Читать книгу The Seduction Scheme - Ким Лоренс, KIM LAWRENCE - Страница 6

THE waiter lifted the lid of the silver tureen with a flourish. A closet romantic at heart, he gave a smile of satisfaction when the attractive young woman gasped in surprise.

Rachel was surprised. She’d known Nigel was going to propose tonight—he’d dropped enough hints—but she hadn’t expected a gesture as theatrical and grand as this. Mouth slightly open, she stared at the diamond nestling on the velvet cushion as if it might leap out and bite her any minute.

Nigel Latimer leant forward eagerly in his seat; well satisfied with his companion’s reaction, he nodded the waiter away with a conspiratorial grin.

‘It doesn’t bite,’ he said, reaching over and taking hold of her hand. ‘Try it on,’ he urged. ‘My God, Rachel, you’re trembling.’ Rachel, who was always so composed and in control. He was delighted and faintly surprised that his efforts had made such an impact.

Rachel tore her eyes from the sparkling ring to the spot where her hand was covered by a larger one. ‘This is such a shock,’ she lied shakily. It would offend him if she snatched her hand away, so being a considerate young woman she didn’t.

Actually it had been obvious for weeks that this moment would arise; she’d thought about it a lot and now the moment was here she still didn’t have the faintest idea what she was going to say! What a time to become indecisive.

She looked into Nigel’s handsome, confident face, at his nice clean-cut features, the silvered hair that gave him the distinguished air that went down so well with his patients—he looked every inch the successful, competent surgeon. Shouldn’t it be excitement, not consternation that made her stomach muscles spasm? Some people didn’t know when they had it good—and she, apparently, was one of them!

He expected her to say yes—and why shouldn’t he? He was the answer to most women’s prayers: good-looking, kind, wealthy. She sometimes wondered how a man like him had stayed single into his forties. Rachel found it unsettling when he called her the perfect woman he’d been waiting for all his life. His expectations of her were very high, so that she always felt almost as if she was playing a part for him. Perfect women always said the right thing at the right moment. How would he react if he discovered the less than perfect side to her nature?

He must love her to distraction to pursue her in the face of extreme provocation from Charlotte, her daughter. Did she love him? Did it matter? Weren’t other things like companionship and compatibility more important? She was thirty now, past the age of expecting the fulfilment of adolescent fantasies.

The thoughts flickered through her mind in the blink of an eye. She felt a trickle of sweat slide down between her shoulder blades as she tried to respond the way she ought to. What’s wrong with me? she asked herself. The first signs of concern were beginning to appear on Nigel’s face when the waiter reappeared and apologetically announced that there was an urgent phone call for Miss French.

It wasn’t just a desperate desire for a breathing space that made Rachel leap to her feet; the only person who knew she was here was the baby-sitter. What was Charlie up to now? she wondered in alarm.

She returned a few moments later and it was immediately obvious to her escort that all was not well.

‘What’s wrong, darling?’ Nigel was at her side in a second.

Rachel bit back a terrified sob. ‘Charlie’s disappeared!’

‘There you are!’ Benedict Arden flinched as a pair of small arms suddenly snaked around his leather-clad middle. ‘See, I told you I wasn’t alone.’

This last comment wasn’t addressed to him but was thrown defiantly in the direction of a prosperous-looking middle-aged couple who were regarding him with dubious disapproval.

Having presented the sort of appearance for almost all the thirty-four years of his life that would dispose people like this couple to regard him in a benevolent light, Benedict permitted himself a small ironic smile at this fresh reminder of how important first impressions were before his thoughts returned to the more pressing issue: who the hell was this kid?

‘This is your father?’ Pity was mixed with scepticism in the woman’s voice.

‘Good God, no!’ Revulsion flared in Benedict’s voice as he took a step backwards.

He was relieved to find his wallet was where it ought to be, in the breast pocket of his leather jacket. The jacket was air force issue; he’d inherited it from his grandfather and it proved that he hadn’t just inherited the face of a man he’d never known, but his build too.

The jacket combined with hair that had become long enough to be troublesome, plus a liberal sprinkling of dark stubble over his angular jawline, gave him an almost sinister aspect. At first glance, Benedict would be the first to admit, not the sort of character anyone would expect to find hugging a child, but then he wasn’t doing the hugging.

The thin arms unwound and a pair of reproachful blue eyes looked up at him. Looking down into a delicate face, Benedict realised for the first time that the child was not, after all, a boy, but a girl—a girl dressed in androgynous jeans and tee shirt. The realisation didn’t soften his expression; the menace that would have made sensible souls cross the road didn’t appear to make any impact on the child.

‘He’s my brother,’ she continued, not taking her remarkable china-blue eyes from his face. ‘My stepbrother, actually; my father married his mother,’ she elaborated, warming to the theme. A furrow developed between her brows as she mentally composed a full family history. ‘His father’s dead now.’

