by Kim Lawrence
‘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?’
‘In answer to your first question I’ve had my fair share of rejection…’
‘Sure…’ she drawled.
‘Your disbelief is very flattering.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ Her aching jaw told her she was grating her teeth again.
‘I’d enjoy accepting your surrender as much as you’d enjoy offering it.’ The heat coursed through her body so unexpectedly, the breath was trapped in her suddenly tight chest. She was angry with herself for allowing the sudden mental image of ‘surrender’ to throw her into such total confusion.
‘But all that stuff about the chase being more fun is pure junk. As to the endurance of these feelings, who can ever tell how long that will last?’
Surrender! Was she really some sort of pathetic creature who fantasised about surrendering to male dominance?
‘Give me strength.’ The ring of defiance she heard in her own voice was deeply disturbing. ‘Are we talking hours or days here?’ she hurried on, wanting to erase the sound of her own lack of conviction.
‘Does durability lend respectability to sex? I can guarantee quality, not—’
‘Staying power?’ she suggested, sliding her arm into the tailored jacket that matched her trousers.
‘Here, let me.’ She either had to comply or indulge in an undignified scuffle so she willed herself to accept his help passively.
‘Can’t I tempt you?’
There was the faintest tremor in her fingers as she fumbled over the buttons of her jacket. Benedict remained standing behind her, his hands still at either side of her shoulders. Despite the gap of air that separated them she could almost feel the imprint of his fingers; it was quite a bizarre sensation. Was this the same sort of phantom pain amputees suffered? What a ridiculous analogy, she told herself, irritated by the whimsical idea; he’s not part of my body. He could be. Shock at the mental picture that accompanied this maverick thought made her suck in air through her flared nostrils and extinguished the dreamy, unfocused expression in her eyes.
Even as she turned to look at him and firmly shake her head in refusal, the honest answer to his question was ringing in her mind. Not only could he tempt her, he did. Even though she knew he was shallow, deceitful, self-indulgent and definitely not for the likes of her, she actually wanted—no, wanted didn’t begin to cover the craving that had taken over her body. Her treacherous hormones had conspired against her.
As devastating as this sudden self-awareness was, she was determined to keep it in proportion and not be overwhelmed—she could cope. Her intellect and emotions weren’t involved; she could rise above what amounted to basic lust.
‘Tell Charlie that Steve sends his love,’ Benedict called after his secretary.
It looked to him as though she was about to break all records for escaping from the building. Or was it just him she was trying to escape? Whistling softly to himself as he pondered this question, he walked back into the inner office.
CHAPTER THREE
‘WHERE are you off to?’
Rachel registered that the solid object she had walked into was the chest of her temporary boss. ‘S-sorry,’ she gasped. So much for the cool, professional distance she’d vowed to keep. After a single morning of detachment she was flinging herself into his arms.
She was seized by a sudden strong and bizarre urge to blurt out her troubles. This is the wrong person and wrong place to indulge in an orgy of shared burdens, Rachel, she told herself firmly as she attempted unsuccessfully to pull clear of the protective circle of his arms. She’d learnt to handle life’s crises alone some time ago.
‘Is it the appeal of sandwiches in the park? I’d join you myself if I hadn’t already promised to lunch with the revered parent.’ The quizzical, teasing expression left his face as he took in her pale features. ‘What’s wrong, what’s happened?’ he demanded, taking her by the shoulders. The smell of the soft, lightly floral perfume she used tantalised his nostrils. That haunted expression in her wide eyes was doing the strangest things to him.
‘I’m sorry but I have to go… Charlie…it’s an emergency. I left you a note… I have to go.’
Hands flat against his chest, she tried to push past. God, what must he think of her? Only their second day working together and she was running off. She didn’t care what he thought of her; there was such a thing as priorities. He’d have to wait for explanations.
‘Hold on, what’s wrong?’
‘I know it’s not convenient, but I—’
‘Forget about what’s convenient and tell me what’s wrong.’
‘The headmistress rang; Charlie’s at the casualty department…’
She didn’t get any further. ‘Which hospital?’ He nodded when she told him. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’
‘What…?’ On the very few occasions when her meticulous childcare arrangements had not stretched to cover a domestic disaster that required her presence, at best her previous bosses had displayed impatience; at worst they’d been openly critical of her lack of professionalism.
‘I thought you were in a hurry.’
‘I am.’ A sudden smile of pure relief spread across her face. The journey by underground and taxi would have taken her over an hour, with every second an agony of anticipation. ‘I can’t impose,’ she began doubtfully.
‘Shut up, Rachel; I’m trying to show you what a nice guy I am. Don’t spoil it. A lift should be good for at least a dinner date.’ His mouth curved in a lopsided smile and when she looked half suspiciously into them his eyes were kind and concerned, not predatory.
‘On me,’ she promised fervently.
Seeing the glow of gratitude in her marvellous eyes, Benedict decided he might just have undervalued his services. She didn’t object to the light touch of his guiding hand on her shoulder as they left the building.
