The Seduction Scheme (11 page)

‘Dad's got an heir apparent; he just doesn't realise it yet.'

‘What about law—your career?'

‘It'll survive without me. To be honest this has always bored me.' His shrug took in their surroundings.

‘Perhaps that's why you throw yourself so wholeheartedly into the social whirl—you're compensating for your stifling professional life? Pardon me for saying so, but that all sounds a bit glib. Who's to say you won't get bored with playing cowboy in few years' time?'

‘Leave the bitter irony to me, Rachel; it doesn't suit you.' His quiet tone made her feel uncharitable and plain mean. ‘Not many people find a place they know they're truly meant to be. When I make up my mind what I want I'm not easily deflected.'

The warning in his words made her shiver. If she didn't tear her eyes away from his, critical meltdown was imminent!

If anyone had told him a year ago that a man could become emotionally attached to a place, a piece of land, he'd have laughed. Now he knew differently. As he'd explored the vast expanse of land they called the Creek he'd found himself envying the men who had settled this area, who'd been the first. This rapport with the land wasn't something he could put into words—wasn't something he could explain to anyone.

‘It's a big step to take,' she said huskily.

‘They're the only ones worth taking, Rachel.' He extended his hand and she realised she was still sitting on the floor, her fingers clutching a pile of papers. Her hand slid inside his and he pulled her to her feet. With a tiny jerk of his arm he drew her closer and she automatically raised her eyes to his.

It was a mistake. He was going to the other side of the world; it wasn't something she was likely to forget but she thought this was an opportune moment to remind herself of the fact while her nervous system was plugged into its own personal high-voltage system.

He knew how he made her feel—he knew
exactly
how he made her feel; he was too experienced to miss the obvious signs she was transmitting. Walking away from Benedict Arden with her pride intact might be a small step when compared to what he was doing, but it was going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

‘Is what you've told me public knowledge, or do you want me to be discreet?'

When she'd tried to step back he'd slid his fingers down to the curve of her elbow. It was stand still and take the agony that being this close to him was giving her or dislocate her shoulder. On reflection maybe dislocations weren't that bad!

‘You're the only person I've told.' She could feel the web of intimacy his soft words were weaving around her. Illusion, she told herself—wishful thinking. ‘Will you be sorry to see me go, Rachel?'

‘I'm only your temporary secretary,' she reminded him lightly. ‘It doesn't really affect me.' I'm a temporary everything, she thought with a surge of self-pity.

‘I was forgetting,' he said smoothly. His eyes were on the small creamy V of skin where her shirt was modestly unbuttoned at the neck. She half expected the delicate gold chain she wore to melt under the hot, smoky scrutiny. ‘And I suppose on a more personal note it might even help my cause.'

‘How exactly?' she asked uncertainly. It occurred to her that if anyone walked in right now the gossips would have something more substantial than hearsay to sink their fangs into.

‘You don't like the fact that Charlie likes me. You're afraid of her getting attached to me. This way there's no chance of that happening now, is there? I'm just passing through.'

‘You always were,' she snapped bitterly. ‘And anyway it's not true!' The quirk of one eloquent dark brow made her subside into slightly resentful silence. A mother's job was to protect her child; she refused to feel apologetic.

‘It's a natural enough response. You like to keep men on the outside—strictly no admittance to the enchanted circle. That's probably why you took such a shine to good old Nigel—you knew there was no possibility of him cracking the code. I don't think your home has stayed a male-free zone by accident.'

‘What a load of rubbish!' she shouted. What was wrong with being emotionally independent? He made it sound like a disease. ‘I'm old enough to realise that some relationships are transitory—shallow; Charlie isn't. I don't want her to be hurt. You're nice to her and she's reading all sorts of things into it. She's used to men who run a mile when they know you have a child; she can cope with them.'

‘Be serious, Rachel. Look in the mirror.' He took her chin in his hand and examined her profile greedily. ‘Most men would put up with a tribe of juvenile delinquents if you were part of the bargain.'