Benedict blinked as his parent was heartlessly disposed of. This kid was unbelievable. You had to admire her sheer cheek, even if she was mad or dangerous, or possibly a combination of both! His lips quivered.

‘It was probably the drink.’ This, if recent comments had been true, was the direction his son was driving him in—so long as the vintage was good, of course. Nothing but the best for Sir Stuart Arden.

He felt the swift exhalation of relief that made the child’s slight frame shudder and immediately regretted this frivolous response as the blue eyes smiled approvingly up at him. He wanted to groan; the last thing he wanted to do was encourage this lunatic child. As far as she was concerned he’d become some sort of co-conspirator. Like an idiot he’d let the obvious opportunity to deny absolutely all knowledge of her to pass him by. Well, he’d soon rectify that! He had plans. He thought it unlikely that Sabrina had been pining away for him, despite her assurances, and there had been a dearth of single female company on the property his grandmother had left him in the Australian outback.

‘Do you think it’s responsible to allow a child like this to wander around the city at this time of night?’ The woman’s lips pursed in distaste as she looked him up and down. The man’s expression showed no less disgust, but more caution. He was also keeping a safe distance from the dangerous-looking character.

‘No, I don’t,’ Benedict replied honestly. He could readily share this woman’s sense of outrage. His eyes narrowed in anger as he thought of the irresponsible parents who robbed children like this one of their innocence by letting them roam the streets alone.

‘Y-yes, well…’ she stammered, thrown off her stride as much by the glint of anger in his dark eyes as his unexpected agreement.

‘They tried to make me go with them, Steven.’ The child had a very clear and penetrating voice. The male half of the couple looked embarrassed and alarmed as several people on the pavement, which seethed with a cross-section of humanity, glanced in their direction. ‘Mum says I shouldn’t talk to strangers!’

‘We only wanted to take her to the police station.’

‘Be my guest.’ He felt dawning sympathy for this pair of Samaritans. He wanted nothing more than to hand the responsibility for this disreputable child back to someone who was obviously more qualified, not to mention more eager than himself. The joke had gone on long enough. As he took a step towards them the man backed hastily away.

‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ he said, taking his more reluctant wife’s arm firmly. ‘Goodnight.’ The woman continued to cast suspicious glances over her shoulder as she was led away. Benedict watched their departure with dawning dismay.

‘I thought they’d never go.’ The skinny child abruptly released the hand she’d been holding. ‘You were very useful.’ She nodded towards him.

Benedict sighed; a conscience was a very uncomfortable thing to have sometimes. ‘They were only trying to help. That’s pretty commendable.’

‘I don’t need help.’

‘The police station seems a good idea to me.’ No matter how streetwise this kid seemed, he couldn’t leave her to her own devices in an area that was crawling with undesirable persons. The child’s next words made it obvious she considered him one of those undesirables.

‘The police would have believed them.’ She nodded in the direction where the couple had been swallowed up by the assorted bodies that thronged the pavement. ‘You don’t look like the sort of person the police would believe at all. I picked you because you look scruffy and mean,’ she told him frankly. ‘I’d say you were trying to kidnap me and I’d scream very loudly. They’d believe me; that man thought you were going to hit him,’ she ended triumphantly.

The kid’s logic was flawless and her self-possession was staggering. A glance at his reflection in the plate-glass window told him she was right.

Recoil in horror had about summed up his mother’s reaction to her younger son’s appearance. His father had been less restrained. ‘My God, he’s gone native’ and ‘Get that bloody hair cut!’ had been a selection of the more moderate pieces of advice he had offered. His teenage sister’s response had been less predictable.

‘You’ll be mobbed by women who want to see if you’re sensitive and misunderstood under the dark, dangerous exterior. Sexily sinister,’ she’d said, quite pleased with her alliteration.

He’d found such perception in one of such tender years worrying; accustomed to female attention, he had already been aware of a subtle difference in that attention since he’d got back home—women were strange creatures. And talking about precocious—he had a more immediate problem than his hairstyle to worry about.

‘If you don’t want to go to the police station…’ Maybe this kid was already well known there, he surmised. He felt a stab of fury at the sheer injustice that any child’s future could be so depressingly predictable. ‘How about home?’ He doubted home meant the same thing to this child as it did to him.

She still kept her distance, but his comment seemed to make her pause. ‘The taxi driver said I didn’t have enough money to go all the way home. I’ll walk the rest of the way. I wanted to be back before…’ The shrug was pure bravado. ‘I’ll be all right.’ She bit her lip.

Despite the stoical exterior she couldn’t keep the small tremor from her voice. It occurred to him that maybe she wasn’t half as blasé as she pretended to be. The poor kid was probably scared stiff.

‘I’ll pay for your taxi.’

’You?’ The young lips curled with scorn.

‘You don’t think I’m good for it?’

‘I’m not about to get into a car with a stranger.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’m not going in your direction.’ Walking through a minefield had to be easier than this!