He racked his brains to recall one instance when he’d actually put himself out to please one of his lady friends and failed, but then the disasters in his previous lady friends’ lives had tended to lean in the direction of broken nails or an inability to get a hair appointment, not hospitalised children!
Rachel pulled aside the cubicle curtain to reveal a pathetic sight.
‘Oh, Charlie!’
‘I know I look terrible, but the hair will grow back; they had to shave off the little bits to stitch up the cuts. The blood’s from my nose.’ She touched the gory front of her once pristine school shirt. ‘I’m not cut anywhere and I didn’t break anything.’
‘Congratulations,’ Rachel said drily as she sat down on the edge of the trolley.
‘They want to throw me out so I must be fit.’
‘And does Mrs Faulkner want to throw you out too?’ When Rachel had left the headmistress in the reception area with Benedict the lady had looked almost as stressed as she felt.
‘I hope so. It’s a crummy school. They all think they’re so smart.’
‘And you don’t?’ Charlie’s new punk-spiky hair made her look incredibly young.
‘That’s different,’ she said impatiently.
‘But fighting, Charlie?’
The thin shoulders hunched defensively. ‘He was much bigger than me; I wouldn’t hit a little kid. And I didn’t hurt him; I fell down the steps before I had the chance to,’ she admitted honestly.
‘Mrs French?’ The nurse stepped into the room. ‘If she gets any of the symptoms on this card—’ Rachel skimmed anxiously over the card which wa
s pushed into her hand ‘—bring her back. Ten days for the sutures. Your GP will remove them; here’s a letter for him. Sorry to rush you but we’re busy this afternoon.’
She’d whipped the paper sheet off the trolley which Charlie had just vacated and disappeared before Rachel could mumble her thanks.
The headmistress was deep in conversation with Benedict when they returned to the reception area; she looked almost animated as she listened to what he was saying and a lot more relaxed. For once Rachel had reason to be grateful for his effortless charm; she needed the head mistress as softened up as possible. This was one tête-à-tête she wasn’t looking forward to.
‘Miss French, perhaps we could have a word?’ Her eyes slid to Charlie. ‘Alone?’
‘I know you don’t get into cars with strangers, Charlie, but with your mother’s permission perhaps you’d like to look over mine,’ Benedict said.
‘What do you drive?’
‘A Mercedes.’
‘What sort?’
He told her, and her eyes widened in admiration.
‘Wow!’ She looked hopefully in her mother’s direction.
When Rachel returned to Benedict’s car a few minutes later her daughter was deep in what appeared to be a technical discussion with Benedict.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said, looking through the open window of the passenger seat.
‘I wasn’t bored,’ Charlie said happily. ‘He doesn’t know anything about this car,’ she informed her embarrassed mother.
‘I do now,’ Benedict said drily.
‘I was apologising to Mr Arden, not you, Charlie. We’ll get a taxi home of course.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Rachel.’ Before Rachel had an opportunity to complain at this form of address she was distracted.
‘Rachel!’
She spun around, startled at the sound of a familiar voice. ‘Nigel!’ she said, staring at him in blank amazement. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I work here, remember? More to the point, what are you doing here?’ His expression changed as he recognised the small, spiky-headed figure in the front seat of the car. ‘Charlie’s been in the wars, I see. Why didn’t you ring me, darling?’
So that was why the name of the hospital had sounded so familiar. The sound of the endearment made her feel oddly embarrassed.
‘It was all such a rush. I got a phone call at work and Mr Arden kindly offered me a lift. How are you feeling? Is the cold better?’ How could she admit she hadn’t even thought about Nigel? She’d forgotten he even worked in the hospital!
‘I’m fine…fine,’ he said hurriedly. ‘That was kind of Mr Arden. Have me met?’ he asked, looking directly at Benedict, a puzzled frown pleating his brow.
Rachel held her breath.
‘It’s possible,’ Benedict admitted calmly. ‘Ben Arden’s the name.’
‘Any relation to Sir Stuart Arden?’
‘My father.’
‘I can see the resemblance.’ Benedict nodded neutrally; he knew he was a genetic throwback to his Italian maternal grandfather and bore no resemblance to his very Anglo-Saxon-looking parent. ‘We’re in the same golf club,’ Nigel explained affably.
Rachel could see the umbrella of social acceptability obviously extended to Sir Stuart’s offspring.
‘Give me a minute, Rachel, and I’ll take you home.’ He reached in the breast pocket of his white coat to retrieve his urgently buzzing pager.
‘Don’t worry yourself; it’s on my way,’ Benedict assured him.
Rachel met Benedict’s benign smile with a look of seething frustration. Now that the immediate panic was over the last thing in the world she wanted was to get in that car with him.
‘That’s very good of you,’ Nigel responded, with a grateful smile. ‘I’ll ring you tonight, Rachel.’
Whilst she was receiving a peck on the cheek—Nigel wasn’t the most tactile person in the world—she was overwhelmingly aware of the brown eyes watching her every move. This awareness probably had something to do with the fact that she turned her head and kissed a somewhat surprised Nigel full on the lips.
