by Kim Lawrence
‘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 th
e 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—’
