by Kim Lawrence
‘No, of course not; you and Annabel were very kind to me. I was ashamed, frightened. I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been so stupid. Later, when I heard about the crash, I thought about letting you know, but I thought you might think I was after… Well, it would have looked pretty suspicions: I pop up complete with child when Raoul is no longer there to deny or confirm my story.’
‘Charlie’s eyes are all the proof you needed,’ he said, his frown deepening. ‘My family have done you harm, Rachel. Helping you would have been a privilege, not just a duty.’
Rachel’s throat was suddenly choked with emotion at the sincerity in this man’s voice. It was amazing that two brothers could be so dissimilar, she reflected sadly.
‘And this man who looks at me with murder in his eyes—what is he to you?’
‘Benedict! He wouldn’t…’ There was only one other couple on the dance floor and she had an unobstructed view of their table. She saw Benedict’s face and changed her mind—it looked distinctly possible that he would! There was nothing sophisticated about his expression—it was one of crude, violent disapproval.
‘Perhaps he doesn’t like you dancing with other men.’
‘It’s none of his business who I dance with,’ she responded, her mouth settling into a combative line. He expected her to get her mind around his colourful past; how perverse could you get? Even if he had assumed that Christophe was her former lover—and from his confrontational attitude that seemed very likely—he had no right to come over all possessive.
A sceptical expression stirred in Christophe’s eyes, but he maintained a diplomatic silence. ‘I would like to make amends—too late, I know. Don’t!’ he said, pressing a finger to her lips, which were parted to refuse. ‘The request is selfish also. Annabel and I couldn’t have children.’ Behind the stoical acceptance Rachel had a glimpse of pain and her tender heart ached.
‘There is no young blood in our family and the sound of a child’s voice would bring us all delight. Don’t deny my mother her only grandchild, Rachel. You and Charlie could visit us in France; we could all get to know one another.’
‘Charlie and I don’t have any family either.’ She couldn’t believe it was this simple! Suddenly there was a grandmother, a whole family Charlie had never met. Not in her wildest dreams had she pictured such ready acceptance.
Christophe sighed. ‘Thank you, Rachel,’ he said simply. ‘Now you’d better tell me your address before I return you to your young man.’
‘He’s not mine ‘
‘I think he might dispute that,’ came the dry reply.
‘I want Ben to say goodnight.’ Charlie wielded her dripping toothbrush like a conductor’s baton and her attitude was just as imperious.
It’s nice to be wanted, Rachel thought as she watched Ben sketch a courtly bow. ‘Your wish, my lady, is my command,’ he said solemnly.
She bent to receive her daughter’s kiss, worry behind her strained smile. It would be kinder to Charlie if she severed her connections with Benedict Arden cleanly. She’d never seen Charlie take such a shine to anyone before. It would be selfish and weak to listen to the insidious voice in her head that told her to forget her pride and enjoy what little time they had together. Deep down she had no doubt that had she been single that would have been exactly what she would be doing now—and to hell with the consequences!
When Benedict reappeared a few moments later the careful words of her ‘it was nice while it lasted’ speech fragmented. Looking at him made her feel weak and irresolute.
‘Ben, I…er…that is…’ She bit her lip and tried to reassemble her thoughts. The emptiness inside hurt now. It had always been there, but it was only since Benedict had got a handhold in her life that she’d recognised it for what it was—loneliness. He was going to go away anyway; she might as well feel the pain now as later.
‘He didn’t know about Charlie, did he?’
There was no question in her mind concerning the identity of the ‘he’ he referred to. The abrupt, expressionless accusation had robbed her of what little brain function she had left. He knew…how?
‘No,’ she heard herself confess. ‘I never expected to see him again. He and his wife…’
‘Oh, yes, the wife.’
She hardly noticed the sneer in his voice. Perhaps, she reflected, it would help sort things out in her own mind if she discussed the situation with someone. And Ben seemed to know so…
‘They can’t have any children so Christophe—’
‘I don’t believe this!’
