The Seduction Scheme (7 page)

‘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—'

‘I realise a few distinguished grey hairs and a nice line in pomposity would lend me more credibility on the advice front…'

The dig made her jaw tighten. ‘Am I supposed to believe all this interest and concern is totally altruistic?'

He flicked an almost amused look at her heated face as he pulled up in front of her flat. ‘I never imagined you were naive enough to think that,' he observed with provocative
gravity. ‘Why do you get so aggravated when I'm nice to you, Rachel? Are you by any chance afraid of liking me?'

It was so obvious she couldn't understand why she hadn't figured it out for herself. Afraid? She was petrified! He wouldn't intend to destroy her life but then she didn't imagine tornadoes had inherently evil intentions either.

Benedict was the sort of man people loved—she mentally sidestepped the chasm that opened up at her feet. The sort of man who would leave a great gaping hole when he moved on. Already Charlie liked him, and she was an intense little creature who didn't let people close often—but when she did… No, it was totally irresponsible to let a man without staying power into her life. He hadn't even attempted to disguise the fact that his intentions were of the dishonourable kind.

She laughed, achieving a brittle sort of condescension that she was proud of. ‘You're so charming…' Hand on the door, she swivelled slightly in her seat to look at him.

There was a movement behind the liquid darkness of his eyes that said even more clearly than the febrile contortions of the erratic muscle beside his mouth that she'd succeeded in aggravating him. She hadn't wanted him to like it, had she? So what was the problem?

‘Perhaps you could let me practise it on you.'

Oh, help! What sort of can of worms had she opened now? That would teach her to be smart. Getting out of the car was definitely the right thing to do. If only her legs had been in full working order. If only he weren't looking at her in that wolfish way.

‘You could give me a few tips on how to bring my performance up to scratch. It would be a generous gesture.'

‘Ben…'

‘Progress! She's said my name.' His gesture was too expansive for the confines of the car and his fingertips collided
with the luxuriously upholstered roof. ‘It wasn't so difficult, was it? Now, about my lessons…'

‘You're b-being foolish,' she stammered, unable to tear her hypnotised eyes from his face. ‘Charlie…' She wielded her daughter's presence as a last line of defence.

‘Is sleeping like a baby.' His right hand was on the angle of her jaw; his thumb moved over her cheek, tracing the sweeping curve of one high cheekbone. Abruptly his expression intensified and grew into something breathlessly intimate—she was certainly pretty breathless, anyhow, and his breathing had noticeably picked up tempo!

‘I really want to kiss you, Rachel French. Tell me you've thought about it too.' The muscles in the strong column of his neck worked hard as he swallowed.

Her own throat ached with emotion. ‘It's safer to leave it there—in your mind,' she said huskily. A small corner of her brain informed her disapprovingly that she'd just made a confession.

The lethargy that had invaded her body screamed a different message entirely from the one she spoke. He had altogether the most fascinating mouth she'd ever seen. What would it feel like? Her mouth grew dry as she waited in breathless anticipation to have her question answered.

‘Safer but frustrating.'

The sexy rasp of his voice made her tremble harder. This had to stop. ‘Oh, for heaven's sake!' she snapped as the sexual tension reached breaking point. ‘Get it over with.' She closed her eyes and leant forward.

There was a second's startled silence and then, to her amazement and chagrin, she heard the sound of his laughter; it began somewhere in the depths of his chest and emerged deep and uninhibited.

‘My God,' he gasped, leaning back in his seat and wiping his eyes. ‘You really know how to break a mood, Rachel.
You looked like a sacrificial virgin in one of those cheap B horror movies.' He started to laugh again.

Eyes fully open, she glared at him. ‘I'm not a virgin.'

‘I'd guessed that,' he confirmed gravely, the laughter now confined to his dark eyes. Eyes that had been smouldering seconds earlier.

To say she felt piqued was an understatement. Ridicule, rejection… He was heartless and insensitive to boot! So her technique had been lacking in a certain amount of finesse. She'd wanted him to…she still did, she acknowledged angrily. Well, if he wouldn't kiss her she'd just have to…

Half kneeling as she leaned towards him, she took his face between her two hands. Breath coming fast and hard, she deliberately covered his mouth with her own. Benedict froze, and as his lips remained passive and unresponsive under her own Rachel realised the enormity of the mistake she'd just made. Lips still pressed to his, her eyes opened.

She met his startled gaze and wanted to die of sheer humiliation. Even as she began to pull back the expression in the dark, hooded eyes changed. Seeing the change was like watching spontaneous combustion.

‘Don't!' She felt the harsh command against her lips. Even had she felt the inclination, the strong arms that had moved across her back prevented her from withdrawing.

Eyes still holding hers, the pressure of his lips slowly parted hers. Suddenly a whole mindless, exciting world was within her grasp. Very slowly his tongue traced the silky outline of her lips. When her tongue darted out to meet his tentatively she could see the flash of sultry approval in his eyes. She was close enough to see the gold tips of his extravagantly long lashes and the fine lines around his eyes which would one day become permanent. Permanent and Ben weren't compatible terms.

The silky thrust of his tongue wrenched a deep groan from
her as it penetrated deep within her mouth. His dark features swam out of focus and her eyes closed.

Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck as if it was the most natural thing in the world. For several mindless, frantic moments they explored hungrily with lips, tongues and hands. She could hear the gasps and weak, bleating moans but didn't actually associate them with herself.

Though she'd managed to plaster herself very firmly against his impressive upper torso, it didn't feel nearly close enough to satisfy the fire in her blood. Her fingers pressed deeply into the sculpted outline of his broad back as she squirmed sinuously in his arms.

