The Seduction Scheme (4 page)

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 won
dered. 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.

‘O
H
,
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 the 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—'

‘You didn't look very gobsmacked to me.'

‘I hide my emotions behind a suave exterior,' he said blandly.

‘Are you laughing at me?' This very definite suspicion only increased her deep sense of misuse.

‘Why the anger, Miss Rachel French? And don't bother denying it; your eyes have been flashing fire since you first saw me.'

To hell with office politics—she was going to tell him what she thought of him: walking into her life and disappearing just as abruptly, leaving a vague sense of dissatisfaction and restlessness in his wake…

‘I
hate
frauds.' To think he'd infiltrated her thoughts enough to make her wonder, at the most unexpected moments, what he was doing. Now it turned out his lifestyle was indeed far removed from her own, but not in the direction she'd imagined! She doubted he wanted rescuing from his pampered, privileged existence.

‘I didn't lie precisely.' A quick mental review confirmed this was correct. His ethics weren't so irreproachable that he wouldn't have bent the truth a little if required.

‘Steven…?'

‘That was Charlie's idea.'

‘Why would my daughter make up your name?' she said scornfully.

‘It had something to do with claiming me as her long-lost brother. I took to it right off; there's something solid and dependable about a Steven. Admittedly I'm not Steven, but I'm still the man who rescued your daughter—despite her opposition, I might add.'

He had to remind her, didn't he? Rachel chewed her full lower lip distractedly; she couldn't deny the truth of his observation—at least the bit she could follow. The part about brothers made no sense at all.

‘You were laughing at me—us. I'm sure you'll dine out for the next month on the story: “what happened when I went slumming”. I felt
sorry
for you!' She couldn't have sounded shrill if she'd tried but indignation did make her rather deep, husky voice rise an octave.

‘Pity is a very negative emotion,' he reminded her. ‘Sorry, photographic memory. Only pity's not all you felt.' The way his dark eyes moved over her face alarmed her almost as much as the soft accusation. To her relief he didn't pursue it. ‘I find it curious that you approved of me more when you thought I was one of the great unwashed. An unforgivable sin, I know, to turn out to be neither a paid-up member of the underworld nor a thug with a heart of gold. Has it occurred to you that your craving for a bit of…how can I put this delicately?…rough—' an inarticulate squeak of outrage escaped Rachel's pale lips and he reacted as if she'd uttered soothing words of encouragement ‘—could be a reaction against the sort of man you date? You're looking for someone outrageous and slightly dangerous.'

‘I'm not looking full stop!'

‘When I meet a woman she generally knows what I do,
who my family is and can usually hazard a fairly accurate guess at my bank balance…'

Rachel watched as he straddled a chair that was twin to the one she was sat upon. ‘My heart bleeds…and you just desperately want someone to love you for the
real
you.' Her voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. ‘Which is no doubt why you roam the streets looking like a drug dealer!'

‘Do you make a habit of inviting drug dealers into your home?' he enquired with interest.

The fingers that were laid lightly along the back of the chair were very long and elegant, she noticed irrelevantly, and his hands were shapely and strong. His words made her hospitality suddenly seem worryingly reckless.

‘I was grateful—' she began defensively, before his urbane, polished tones interrupted her.

‘Was?'

‘Am—I
am
grateful,' she said from between clenched teeth, sounding anything but. ‘I was sorry for you if you must know.' That will teach me to get all sloppy and sentimental, she thought.

‘You shouldn't blame yourself, you know. Your body is chemically programmed to find a mate. Hormones aren't too concerned with financial prospects or social standing.'

‘Leave my hormones out of this!' she yelled.

‘Fine,' he said, with a languid smile that made her want to scream. ‘I can work with pity. As ulterior motives go, I think I prefer pity to avarice.'

‘Only someone from an obscenely privileged background could say anything so stupid.'

‘You have strong opinions about wealth, Rachel?'

‘No, just you. I think you're a spoilt…irresponsible—' She broke off, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop further imprudent remarks escaping.

‘I sense you were just warming to your theme,' he said,
with a provoking smile. ‘Don't let the fact I'm your boss cramp your style.'

‘Temporary boss.'

‘Thank God, she breathed fervently?' he surmised.

‘You're very intuitive.'

‘And you're very suspicious, Miss French. Let's get a few things straight. When I met your daughter she was about to be carted off to the police station by a concerned couple. Being a child with limitless resources and a cool head, she decided to claim me as her brother. Apparently I looked mean enough to lack credibility in the eyes of the law
and
to get rid of the nice people—'

Rachel's angry glare turned slowly thoughtful. That
did
sound awfully like something Charlie would do. ‘That doesn't explain the way you looked or the fact you made me think…' She shook her head doubtfully. ‘Why didn't you just tell me?'

‘If you work here you'll know I've just come back from a six-month stint on a cattle ranch in Queensland, and that's the only reason I lacked a certain sartorial elegance. The conclusions about my background were all yours and your charming companion's. How was dinner at the Wilsons'? Did you wear something suitable?'

Rachel stiffened, warm colour seeping under her skin. ‘Nigel has a cold; we didn't go,' she ground out.

‘I put Charlie in a taxi and followed her with the express intention of giving her delinquent parents a piece of my mind. It took me about ten seconds to realise I'd misread the situation, and less than that to be rendered speechless by your beauty…'

Rachel gritted her teeth and opened her mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that the only desire such ridiculous statements evoked in her was one to throw up! Suddenly she recalled that vacant expression that had first made her think
he was a bit challenged in the intellectual department. He couldn't actually be telling the truth—
could he
? For some reason this absurd notion impaired her ability to think straight.