Free The Seduction Game by Sara Craven

quicken. He can’t see me. The sun will be in his eyes. It’s impossible. I know...
    Common sense told her to get away from the window anyway, but she remained where she was, her eyes fixed on the dark, motionless figure. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition, without any conscious impulse on her part, loosening the damp towel and tossing it away from her on to the bed. Leaving her naked in the sun’s dazzle.
    She lifted her arms, stroking the heavy fall of her hair back from her face with a sigh, then let her hands slip down, touching herself slowly, exploringly. Cupping her breasts, measuring the span of her slender waist, outlining the curves of hips and flanks as if she was displaying herself. Making an invisible offering of her entire being to the silent watcher in the trees.
    But he could not see, and would never know, therefore she was safe. She felt a smile as old as the earth touch and lift the corners of her mouth. Felt her nipples harden in exquisite excitement, and the core of her turn to sweet, liquid warmth.
    In that moment she seemed to know him—the touch of his hands—the drugging warmth of his mouth—the brush of his skin against hers—the silken thrust of his possession. All of him.
    She sighed, and, closing her eyes, she stretched, a long languorous movement that arched her whole body. And when she looked again he had gone. There was only the sun, the trees, and the ripple of the water.
    Perhaps she’d only imagined him. Had created his presence out of her own need.
    And stopped right there, her hand stealing to her mouth in shock and repudiation.
    My God, she thought, what am I thinking?
    Was she going completely crazy—out of her head? Standing in front of the window with nothing on, having erotic daydreams about—a passing stranger.
    It is time, she told herself grimly, that you got on with your life.

    Tara put the cans of gloss and emulsion paint in the boot of her car, and tucked the box with the filler, the sandpaper and new brushes in beside them.
    ‘That’ll keep you out of mischief,’ the shopkeeper had commented as she’d paid the bill.
    And that, she’d thought, was exactly the idea. She’d given him a non-committal smile and a word of thanks.
    She needed something to occupy her time and engage her attention. Something that would stop her brooding over stupid and dangerous fantasies by day, and send her to bed at night too weary to dream.
    She closed the boot, and stood for a moment looking down the street It wasn’t a large place—little more than a village, really—but it had all the amenities, including an estate agency.
    While I’m here, she thought, I’ll pop in and see what’s being asked for Dean’s Mooring. I should think the price is rock-bottom by now. And, if so, I could probably afford to buy it myself. Make it my spare time project. Do it up slowly, and just the way I want it.
    The estate agency was empty when she went in, except for a middle-aged man busy at a filing cabinet. He turned and gave her a friendly smile.
    ‘May I help you?’
    ‘I hope so. There’s a property at Silver Creek I’m interested in—Dean’s Mooring. I think you’re selling it?’
    He looked at her with genuine surprise. ‘I’m afraid not. As far as I know that particular property is not on the market with anyone.’
    ‘Oh.’ Tara digested that, frowning. ‘What’s the holdup, I wonder. Something to do with probate, perhaps?’
    ‘I couldn’t say.’ He paused. ‘I believe Mr Hanman of Hanman and Brough in Middle Street is handling the estate. You could always ask him—after the holiday, of course.’
    Tara sighed. ‘I was hoping to get things moving right away.’
    ‘We have other houses on our books, if you’re looking for a riverside frontage,’ he said hopefully. ‘I’d be happy to show them to you.’
    Tara shook her head, smiling. ‘I’m afraid I’m only interested in Dean’s Mooring. But thanks anyway.’
    She would just have to be patient