‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘Granted,’ he acknowledged easily. He changed tack. ‘How do you think Charlie will feel if in eight years’ time she realises that you’ve built your whole life around her needs?’
‘I haven’t, I don’t!’ she protested angrily. He knew nothing about her—nothing! She recalled uneasily that Aunt Janet—more tactfully, of course—had insinuated something similar last year.
‘It’s highly likely she’ll feel guilty when she wants to be independent and go her own way. You’re not doing her any favours by living your life vicariously through her.’
‘I don’t!’
‘Not yet, but you have definite leanings in that direction.’
‘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.