“This is sexual harassment!”

“This is mutual attraction,” Ben contradicted. “We both knew that from the moment we set eyes on each other.”

“Your ego is unbelievable!” Rachel gasped. “I wouldn’t have you if you came gift-wrapped.”

“If you prefer, we’ll keep our personal and professional relationship strictly separate. That’s fine by me.”

“We don’t have a personal relationship,” she felt impelled to point out.

“We will, Rachel….”

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

The Seduction Scheme
Kim Lawrence

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

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.

CHAPTER TWO

‘OH, WELL, if she’s on loan from Albert at least she’ll be easy on the eye.’ Benedict’s mouth twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. He wasn’t happy at the idea of working with a stranger; Maggie’s anticipation of his needs bordered on the psychic. ‘All the same, Mags, I think it’s pretty mean of you to desert me on my first day back.’

‘I could stay to hold your hand if your sojourn down under has turned you soft. I don’t understand a word of German, but I could look intelligent.’ His secretary cast him an unsympathetic glance as she continued to flick through a file. ‘Here it is! I don’t know how it got there!’ she exclaimed, retrieving a sheaf of papers. ‘I want to leave everything as it should be for Rachel.’

The reminder of a familiar name brought a reminiscent smile to his lips. ‘Would you really do that for me—cancel your holiday?’

‘No, I can’t wait to kick off the dust of this place,’ came the frank rejoinder.

‘So nice to see someone who enjoys her work.’

‘Huh! Listen to who’s talking. I didn’t see you hurrying back. Besides—’ the fashionable specs were pushed firmly up her retroussé nose ‘—I’m a legal secretary, not a slave—subtle difference, I know, but…’

Benedict sat down on the edge of his desk. ‘PA sounds much more dynamic.’

‘I’m not feeling too dynamic right now.’

‘You’d really prefer to lie on a tropical beach with your husband than stay here?’ he said incredulously.

‘Call me peculiar… Ah, is that you, Rachel? Come along in!’ she yelled as she heard a sound in the adjoining room. ‘Rachel French, this is Benedict Arden. You probably haven’t met; I think he was on walkabout when you started.’

Disbelief froze the polite smile on Rachel’s lips. The possibility that she’d met a doppelgänger or long-lost identical twin was speedily dismissed—it was him.

Rachel wasn’t sure how long the shock lasted or when it became full-blown fury. A wave of humiliation fanned the flames of her anger. Her thoughts all ended in a big question mark. Sick joke…? Well, whatever it had been she’d certainly been sucked in.

‘Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve already shown Rachel the layout and I’ve warned her you’ll work her to a shadow of her former self, and unlike me Rachel needs all the pounds she’s got! So be nice to her.’ She glared at her employer, affection thinly concealed beneath the spiky exterior.

‘I will, Mags.’ This could work out quite beautifully—then again maybe not, he thought, meeting the frozen hostility of his new assistant’s eyes.

‘He works so hard himself he doesn’t realise the rest of us have a social life.’

Maggie hadn’t noticed anything, Rachel realised incredulously. She maintained her tight-lipped silence; if she said what she wanted to she just might lose her job! Screaming abuse at the big boss’s son had a habit of doing that. Social life? The way she’d heard it Benedict Arden, son of Sir Stuart Arden, the head of Chambers, managed a very creditable social life. The sort of social life beloved of society pages. What the grapevine hadn’t told her was that he got his kicks from humiliating those on a less elevated social plane.

Whilst her features remained immobile her scorn spilled out into the grey of her clear eyes as they flickered briefly in his direction. That suit probably cost more than two months of her salary. In her head she’d furnished his home with rising damp and peeling paintwork—when she thought of the anxiety and guilt she’d felt when she’d pictured him in those surroundings! Her hands unconsciously balled into two fists. She was only vaguely conscious above the buzzing in her ears of Maggie’s departure.

‘So you work for Albert.’

‘I do.’

‘His secretaries always do have excellent…office skills.’

He wasn’t looking at her office skills. ‘Are you implying I got my job on the merits of my legs?’ It was pretty hard to miss the fact that his eyes were on her legs, their slender length disguised by tailored fine black wool trousers.

‘Don’t get defensive. I don’t think you’re sleeping with the boss. Everyone knows Albert only ever looks; he’s a happily married man.’

‘That’s a weight off my mind; I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong end of the stick.’ That was it, after this dignified silence, she promised herself.

‘I expect you’re wondering…’

‘Not at all. Maggie has brought me up to speed. I’ve already provided translations of all the relevant documents. I don’t know if you’ve had an opportunity to read them yet…?’ she said briskly.