‘Why do you want to help me?’

Good question, Ben. This child certainly had an unnerving ability to cut to the heart of the matter. ‘Such cynicism in one so young.’ He suddenly remembered he was talking to a child. ‘Cynicism is…’ he began kindly.

‘I know what cynicism is; I’m a kid, not an idiot.’

And that puts me in my place nicely, he thought, stifling an urge to smile in response to the youngster’s scornful interruption. ‘And I’m your guardian angel, so take my offer or leave it.’ He made it sound as though he didn’t give a damn.

‘I think you’re mad, but I do have a blister.’ She looked down at her feet. ‘New trainers,’ she added, scuffing her toe on the ground.

‘Follow that cab!’

The driver was quite happy to oblige once Benedict had paid up front. He’d be prepared to pay a lot more just to have the opportunity of telling that scrap’s parents what he thought of them! Something about those eyes had made his protective instincts kick in with a vengeance.

The building the black cab drew up in front of was not in the sort of neighbourhood he’d expected. Rows of Edwardian villas lined the roads, and there was an air of quiet affluence. He watched as the kid walked up the driveway of a house as he got out of the cab.

She didn’t see him until she had the key in the lock of the ground-floor flat. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’d like a word with your father.’ Actually he’d quite like to throttle the irresponsible idiot.

‘I don’t have a father.’ Her whole stance said, Want to make something of it?

‘Well, your mother, then.’

‘She’s out. She won’t be back until very late.’ The door opened a crack and, slippery as an eel, she disappeared inside, closing the door behind her. ‘Her boyfriend’s going to propose to her tonight!’ The last words were muffled as the door swung closed.

Images of a heartless, selfish woman so involved in her own pleasure that she neglected her child made his chest swell with righteous indignation. He’d heard definite tears in that tough little voice as the door had closed. Without actually thinking past his need to tell this woman exactly what he thought of her, he leant hard against the doorbell.

The baby-sitter had begun to scream again at the mention of the police.

‘Police? Is that really necessary, Rachel?’

Rachel French rounded on her escort, her grey eyes smouldering with anger. ‘Necessary! It’s eleven-thirty at night, Nigel, and my ten-year-old daughter is not only not in bed, she is not in the flat, or the building. She could be anywhere!’

Actually, considering the discussion they’d had earlier in the day, Rachel had a pretty shrewd suspicion where her errant child was heading. This knowledge only increased the wholesale panic that threatened to reduce her to a gibbering wreck. Fear lodged like a physical presence in her chest; she could smell it and taste it. She glanced at the baby-sitter who had collapsed onto the sofa. She couldn’t lose it now; one incoherent wreck was enough! Her fingernails gouged small half moons in the soft skin of her palms, but her expression stayed composed.

‘It w-wasn’t my fault!’

‘I didn’t say it was. Charlie is very…resourceful. Did you say something, Nigel?’ she enquired icily as a disparaging sound emerged from his throat.

‘Resourceful is one word for her; I could think of others…’ He’d been goaded by the frustrating events of an evening which he had planned so meticulously into forgetting his usual tactful reticence.

‘At another time I’d be only too delighted to hear your opinion…’

‘Rachel, darling, I’m—’

‘In the way,’ she supplied, her urgency making her brutal as she shrugged off the unwanted protection of the arm he had draped across her shoulders. ‘Susan, what time was it when you last actually saw Charlie? Not just heard the music in her bedroom, actually saw her. I know you’re upset, but it’s very important.’ She stifled her natural impulse to wring the information out of the girl and forced herself to sound calm and reasonable. It took every ounce of her will-power. ‘We need to know how long ago she left.’

‘I…I’m not sure,’ the girl sniffed. ‘I was revising…the finals are next week.’

Rachel bit back the scathing retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue. To say her interest in this young woman’s academic future was tepid would have been an exaggeration.

‘You were being paid to look after the child, not study.’ Nigel’s accurate but ill-timed observation reduced the young woman to incoherent sobs once more.

‘Nigel,’ Rachel snapped, ‘will you be quiet?’ The loud and continuous sound of the doorbell interrupted her. ‘Charlie!’ she breathed, hope surging through her body.

‘Will you stop that and go away?’ The door opened a crack. ‘I didn’t want Susan to know I’ve been—’

‘Charlie!’

‘Mum!’ The child released her hold on the door and Benedict took the opportunity to push it open. The source of the first cry stood at the other end of the hallway. A slim-fitting lavender-coloured floor-length gown was gathered in one hand, a mobile phone in the other. She let go of both; one slithered around her shapely calves and the other hit the big, distinguished-looking man with the silver-grey hair directly on the nose.

‘I’ll kill you, you little wretch,’ the low, intriguingly husky voice that evoked a response like fingers gently moving up his spine announced lovingly.

Benedict didn’t think this was likely, unless you could hug a person to death. The woman had dropped onto her knees and the child had walked straight into her arms.

