The flirting game seemed to have been going well. She didn't want his mood to change to impatience, and by the look of things it was doing just that, but she couldn't answer his questions, either.
She gulped. Things were getting scary. Maybe she should give him one last chance to redeem himself. She would casually mention his wife, the missing Fleur, and judge his reaction. If he explained why she wasn't around, and the explanation was reasonable and nothing like her own wild and dark imaginings, then she would revise her opinion and mark his flirtatious behaviour down to harmless habit.
But if he tried to tell her that his wife didn't understand him, or wasn't too important in his life, then she would know the leopard hadn't changed his spots and would have to move in for the kill.
'Surely you won't be able to make a decision on your future home without having Mrs Helliar's opinion?' There, despite the way he had never once, in any connection, mentioned his absent wife, her question, in the circumstances, would seem perfectly natural. She watched his face for any signs of awkwardness but he merely smiled dismissively, lifting those wide, hard shoulders in a lazy shrug.
'Why on earth would you think that? As she'll never spend more than one month in twelve in the UK she'd be the first to agree that her opinion on mine and Sophie's future home was irrelevant. Now, shall I make coffee, or will you?'
He had had his chance to redeem himself, and failed. His message was clear. He and his wife were as good as separated. He could do as he liked. His wife's opinion didn't count.
It was now time for action, not words, she decided feverishly. And, although her heart was racing, by a supreme effort of will she made her movements slow and slinky as she got to her feet and stretched languorously, her hands loosely clasped behind her head.
'No coffee for me, thanks. I'm going to amble around the garden. After that steak, I've got a feeling I could do with the exercise.'
She lowered her arms quickly. The way his eyes made a slow journey of discovery over the contour lines of her body made her stomach clench, the ferocity of the spasm taking her by surprise, making her voice sound as if it had been put through a grater as she invited belatedly, 'Coming?' and turned, swaying slowly over the terrace, one half of her hoping he'd take her up on the invitation and follow, the other half desperately praying he wouldn't.
He had caught up with her by the time she'd negotiated the shallow flight of steps that led down to the lawn. 'Watch where you're going!' Dusk was gathering, shadows deepening, drawing together. Her narrow, naked feet glimmered palely against the grass. 'There could be stones lying around. You might cut yourself.' An inane remark if ever there was one, made to cover the overwhelming impulse he had to lift her into his arms, carry her to his bed and make love to her until she knew darn well she belonged to him.
What the hell was he thinking of? Of course she didn't belong to him! He didn't know where the insane idea had come from—normal male lust for a rav-ishingly attractive woman didn't usually turn him into a fool, for pity's sake! Yet was it so foolish, so impossible?
He cleared his throat of some annoying constriction. 'We need to talk, Caroline. We really do.' It was way past time he levelled with her, told her—among other things—that he knew who she was. Get all that stuff out of the way, cards on the table, and then get on to what he darn well knew was a growing mental and physical attraction for him and, he suspected, for her, too.
Her feet shuffled to a halt, her toes curling in the cool green grass. Saying her name in full like that made everything seem more serious somehow. And talking wasn't on her agenda.
She flinched as he placed his hands on either side of her waist. The touch of his skin on the bare flesh of her midriff sent a massive shock wave through her, paralysing her. She couldn't say a word; only the faintest of moans escaped her parted lips when the pressure of those beautifully crafted hands increased as they tugged her into the lean strength of his body.
His body heat was drugging. She couldn't move, could only drift closer into him, her breath sobbing in her lungs as he made a growling noise in his throat—as if he had lost patience with himself, or her, or both of them—then brought his head down to take her parted lips with the sensual insistence of his.
As a kiss it was intense and primal, her fevered, instinctive response making her realise at last what desire was, how one particular man could set the senses soaring, how passion could leave the most upright woman alive contemplating moral bankruptcy!
