And after that afternoon she had no doubt he had a brilliant future. He had cut a path through the legal maze which had made Albert despair. The clients went away happy, knowing they’d been saved a very costly court battle, and she could go home knowing her stint as Benedict Arden’s PA was going to be much shorter than she’d anticipated.
‘So you’re still here?’
‘Ask the same question in ten seconds and you’ll be talking to fresh air,’ she promised, heaving her bag onto her shoulder. ‘You must be pleased with how things went today.’
‘What happened to my seven-minute phone call?’ Benedict growled unexpectedly. He sat down on the deep window seat and she thought he looked to be in a foul humour for someone who’d just achieved miracles.
Calmly she buttoned her dark tailored jacket to the neck. The very precise way she did so seemed to irritate him—his irritation was hard to miss. Some perverse imp made her go back and flick off an invisible speck then smooth a sleeve once more.
‘Albert’s temp was having a problem this morning locating a brief,’ she explained, with a final glance around her clean desk. ‘You don’t mind that I slipped down to help, do you?’
‘Why should I mind?’
‘You look a bit…on edge,’ she observed innocently. She met his hard scrutiny with a bland indifference that gave no hint of the churning misery in her stomach. Was he seeing the same scheming bitch his father evidently did when he looked at her now? Was he wishing he’d never shown any interest?
‘On edge,’ he mused. ‘That’s as good a description as any.’ For some reason the thought seemed to amuse him. ‘Are you surprised? You’ve met my father…’
‘On several occasions,’ she admitted, compressing her lips. ‘I didn’t know I’d made a deep impression, but today he seemed to know an awful lot about me.’
‘You did hear, didn’t you? Look at me, Rachel,’ Benedict said, and she could hear the urgency in his voice.
‘Hear what?’ she said in a bewildered tone.
‘You heard what my father said—heard what he intended you to hear. Didn’t you?’
‘It’s no big deal,’ she said, making a big show of looking at her watch. ‘What I did hear made very good sense.’
What a fool she’d been to imagine she’d ever been anything but a passing fancy. Men like Ben Arden didn’t take women like her seriously—she was a novelty to a jaded palate, that was all. She ought to be thanking Stuart Arden for making her wake up.
Walking through the corridors of the old, luxuriously furnished building today, she’d been hard-pressed not to assume that every quiet conversation she came upon was about her. Rationality didn’t come into it; the seeds of doubt had been planted and she felt conspicuous, as though everyone knew about her lustful fantasies. Fantasies that had almost become reality.
When he spoke Benedict’s deep voice vibrated with anger and frustration. ‘You and my father are on the same wavelength, it would seem.’ His nostrils flared and the sensual curve of his lips was outlined by a thin white rim of anger. He came around and placed his hands palm down on her desk. The sturdy oak trembled slightly under the pressure, but not nearly as much as her knees trembled.
‘Do you mind?’ she asked coldly, catching hold of the creased corner of a document under his hand.
As he leaned forward the warm male smell of his body assaulted her nostrils. She could see the faint dark blur of body hair through the fine white cotton of his shirt. Despite the air-conditioned coolness of the room sweat trickled down the valley between her breasts. Her hostility was almost submerged by the scorching thrill of arousal that swept through her.
With a sweeping movement he knocked the whole pile she was attempting to straighten onto the floor. ‘Will you stop that?’
For a moment she’d thought he had been privy to her prohibited thoughts. The flush of mortification faded when she recognised his meaning.
‘It’s what I’m paid to do!’ She hadn’t even realised she’d been sharpening a pile of pencils that lay neatly on her desk. ‘You won’t get anywhere with me by acting like a thwarted child!’
The veneer of indifference was abruptly torn away and suddenly she was trembling with suppressed emotion—with humiliation. What did he think it felt like to hear herself discussed like a…an object? He might not like being reminded that at the end of the day it was daddy who called the shots, but at least he hadn’t heard himself spoken of like some sort of grasping tart!
‘How will I get somewhere with you?’ The husky query made her quiver.