‘Are you all right? How could you?’ Rachel was torn by equally strong desires to berate and kiss her daughter. ‘Hush, it’s all right now,’ she murmured as the slender frame was shaken by silent sobs.

Rachel noticed the man standing behind her daughter for the first time. How sad—the lights were on but there was definitely nobody home! It instantly struck her as tragic that someone so sinfully beautiful was lacking the intelligence to lighten those heavy-lidded, almost black eyes. She pressed her daughter’s damp face into her bosom and looked briefly into the blank face. Jaw slack, eyes glazed and vacant, he stared back dully. Latin extract, she decided; there was nothing Anglo Saxon about his olive-toned skin and glossy black hair.

‘Who’s this, Charlie?’

‘That’s…Steven. He fetched me home. I thought I’d get back before you were home, Mum. How did you know…?’

‘Susan rang us, of course.’

‘Susan doesn’t usually look in after John arrives. Just my luck!’

‘John?’ Rachel turned her attention to the baby-sitter who hovered nervously in the background.

‘My boyfriend. He sometimes comes to keep me company. He had to go home early tonight.’ Her tear-stained young face turned an unattractive shade of red as she studiously avoided Rachel’s eyes.

‘How fortunate for us he had a prior engagement.’ Rachel pushed the wing of soft brown hair that had escaped her smooth chignon from her face and the sparkle of anger faded from her eyes. She could afford to be magnanimous now she had her daughter back. Her fingers slid down Charlie’s silky, jaw-length blonde hair and she felt weak with relief. Things could have been so different.

Her eyes returned to the magnificent hunk in the doorway. A very unlikely Samaritan, she thought, gratitude misting her eyes.

Benedict hoped the groan was only inside the confines of his skull—incredible eyes! Pale skin that had an almost translucent quality and slightly slanted almond-shaped eyes that made the onlooker overlook the fact that her features weren’t strictly symmetrical.

‘I’m sorry, Miss French; it’s just John and I don’t get to see one another much. We’ve both got part-time jobs to supplement our grants and—’

Rachel’s weary voice cut through the young woman’s babble. ‘I’ve no objections to you having your boyfriend’s company, Susan. I just don’t like you neglecting Charlie. It’s been a long night. Perhaps you should be going home.’

‘Right…sure, I’ll get my things.’

She turned her attention back to her daughter, noting the sure signs of exhaustion in the delicate young face. ‘Well, young lady, was it worth it?’ The post-mortem and the chastisement would come later.

‘You know where I went?’

‘It didn’t take a genius, love.’ The argument they’d had over her standing with hordes of equally youthful, adoring fans in front of a theatre in the hope of catching a glimpse of her favourite boy band as they arrived at an awards ceremony had dragged on for two days. Charlie had capitulated rather too easily, which ought to have set the alarm bells ringing.

‘Actually there was such a crowd, I couldn’t see a thing,’ Charlotte confessed. ‘The taxi driver overcharged me and there were these nosy people…’

‘Quite a little adventure,’ Rachel murmured with great restraint. She knew it didn’t do any good to dwell on what might have happened, but it was hard to control her wayward imagination.

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ Nigel asked incredulously.

Mother and daughter turned with identical frowns to look up at him. Although there was little physical similarity, at moments like this their relationship was very apparent. Rachel straightened up gracefully, her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, the two of them unconsciously presenting a united front.

‘At this precise moment, yes,’ she said quietly.

‘The child needs punishing; she needs to know what she did was wrong.’

‘It’s none of your business!’ Charlie flared, pulling out of her mother’s arms.

Rachel sighed. ‘That’s no way to speak to Nigel. He was very worried about you.’

‘No, he wasn’t! He doesn’t even like me.’

Rachel winced as her daughter slammed the sitting-room door behind her. ‘Sorry about that, Nigel.’ She noted with dismay the pinched look around his nostrils.

Even though she knew Nigel’s ill-judged comments stemmed from the best possible intentions, Rachel couldn’t help but sympathise with her daughter’s viewpoint. It had been just the two of them for so long, she couldn’t help but resent his well-meaning efforts to share the burden of responsibility herself at times. Do I want to share the responsibility? a tiresome voice in her head piped up.

‘Are you?’ He ran a hand through his well-ordered hair and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ he said stiffly. ‘It’s just tonight was meant to be special…’

‘Well, we’re not likely to forget it.’ Her impish grin faded as there was no glimmer of answering humour in his handsome face. ‘Perhaps we should just forget tonight ever happened.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to marry me?’ Incredulity filled his voice.

‘Of course I’m not.’ Am I? The thought filled her with guilt as she looked at the hurt expression on Nigel’s face.

Her intention to kiss him, Rachel moved forward. She’d kicked off her high-heeled shoes earlier and the silky fabric of her long gown caught a loose nail in the skirting-board.