‘Most men want a shallow, superficial relationship.' Her defiance was weakening. If he'd chosen that moment to kiss away her objections she'd have been a goner.

‘And isn't that exactly what you wanted with
Steve
…me? Didn't you fantasise just a little bit about making love to a total stranger—no questions, no complications? You were attracted to him—me. I've never seen a more obvious case of lust at first sight. Anonymous sex—didn't you think about it? You could safely surrender to male dominance; I'm sure that was tempting. You'd be completely free with a stranger to express your needs in any way you chose.'

The emotions his throaty, insidious words stirred up made
her head spin—with anger, she told herself. ‘Sex with a stranger is not my idea of safety,' she said unsteadily.

‘Perhaps a safety valve would be a more appropriate description,' he conceded calmly. ‘A release for all your repressed sexual feelings. It wouldn't surprise me if the last person you slept with was Charlie's father,' he jeered provocatively.

Seeing the expression on her face, he froze. ‘Good God!' he breathed hoarsely. ‘It's true, isn't it?' Under the healthy glow of his olive-toned skin he'd gone white with shock. ‘A hard act to follow, is that it?' Learning his competition was six feet under was not one of the greater moments in his life! Ghosts could do no wrong.

She was so amazed at his interpretation, she didn't reply at all. At nineteen, and working as an au pair with a delightful couple in the South of France, she'd reacted the way most teenage girls would have on meeting the famous brother of her host. Raoul Fauré had been a Formula One driver as renowned for trophy girlfriends as he was for his racing trophies. His reckless skill on the circuit had brought him adulation from the public and envy from his peers.

She'd have been happy to worship from afar, but he hadn't kept his distance; he'd told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world and she'd believed him. His declaration of love had been the fulfilment of all her adolescent fantasies—what followed had been inevitable.

The next week he'd come back to the villa, only this time he'd had a lovely young actress on his arm and in his bed. He'd treated her with the same avuncular affection as his brother; it was as if he genuinely didn't remember. It was only later that she understood. At the time she'd been bewildered and miserable; her youthful idealism had suffered a death-blow. She'd developed a convenient dose of terminal homesickness about then and the Faurés had been sorry to
see her go, but understanding. Happily for them, they were nice people; they hadn't suspected anything.

‘Chastity has a lot going for it. Sex just isn't important to me.'

‘Is that a fact?' he said, not bothering to hide his scepticism.

‘I just said so, didn't I?'

She realised about two seconds too late how easily her vaguely belligerent stance could have been interpreted as a challenge. It was one Benedict seemed very ready to accept. His mouth was hot and urgent—almost angry as it covered her own. The taste of him detonated an equally violent response within her; it ripped away all the elaborate barriers she'd constructed.

Her body arched as his strong arms lifted her upwards until her toes were the only things still in contact with the ground. His hard thighs ground rhythmically against her softer, more fragile frame. There was salty moisture on her skin as his dark head moved to touch, taste and torment her. Her fingers clenched tight in the dense thickness of his hair and a startled cry escaped the confines of her tight throat as her back suddenly collided with the wall.

He lifted his head at the sound. For a moment they were eye to eye and she saw the blaze of savage triumph in his dark, passion-glazed eyes. He nipped slowly at her trembling lip, letting his tongue slide into the sweet moistness within.

‘You're…' she whispered hoarsely. She could hardly breathe; this sweet ache was smothering her. Hunger, viscous and warm, nibbled away at her restraints.

‘I'm what? What am I, Rachel?' he persisted. As she turned her face into his shoulder he drew back fractionally; with a finger under her chin he forced her to face him. ‘Tell me.' His free hand slid up her thigh, pausing momentarily only when his questing fingertips made contact with the edge
of her hold-up stockings. She felt the tension that coiled in his muscles hike up a notch and heard his razor-sharp gasp.

His hand settled around the curve of her taut buttock. ‘You're cruel and very…very beautiful, Ben.' He was cruel to make her want him like this…make her love… She gasped and suddenly went limp in his arms.

