The Seduction Scheme (8 page)

All the same he'd have to be a
very
good actor to fake that raw need in his voice. The downy hair over her body stood on end as she relived those breathless few seconds.

‘Sorry if that hurts,' she said a few moments later as she applied pressure to the dressing to stem the flow of blood.

‘It takes my mind off the other pain.'

‘Which…?' She raised her eyes to his face and immediately wished she hadn't.

‘I think you know what pain I'm talking about.'

She did now: his eyes were very eloquent. ‘I won't offer you the use of my cold shower; I'm sure you've got a perfectly good one at home.'

‘You'd consign me to seventies retro? Black tiles and mirrors on the ceiling? Cruel, cruel woman.'

‘If you don't like it…' she began curiously.

‘When asked my opinion I made the major error of admitting I didn't give a damn.'

‘Why would you do anything so stupid?' She finished securing the light dressing with tape and stood back to observe her handiwork.

‘Because I didn't care.'

‘What a peculiar attitude.'

‘You've done this before,' he said, turning over his bandaged hand.

‘You've met Charlie—are you surprised? Though she's never gone in for fighting before.' A worried frown creased her wide, smooth brow.

‘I'd listen to her story before you tell her off,' he observed casually.

The unspoken overtones almost jumped out and bit her on the nose. ‘Why do you say that?' she asked suspiciously. ‘Has she said something to you?' The idea of Charlie confiding in someone who was almost a total stranger— Heavens, I'm jealous! she realised. When did I get so sour and disgustingly twisted?

‘Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's not part of the…'

She could almost see him mentally back-pedalling.

‘Part of the problem?' she finished grimly.

‘She's very protective of you.'

‘You've got to tell me now, Ben.'

Benedict sighed, looked into her lovely face. which was flushed with emotion and tight with tension, and nodded. ‘Granted. It seems they had this lesson at school where everyone gave a potted biography of their father. When it was Charlie's turn, she told everyone her father came from a sperm bank.'

‘She
what
?'

‘I take it this information didn't come from the horse's mouth?'

‘What do you think I am?' she gasped.

‘It's what Charlie thinks that's the problem.'

‘And
you
know what she thinks?' She didn't even bother to hide her antagonism to the idea.

‘Don't kill the messenger, Rachel. Shall I make the tea?' he offered, after looking at her pale, drawn features.

‘Why not?' She was redundant in every other way—why shouldn't he take over the domestic tasks too? She knew she was being ungrateful and petulant but for the life of her she couldn't stop it.

‘This particular boy started making some nasty insinuations about your…er…sexual preferences and, as I said, Charlie's very protective.'

Rachel closed her eyes and groaned; it got worse. ‘She's never asked about her father.' If she had what would I have told her? she thought. How would I have explained about Raoul?

‘Didn't he want to be involved…?'

‘He's dead,' she said in a flat, emotionless tone.

‘I see.'

Rachel lifted her elbows from the counter and straightened up, glancing at Benedict as she did so. What did he see? A tragedy that had separated young lovers? Whatever he thought it couldn't come close to the truth.

Had she let that youthful disillusionment sour her attitude to men? Where she'd imagined she was cautious had she actually been distrustful? Had she encumbered her daughter with her own prejudices and insecurities? Had she taken self-reliance too far? The disquieting questions refused to stop.

‘My confidence in my parenting skills has just taken a nosedive.'

‘Don't knock what you've done, Rachel. Charlie's an exceptional kid. It must have been hard alone…'

‘I wasn't alone,' she put in impatiently. ‘The money I inherited from my aunt Janet meant I can live here in relative luxury—not up to your standards possibly, but most people wouldn't complain. When Charlie was small Aunt Janet was always there for us. It was she who made me continue with my education; I had it easy compared to a lot of single mums. I had a safety net…'

‘And a sense of proportion?'

‘What?' She faltered; he looked disconcertingly bored.

‘Don't you think you're going a bit overboard with the unfit parent stuff?' he drawled.