‘Damn,’ she muttered as the fabric snagged. ‘Oh, thank you.’ A large, capable-looking hand had freed the hem with surprising delicacy. Irrelevantly she noticed that despite his dishevelled appearance the shapely hands seemed very well cared for. As the young man straightened up his dark eyes looked directly into her face; the smile on her lips frayed ever so slightly around the edges.

She mentally binned her earlier label of simple but kind. There had been nothing simple or even particularly kind in the dark glance. Her stomach muscles quivered and she waited a little breathlessly for the sensation to stop. She’d never been this close to so much sheer maleness in her life. The distant noise in her ears sounded very similar to warning bells.

She was still grateful but her gratitude was now tempered with a degree of caution. There had been intelligence in those midnight-dark eyes and a confidence bordering on arrogance, a complacency common to all attractive male animals who knew they were the cream of the crop. It wasn’t a confidence she associated with someone who worried about where his next meal was coming from.

Come to think of it, he didn’t look undernourished—far from it. She felt an unexpected wave of heat under her skin as she assimilated his lean, muscular build and broad, powerful shoulders. It didn’t matter what clothes he was wearing—he’d stand out in a crowd. Stand out in crowd nothing—the crowd would part to let him pass! He had an indefinable aura of someone who’d never been jostled in his life.

‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ Angry that she could be distracted by anything as inconsequential as a well-developed thigh, she thought her voice came out crisply prim. For heaven’s sake, Rachel, this man has saved Charlie from God knows what and you’re sounding snooty because he stands out in a crowd? You can’t hold the fact that he oozes sexual magnetism against the man.

What could she do to thank him? It was beneath him to even think it, but Benedict couldn’t stop mentally forming the obvious trite response. At least he could think again, even if the thoughts were too crass to share! He’d experienced lust at first sight before, but never anything quite so mind-numbing as those first few moments when he’d set eyes on this woman—Rachel. He liked the name, he liked—

‘For your trouble…’

Benedict stared at the notes in the boyfriend’s outstretched hand and his narrowed eyes moved slowly to the older man’s face. Forty if he was a day, he thought in surprise. What did she see in him? Apart from the air of affluence, he thought cynically.

‘I don’t want your money.’ He didn’t bother to disguise his contempt.

Rachel elbowed Nigel in the ribs and glared at him as she brushed past. ‘Please don’t be offended,’ she said urgently. ‘Nigel only meant—’

‘Pay off the loser—he lowers the tone of the neighbourhood?’

‘Now look here…’ She wasn’t surprised Nigel didn’t sound his usual confident self. That thin-lipped smile and dark stare would dent anyone’s assurance. Rachel doubted he was accustomed to being regarded with such dismissive contempt.

‘Nigel!’ she remonstrated in a tone betraying more exasperation than sympathy. He was acting as if this were his house, his daughter, his debt to repay. Couldn’t he see he’d trampled on the man’s pride? Her tender heart was wrung with empathy. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we said goodnight now. Charlie—’

‘Are you asking me to go? Fine…’

‘Don’t be silly, Nigel.’ It was unfortunate he sounded like a sulky schoolboy.

‘You’re very considerate of his feelings.’ This accusation took her breath away. ‘What about me?’ The childish whine was back. ‘One of the things I like about you is your unemotional, level-headed attitude, Rachel, but just occasionally it would be nice to get a response that’s not… Forget it!’ he said, compressing his lips and throwing one last glance in the stranger’s direction.

‘I’ll ring in the morning, Rachel, and don’t forget we’re dining with the Wilsons on Tuesday. Wear something a little less…’ his eyes dwelt critically on the loose, soft, low cowl neckline of her dress ‘…revealing. You know how conservative Margaret is.’

The apology died dramatically on her lips as Nigel left. Usually she could ignore his comments about her clothes. They were normally couched in such subtle jocular terms that it wasn’t possible to take offence, but this time it wasn’t possible to disregard the criticism.

With a frown she peered downwards. The shoestring straps had made it impossible to wear a bra beneath the dress, but it wasn’t as if she was displaying a vast expanse of cleavage—she didn’t have a vast expanse of cleavage to display! Not that she was exactly flat-chested. She plucked at the folds of fabric and squinted down at the shadowy outline of her firm breasts.

‘Oh, damn and blast it to hell!’ she said defiantly, letting the fabric fall back into place. Trying to please Charlie, trying to please Nigel, she was tired of walking a damned tightrope. She was also pretty tired of feeling constantly guilty.

The faint indentation between her arched eyebrows deepened and her head fell back, revealing the graceful curve of her lovely throat. For a split second Benedict wondered what she’d do if he kissed her on that fascinating spot where the pulse visibly beat against her collarbone. Scream bloody murder, you fool, he told himself sternly, putting a lid quick smart on this foolish fantasy.

‘Was that my fault?’

Her eyes flickered upwards and he could see she’d forgotten he was there. A flood of self-conscious colour washed over her pale skin. She glanced nervously down to check that the gown was covering what it ought and Benedict’s lips twitched.