The heavy lids had drooped slightly over the alert dark eyes and he levered his long frame from the edge of the desk, straightening his spine. He was one of the few men she’d ever seen who could get away with long hair past their teens and he was further past his teens than she’d imagined. But why should this surprise her when nothing else she’d imagined about him had been accurate?

The newly shorn hair combined with the clean-shaven look revealed a deeply tanned, blemishless skin stretched tightly over a stunning bone structure. Fate and generous genes had arranged all those strong planes and hollows in exactly the right places, giving him a masculine beauty that was in no way soft or pretty.

‘We’ve got to work together…’

‘Maybe.’ She made it sound as though she had some choice in the matter, which they both knew wasn’t the case. ‘I’ll reserve my judgement on that. You do look the part.’ The way he looked was the way hungry young executives all over the city dreamed about looking—from his highly polished handmade shoes to his tasteful silk tie. ‘But then you’re good at that…’

Why did I say that? she groaned inwardly. Anyone would think I want to get the sack! A mental picture of all the bills she needed to pay before the end of the month flashed before her eyes. Be cool, professional, she told herself; he’s not worth the energy of losing your temper.

‘So possibly we should clear the air?’ he continued, as if her acid observation had remained where it ought to—in the privacy of her mind.

Rachel discovered resentfully that an eloquent quirk of one dark brow could make her feel childish and petulant. ‘I’m a secretary; I don’t require explanations, just instructions.’ Pragmatism lost out to the sort of antipathy that made her skin sprout invisible thorns.

‘Fine,’ he said, some of the lazy tolerance evaporating from his deep voice. ‘Instruction one, sit down!’ He grasped the back of one pale wooden Italian-designed chair and dragged it across the carpet.

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ she gasped.

‘Please,’ he said, with a smile that made her realise the guise she’d last seen him in had only revealed a danger that was already in the man—disguised now by perfect tailoring and a cultured air, but it was there all the same…bone-deep. ‘That’s better,’ he approved as she reluctantly sat down in the chair he’d indicated.

His fingers brushed against the back of her neck as he released his grip on the chair and she tried not to react. She prayed the sensation that crawled over her skin was revulsion—anything else she couldn’t cope with!

‘Why are you angry?’

She automatically twisted her head to look at him—was he being serious? ‘I’m not.’

‘Surprise,’ he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, ‘amazement, curiosity… I experienced those when you walked through the door. I can identify with the gobsmacked state—’

‘You didn’t look very gobsmacked to me.’

‘I hide my emotions behind a suave exterior,’ he said blandly.

‘Are you laughing at me?’ This very definite suspicion only increased her deep sense of misuse.

‘Why the anger, Miss Rachel French? And don’t bother denying it; your eyes have been flashing fire since you first saw me.’

To hell with office politics—she was going to tell him what she thought of him: walking into her life and disappearing just as abruptly, leaving a vague sense of dissatisfaction and restlessness in his wake…

‘I hate frauds.’ To think he’d infiltrated her thoughts enough to make her wonder, at the most unexpected moments, what he was doing. Now it turned out his lifestyle was indeed far removed from her own, but not in the direction she’d imagined! She doubted he wanted rescuing from his pampered, privileged existence.

‘I didn’t lie precisely.’ A quick mental review confirmed this was correct. His ethics weren’t so irreproachable that he wouldn’t have bent the truth a little if required.

‘Steven…?’

‘That was Charlie’s idea.’

‘Why would my daughter make up your name?’ she said scornfully.

‘It had something to do with claiming me as her long-lost brother. I took to it right off; there’s something solid and dependable about a Steven. Admittedly I’m not Steven, but I’m still the man who rescued your daughter—despite her opposition, I might add.’

He had to remind her, didn’t he? Rachel chewed her full lower lip distractedly; she couldn’t deny the truth of his observation—at least the bit she could follow. The part about brothers made no sense at all.

‘You were laughing at me—us. I’m sure you’ll dine out for the next month on the story: “what happened when I went slumming”. I felt sorry for you!’ She couldn’t have sounded shrill if she’d tried but indignation did make her rather deep, husky voice rise an octave.

‘Pity is a very negative emotion,’ he reminded her. ‘Sorry, photographic memory. Only pity’s not all you felt.’ The way his dark eyes moved over her face alarmed her almost as much as the soft accusation. To her relief he didn’t pursue it. ‘I find it curious that you approved of me more when you thought I was one of the great unwashed. An unforgivable sin, I know, to turn out to be neither a paid-up member of the underworld nor a thug with a heart of gold. Has it occurred to you that your craving for a bit of…how can I put this delicately?…rough—’ an inarticulate squeak of outrage escaped Rachel’s pale lips and he reacted as if she’d uttered soothing words of encouragement ‘—could be a reaction against the sort of man you date? You’re looking for someone outrageous and slightly dangerous.’