‘That's rich coming from you,' she gasped incredulously. ‘You've only just finished telling me all the things I'm doing wrong!'

‘Rachel, what I know about childcare could be fitted on the back of a postage stamp. Of course I'm going to tell you you should be expanding your social horizons; it's in my best interests. We both know I've got an ulterior motive.'

‘You have?' Responding at this point might be construed as encouragement but the words that trembled on the tip of her tongue wouldn't be censored.

‘I want to be your lover, Rachel.'

‘Just like that?' she choked. She'd steeled herself for something much cleverer and more subtle. The simple brutality of the truth was totally devastating. She knew her colour was fluctuating in tune with the violent changes in body temperature she could feel taking place. ‘You're very sure of yourself.' It was more a croak than an indignant sneer, but it was the best she could do.

‘The only thing I'm sure of, Rachel, is that we'd be good together—
very
good.' Her seared nervous system reacted as violently to his husky tone as if it had been a caress.

‘Nigel…'

‘Oh, yes, Nigel,' he mused. ‘I think you should tell Nigel it's over, don't you?'

Her mouth opened but no sound emerged. His arrogance was literally breathtaking. ‘Why should I do that?' It didn't matter a jot that she'd known since the night he proposed that the days of her comfortable relationship with Nigel were numbered. What right did Benedict have to instruct her?

‘I'd prefer exclusive rights…'

‘To what—my body?' She sucked in air wrathfully. ‘I'm no radical feminist but that's the most outrageous thing anyone has
ever
…'

‘You might not be political, but you
are
the most stubbornly independent female I've ever met.'

‘You mean I don't hang on your every word.'

‘Don't get me wrong; I like independent. I'm all for a girl taking the initiative,' he purred suggestively.

This unsubtle reminder of her earlier lapse made her set her chin stubbornly despite her flaming cheeks. ‘One kiss and you take a lot for granted. You get exclusive rights to my body and I get what…? Nigel wants to marry me…' She let her words trail off provocatively. That ought to send him running; the prospect didn't make her feel as happy as it should have.

‘I'm not proposing.' He didn't appear as intimidated by the suggestion as she'd expected—he didn't seem fazed at all.

‘You
do
surprise me,' she snapped sarcastically. ‘Tell me, do women usually do exactly what you tell them? They must do; nothing else could account for your incredible arrogance.'

‘I gave up comparing you to the other females of my acquaintance within the first thirty seconds of meeting you. Fortunately I like a challenge. I like you.'

‘You do?'

‘Don't sound so surprised, Rachel. Of course I like you. If you give it half a chance you might find I'm not totally without redeeming features.'

‘I don't have time in my life for—complications.' Or heartbreak, she thought, firming her weakening resolve.

‘So you admit I'm a complication.'

‘We don't want the same things out of life, Ben.'

His mouth thinned and an unexpected spark of anger smouldered to life in his eyes. ‘And when did you become such an expert on what I want out of life?'

She stared at him, perplexed by his obvious annoyance. ‘I'm not. I couldn't be, could I? You never tell me anything.' As she warmed to her theme his anger seemed all the more perverse. ‘You're very clever at worming personal information out of me, but what do I know about you?' Her expan
sive gesture sent a copper pan suspended decoratively on the wall clattering noisily to the floor. ‘A big fat zero. But if office gossip is anything to go by your life follows a fairly predictable pattern.'

‘All you had to do was ask. For you I'm an open book. What
do
they say about me on the office grapevine?'

‘Depends on who you're talking to—male or female,' she responded sweetly. She wasn't about to bolster his already inflated ego.

‘Ouch!' He winced, with a grin.

‘I'm taking Charlie her drink,' she announced, turning her back firmly on him and this disturbingly intimate conversation.

‘A
ND
then Mum kissed him. They thought I was asleep…'

‘Charlie!'