‘No, of course not. I really am very grateful, you know, and I’d like to say thank you, without…’

‘Bruising my feelings?’ he suggested. His words brought a rueful smile to her lips and a twinkle to her eyes.

‘How can…?’

‘I missed my dinner bringing…Charlie home. A sandwich…?’ He accompanied his words with a smile that had been melting female hearts since he was five years old.

Invite a man that looked like this into her home? Cautious instincts instilled from an early age fought a brief battle against her deep sense of maternal gratitude.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Follow me.’

He’d already proved himself trustworthy when he’d brought Charlie home. So he looked dangerous with his long hair and unshaven face, not to mention those sexy dark eyes, but all that was just superficial and she’d told Charlie often enough not to judge by appearances… All the same she couldn’t dismiss the flutter of uncertainty in the pit of her belly. It did seem a lot like inviting the wolf into your house when you ought to be boarding up the door.

Charlie appeared as they entered the sitting room and Rachel’s heart twisted as she saw how tired her daughter looked.

‘Has he gone—?’ She broke off when she saw the tall figure behind her mother. ‘What are you doing here?’ She sounded more curious than critical.

‘Mr…. Steve is hungry.’

‘So am I.’

‘Bath and bed in that order.’ To Ben’s surprise, Charlie shrugged, grinned and obeyed the instruction. ‘Have a seat,’ Rachel then invited.

He did, and looked around with undisguised curiosity. ‘Nice place.’ If it was true that a room reflected the personality of the owner, Miss Rachel French’s lovely exterior hid an uncluttered, unpretentious but warm interior. It was a lot easier to live with than the seventies retro look the designer he’d let loose on his own place had left him. He spread his long legs in front of him and gave a satisfied sigh. It was too late to go to Sabrina’s now anyhow.

‘Do you…do you have a place?’ She removed her eyes self-consciously from the tears in his worn jeans. Her vivid imagination had conjured up some sordid squat.

He looked into her concerned grey eyes; she looked almost embarrassed. Obviously she thought he was comparing her good fortune to his lack of it.

‘I have a place.’ She looked relieved and he felt a bit of a rat, but not enough of a rat to come clean. ‘Not as nice as this,’ he said sincerely. If she knew his address she wouldn’t believe his sincerity.

‘I didn’t meant to pry; it’s just there’s a lot of homelessness…’

‘Are you a do-gooder, Rachel?’

She was instantly conscious of the casual way he used her name. He had a nice voice—deep and easy on the ears. Well, a bit more than easy on the ears, really, she admitted ruefully. It probably came in very useful in the seduction stakes.

‘You make it sound like an insult. Some people do genuinely care, you know,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m know I’ve been fortunate and I also know that pity isn’t a very constructive emotion.’

‘But it’s a very natural one,’ he said. Somewhere along the line the roles had got reversed. Wasn’t she supposed to be putting him at ease?

‘It’s a bit late to be talking about social inequalities,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll make you that sandwich.’ Suddenly she felt the need to escape those velvety brown eyes.

‘Can I help?’

Rachel was alarmed that he’d followed her into the small galley kitchen. His presence made the small space seem even more confining. Whatever his domestic circumstances, there was nothing wrong with his personal hygiene; if there had been she’d have known it in the confines of the tiny room. He didn’t ladle on the masculine fragrance with a heavy hand like Nigel, thank goodness! He smelt so male, she thought, breathing in appreciatively. Abruptly her spine stiffened. What am I doing? she thought in confusion.

‘No, it’s fine. Will cheese do? I don’t have much; tomorrow’s shopping day.’ As if he was interested! She knew she was babbling and couldn’t stop.

The chances were he was well accustomed to the effect he had on women—he probably traded on it. He knew his way around the female psyche all right, and probably the female anatomy too! She suddenly imagined the long, sensitive fingers that lay lightly on her work surface touching pale skin, and she shivered.

‘Cheese will be fine. Charlie tells me you’re getting married.’ Elbows bent behind him, he leant back on the countertop.

Rachel bent down to retrieve the knife she’d dropped, the action hiding her flushed cheeks. Just how much had her daughter confided to this stranger? she wondered in alarm. Her alarm was given an extra edge because she realised that the skin she’d been visualising his hands touching was her own! Lack of food was obviously affecting her brain! She pushed a slice of cheese into her mouth and hoped this would give her flagging blood sugar a boost.

‘Children don’t miss much,’ he said with the comforting certainty of someone who knew about these things. Actually he didn’t know much about children; his sister would be insulted to be included in that category and his niece was a baby of seventeen months whom he’d not seen above twice in her young lifetime. ‘And I couldn’t help but overhear…’

‘Charlie doesn’t miss much.’ Rachel dropped the knife in the sink and pulled a clean one from the drawer. ‘She’s very bright—with an IQ that makes me feel inadequate sometimes. It’s easy to forget how young she is on occasion.’ She had begun to wonder whether it had been a good move coming to the city to be close to the school that specialised in ‘gifted children’ Charlie didn’t seem to be settling in at all.