‘This wasn't meant to happen here,' he said thickly as he stared down into her face. Her eyelashes flickered against her cheek; she looked barely conscious. But she was alive; the vigorous rise and fall of her breasts were evidence of that.

It wasn't the only thing that wasn't meant to happen, she thought in dazed disbelief as his thumb and forefinger moved up her neck before coming to rest on the pointed angle of her firm chin. His right arm was taking almost all her weight.

‘Nothing's going to happen,' she said dazedly as she looked up at him. His taut features made it quite clear he was firmly in the grip of rampant desire. The evidence of this was pressed against the cradle of her hips. Trying to twist free only increased the intimate pressure. The heavy, dragging sensation had pooled low and deep in her abdomen; it was treacherously sweet.

‘I've heard of denial but this is ridiculous.'

She felt the deep shudder through his body and the shivery, hot sensations in the pit of her belly responded with mindless pleasure to this evidence of his own lack of control. The dark excitement didn't respond to her wishes—at least not the wishes she consciously acknowledged.

She could see the dark pupil had swallowed up the colour of his iris completely. There was a faint sheen over his finely textured olive skin. Without thinking she reached out and ran a finger down his lean cheek. The light shadow on his skin had a fascinatingly abrasive quality. She pressed her damp finger to her lips and shivered as she tasted the faintly salty moisture.

The only flicker of movement in his entire body was the faintest stirring of his eyelashes. He didn't even appear to be breathing—this fact was confirmed when he did eventually take a deep, shuddering breath.

‘Ben…'

‘Hush,' he ordered huskily. His finger traced the outline of her quivering mouth before sliding inside her parted lips. The intimacy was totally devastating. ‘I love your mouth. You try and make it all prim and proper and all the time it's just saying, Taste me, kiss me.'

She moaned out loud and pressed the back of her hand to her lips as he ran his tongue over the finger he'd just used to explore her mouth.

‘You taste so sweet. I really like the idea of you tasting me. Would you like that?' he persisted throatily.

The erotic picture his sinful words were building made her dizzy. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the fabric of his shirt and several buttons came adrift. She felt the fabric part and even though she tried desperately not to she found herself looking downwards.

The skin over his washboard-flat belly was smooth and the tan was too dark to be attributed solely to his olive complexion. She wanted to touch him so badly, tears stung the back of her eyelids. Her body was convulsed by a feverish shudder.

‘Perhaps you're right. I should just have sex with you!' The words emerged suddenly, loud and harsh. She didn't have many defences left. ‘Get it all over and done with and things can go back to normal with your giant-sized ego intact—after all, no woman can refuse Ben Arden, superstud!'

Benedict lifted his head. Melting capitulation would have been nice, but Benedict wasn't a man easily discouraged. He knew a last-ditch effort when he saw one.

‘There's no
perhaps
about it,' he replied huskily.

The sexy rasp combined with the suggestive heat in his eyes made her want to endorse his view. Hold on, Rachel, she told herself, harnessing her runaway tongue firmly; you're trying to defuse this situation, not ignite it!

‘It's probably the simplest way to get this out of your system.' She tried to imply she was nothing but a disinterested observer—it wasn't easy.

‘Is this the point where I'm supposed to be so offended by your icy detachment that I retire, my ego irretrievably bruised?' To her horror he looked amused.

‘I'm just being realistic. Would you prefer I got all emotional?' Perhaps she should just confess she'd fallen in love with him—that should be more than enough to make him back off, she thought bitterly.

‘Of course this strategy of yours only works if you endow me with finer feelings. If I don't recoil in disgust and say “Yes, please”, you've just shot yourself in the foot,' he pointed out helpfully. ‘As for a
superstud
?' He shook his head from side to side reprovingly and grimaced. ‘I might just have such a high opinion of my sexual prowess that I'm confident you'll come running back for more. Or I might be callous and selfish enough to turn a blind eye to your obvious lack of interest in the whole sordid business if it means slaking my terrible lust. I really don't think you've thought this one through properly, Rachel.'