‘Oh, hiya, Mum. I let Nigel in. You didn't hear the doorbell. I expect you and Ben were—'

‘That's enough, Charlie; go to your room!' Rachel said quietly. The tone in her mother's voice made the animated expression fade from her daughter's face.

‘But…'

‘Now!'

The expression of hurt incomprehension on Nigel's face was making her feel like a bitch—which, looked at from his perspective, she was! He looked like a man whose belief in Santa Claus had been dashed.

She couldn't really lay the blame at Charlie's door, even though she was under no illusions that there had been anything artless about those confidences. She ought to have confessed her true feelings or lack of them sooner. With the ruthlessness of the very young Charlie had seized on the opportunity to get rid of someone she disliked irrespective of the hurt she might be inflicting.

‘Do you want me to stay?'

Rachel raised her eyes to Benedict who had entered the room in her wake. ‘I don't think so,' she said quietly. That would be rubbing salt in the wound.

‘My God!' Nigel got to his feet, an expression of incredulity contorting his regular features. ‘He's the thug with the attitude…the barrister you're working for.' His gaze slid from Benedict's impassive features to Rachel's face, which
was coloured by a guilty flush. ‘Black leather and role-playing…I didn't know sick games like that turned you on, Rachel.'

The contempt in his voice made her feel grubby and if possible even guiltier. ‘It was just a coincidence, Nigel.'

His scornful laugh rang out. ‘Please; I may not be one of life's intellectual giants, but give me some credit. I don't believe in coincidences.'

What could she say? Neither had she a few days before. Rachel clasped her hands in distress. She hadn't wanted it to end like this. Why, oh, why had she let things drag on? Why, oh, why had she kissed Ben? A thousand ‘whys' rushed through her mind.

‘I don't suppose you
didn't want to rush things
with him.' He looked at her with fastidious distaste as he caricatured her tone.

‘Ben and I—we're not… I mean, we haven't…' She looked to the tall, silent figure at her side for inspiration.

‘Yet. We haven't
yet
, sweetheart,' Benedict said, clarifying the point helpfully.

‘Thank you!'
she snapped from between clenched teeth. He was probably enjoying this.

‘I'm just glad I found out now, before it was too late, what sort of woman you actually are. I was prepared to make allowances for youthful indiscretion.'

Rachel stiffened at this patronising allusion to her daughter. Benedict's arm moved lightly around her waist and she was grateful for the contact. His splayed fingertips moved over the bony prominence of her hip. The slow, sensuous, soothing movement took the edge off her anxiety. It did a lot of other things too, which, given the circumstances, said a lot about her susceptibility to this man.

‘If I'd known your tastes ran to perversions…'

Nigel's thin lips curled as he openly sneered at her and
Rachel's temper flared. Guilt would only compel her to accept so much. Perversions indeed!

‘I'm sorry if I've hurt you, Nigel, but that's just plain ridiculous and you know it! I can't marry you, Nigel. I should have told you.'

‘Do you think I'd want
you
?' He gaped at her as if she were mad. ‘I'm just glad now that we've never slept together…'

That was just in case Ben had missed the previous hints, she decided, repressing a groan.

‘You and me both,' Benedict murmured softly in her ear. He tucked a strand of soft brown hair behind her ear and sent a jolt of neat, toe-curling electricity all the way to her feet.

Nigel's eyes were riveted jealously on the apparently intimate gesture. ‘I thought you were something special,' he spat. ‘I put you on a pedestal. I can see now that Jenny was right about you.'

‘Jenny?'

‘She's Ted Wilson's cousin. She was very sympathetic on Tuesday.'

‘The Tuesday you had a cold.'

‘If you must know I felt we needed some time apart for…'

‘You to sulk?' she suggested. ‘And regale the dinner party with my shortcomings?'

‘I didn't know the half of it then.'

It was something about the defensive note in his voice that made her gasp suddenly. ‘Is it possible that you've been seeing this sympathetic person? What was her name?'