‘And are you?’ Getting married, that is?’ he added.

‘I don’t know.’ Now why the hell did I tell him that? she wondered. Perhaps it was just a relief to speak to someone who didn’t have a vested interest.

‘It must be hard bringing up a child alone,’ he mused casually. ‘I suppose it would be a relief to find someone to share the responsibility with, especially if he’s loaded…’

‘I’m not looking for a father for Charlie. Or a meal ticket.’ She felt her defensive hackles rising. Was he trying to get a rise, she wondered suspiciously, or was he just plain rude?

‘Just as well—the father bit, I mean.’ She gasped audibly and he smiled apologetically into her face over which a definite chill was settling. ‘The cosy rapport was noticeable by its absence. She seems to hate his guts.’

Rachel found herself responding with a rueful smile even though she felt vaguely uneasy at the intimacy developing in this conversation with a total stranger.

‘Charlie has very definite views,’ she admitted. ‘But, as much as I love my daughter, I don’t let her vet the men I see.’ ‘Men’ made her social life sound a lot more interesting than it was. Over the past ten years how many had there been? No calculator required, she thought wryly. ‘Mayonnaise?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Help yourself,’ she said, sliding the plate in his direction.

‘Thanks.’ Benedict pulled out one of the two high stools that were pushed underneath the counter. ‘Aren’t you eating?’ Two stools, he noticed, not three; boyfriend didn’t stay over too often, then. He felt a surge of satisfaction.

Rachel thought of the meal she’d never got to eat. ‘I lost my appetite somewhere between losing my child and fighting with my fiancée.’

She glanced down at her finger and realised she’d never actually picked up the ring. She’d never actually said yes. She didn’t believe in fate, but it did seem as if someone was trying to tell her something. Perhaps there was enough of the romantic left in her to wish she could marry someone she genuinely didn’t want to live without. Someone whose touch she craved. A man with whom she could share her deepest dreams and fears—who would make her feel complete.

‘Do you do that much?’

For a horrified split second she thought she’d spoken out loud. It took her another couple of confusion-filled seconds to realise he wasn’t referring to her fantasising and then make the connection with her earlier comment.

‘I don’t make a habit of losing Charlie.’ What a night; it’s no wonder my concentration is shot to hell, she thought.

‘I meant fighting with your boyfriend—though he’s hardly a boy, is he?’ He took another healthy bite of the sandwich and watched the angry colour mount her smooth cheeks. He’d touched a nerve.

‘Nigel is forty-two,’ she snapped back, her fingers drumming against the work surface. ‘I’ve not the faintest idea why I’m justifying myself to you!’ she muttered half to herself.

‘Don’t worry…’

‘I wasn’t!’

‘You probably feel uncomfortable about the age gap.’

‘Age gap!’ she yelped. This man was stretching her maternal gratitude to its limit. ‘I’m thirty.’

‘Really? You don’t look it.’ Time might blur the edges of her beauty in the distant future, but with a bone structure like that the ageing process would be graceful.

The dark, direct stare was deeply disturbing. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’ she asked sharply to hide the fact that this unkempt man was making her feel flustered and more self-conscious than she could recall feeling in years!

‘I can do better than that…’

‘I’m sure you can.’

‘But I wouldn’t presume.’

Her brows drew together in a straight line as she looked at him. ‘I find that difficult to believe.’ He had the look of a man who’d do a lot of presuming.

‘Has he ever been married?’

‘As a matter of fact, no. And he’s not gay!’

‘I’m sure you did the right thing asking.’

‘I didn’t ask! Nigel is a cautious man, and he’s seen lots of his friends’ marriages break up.’ She didn’t add that Nigel had always seemed more appalled by the financial havoc this wrought when he’d mentioned the marital failures of his peers. ‘There’s nothing wrong with caution.’ She winced at the defensive note in her voice. There wasn’t a single reason why she needed to justify herself to this man.

‘Not a thing. Not unless it makes you deaf to gut instinct.’

‘Nigel isn’t too big on gut instinct,’ she said drily. She bit her lip, immediately feeling disloyal for voicing this opinion.

‘And you?’

‘Pardon?’ The icy note in her voice didn’t alert him to the fact that he was being unacceptably personal. Wasn’t that just typical? Just when you needed them, the tried and tested remedies let you down…

‘I suppose there are times when a lady like you just can’t afford to listen to her gut instincts,’ he reflected slowly. She searched his face suspiciously; she was certain, despite the gravity of his expression, she was being mocked. ‘I mean, you couldn’t just date any guy who wandered in off the street.’ This time there was no mistaking his reference. ‘Do you have a list? Suitable professions, salary, that sort of thing?’