She watched in confusion as Benedict ground his balled fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘Why would he lie? He’s no reason—’
‘No reason!’ he yelled. ‘That’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re obviously prepared to take everything he says at face value. One word from him and you’re prepared to forgive and forget. Haven’t you learnt anything from the past?’ he asked incredulously. His dark eyes moved angrily over her face.
‘It wasn’t Christophe’s fault,’ she protested. She couldn’t blame the man for his brother’s misdeeds.
Benedict sucked in his breath and his slanted cheekbones jutted even harder against the taut flesh of his face. Everything about him seemed tight; the explosive quality in him was tangible.
‘In my book,’ he ground out, ‘a man—an older, married man—who seduces a young girl—scarcely more than a schoolgirl—who is living under his own roof is…’ He tilted his chin to one side as if considering the problem. ‘Responsible,’ he drawled, his eyes shooting smoky fire. ‘I’d say that about covers it. He’s a lot of other things too,’ he lashed from between clenched teeth. ‘But I won’t offend your delicate sensibilities by listing them. Only your feelings aren’t too delicate where he is concerned, are they? The bastard was all over you.
‘How are you going to explain her father’s miraculous resurrection to Charlie? He gets a ready-made family—convenient, to comfort him in his declining years. And they’re not too far away,’ he added viciously. ‘You really do have a thing about older men, don’t you? You’ve got to admire the man,’ he drawled, betraying no sign of that particular emotion. ‘He really does seize the opportunity.’
Too late she realised that Christophe hadn’t been the only one to notice the family resemblance. Whilst Christophe didn’t resemble Raoul in any other way they did share the same distinctive blue eyes—Charlie’s eyes. She’d been so distracted by his unexpected appearance, she hadn’t realised that Ben had seemed unusually withdrawn and quiet on the way home. All the signs had been there—how could she have been so blind?
‘Ben,’ she said urgently.
‘I never had you pegged as gullible, Rachel.’ Obviously listening wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He had a lot to say, though, and the delay in getting it out of his system hadn’t helped any. ‘God, woman, you’re not a green nineteen-year-old now. What is it about this guy that sends your judgement haywire? You’ve been suspicious enough of me. You continually endow my most innocent action with sinister motives.’ Jaw taut, he shook his head disbelievingly. ‘I suppose if he asks you to go to France with him…’
‘He already has.’ She knew now what she had to do.
It might break her heart, but using his misinterpretation of the situation might be the simplest—no, only way she was going to get Benedict Arden out of her life, and get him out for Charlie’s sake she must. Her admission had stopped him dead; it had hurt too, she could see that. Even if his pain could be attributed solely to hurt pride it still made her want to explain.
‘He doesn’t waste much time,’ he said slowly, breaking the stunned silence that had followed her words. ‘And you said— No, don’t bother telling me; it’s obvious what you said.’ He picked his jacket up from the back of the sofa and flung it over his shoulder. ‘You may think you’re mistress material, Rachel, but you’re not.’
Suddenly she couldn’t bear to let him go away thinking… ‘Ben,’ she said urgently, ‘it’s not the way it
seems.’
‘Men like that don’t change, Rachel. Women just like to think they’re the one who will break the pattern.’
His words stopped her in her tracks. ‘You should know,’ she agreed. Could he really not see the irony of his warning?
‘Sure, I’ve seduced women and been seduced in my turn, but I’ve never destroyed anyone—I’m not a user. He’ll break your heart, Rachel—he’s done it before—and who’s going to pick up the pieces?’
‘Not you; you won’t be here.’ You’re the one breaking my heart, you stupid, stupid man, she wanted to scream.
‘But I’m here now.’ A thoughtful expression she didn’t trust entered his eyes. The way his glance moved suggestively over her body was an insult. Insults didn’t usually have this effect on her body, though. His smile was hatefully knowing as she raised her crossed arms to cover her tingling breasts which were only covered by a thin layer of silk. ‘He’s not.’
‘I wish you weren’t,’ she responded with feeling.
‘You weren’t so anxious to get rid of me before the blast from the past reappeared.’
