The Seduction Scheme (15 page)

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.

‘Naturally—I want you to behave naturally, Rachel.'

She could do that, she thought happily; at least, she could with Ben. He obeyed the implicit plea in her passion-saturated eyes and kissed her.

Rachel wasn't conscious of shedding her remaining clothes but it wasn't very long before his elegant, sensitive fingers were moving unimpeded over her smooth flesh. His clever fingers roused her past and beyond thought; she was all feeling and sensation. The primitive regression was complete and now she needed him—needed him badly to finish what he'd started.

‘Yes…yes…yes!' she cried as he slid into her. Feeling her body adapt and stretch to accept him was a breathless, marvellous sensation, and when he began to move she wrapped her legs around him and let everything happen. It did happen perfectly.

Sleepy and languid in the aftermath, she couldn't feel re
gret. She burrowed like a kitten against him. Tiny aftershocks still tightened the muscles in her pelvis but she hadn't forgotten the moment of release; she never would.

‘I wasn't going to do this again,' she murmured sleepily.

‘Is that what you thought?' he replied indulgently.

‘I don't say goodbye to everyone like this, you know.' A faint whimsical smile curved her lips. Her languid state of mind didn't register the sudden tension in the arms of the man who held her.

‘Goodbye?' Rachel didn't hear his harsh question; she'd finally released her tenacious grip on consciousness.

 

‘I think it's best if you leave now.'

The sleepy look on Ben's face made him look younger than his thirty-four years. The impulse to wrap her arms around him was strong. It would have felt good to have him wake up next to her. His dark head had been comfortably settled against the slope of her breasts before she had stealthily slipped from the warm bed.

Benedict dragged his fingers through his tousled dark hair and the sheet slid down to reveal his hair-roughened chest and flat belly.

‘You're saying basically “Here's your pants; get lost”?' He jackknifed into a sitting position and from his alert expression his brain was no longer burdened by fatigue—it was firing on all cylinders.

‘I'm saying it would be better if you left before Charlie wakes up. She'll be confused…'

‘That'll make two of us.'

He didn't look confused; he looked angry. She'd hoped he wouldn't react like this.

‘Be reasonable. I'm the one who'll have to field awkward questions,' she reminded him tensely.

‘Are you sure it's the thought of Charlie's questions that's
got you running scared, Rachel? Wouldn't it be more honest to say it's your own questions you're prepared to go to any lengths to avoid?' He flung back the quilt and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. The sight made her sensitive stomach muscles go into spasm.

Why don't you go ahead and drool? she asked herself angrily as she tore her glance from the sight of his athletically sculpted thighs.

‘It's a perfectly legitimate request,' she said, tightening the sash on her smoky blue floor-length gown. He got up and walked across the room. There was no hint of self-consciousness in his graceful stride. He was as close to perfection as it came, she thought, watching him with covetous eyes.

‘It makes it pretty clear that you're ashamed of last night.'

‘Last night was just a…a…'

‘The definitive term escapes you, does it?'

She glared resentfully at him. He appeared to get some savage satisfaction from seeing her floundering helplessly. ‘I'm just being practical,' she insisted.

‘Does the idea of sex full stop bother you, or is it just sex with me that becomes sordid and tacky in the cold light of day?'

There was a depth of anger and disillusionment she hadn't expected in his expression. She stifled the flicker of uncertainty before gritting her teeth and continuing in a patronising, amused tone, ‘Don't worry, this is no reflection on your masculinity. I'll go on record as saying you're a fantastic lover.' She smiled and lifted her shoulders in a tiny gesture intended to reflect on the fragile ego of the male.

He stepped into his white cotton boxers and his brows drew together in a hard line of displeasure. ‘Did I measure up to your idealised memories of your first love? Fantasies are so much neater, don't you find? There's no body to get
rid of in the morning.' He smiled unpleasantly at her. ‘Thank you,' he added as she passed him the errant sock which had been eluding him.

He only raised a brow when she jerked her hand away before their fingers touched, but it was enough to make her flush self-consciously. If he had any idea of how much she feared a simple contact like that and why, she'd die of sheer humiliation.