‘If you want to say I’m a snob…’

‘I’m not really sure what you are,’ he confessed. ‘I’m feeling my way.’

‘I don’t want to be felt!’

‘That explains Nigel’s frustrated expression.’

‘If you’ve finished eating…?’ she said pointedly. She could see from his expression she was wasting her breath. Her haughtiness was passing right over his dark head.

‘Has it always been just the two of you?’

‘Are you always this curious about strangers?’

‘Charlie made me feel like one of the family.’ The flash of laughter in his eyes was reflected by the lopsided smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth. He didn’t let her into the private joke.

‘Really?’ Her arched eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s not something she makes a habit of.’

‘It’s like that sometimes, don’t you find? You meet someone and it feels as if you’ve known them for ever. You just click.’

His voice had a tactile quality when he lowered it to that soft, intimate level; it was almost as if he’d touched her—stroked her. She pushed aside this disturbing notion briskly, because the idea of being touched by this man was extremely disturbing!

‘I try not to make snap decisions.’ Panic was developing into an uncomfortable constriction in her throat. ‘I’m sure you do a lot more…clicking than me,’ she said tartly.

It occurred to her belatedly that it might be a mistake to swap sexual innuendo with someone she wanted to keep at a safe distance. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

A laugh was wrenched from his throat. ‘That sounded a lot like a snap judgement to me.’

‘I didn’t mean…’ she began, horrified. She stopped; that was exactly what she’d meant. He had the look of a man who put his charismatic personality to good use with the opposite sex. A sensible woman naturally distrusted a man with such raw, in-your-face sexuality.

‘Many a sexual athlete lurks behind horn-rimmed specs and a geeky exterior,’ he warned, amusement in his face. ‘So is it my social standing or physical appearance which places me in the no-go zone?’

He’d dropped the veiled pretence that this conversation was impersonal. Usually someone who welcomed straight speaking, she felt light-headed with an adrenalin rush that made her want to lock herself safely behind a closed door.

‘I don’t enjoy this sort of conversation.’

‘No, I don’t recall having a conversation precisely like this one before.’

‘Mum, I’m ready.’

Rachel turned, an expression of false vivacity on her face. For once Charlie’s timing was immaculate.

‘Right,’ she said briskly. Love swelled in her chest as she looked at the small figure. How could you feel cross with a child who looked at you with eyes like Charlie’s? she wondered. Especially when those eyes were underlined by dark rings of exhaustion. ‘You’d better say thank you to Mr…’

‘Steve will do just fine.’ A man called Steve wasn’t born with a silver spoon firmly pushed down his throat…a man named Steve didn’t choke on family obligations. He held out his hand and the sleeve of his jacket fell back to reveal the face of his Rolex. Casually he shook his cuff down. A pair of bright blue eyes followed his action.

‘Thank you…Steve?’ Small, delicate fingers were laid in his own; the guileless glance was knowing and slightly smug.

‘I’ll just see Charlie to bed for the second time tonight.’

Benedict watched them go, his expression thoughtful. Charlie didn’t miss much at all, he mused.

Rachel had half expected her guest would be difficult to get rid of. She’d been rehearsing tactful ways to make him leave in her head. She felt vaguely deflated, and relieved of course—yes, she was relieved—to find him standing in the sitting room obviously waiting to go when she re-emerged from Charlie’s bedroom.

‘Thanks for the sandwich.’

‘You didn’t tell me where you found Charlie or how…’ He hadn’t actually told her much at all. She’d done all the revealing.

‘You could say she found me,’ he said. The statement made him grin for some reason.

‘I’ll never forget what you did.’

‘But you’ll forget me?’

She decided to ignore this challenge. Kissing him would be open to misinterpretation so she clasped one of his hands firmly between both of hers.

‘I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that doorbell. I’ve no doubt you think I’m the world’s worst mother.’ He was looking at her hands with a peculiar expression so self-consciously she let his hand go.

‘For about two seconds, but first impressions can be misleading.’

She misunderstood the significance of his words. ‘I expect you get a lot of that. I mean looking the way you do…’ She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When you’ve dug a hole, Rachel, stop before it’s too deep to climb out of, she told herself. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.’ She couldn’t resist trying to repair the damage.

‘And there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, no matter what the boyfriend says.’ There was amusement rather than offence in his deep warm voice. ‘A man who tells you what to wear will likely tell you what to think if you give him the chance. Goodnight, Rachel.’

‘I won’t let anyone do that.’

‘Good girl.’ He took her chin in his hand and placed his warm lips over hers. If this chaste salute was meant to keep her wanting more, it worked! The sensual impact left her body so taut and strung out, she might well have responded like some sex-starved idiot if he’d touched her again. He didn’t.

‘I won’t say goodbye. I think we’ll meet again very soon.’

Rachel watched him go with a dazed expression. She knew they were just words, but it didn’t stop her wondering just what she’d do if he turned up on her doorstep one day.