Caro didn't know what was wrong with her. She was supposed to get him burning for her, not the other way around!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Caro woke to the sound of Sophie doing her best to out-sing the dawn chorus.
'Wow, and aren't we the early riser!' Caro hoisted herself up on one elbow and brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Six a.m. and the baby was wide awake, bright as a button, and her nanny, although she had hardly slept at all, had slept alone, and for that she had to be very, very thankful.
Because at one stage of the proceedings it had seemed almost a foregone conclusion that she would be sharing the double in the master bedroom. A kind of madness had overtaken her and she went hot and shaky all over now just remembering.
As his hands had begun a lazy exploration of her back, sliding beneath her top, stroking down over her shoulder blades then curving around her ribcage, the restless heat of passion had flamed fiercely inside her, driving her to press herself against his aroused body, everything inside her melting, shaking with need as he'd whispered thickly against her quivering mouth, 'See what you do to me? Stop me if this is too soon for you, but do it now, while I'm still capable of using some self-control.'
The balls of his thumbs had been describing soft circles on the underswell of both of her suddenly desperately aching breasts and she'd wanted him to make love to her, wanted it as she'd never wanted anything before, and the self-betrayal would have been complete if those words of his hadn't finally got through the dizzily spinning remnants of her mind.
Something had frozen inside her. She was sure her heart had stopped beating. She'd snatched at the escape route he had offered and pushed out shakily, 'You're right. It is too soon...much too soon...I'm sorry, Finn...' And she'd jerked away from him, walking back towards the cottage on legs that felt decidedly tottery, not daring to look at him because if she had and he'd held out his hands and spoken her . name she would have hurled herself back into his arms, all wisdom gone, her integrity in shreds. Such was the power of what he did to her.
And because the warm dark night had been still and silent Caro had heard the harshly painful intake of his breath but had made herself ignore it. So he was hurting—well, so was she—but, for pity's sake, she had been a whisper away from making love with a married man! The very thought gave her the moral shudders.
What type of alchemist was he, for goodness' sake? How black was the darkness of the spell he had cast?
Blinking rapidly, she pushed herself out of bed, away from her shameful recollections, and found a smile of sorts for his delightful baby.
'OK, sweetheart, if you promise to be quiet about it, we'll have a bath and start our day,' Caro promised in a husky whisper as she lifted the bright-eyed child from her cot. 'We don't want to wake Daddy, do we?'
Heaven forbid! Six o'clock in the morning was far too early to have to face him. She needed time to get her head together. One thing she did know, she assured herself as she plopped Sophie down on the floor while she collected up fresh day clothes for them both: things had to be brought to a head very soon.
She wanted it over. She needed it to be over. She wanted to get her life back.
Besides, the game she was playing was beginning to look scary. She was beginning to like him, to enjoy being around him, despite all the rotten things she knew about his character.
And worse, much, much worse, she had enjoyed having him touch her, caress her body, kiss her, and to her eternal shame she had w
anted very much more. Something had happened when he'd held her in his arms—the birth of an elemental sexual chemistry that made her forget who he was and what he was, and why she was here. And that wasn't part of her game plan.
So the sooner everything was brought to a head the better, she reminded herself, hurrying her charge through the ritual of bathing and dressing, making sure what noise they made was as muted as possible.
'Shall we have breakfast in the garden?' Caro whispered as she carried Sophie to the head of the twisty stairs. She was going to have to flirt with Finn all day, lead him to believe she was just dying to jump into his bed, but she wanted some respite—she deserved some respite; besides, she'd walked away, hadn't she, told him it was all happening too soon?
Now she was going to have to convince him she'd had second thoughts and couldn't wait—she had all that work to do over again!
'Da-da, Da-da, Da-deee—!' Sophie's sudden, ecstatic shrieks made Caro feel ill with nervous tension.
She had hoped so desperately that he wouldn't wake for at least another hour.
After the intimacy of that physical encounter last night the thought of coming face to face with him again was deeply embarrassing. As the baby strained against her, holding her arms out to her father, Caro turned reluctantly and felt her face go red.