She'd always accepted work commitments as the reason for him pulling out of a number of arrangements at the last minute. Now it looked suspiciously as if he had been keeping his options open all along!

‘Jenny,' he responded, tight-lipped, looking annoyed that she'd introduced the subject. ‘It's all perfectly innocent.'

‘Is that what you told her about us?' The unattractive shade of crimson that washed over his fair complexion was more revealing than any words.

‘I asked you to marry me,' he responded in a disgruntled tone.

‘Flip the coin again.' She felt a whole lot less wretched knowing that Nigel wasn't the saint she'd thought him.

‘Promiscuous women like you are ten-a-penny, and then these days there's the question of contamination simply on medical grounds.'

‘That's it.' Benedict's voice was suddenly decisive. ‘A bit of bile is acceptable when you've just been kicked where it hurts, but I think Rachel has grovelled guiltily for long enough. Cut your losses, mate, and clear out.' His tone was unfailingly polite but the hard light of warning in his dark eyes told another story. ‘Don't be tempted to indulge in any more colourful insults or I might just be tempted to—'

This intervention was too much! Rachel pulled clear of his arms. ‘I'm quite capable of sorting out my own problems.'

He shrugged and held up his hands in mock submission. ‘I never thought otherwise.' His smile held a caressing warmth that robbed her anger of its impetus.

She cleared her throat. ‘Good.' She grabbed her scattered wits by the scruff of the neck. ‘Nigel…'

‘Don't worry, I'm going. I can see how things are.' He looked from Rachel to the tall man at her side. ‘I'm not blind. Don't bother—I know my way out,' he said bitterly. The slamming of the front door reverberated through the flat.

‘Poor Nigel.'

‘Don't become too attached to that hair shirt, Rachel; it doesn't suit you.
Poor
Nigel has a filthy mind and a substitute in the wings—crafty old Nigel..'

‘He's not like that, really; he was hurt and humiliated.'

Benedict found her defence of her former lover irritating,
though it seemed the ‘lover' part hadn't been strictly accurate.

‘Why didn't you sleep with him?'

‘Is it obligatory?' She could hardly tell him she was a cautious individual with a low sex drive after the way she'd behaved with him!

‘When you're going to marry someone it usually is,' he confirmed drily.

‘I didn't say yes.'

‘He mentioned that.'

‘I mean I didn't say I'd marry him.'

‘Didn't he think it was a bit odd?' Benedict continued with what she considered insensitive persistence.

‘He was sensitive and understanding.'

‘Dead from the neck down, more like!'

‘You can be very coarse and vulgar,' she observed frigidly.

‘I can,' he promised warmly.

The warmth as much as the promise made her step backwards. The impetuous movement brought her into direct collision with a coffee table over which she fell in a tangle of arms and legs.

‘Don't touch me!' she commanded urgently as he bent forward. ‘I can't think when you touch me.'

‘That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,' he told her as she got to her feet, straightened the coffee table and wished she'd been wearing trousers. She smoothed her skirt with slightly unsteady fingers.

‘Well, cherish it because that's as good as it's going to get,' she said nastily.

‘I cherish every kind word you say to me, Rachel, and a few of the insulting ones too.'

An unwilling laugh was torn from her throat; he was impossible! Shaking her head slowly from side to side as she looked reprovingly at him dislodged the last remaining hair
pin and her gently waving, glossy hair cascaded slowly around her face.

‘Blast!' she cried impatiently as the heavy weight came to rest at shoulder-blade level.

‘Is it as soft as it looks?'

The tone of his voice as much as the taut, hungry expression on his face warned her of the imminent danger of this situation. She turned a deaf ear to the reckless voice that told her to walk straight into the path of that danger. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the physical pain of denial.