‘I’m not looking full stop!’

‘When I meet a woman she generally knows what I do, who my family is and can usually hazard a fairly accurate guess at my bank balance…’

Rachel watched as he straddled a chair that was twin to the one she was sat upon. ‘My heart bleeds…and you just desperately want someone to love you for the real you.’ Her voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. ‘Which is no doubt why you roam the streets looking like a drug dealer!’

‘Do you make a habit of inviting drug dealers into your home?’ he enquired with interest.

The fingers that were laid lightly along the back of the chair were very long and elegant, she noticed irrelevantly, and his hands were shapely and strong. His words made her hospitality suddenly seem worryingly reckless.

‘I was grateful—’ she began defensively, before his urbane, polished tones interrupted her.

‘Was?’

‘Am—I am grateful,’ she said from between clenched teeth, sounding anything but. ‘I was sorry for you if you must know.’ That will teach me to get all sloppy and sentimental, she thought.

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself, you know. Your body is chemically programmed to find a mate. Hormones aren’t too concerned with financial prospects or social standing.’

‘Leave my hormones out of this!’ she yelled.

‘Fine,’ he said, with a languid smile that made her want to scream. ‘I can work with pity. As ulterior motives go, I think I prefer pity to avarice.’

‘Only someone from an obscenely privileged background could say anything so stupid.’

‘You have strong opinions about wealth, Rachel?’

‘No, just you. I think you’re a spoilt…irresponsible—’ She broke off, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop further imprudent remarks escaping.

‘I sense you were just warming to your theme,’ he said, with a provoking smile. ‘Don’t let the fact I’m your boss cramp your style.’

‘Temporary boss.’

‘Thank God, she breathed fervently?’ he surmised.

‘You’re very intuitive.’

‘And you’re very suspicious, Miss French. Let’s get a few things straight. When I met your daughter she was about to be carted off to the police station by a concerned couple. Being a child with limitless resources and a cool head, she decided to claim me as her brother. Apparently I looked mean enough to lack credibility in the eyes of the law and to get rid of the nice people—’

Rachel’s angry glare turned slowly thoughtful. That did sound awfully like something Charlie would do. ‘That doesn’t explain the way you looked or the fact you made me think…’ She shook her head doubtfully. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

‘If you work here you’ll know I’ve just come back from a six-month stint on a cattle ranch in Queensland, and that’s the only reason I lacked a certain sartorial elegance. The conclusions about my background were all yours and your charming companion’s. How was dinner at the Wilsons’? Did you wear something suitable?’

Rachel stiffened, warm colour seeping under her skin. ‘Nigel has a cold; we didn’t go,’ she ground out.

‘I put Charlie in a taxi and followed her with the express intention of giving her delinquent parents a piece of my mind. It took me about ten seconds to realise I’d misread the situation, and less than that to be rendered speechless by your beauty…’

Rachel gritted her teeth and opened her mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that the only desire such ridiculous statements evoked in her was one to throw up! Suddenly she recalled that vacant expression that had first made her think he was a bit challenged in the intellectual department. He couldn’t actually be telling the truth—could he? For some reason this absurd notion impaired her ability to think straight.

‘Don’t say things like that!’

‘This is the new me, open and transparent.’

‘I’m not beautiful, I’m passably attractive.’ Letting him see she was rattled seemed a bad idea. It wasn’t too difficult to see how he’d achieved his reputation as a womaniser.

‘As they say,’ he remarked with an almost offhand shrug, ‘it’s all in the eye of the beholder, and this beholder,’ he said, touching his chest with an open hand, ‘sees beauty. I also see a kind heart.’

‘A fact you ruthlessly exploited,’ she reminded him, trying hard to cling to her sense of outrage.

‘I was tempted,’ he admitted, ‘but I didn’t think your charity would extend as far as a bed for the night.’

She gave a gasp of outrage. ‘You were right!’ Had he no shame?

‘I feel much better now we’ve sorted that out,’ he confessed with a sigh. ‘I was wondering how I was going to bite the bullet and tell you I’m actually quite respectable. I was hoping my disreputable appearance didn’t account for all of the attraction, and if you have a thing about leather…’

‘Respectable!’ she choked incredulously. ‘Am I supposed to believe you’d ever have remembered me except as an amusing story to relate over dinner?’