Finn Helliar was obviously on his way to the bathroom she and Sophie had recently vacated. Finn Helliar was almost naked. Cotton boxer shorts did nothing to detract from the masculine grace of that perfect body. Big-boned and strong, he carried no surplus flesh. Just looking at him made Caro's mouth go dry.
'Mornin', girls.' He looked aggravatingly relaxed—far too relaxed to have spent the night twitching and pillow-punching the way she had—his eyes a sleepy silver gleam. Or was that sleepy look due to lust? Could well be, Caro decided, her heart giving a sickening thump as those slumberous eyes slid lazily up and down the length of her shorts-and-T-shirt-clad body.
He took a step towards them, leaning forward to drop loving kisses on his little daughter's rosy cheek, and this close Caro could see every pore on his firm, tanned skin, the tiny laughter-lines at the corner of his eyes, the length of those thickly curving black lashes, the hard sweep of his stubble-darkened jaw.
This close. Almost as close as they'd been last night when he'd kissed her, stroked her disgracefully willing body. Close, intimately so. And just for a few breathless moments, as he leant forward to kiss the child she held in her arms, it felt as if they were a single entity, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder completing the circle. Inexplicably, for some remote and crazy reason, it made her want to cry.
'Did I hear you say something about breakfast in the garden? Sounds good to me. Toast and coffee will do for me. Ten minutes?'
He stepped back and the illusion of family intimacy was gone, the vacuum filled by another type of intimacy altogether. Elemental sexual desire glinted in his eyes as they transmitted a silent, timeless message deep into her own, making her body go limp and boneless, making her flesh ache for him.
Then it was gone, for him at least, gone in the flash of a wide white smile as he turned slowly away, the lean, spare breadth of his shoulders very effectively underlining his male dominance, the power he must know he held over her senses, leaving her trembling because that elemental desire was still there for her; for her it hadn't gone at all.
Not trusting her shaky legs to support her and the baby, Caro put Sophie down on her plump little legs, and, holding hands tightly, they bumped down the twisty staircase on their bottoms, giggling wildly, making a game of it.
An undignified but safe descent, and with Sophie crawling around her feet in the cute but cramped kitchen the makings of breakfast were quickly assembled—more quickly than her return to a state of equilibrium, a state she had barely and precariously achieved when Finn entered the tiny room and sent her senses haywire all over again.
He was dressed in lightweight, stone-coloured, narrow-fitting trousers and a collarless black cotton shirt, his dark hair curling damply into the nape of his neck, and his pervasive masculinity overwhelmed her all over again, plunging her straight back to square one.
She felt shattered and stupid—too stupid to do more than swallow convulsively when he gave the tray she'd loaded with Sophie's cereal and orange juice and coffee and toast for the adults the once-over and told her, 'I'll take it out. Bring Sophie, would you?'
She did as she was told, like a good little nanny, desperately wishing she didn't have to. She wanted out. Although she shouldn't be complaining, she reminded herself tartly; this farce was her idea. And the only way to get even the smallest amount of revenge was to stick to her plan.
'You know, I could get used to this.' Finn sat at the picnic table under a cloudless blue sky and took his daughter on his knee while Caro tipped cereal and milk into her bowl.
'Who couldn't? Until it rains—or winter comes!' She smiled, forcing herself to appear relaxed and natural. She poured coffee for herself and Finn and sat down opposite him and Sophie, cradling the steaming cup in both hands. 'But yes, it is a lovely morning and the garden's really pretty. I wonder how it's kept so nice—with the owners only coming here at weekends?'
She was babbling and she knew it, and he knew it too. She could tell he did by the way his eyes smiled into hers, his mouth curving into a slow, sexy smile.
'Someone from the village comes up once or twice a week and does the necessary, I believe,' he told her, his gaze drifting down to her mouth, lingering, and back to hold her eyes again. 'But I wasn't talking about our surroundings, or the glorious weather. I meant I could get used to the three of us being together.'