‘I think you should go too, Ben. I'm very grateful for your help today.' Both the wanted and the unwanted, she thought, but now wasn't the time to quibble. ‘I'm tired; I want to go to bed.' The sudden wicked gleam in his eyes made her rush on swiftly. ‘And I need to talk to Charlie,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

Dignity wasn't usually something she had to work at—she had buckets full of the stuff. Calm, unruffled composure was her trademark; she knew it, and liked it. It kept unwanted attention at bay. What had happened to her? She wasn't the sort of girl who needed a shoulder, strong or otherwise, to lean on. She wasn't the sort of girl who kissed unsuitable men who looked on women as a way to pass a few hours pleasurably.

‘About her father?'

‘I don't know,' she said honestly. ‘I imagine we'll touch on artificial insemination,' she said drily. It was time for the ‘warm loving relationship' speech and she wasn't looking forward to it. It that area she hadn't been the best role model in the world.

‘And us?'

‘I'll see you in the office tomorrow,' she replied, deliberately misunderstanding him.

‘With your hair neatly secured…I know,' he said, his tone
laden with an irony that brought a self-conscious flush to her cheeks. At the door he turned abruptly. ‘Wear your hair loose for me tomorrow, Rachel,' he said impetuously.

She was still digesting this ludicrous request when he left, his departure a good deal quieter than Nigel's. Wear my hair loose indeed, she snorted. What exactly would he make of it if she did? He'd see it as some sort of silent admission—a surrender.

Surrender…
A sudden shudder racked her slim body and she was conscious of her aching breasts and the way they chafed against the white shirt she wore. She'd be mad to pander to his private fantasies; it was all about control and domination and she wasn't about to buy into that sort of thing—not for a minute!

Her confrontation with Charlie was delayed until the morning. When she entered her daughter's room she was sprawled face down across the bed. Rachel removed her shoes and pulled the quilt over her before telephoning the neighbour who looked after Charlie for the couple of hours after school before she finished work. Fortunately she was happy to have her the next day. She'd have loved to stay at home the next day, but being a working mother, she'd already discovered, required a lot of compromise.

 

Benedict's eyes went immediately to his secretary's desk as he walked into the outer office. The morning sun fell directly onto the corner from where the efficient hum of the word processor issued.

‘Good morning.' Rachel cradled a phone against her cheek. ‘Your father rang; he's on his way down.'

Not even the royal visitation could cloud this morning. Benedict nodded. ‘Thank you, Rachel.'

Rachel would have known his appreciation wasn't directed at her ability to convey a message even if his eyes hadn't
been fixed on the cloud of hair which rippled over her shoulders.

She'd almost been late this morning. First she'd gone all the way back to the flat to pin up her hair, then there had been the last-minute visit to the ladies' room to demolish her previous efforts.

Why shouldn't a girl change her hairstyle if she wanted? If Benedict wanted to read anything into it that was his problem. She could rationalise as much as she liked, but she'd still been waiting with baited breath for his arrival. He'd been pleased, if the savage satisfaction that had flared in his dark eyes could be interpreted as pleasure.

‘How's Charlie this morning?'

‘She sends her love.' This was the literal and worrying truth.

‘Is anything the matter?'

His perception was as acute as ever. I don't want my daughter to get too fond of you, would have sounded churlish, but it was true. From their conversation earlier this morning she'd noticed that Charlie was exhibiting a dangerous tendency to attach the label ‘father figure' around Benedict's neck.

She'd tried tactfully to discourage this development, but she was gloomily aware that her words hadn't fallen on fertile ground. Her own heart would have to take care of itself but she didn't want to take similar risks with her daughter's. She had no right to throw caution to the winds.

Her fingers suddenly itched to twist her hair into a neat knot. What am I doing? she thought angrily. I might as well pin a sign around my neck saying ‘Just whistle'! Talk about a pushover!

Stuart Arden didn't make a habit of knocking and Rachel was taken completely unawares, and, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, so was Benedict.

The sudden sight of the very slim, very tall, very
young
blonde throwing her arms around Benedict's neck was a traumatic shock to her system. If she'd had a pair of scissors handy she might just have hacked off her hair at that moment and left him to make what he would of that symbolism.