of sleep and a need for coffee had delayed him and…
    And— face it, you fool! he told himself furiously, recalling his body’s instant reaction to Sarah’s appearance in the doorway, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs.
    Face facts!
    He wasn’t going to be able just to walk out and not look back, however much he had planned on it. Sarah Nicolaides, the former Sarah Meyerson, had him tangled up in her web of seduction, and no matter how hard he twisted and tugged, the sticky net was coiled tightly round him. So what was he going to do about it?
    Of course after yesterday it was unlikely that Jason would be back, but he’d be happier if he thought that the other man was right out of the picture once and for all. If only he could think of some way that he could get Sarah to come back with him to Greece…
    ‘One slice or two? Butter or margarine?’
    Absorbed in his