And what about your wife—you adulterous louse?
Caro swallowed the seething words with a mouthful of coffee. That reminder would come later, hopefully when he'd got to the point of believing the new nanny was his for the taking. Until then she had to smile sweetly and console herself with the knowledge that before either of them was very much older he too would know the pain and humiliation of being dumped!
She passed him the toast, wondering how a guy who looked so good on the outside could be rotten where it really mattered. He was a deceiver, a philanderer, and that made him ugly.
She ignored his hateful comment and managed to ask him smoothly, 'Are you viewing both the remaining properties today? Are we all going? And, if so, should I pack a picnic, or won't that be necessary?' Tilting her head on one side, she looked at him through lowered lashes, hoping to give him the impression that last night's 'too soon' could be today's 'maybe'.
The look he gave her was intense. His mouth tightened momentarily, as if he was about to say something of great significance, and then his wide shoulders visibly relaxed beneath the soft black cotton as he said, merely, 'Of course we're all going. I'll value your opinion. I'll pack some soft drinks and fruit in the cool-box if you'll get Sophie's things together.'
* * *
'I'm not going to have to look any further!'
The house named, strangely, Mytton Wells, was perfect. Finn knew he could search for a hundred years and still not find anything better as a home for Sophie to grow up in. And the strips of woodland and the flower-filled meadows that enclosed the house and more formal garden areas would be paradise for a growing child.
They had just finished exploring the extent of the grounds and from here, as they were exiting the yew-hedge-enclosed rose garden and joining a broad grass path that wound its way up to the house through double herbacious borders, Mytton Wells was revealed in all its eighteenth-century charm.
'Like our new house, Sophie?' He set his baby daughter down on her feet then straightened, draping an arm round Caro's slim shoulders. The casual intimacy seemed like the right, the only thing to do as he enquired softly, 'And what about you? What do you think of the place, Caro?'
Her opinion was important. She was important— crazy though that might seem in view of the short time he'd known her, a
nd her seeming reluctance to trust him with the truth about herself.
'It's fantastic' What else could she say? Mytton Wells was fantastic, as was the day, the time they'd spent excitedly exploring all the rooms together, poking their noses into every nook and cranny, exclaiming over the few bits and pieces of junk the previous inhabitants had left behind.
Fantastic. A fantasy. Something that couldn't be real or true. No matter how strong the feeling, there was nothing real about the feeling of joy and contentment, of coming home and belonging to each other, belonging to this place. Merely a fantasy.
And standing here with him, on this perfect, golden day, his body close, his arm around her as they watched the bright-haired child toddle along the wide grass path then sit down with a bump, her squeal of laughter like a silver bell, made tears spring scaldingly to her eyes because it was all a lie.
'Exactly.' The desire to haul her close against the length of his body and kiss her until they were both reeling, the ravenous hunger for her that clawed at him every time he saw her, touched her, or merely thought about her, was getting to be well-nigh unmanageable. He was going to have to do something about it, and soon.
He moved away from her, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his lightweight trousers. 'I'll fetch the things from the car; we might as well have our picnic here. And while I'm doing that I'll use the mobile to contact the owners of the place we were due to view this afternoon. Now we've seen Mytton Wells there's no point in looking at anything else.'
He'd been moving away from her, little by little, as he spoke, distancing himself physically because he found he couldn't trust himself when they were close. And Caro tore her eyes from him and fixed them on . his child, now crawling across the path towards the flowery borders like a steam train.
'Fine. We'll find somewhere out of the sun. That big cedar at the side of the house, for instance?' She didn't wait for his reply, just scooped up Sophie and held the adorable scrap close to her heart and made her way to the end of the path, making a right-angle turn to take her to the side of the house, in the opposite direction to the one he was taking.
The Millionaire's Baby Page 7