‘You make it sound as though I laid down the red carpet. The way I recall it you’ve conned your way in here each and every time. Never use the truth when a lie will get you where you want to be,’ she sneered.
It hit her forcibly that she’d just given a fairly accurate description of her own behaviour in enforcing Ben’s belief that Christophe was Charlie’s father. If he wondered why she suddenly subsided, blushing guiltily, he didn’t ask.
‘Where I want to be,’ he mused slowly.
Oh, help! Her ribs didn’t feel substantial enough to cage the wild tattoo of her heart. His eyes had turned her resistance to molten desire.
‘I want…’ he said, catching his breath sharply as she nervously touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. ‘I want to be feeling your bare breasts against my chest and I want to be hearing your voice begging…pleading. I want to be inside you, Rachel. Will the truth get me where I want to be this time?’
‘You can’t talk to me like that,’ she gasped. ‘It’s…it’s offensive.’
‘It’s the truth, and you’re not offended, Rachel. You’re aroused.’
The achingly erotic words were swirling around in her head, gathering impetus rather than losing impact as, eyes wide and fearful, pink lips slightly parted, she stared helplessly back at him.
‘So am I.’
Rachel willed her eyes not to drop from his face. She could fell the faint beading of perspiration break out over her upper lip. The conflicting emotions were tearing her to pieces.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she managed hoarsely. I’ll show him I can cope with sexual innuendo—not that there had been much innuendo about his comments, she thought ruefully. Advances didn’t get much more direct!
‘Not just when I’m with you—when I see you. Just thinking about you is enough.’ He gave a sudden hard laugh. ‘And I think about you a lot, Rachel. It conjures up a picture of adolescent excess to bring a smile of superiority to your lovely lips. You’re not smiling. Doesn’t it make you feel powerful?’
Powerful! That was the last thing she felt. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. She felt weak, needy, out of control and likely to fall victim to spontaneous combustion any second. Tiny black specks began to dance before her glazed eyes. It took an immense effort to make the buzzing in her ears diminish to a dull roar.
‘Perhaps, Rachel…’ His tone had dropped to a husky, intimate drawl. The jacket he’d unceremoniously dropped was trampled underfoot as he covered the space between them. She had a whimsical image of him trampling all over her will-power with his handmade size elevens. Rejection wasn’t what he read in her face or body and it showed in his self-assurance.
‘Perhaps my gross, offensive words make you feel hot and…’ He drew a sharp, shuddering breath that involved all the muscles of his impressive chest. ‘I like to think of your body warm and moist…ready for me.’ Hands resting on her shoulders, his fingers stroked her neck.
‘It is.’ Whatever residual defences she’d had had crumbled at the first rasp of his erotic confessions.
He reached for her then, pulling her against him with a hungry desperation. His mouth was greedy and hot as his tongue made a slow, lascivious meal of the inner recesses of her parted lips.
‘Rachel…Rachel.’ He was mumbling her name in between open-mouthed kisses and tantalising soft bites. His hands moved jerkily over her body. One arm swept her closer as it tightened around her slender waist until her weight was almost wholly supported by the strength of his braced legs.
She clung, she whimpered as their embrace grew more frenzied and urgent. The sensual maelstrom carried her along until she had no thought in her head that didn’t involve the taste and texture of the man who held her.
‘Where?’ he said, one arm half out of the shirt she had unbuttoned. ‘Where is your room?’ he panted.
‘Over there.’ She gestured vaguely behind her and her arm was still elegantly curved in a graceful arc over her head as he picked her up. Head back, her body curved with sinuous grace, she felt the dragging weight of her hair as it obeyed gravity.
‘I don’t have a double bed,’ she commented, looking up at him with sultry speculation from her narrow single bed. What would he do next…? Each individual nerve fibre in her body was tensed in pleasurable anticipation.
‘We’ll cope,’ he said confidently, straddling her over his knee. ‘This is pretty; I like this.’ His fingers worked at slipping the rouleau loops that held her pale blue camisole together. He didn’t remove it; he just pushed aside the fabric to reveal the peaks of her engorged breasts. ‘But not as pretty as these.’ He laid his hands at either side of her breasts and examined his prize with enraptured eyes.