‘Unlike you I don't consider sex a leisure sport. I'm sure some people can be satisfied…'

‘I thought you were. You screamed something to that effect, as I recall.'

‘Must you be crude and vulgar?' she asked, her cheeks ablaze. ‘I'm trying to say I can't justify sex without love.'

‘Well, you're not doing a very good job of it. Practical's a good line,' he mused. ‘You stick to that, darling,' he advised. ‘Anyone can say “I love you”.'

‘I don't.'

‘I'd noticed,' he said with a savage inflection. ‘I'm sure your Gallic charmer did—bilingually, probably—and look where that got you. At the end of the day actions speak louder than words; words are ten-a-penny.'

‘When you say them I'm sure that's true.'

‘You mean I wouldn't have been welcomed back to bed if I'd sworn undying love?' he asked incredulously. He gave a strange twisted smile as though the black humour in his eyes was aimed at himself.

‘I'm not
that
gullible.' To hear him joking about something about which she'd nursed improbable fantasies cut deep.

‘Just as well I didn't waste my breath, then, isn't it? It obviously hasn't occurred to you, but if you were a man kicking his partner out with indecent haste at five a.m. it would be a different story.'

‘I don't believe this! Are you implying
I'm
using
you
?' She gasped incredulously at this novel interpretation of the situation.

‘Weren't you?'

‘My motivation didn't seem to bother you much last night.'

‘I wanted you.' The raw confession made her body sway like a sapling struck by an unexpected gust of wind. Her nerves were vibrating like over-stretched violin strings. ‘I wasn't in a position to make conditions last night.'

‘And you think you are now? This is my home, Ben, and I decide who stays and who leaves. I'm not trying to pretend last night didn't happen…' She wished he'd fasten his shirt; it was making a difficult situation even more trying to be faced with the expanse of golden-tanned skin.

‘Really?'

‘We should learn from our mistakes.'

‘What a healthy, well-balanced attitude.'

‘And I can do without your snide remarks,' she hissed, hot-faced.

‘Sorry,' he said unconvincingly. ‘Tell me, what have you learnt from our…
mistake
? Or are you just clearing the decks for lover boy—off with the new, on with the old? Are you really so sure he's still the right fit for you, Rachel? You might discover you've done some growing.'

‘I'm not trying to deny I find you physically attractive.'

‘Pity; I could do with a good laugh.'

She refused to be sidetracked by his biting sarcasm. ‘There's never been any question of anything more.' He'd said as much by omission himself. ‘The future doesn't really come into the equation when we both know you're only here for a matter of weeks. You were right…'

‘There's a first time for everything.'

She gave a dignified sniff. ‘When you said I'm not mistress material.'

‘You think he'll leave his wife for you, because of Charlie? Grow up, Rachel; if having children meant more to him than her he'd have deserted her years ago. His sort always go back to the wife.'

‘For God's sake,' she snapped, ‘I'm not talking about being Christophe's mistress, I'm talking about being yours!'

He froze, and she had the fleeting impression he was biting back his instinctive response. When he spoke it was very slowly and precisely.

‘I don't recall asking you.' Eyes narrowed, he rocked on the balls of his feet and stood waiting for the inevitable explosion.

She gave a gasp of anger. Of all the smug, arrogant, self-satisfied rats! ‘There's no point in trying to be civilised with you, is there? Get out!' she yelled. ‘Now!'
Mistress
was too formal a commitment for him! He thinks he can have me whenever he wants, and I haven't done much to discourage his theory so far, she thought bitterly.

Her anger seemed to have lifted his spirits; he grinned at her with every sign of pleasure. ‘Are you going to throw that?' he enquired with interest, nodding at the hairbrush she was waving to emphasise her point.

‘If I'm going to throw anything it will have a sharper edge than this.'

Still grinning, he shrugged on his jacket without bothering to fasten his shirt. The picture it presented was somehow decadent and erotic. Let's face it, girl, you'd find Ben Arden in a bin sack a turn-on; it's pathetic, simply pathetic, she told herself.

