She was still grateful but her gratitude was now tempered with a degree of caution. There had been intelligence in those midnight-dark eyes and a confidence bordering on arrogance, a complacency common to all attractive male animals who knew they were the cream of the crop. It wasn’t a confidence she associated with someone who worried about where his next meal was coming from.
Come to think of it, he didn’t look undernourished—far from it. She felt an unexpected wave of heat under her skin as she assimilated his lean, muscular build and broad, powerful shoulders. It didn’t matter what clothes he was wearing—he’d stand out in a crowd. Stand out in crowd nothing—the crowd would part to let him pass! He had an indefinable aura of someone who’d never been jostled in his life.
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ Angry that she could be distracted by anything as inconsequential as a well-developed thigh, she thought her voice came out crisply prim. For heaven’s sake, Rachel, this man has saved Charlie from God knows what and you’re sounding snooty because he stands out in a crowd? You can’t hold the fact that he oozes sexual magnetism against the man.
What could she do to thank him? It was beneath him to even think it, but Benedict couldn’t stop mentally forming the obvious trite response. At least he could think again, even if the thoughts were too crass to share! He’d experienced lust at first sight before, but never anything quite so mind-numbing as those first few moments when he’d set eyes on this woman—Rachel. He liked the name, he liked—
‘For your trouble…’
Benedict stared at the notes in the boyfriend’s outstretched hand and his narrowed eyes moved slowly to the older man’s face. Forty if he was a day, he thought in surprise. What did she see in him? Apart from the air of affluence, he thought cynically.
‘I don’t want your money.’ He didn’t bother to disguise his contempt.
Rachel elbowed Nigel in the ribs and glared at him as she brushed past. ‘Please don’t be offended,’ she said urgently. ‘Nigel only meant—’
‘Pay off the loser—he lowers the tone of the neighbourhood?’
‘Now look here…’ She wasn’t surprised Nigel didn’t sound his usual confident self. That thin-lipped smile and dark stare would dent anyone’s assurance. Rachel doubted he was accustomed to being regarded with such dismissive contempt.
‘Nigel!’ she remonstrated in a tone betraying more exasperation than sympathy. He was acting as if this were his house, his daughter, his debt to repay. Couldn’t he see he’d trampled on the man’s pride? Her tender heart was wrung with empathy. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we said goodnight now. Charlie—’
‘Are you asking me to go? Fine…’
‘Don’t be silly, Nigel.’ It was unfortunate he sounded like a sulky schoolboy.
‘You’re very considerate of his feelings.’ This accusation took her breath away. ‘What about me?’ The childish whine was back. ‘One of the things I like about you is your unemotional, level-headed attitude, Rachel, but just occasionally it would be nice to get a response that’s not… Forget it!’ he said, compressing his lips and throwing one last glance in the stranger’s direction.
‘I’ll ring in the morning, Rachel, and don’t forget we’re dining with the Wilsons on Tuesday. Wear something a little less…’ his eyes dwelt critically on the loose, soft, low cowl neckline of her dress ‘…revealing. You know how conservative Margaret is.’
The apology died dramatically on her lips as Nigel left. Usually she could ignore his comments about her clothes. They were normally couched in such subtle jocular terms that it wasn’t possible to take offence, but this time it wasn’t possible to disregard the criticism.
With a frown she peered downwards. The shoestring straps had made it impossible to wear a bra beneath the dress, but it wasn’t as if she was displaying a vast expanse of cleavage—she didn’t have a vast expanse of cleavage to display! Not that she was exactly flat-chested. She plucked at the folds of fabric and squinted down at the shadowy outline of her firm breasts.
‘Oh, damn and blast it to hell!’ she said defiantly, letting the fabric fall back into place. Trying to please Charlie, trying to please Nigel, she was tired of walking a damned tightrope. She was also pretty tired of feeling constantly guilty.
The faint indentation between her arched eyebrows deepened and her head fell back, revealing the graceful curve of her lovely throat. For a split second Benedict wondered what she’d do if he kissed her on that fascinating spot where the pulse visibly beat against her collarbone. Scream bloody murder, you fool, he told himself sternly, putting a lid quick smart on this foolish fantasy.