‘Oh, believe it,’ he said, placing his chin in one cupped hand that rested on the chair-back. Suddenly he wasn’t laughing at all. Rachel thought the expression in his eyes should have carried a government health warning; happily she was immune to shallow flattery. She could be objective about the ripple of movement in her belly and the rash of gooseflesh that erupted over her hot skin.

‘It also makes it all much simpler to ask you out to dinner,’ he added cheerfully.

‘I’ll speak slowly and clearly because I can now see my first impression of you was correct…’

‘What was your first impression?’

‘Muscularly overdeveloped and intellectually undeveloped—a beautiful imbecile!’ she flared in a goaded voice. She realised too late the revealing nature of this confession. ‘I have a fiancé,’ she hurried on swiftly. ‘I don’t date other men.’

‘I don’t see a ring,’ he remarked sceptically.

‘We have an understanding.’

‘He didn’t seem to understand you too well the other night. Nice bloke, no doubt, but a bit lacking in the imagination department.’

Of all the arrogant, impossible… ‘For your information Nigel is very imaginative,’ she spat back.

‘I’m happy for you,’ he said solemnly. Confused, Rachel stared back. ‘A good sex life is important.’

‘I didn’t mean Nigel is imaginative in bed!’ She hated knowing he’d made her flush to the roots of her hair.

‘I didn’t really think he was,’ Benedict responded, nodding sympathetically.

The blood was pounding in her ears. ‘Nigel is worth ten of you!’

‘That’s being a bit severe,’ he remonstrated. ‘I did detect the very early stages of a paunch, but that’s to be expected in men of a certain age. He seemed very well preserved to me. Tell me, are your parents still alive?’

This apparently inexplicable change of subject tipped the balance away from inarticulate fury and towards confusion. ‘No, they’re not; my aunt Janet brought me up.’ Janet French had been there all her life and the recent loss of the lady with the indomitable spirit still hurt badly.

‘An all-female household,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I thought so, and now there’s just you and Charlie. You’re looking for a father substitute, not a lover, Rachel.’

‘Lame-brained psycho-babble.’ Her lip curled with genuine scorn. ‘This is sexual harassment.’

‘This is mutual attraction; we both knew that from the moment we set eyes on each other. If I wasn’t a gentleman I’d have done more than kiss you goodnight. Only I wanted to know if the attraction wasn’t totally the forbidden fruit thing. I see now it isn’t.’

‘Your ego is unbelievable!’ she gasped. ‘I wouldn’t have you if you came gift-wrapped.’

‘Is that a fetishist thing? he enquired. ‘Because I have to tell you I’m not really into that sort of thing.’

‘And I’m not into smutty innuendo!’

‘If you prefer, we’ll keep our personal and professional relationship strictly separate. That’s fine by me. A freak set of coincidences is the only reason this conversation is taking place in the work environment. We needed to clear the air.’

And he thought the atmosphere was clear! The only thing that was clear to her was that she ought to keep her dealings with Benedict Arden to a minimum.

‘We don’t have a personal relationship,’ she felt impelled to point out.

He was persistent; you had to give him that. If her circumstances had been different she might even have been flattered. Be honest, Rachel, he is extraordinarily attractive, she told herself.

If she’d been a carefree, single thirty-year-old, who knew? Temptation might have overcome good sense. But she wasn’t. She had a child, responsibilities. She didn’t act on impulse—she couldn’t act on impulse. She’d done that once when she was a naive nineteen-year-old and she knew all about consequences—not that she’d ever regretted the decision to keep her child.

‘We will, Rachel,’ he said with an unshakeable confidence she found disturbing.

‘I’m a single mother.’

‘So? I’m not applying for the post of father. Do you only date potential daddy figures, Rachel? Had you decided what you were going to do when Steve knocked on your door?’

The sly question slid neatly under her guard. ‘You! Given a choice, I wouldn’t have you within a fifty-mile radius of my daughter!’ His words had held an edge of mockery that made her long to hit him. What did Benedict Arden, the self-confessed hedonist, know about bringing up a child alone?

‘You know something? You’re even more shallow and two-dimensional than office gossip has led me to believe. It may shock you but it’s not all that unusual for people to consider someone else’s feelings other than their own.’

‘You want to know what I think?’ He remained palpably unmoved by her passionate annihilation of his character.

‘Would it make any difference if I said no?’

‘I think you’d decided to open the door to Steve, and not just to prove you’re not a snob.’

Rachel fixed a scornful expression on her face, though she knew his words would return to haunt her when she was alone later. Steve hadn’t existed but this man did and he had all the same bold sexuality. She instinctively knew that Benedict Arden was the more dangerous of the two.