‘For a woman who doesn't want to disturb the child you've turned the tiniest bit shrill.'

‘You've not heard anything yet,' she promised grimly.

‘Relax; I wouldn't dream of staying where I'm not welcome.'

‘You finally got the message.'

‘Put it down to the conflicting signals,' he said drily. Hand on the door handle, he turned back. ‘Believe me, darling, it's your loss—I'm a morning man.'

The hairbrush hit the closed door.

‘S
TOP
there.' She must have this wrong. Fortunately he'd offered her a seat before he'd enlightened her as to the reason for this meeting or she might just have been stretched out on the ankle-deep Aubusson carpet by now.

There was no way Sir Stuart Arden could be saying what she thought he was. She'd probably feel extremely silly later for saying this.

‘You want me to sleep with your son?'

She tried to make a joke of it but failed miserably; the persistent tremor reflected her bewilderment. He wasn't laughing and he wasn't looking furious at her presumption either.

‘I didn't say that.'

‘You implied it!' She was apparently to offer her body as inducement to Ben. Outrageousness seemed to be a congenital condition in the Arden family.

‘You're a very blunt young woman, Miss French. I like that.' He beamed with generous approval at her.

‘I thought I was unsuitable material for…' she began drily.

‘I admit I might have been a bit hasty. I didn't like the idea of my son being saddled with a ready-made family.'

‘I assure you that I'm not on the look-out for a rich husband—rich, or any other sort!'

‘Since then I've been watching you.' Now there was a very unsettling thought, she reflected wryly. ‘And I'm impressed by what I've seen.'

She judged it was time to put an end to this farcical situation. ‘You've got this all wrong, you know. Ben isn't leav
ing because of me,' she said earnestly. As mistakes went this one was up there with the big boys. The ever-present bleakness settled around her heart like a steel band.

She could see she hadn't convinced him. It was made more difficult when he was pretty well sold on the popular theory of his own infallibility. When she'd been instructed to go to the big man's office several scenarios had crossed her mind—instant dismissal was one, a leave-my-son-alone lecture was another. Use your feminine wiles to make my son stay home hadn't been in the running!

‘You're not the usual type he goes for at all.' Benedict's father obviously considered this a clinching argument but the significance remained unclear to Rachel. ‘It's obvious he thinks he's in love.'

‘Your son isn't in love with me.' She was able to say this without a blush; unfortunately she didn't have the same control over her heart as she did her complexion, and it hurt—it hurt a lot to actually acknowledge this.

With a slow nod of his head he conceded she might be right. It obviously didn't occur to him that it was tactless to concur. Rachel's exasperation was increasing by the second.

‘He might
think
he is, though. He's not used to rejection.'

His surveillance network wasn't infallible, then.
Rejection!
Hysteria wouldn't be far away if she dwelt on that one too long!

‘Benedict made this decision before he even came back to England.'

‘Hah!' he said triumphantly. ‘He's confided in you; I thought as much. Benedict doesn't do that—it just goes to prove it.'

‘Prove what?'

‘He's serious about you.'

‘I really don't have any influence with your son.'

‘You've got more than me.' For the first time she glimpsed
the depth of his frustration and anxiety. ‘I'm asking you to use it to stop him making a terrible mistake. He'll thank us for it eventually.'

‘I don't think Ben would thank anyone for conspiring behind his back.' If he ever found out about this little tête-à-tête she didn't want to be around.

‘Conspiracy is a harsh word.'

‘But accurate,' she insisted firmly.

Stuart Arden wasn't used to asking anyone for anything and it showed. She felt something she'd never imagined she'd feel for this man—she felt sympathy. It must have cost him a lot in pride to come to her and ask for her help. He must really be desperate to keep Ben in the country. However, she kept a tight hold on the sympathy; it wouldn't do to forget that behind the concerned father was a ruthless man who would do anything and use anyone to get his own way.

‘I don't think Ben has taken this decision lightly.'