‘Rachel…?'

She lifted her lips from the side of his neck and looked in a dazed fashion into his face.

‘I think Charlie's waking up,' he said thickly.

Remembering who she was and where she was was a painful business. Horrified, she looked into the back seat where her daughter was stretching sleepily.

‘Are we home?'

‘Yes. How are you feeling?' Well, I've really done well on the keep-my-distance campaign, haven't I? she mocked herself inwardly. She couldn't even claim the excuse of moonlight and a romantic location. It was broad daylight and she'd been behaving like… She felt the skin of her neck burn as she remembered exactly how she'd been behaving. And
she'd
started it!

‘I feel sore.'

‘Where?' Benedict asked.

Charlie stretched and considered the question. ‘Everywhere.'

Apprehensively Rachel stole a furtive glance in Benedict's direction. The smug satisfaction she'd half expected was absent; he looked… Distracted was as good a word as any to
describe his expression. As she watched he inhaled deeply and ran a hand roughly through his hair. Recalling that she was responsible for the ruffled condition of the short, sleek style brought a fresh wave of mortification.

‘Are you all right?'

‘I'm falling apart at the seams' probably wasn't the response he was expecting so she smiled politely if distantly.
Now
I'm distant, she thought wryly.

‘You must be in a hurry to get back to the office.'

‘Anxious to get rid of me, are you?'

‘I wouldn't be so rude.'

‘The impeccably mannered Miss French,' he drawled slowly. ‘I think you'd be quite a lot of things that would surprise both of us—given favourable conditions.'

This thinly veiled reference to her recent wanton behaviour was enough to send her almost tumbling from the car in her anxiety to escape. He was almost as fast as her and much better co-ordinated; by the time she'd opened the rear door to help Charlie out, he had already scooped the uncharacteristically passive child into his arms.

‘Lead the way,' he said cheerfully. Charlie giggled as he swung her around.

‘You'll make her throw up.' Rachel pursed her lips and refused to enter into the spirit of things.

She didn't like being manipulated and she fumed quietly whilst she did as he requested—at least it had sounded like a request, but she knew an order when she heard one, no matter how sneakily it was dressed up.

She was doing it again—letting him into her home—and this time she knew exactly how dangerous he was! If she'd been the sort of young woman to indulge in misty optimism Rachel might have told herself that nothing had changed, but she had a much more realistic approach to life. She knew that walking away from that short burst of beautiful hormonal
insanity back there would require good judgement and careful handling. She was pretty sure she wasn't capable of either just now.

‘Make yourself at home, won't you?' she said sweetly as, much to her annoyance, he placed Charlie at one end of the sofa and claimed the other end for himself. For once Charlie seemed prepared to tolerate adult foolishness as he tickled her feet which lay in his lap.

‘Sure I'm not intruding?'

‘Would it make much difference if I said yes?' What did a few kisses mean to him? A great big nothing—the answer was depressingly obvious.

He strolled into the kitchen a few seconds later and spoilt her efforts to regain her serenity. ‘Charlie sent me to say she would like a milkshake, preferably chocolate.'

‘I'm not at all sure I should reward her after what she's done.' She continued to clatter around.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Making a cup of tea.'

‘Looks to me like you're just rearranging the cups.'

‘I don't recall inviting you into my kitchen. It's too small and you're…you're too…too big,' she ended feebly.

What was she supposed to say? Having you this close is driving me to distraction? All I can think about is the way you tasted, the way you felt…?

‘I'm a genetic throwback to my grandfather,' he explained apologetically. ‘He was Australian, of Italian extraction—a big man by all accounts. My sister's the same, but Tom, my big brother, never made it past five ten. I think it's the scent that's heightened in an enclosed space.' The words emerged suddenly and his eyes widened with shock as though he was as surprised as she was to hear them.

‘What?'

He wasn't looking at her; his eyes were fixed grimly on
his own hands, and that muscle beside his mouth had begun to throb again. ‘Even after you've left a room it lingers, but in an enclosed space like this—or the car—it drives me crazy. It's so distinctive—not the pretty flowery stuff but that warm female smell that comes off your body.' His words emerged in uneven staccato bursts and his fingers, as they gripped the stem of a glass he'd idly picked off the draining-board, were white. Suddenly the stem cracked with a noise like a pistol shot.

‘Sorry.'

‘You're bleeding,' she said hoarsely as she watched the scarlet drops land on the white counter. He was watching the flow of blood with a peculiar lack of interest. ‘Here, put it under the cold water.' She grabbed his wrist and thrust his hand under the tap.

‘Florence Nightingale.'

‘I could hardly watch you bleed to death in my kitchen,' she said gruffly. His forearm was covered in fine dark hairs; they felt surprisingly soft under her fingers. Stroking couldn't be designated as first aid, she told herself firmly, stifling some very strong urges in that direction.

‘It's only a scratch.'

‘That's very brave and macho of you, but it looks pretty deep to me,' she said worriedly. ‘I've got a first-aid kit in the bathroom; don't go away.'

‘It's good to be wanted.'

Wanted?
If he knew the half of it…! Then again she'd not been exactly subtle so he probably did. As she rushed through the living room Charlie was engrossed in her favourite video. She ought to be concentrating on sorting out the latest disaster in her child's life—
fighting
, for heaven's sake! Instead what was she doing? Mooning over some beautiful body dangerously attached to a cunning mind.

She'd never be able to pick up her perfume without being
reminded of his words—words that had filled her with a savage exhilaration: he was hurting as much as she was. There was another, less palatable and unflattering explanation—he might just be recycling old and well-tried lines. He'd had so many women it wasn't reasonable to expect originality.