Rachel groaned in languid ecstasy as his clever tongue set about paying homage to these twin symbols of her femininity. Her head fell forward, her chin angled against the top of his bent head. She let her hands slide, palms flat, from his shoulders down the marvellous sculpted perfection of his back. The action brought her up on her knees. Face still buried between her breasts, Benedict growled and slid his hands under her raised buttocks and a sharp jerk brought her hard against the pulsing evidence of his arousal.
His hands still cradled her hips as he fell backwards on the narrow mattress. Rachel found herself astride his half-naked body. ‘Take my clothes off, Rachel; undress me,’ he commanded throatily. He reached up and took the weight of her breasts in the palms of his hands. He gave a deep grunt of male satisfaction.
His dark hands against her pale skin—skin that had acquired an opalescent sheen in the semi-darkness—was incredibly arousing. The way his thumbs moved softly over the hard peaks made her breath escape from her lungs in one silent whoosh. He caught her hands in his.
‘Let me show you how. Shall I show you how, Rachel?’
Her fingers turned within his light grasp and she raised one hand to her lips. His fingers flexed until the bones cracked as, open-mouthed, she kissed the slightly calloused palm of his hand. Her tongue traced a delicate damp pattern against his flesh.
‘I’d like that. Teach me, Ben.’
‘You’ve worked out a nice line in torture all by yourself, lover,’ he groaned.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Lover—it sounded good, she decided dreamily. Why shouldn’t she be his lover? Was it asking too much to have this time with him—the man she loved?
A laugh rumbled in his chest at the husky note of sulky pique but his eyes were fierce. ‘You seem to know what I like, Rachel.’
‘It’s easier if you tell me.’ She hooked one finger into the curling hair that was sprinkled over his chest and belly and bent closer to lap tentatively at his flat masculine nipple. He gasped hard and sucked in his belly, emphasising the solid slabs of muscle.
‘That’s good,’ he breathed thickly, catching hold of the back of her head and urging her back down. ‘We could start there.�
� He closed his eyes as the lash of her delicate tongue began once more. Periodically she raised her head to peep with sultry satisfaction at the tense, almost pained expression that contorted his features.
‘I like this,’ she sighed, tucking her damp hair behind her ears and throwing him another hot, hungry look.
‘Let’s find out what else you like.’ Abruptly he tipped her pliant body backwards and Rachel found herself flat on her back with him kneeling over her.
‘I didn’t finish,’ she said, tugging at the buckle of his leather belt.
‘Two sets of hands make light work,’ he said. He yanked his trousers down his legs and kicked them clear.
The excitement moved low in her belly at the sight of his arousal. The pain was sharp, the emotions deep and suffocating. The weight of hot, unshed tears stung her eyes. Nobody but Ben could ever make her feel like this—it wasn’t possible.
‘I’m glad.’
His words startled her; she hadn’t been conscious of speaking. ‘Shall I touch…?’ She reached out and paused, suddenly not quite the sultry temptress she’d been playing.
‘Yes—oh, yes!’
The red sparks that danced before her eyes seemed visible evidence of the sexual energy that crackled around them. The husky encouragement was all she needed to soothe the flurry of uncertainty. She was now sure that what she wanted to do was what he wanted too.
The room was filled with sharp gasps and hoarse groans as he moved against her hand until the moment came when his hand covered her own. She made a sound of protest.
‘I’m a marathon man myself; I like to appreciate the journey. But if you keep that up…’
‘You’re saving yourself for a sprint finish?’ she suggested with an impish grin.
‘Only if you behave, you little witch,’ he said, responding to her teasing with a mock growl. He pinned her arms to her sides. She squirmed, not from any desire to escape but because it felt good to have his heavy body pressing against her.
‘Do you really want me to behave?’ she asked, panting from the exertions of their mock combat. His breath stirred the downy hair on her cheek; he smelt distinctively of Ben.