‘Have you got any idea how gifted he is?' he asked, banging his fist down on the desk. ‘He has a brilliant future to look forward to. He's throwing it all away! And for what? Some dry dustbowl!' he said scornfully. ‘You must be able to see how ludicrous the idea is. This is a whim, nothing more. Do
you
want him to go?' She averted her face too slowly. ‘I thought not.' He gave a triumphant grunt of satisfaction.

‘What I want doesn't enter into it.'

‘Are you lovers?'

Rachel got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘As my employer you have a number of rights, but asking that isn't one of them.'

‘Don't be offended, my dear.' The transition from interrogator to kindly uncle was made with bewildering speed. ‘If you want the man why don't you fight for him? You have weapons in your arsenal that I lack.'

Rachel's nostrils flared in annoyance. She didn't trust the crocodile smile one little bit. ‘I think I should go,' she said firmly.

‘A child—a baby—would make Benedict see where his responsibilities lie.'

Halfway to the door Rachel froze. She looked at the man behind the big desk with white-faced astonishment. ‘Are you actually suggesting I get
pregnant
in order to keep Ben in the country?'

‘It must have occurred to you.'

‘You think so?' He
was
serious.

‘There are in-built disadvantages to being a woman—no old-boy network, prejudices in the workplace—but there are also advantages, and I've always admired women who use their femininity to get what they want. A hint of cleavage can be just as affective as an old school tie.'

‘Even if I did agree with you—which I don't—I hardly think what you're suggesting is comparable,' she croaked hoarsely.

‘I'm only suggesting you utilise all the weapons at your disposal. If you don't like the idea of actually getting pregnant I understand. The mere possibility would be enough to bring him to his senses and lots of women lose babies…' His voice trailed off suggestively.

‘You want me to pretend I'm pregnant?'

‘Naturally I'd leave the details up to you.'

Her mouth worked and no sound came out. ‘You expected me to go along with this idea?' All emotion was leached from her voice.

‘Well, we both have something to gain.'

She took a deep, wrathful breath, her bosom swelling impressively as she did so. ‘I'll
encourage
Ben to leave the country if it means he'll be clear of your devious machinations!' she announced, chin up, eyes blazing. ‘What you've
suggested is monstrous and immoral. I would never,
ever
use a child, or even,' she drawled sarcastically, ‘the idea of a child, to trap a man. I think you've got a very warped idea of what love is, Sir Stuart. The sort of love I believe in doesn't manipulate and control a person.'

‘Then you do love my son.' Sir Stuart looked thoughtful.

‘I doubt very much if you know the meaning of the word.'

He laughed suddenly. ‘You know, my wife said that to me the first time I proposed. She had that same look of disdain on her face when she said it, too,' he recalled with a nostalgic sigh.

‘How did you get her to say yes? Threaten to bankrupt her father, or did you just kidnap her sick granny?'

To her amazement he appeared to find her sarcasm amusing. ‘Perhaps she'll tell you one of these days, my dear. I hope there are no hard feelings; it was worth a shot. I'd do anything to keep Benedict from ruining his career,' he said simply.

‘Maybe you justify your actions under the mantle of parental concern, but I don't swallow it. I think you're more concerned with how
you
feel, Sir Stuart.' She turned on her heel and left a very startled peer of the realm staring after her.

 

‘Did Charlie really take the news well?'

‘Better than I expected,' Rachel assured him. This evening was going better than she'd expected too. Christophe really was a pleasant companion. The natural awkwardness had faded quickly. He was an amusing, interesting companion, and a naturally kind man. ‘She's fascinated by the idea of relations she's never met. I left her curled up with a book of French grammar—light reading, you know?' She laughed.

‘A mixed blessing being so bright?'

She nodded at his perception. ‘Sometimes,' she confessed.
‘She milked me dry for details about your family. I hadn't realised until recently how much she wanted to know about her father. If I had…who knows?' She gave herself a sharp mental shake; it was never useful to reflect on paths you hadn't taken. ‘I think she wants to interrogate you now.'

‘You scare me.'

‘I said she could stay up late to see you again—if you'd like.'

His smile deepened. ‘I'd like. Annabel wanted to fly over, but I said it was probably better to play things slowly. I don't want to overwhelm her.'