He looked bemused but pleased, and Rachel immediately felt guilty for using him. She was going to have to put a stop to this—she should have already. The knowledge weighed on her conscience like a stone.
‘Slide into the back, Charlie, and let your mum sit up front.’
Rachel saw that Nigel looked a bit startled when the child immediately did as she was bid. ‘Maybe a knock on the head wasn’t such a bad thing,’ he joked softly to Rachel as she slipped reluctantly into the soft cream leather upholstery beside Benedict. Nigel waved them off cheerfully.
‘What did he say to make you look so murderous?’ Benedict asked curiously as they pulled away.
‘It was nothing,’ she said shortly, avoiding his probing eyes. She told herself she was being over-sensitive—Nigel had only been joking. She knew she shouldn’t compare Benedict’s light touch with her daughter to Nigel’s heavy-handed approach, but it was hard not to contrast their very different styles.
‘I prefer Steve. Benedict.’ Charlie screwed up her small nose, her expression speaking volumes.
‘My friends call me Ben if that’s any help.’
‘Ben.’ She tried it out experimentally. ‘Not bad,’ she conceded. ‘I thought it was cool when Mum said she was working for you.’
‘Mr Arden to you,’ Rachel put in sharply. Trust Charlie to take a shine to him; that was all she needed. Where was that well-known disagreeable personality when she needed it?
‘Mum was really mad when she found out you’d fooled us,’ Charlie piped up from the back. ‘I don’t think she’s forgiven you yet.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Take a nap, Charlie; you look tired,’ Rachel observed hopefully. She knew from experience that short of gagging her child there wasn’t much chance of stemming the flow of indiscreet comments.
‘I wasn’t worried about you, like Mum.’
‘You weren’t?’
‘No. I saw the real expensive watch you were wearing so I knew either you were a good thief or an eccentric rich guy.’ With a satisfied smile she settled into her seat.
‘You worried about me?’ Rachel could hear the slightly smug smile in his deep, expressive voice. Why did this man’s voice have the same effect on her as half a bottle of red wine? she wondered resentfully. It did have a marvellous texture; she found herself whimsically likening his warm, rich tones to being wrapped up in a rich, luxurious velvet sheet and pulled herself up short. The less she thought about sheets and Benedict Arden in the same context the better!
‘No more than I do any other destitute social outcast,’ she observed with a dispassion she was far from feeling.
She’d never admit it was the man more than his condition that had got under her skin, but fantasising about someone she’d never meet again had seemed a fairly harmless thing to do. There was safety in distance and she found herself wishing she had more than a couple of feet to protect her right now.
They continued to travel in silence for several minutes. In the back Charlie fell asleep. When she noticed this Rachel worriedly fished the card the hospital had given her out of her bag and scanned it.
“‘Sleepy or difficult to rouse”.’ She read the words out loud and glanced anxiously at her sleeping daughter. ‘Do you think…?’
‘She’s just asleep, that’s all, Rachel. She’s had quite a day.’
Strange how a second opinion made things slip back into perspective. Rachel’s smile was strained; she took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She tried really hard not to be a fussy, over-protective mother, but sometimes…
‘I expect you think I’m just a neurotic mum.’
‘I think you’ve perfected the mum part, Rachel, but I think you’ve neglected the woman part.’
His words startled her and made her feel uneasy. ‘You’re saying I’m not feminine.’
‘You’re about the most feminine fema
le I’ve ever met.’ Her stomach went into its now familiar acrobatic contortions as his dark eyes moved warmly over her face and lower… Give me strength—please, she prayed without much confidence that anyone was listening. In the wider view her libido probably came pretty low down priority-wise.
‘You’re just overcompensating for being a single parent. When did you last do something for yourself?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean something spontaneous, selfish…’
‘I’m not a spontaneous sort of person.’
‘You must have been once.’ She saw his eyes touch the image of her sleeping daughter in his rear-view mirror and her expression grew chilly.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘Granted,’ he acknowledged easily. He changed tack. ‘How do you think Charlie will feel if in eight years’ time she realises that you’ve built your whole life around her needs?’
‘I haven’t, I don’t!’ she protested angrily. He knew nothing about her—nothing! She recalled uneasily that Aunt Janet—more tactfully, of course—had insinuated something similar last year.
‘It’s highly likely she’ll feel guilty when she wants to be independent and go her own way. You’re not doing her any favours by living your life vicariously through her.’
‘I don’t!’
‘Not yet, but you have definite leanings in that direction.’
‘You know nothing about being a parent.’
‘Perhaps an impartial critic is what you need.’ It occurred to him that the impartial bit was getting less accurate by the minute.
‘Charlie will always be the most important person in my life,’ she breathed passionately.
He nodded slowly as if he understood her passion. His next words took her totally by surprise.
‘Have you got a life, Rachel?’
‘I used to think so until you turned up and with a few words of worldly wisdom showed me the error of my ways.’ She shot an acid look at his perfect profile. ‘You telling me how to live! If it wasn’t so ridiculous it would be laughable. You don’t live on the same planet as the rest of us; you’re just a pampered—’