‘You’re flesh and blood, not a machine; you can’t control your feelings. You’re a single woman who happens to have a child. You’re never going to marry good old Nigel, because when it comes right down to it, despite all his admirable qualities, he bores you rigid.’ He nodded with satisfaction as a revealingly guilty expression crept across her features. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything that will emotionally scar your daughter, I’m asking you to break bread with me and possibly open a bottle of wine—even two if you’re feeling reckless.’

‘Do you always do exactly what you want?’ she asked resentfully.

An odd expression flickered across his face, deepening the lines around his mouth and bringing an inexplicable bleakness to his eyes. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ he said cryptically. He pulled at the silk tie neatly knotted around his neck as if the constriction suddenly bothered him. ‘Are you free tonight?’

‘I don’t even like you.’ His mercurial temperament made it hard to keep up with his chain of thought.

‘Liking will come—I’m a very likeable guy; ask anyone.’ His smile held an attractive degree of self-mockery. ‘We could settle for mutual attraction for starters. Think about it,’ he advised. He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. ‘The meeting with Kurt is in twenty minutes—right?’

Rachel glanced at her own watch and realised with a sense of shock that she’d forgotten completely about the morning’s tight schedule.

‘Yes,’ she said uncertainly.

‘When I had dealings with him last year he brought his own translator; you must have made an impression. You’re fluent in German?’ He stood up and Rachel followed suit. The switch into impersonal mode had been subtle but distinct.

‘German, Italian and French,’ she confirmed. When the translator hadn’t turned up she’d enjoyed the opportunity to utilise her skills.

She ought to have felt happy now they were on ground she felt confident about; she knew she was good at her job. Albert had taken over a portion of Benedict’s work, which was mainly corporate law, whilst he’d been out of the country, but this particular client had worked with Benedict before and wanted him to take charge now he was back in harness. She’d had the impression that Albert had been more than happy to relinquish the complicated case.

The client also wanted her, so she’d been transferred too to stand in for Benedict Arden’s PA who was taking annual leave. At the time she’d been quite happy to agree. At the time she hadn’t known who Benedict Arden was.

‘Why aren’t you working as a translator?’

‘I did when Charlie was a baby—manuscripts mostly.’

‘From home?’ She nodded. ‘That must have been quite an isolating experience.’

His perception startled her. ‘When childcare became easier I worked for a law firm near home.’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Shropshire.’

She paused, realising with a sense of shock how adept he was at drawing out information without revealing anything himself. Or maybe not—the memory of that bitter expression in his eyes when he’d implied he would have preferred not to be here flickered into her mind. She wondered whether she’d interpreted his economic words correctly. Was he already disillusioned with his career or did it simply interfere with his taste for the high life?

‘That’s where the aunt brought you up. And would I be way off the mark if I suggested this aunt wasn’t too keen on men?’

‘Experience taught me to be cautious, not indoctrination.’

‘Charlie’s father?’

‘My daughter is not a subject I discuss with strangers.’

‘You’re the subject I’m interested in, but if it makes you feel happier I’ll put that on hold.’

It didn’t make her feel happier but she welcomed the breathing space. She soon learnt, as she worked in close contact with him throughout the day, that, though she might doubt his dedication, his competence was undeniable. He caught on fast and had a knack of homing in on small but significant details that would take most people hours of arduous toil to discover. There had been none of the languid playboy about the man she’d worked with today, and despite herself she found the seeds of admiration germinating.

‘We work well together, don’t you think?’ She slid the last file into its place and didn’t respond even though she was overwhelmingly conscious of his presence. ‘Don’t tell Mags I said that; she’ll think I’m being disloyal. What time shall I pick you up?’

‘Pick me up?’ She couldn’t delay looking up; there was nothing left to fuss about with on her neat desk—where was an errant paper clip when she needed it?

‘For dinner.’

‘It’s a girls’ night in with a pizza take-away, and even if it wasn’t I don’t want to go out with you.’

‘Staying in would suit me.’

‘I’m trying to be polite.’

‘Don’t worry about manners; you should have left half an hour ago. This is your own time—be as rude as you like,’ he said generously.

‘Why are you doing this?’

He seemed to consider the question seriously and she had the fleeting impression that he was almost as puzzled as she was. ‘Hormones?’

It wasn’t the reply she’d expected and she almost laughed out loud. That might be construed as encouragement, however, so she carefully wiped all trace of amusement from her face.

‘Are you just not used to being knocked back? Is that what this is about? Are you one of those men who’s more interested in a difficult chase? You lose interest once you’ve caught your prey?’

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