‘Charlie isn't easily overwhelmed,' Rachel said drily. ‘But I think slowly is the best way to play this.'

‘That looks marvellous.' Christophe breathed in the aroma appreciatively as the waiter placed his steaming dessert before him. ‘Are you sure you're not tempted?' He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the calorific delight.

Rachel grinned as he attacked the mammoth-sized portion with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy. ‘I imagined we'd be dining somewhere very French,' she teased. The restaurant he'd brought her to specialised in traditional, unglamorous English cuisine.

‘What could be more glamorous than a steamed suet pudding?' he asked indignantly, spoon poised halfway to his mouth. ‘I have a weakness for English nursery food; do I have the expression right?'

She nodded. ‘You have, only I imagine a cardiologist might have another name for it.'

‘A little of what is bad for you occasionally can do no harm, Rachel.'

She was in a position to dispute that. A little of Ben had been
very
bad for her. Her concentration was shot to hell. It was getting hard to disguise the fact that she had no appetite. She had decided, rather harshly, that her face was looking
quite gaunt tonight. As for sleep, she'd forgotten what it was to do anything other than toss and turn. It wasn't going to last, of course, she knew—she reminded herself of this fact a hundred times a day—only it didn't help.

She was just grateful for her premature return to Albert's office. Mr Arden apparently no longer had need of her services—or so the curt office memo had informed her. Pity he hadn't explained this to his father before she'd been subjected to that horrific interview, which got more bizarre and surreal every time she reconstructed it in her mind. She'd seen Ben just once in the distance; there had been no mistaking his broad back or the sound of Sabrina's high-pitched giggle.

‘Will you have coffee?' Christophe asked for the third time.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.' She unfolded her white knuckles from the wine glass and forced herself to smile. She wasn't about to tell him where she'd been or with whom. She listened as he patiently repeated himself.

‘I do a passable coffee. Would you prefer to go back to my place? It will give you more time with Charlie.'

It was after midnight before she said goodnight to Christophe. She was only halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang once more. He must have forgotten something, she decided, skipping back down the stairs two at a time.

‘What's…?' The smile died dramatically as she recognised the tall figure who loomed out of the darkness. ‘Go away!' Despite her determined attempts to close the door in Benedict's face the large size eleven got in the way. A well-muscled thigh followed the foot and she found herself thrust back against an unattractive umbrella stand which stood in the hallway.

‘Don't bother closing that door—you're leaving,' she said grimly.

‘Not until you've done a bit of explaining.'

‘You're the one who should be explaining. What do you think you're doing barging in here?'

‘I waited until Fauré had left. I thought that was very considerate of me.' Benedict's affable expression was somewhat spoilt by the waves of anger emanating from his lean body.

‘You've been skulking out there waiting!' she accused, going cold all over at the thought. ‘Spying on me!' she squeaked in outrage.

'I know.'

Whatever he knew it didn't seem to be affording him much pleasure. In fact the pulse that visibly throbbed in his forehead looked about ready to pop. Explosive described fairly accurately his state of mind at the moment.

‘I'm happy for you. At least I would be if I had the faintest idea what you were talking about.' She picked up the assorted umbrellas and placed them back in the Victorian stand.

Hands thrust deep in his jeans pockets, he looked down at her with open contempt. ‘And I don't suppose you went to see my father either?' he said in a voice calculated to wither hardier blooms than Rachel.

She turned to face him, a red brolly still clutched in her bloodless grip.

‘Did you think he wouldn't tell me?' Benedict noticed she'd gone bluish around the lips. The floor was hard, unyielding mosaic tile; he'd have to move fast if she fainted.

‘Actually I didn't think he would,' she confessed eventually. Her head was spinning. Stuart Arden wasn't the sort of man who did anything unless he thought he could get something out of it. For the life of her she couldn't imagine what advantage he imagined this confession would give him.

‘Why the hell did you go to him, not me?' he demanded in an anguished voice. He swept an impatient hand through his hair—hair that had been soaked by the light summer
shower. Dampness made his shirt cling to the contours of his upper body, emphasising his powerful physique.