LITMIR.BIZ

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to keep men at a distance because she’d never felt so much as a flicker of attraction.

      ‘Flicker’ didn’t even begin to describe the whitehot flare of recognition that had seared through her when she first laid eyes on the stranger, a clamorous response that both appalled and embarrassed her.

      Hiding her importunate reaction with a slightly strained version of her trademark smile, she asked, ‘How’s she been?’

      ‘She’s asleep,’ he said, watching her with an unfaltering, level gaze that hid speculation and cool assessment in the green depths.

      Something tightened in Gerry’s stomach. Most men preened under her smile, wrongly taking a purely natural movement of tiny muscles in her face as a tribute to their masculinity. Perhaps because he understood the power of his own smile, this man was immune to hers.

      Or perhaps he was immune to her. She wouldn’t like him for an enemy, she thought with an involuntary little shiver.

      The baby should have looked incongruous in his arms, but she didn’t. Blissfully unconscious, her eyes were dark lines in her rosy little face. From time to time she made sucking motions against the fist at her mouth.

      ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ Gerry said. Relieved that his hands were occupied with the baby, she kept hers by her sides. ‘I’m Gerry Dacre.’

      ‘Oh, sorry,’ Cara said, opening her eyes very wide. ‘Gerry’s my agent, Bryn, and she owns the house—her aunt’s my mother’s best friend, and for her sins she said she’d board me for a year.’ She gave a swift urchin grin. ‘Gerry, this is Bryn Falconer.’

      Exquisitely beautiful, Cara was an up-and-coming star for the modelling agency Gerry part-owned. And she was far too young for Bryn Falconer, whose hard assurance indicated that his thirty-two or three years had been spent in tough places.

      ‘How do you do, Bryn?’ Gerry said, relying on formality. ‘I’ll sterilise the bottle—’

      ‘Cara organised that as soon as she came in,’ he said calmly.

      ‘Mr Patel said that the solution he gave me was the best way to disinfect babies’ bottles,’ Cara told her. ‘I followed the instructions exactly.’

      Sure enough, the bottle was sitting in a special basin on the bench. Gerry gave a swift, glittering smile. ‘Good. How long does it have to stay in the solution?’

      ‘An hour,’ Cara said knowledgeably. She glanced at the tiny bundle sleeping in Bryn’s arms. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right until then?’

      Gerry nodded. ‘She should be. She’s certainly not hungry now, or she wouldn’t have stopped crying. I’ll make a much-needed cup of coffee.’ Her stomach lurched as she met the measuring scrutiny of Bryn Falconer’s green eyes. ‘Can I get you one, or some breakfast?’ Cara didn’t drink coffee, and vowed that breakfast made her feel ill.

      The corners of his long, imperious mouth lifted slightly. ‘No, thank you.’ He transferred his glance to Cara’s face and smiled. ‘Don’t you have to get ready for work?’

      ‘Yes, but I can’t leave you holding the baby!’ Giggling, she flirted her lashes at him.

      Disgusted, Gerry realised that she felt left out. Stiffly she reached for the coffee and began the pleasant routine of making it.

      From behind her Bryn said, ‘I don’t run the risk of losing my job if I’m late.’

      Cara cooed, ‘It must be wonderful to be the boss.’

      Trying very hard to make her voice steady, Gerry said, ‘Cara, you can’t be late for your go-see.’

      ‘I know, I know.’ Reluctance tinged her voice.

      Gerry’s mouth tightened. Cara really had it bad; last night she’d been over the moon at her luck. Now, as though a chance to audition for an international firm meant nothing to her, she said, ‘I’d better change, I suppose.’

      Gerry reached for a cup and saucer. Without looking at him, she said, ‘You don’t have to stay, Mr Falconer. I’ll look after the baby until the police come.’

      ‘I’m in no hurry,’ he replied easily. ‘Cara, if you’re ready in twenty minutes I’ll give you a lift into Queen Street.’

      ‘Oh—that’d be wonderful!’

      Swinging around, Gerry said grittily, ‘This is a really important interview, Cara.’

      ‘I know, I know.’ Chastened, Cara sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll wear exactly what we decided on.’

      She walked around Bryn’s long legs and set out for the door, stopping just inside it when he asked Gerry, ‘Don’t you have to work too?’

      Cara said, ‘Oh, Gerry’s on holiday, lucky thing. Although,’ she added fairly, ‘it’s her first holiday since she started up the agency three years ago.’

      ‘You’re very young, surely, to be running a model agency?’

      Although neither Bryn’s words nor his tone gave anything away, Gerry suspected he considered her job lightweight and frivolous. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she gave him her smile again and said, ‘How kind of you. What do you do, Mr Falconer?’

      Cara hovered, her lovely face bemused as she looked from one to the other.

      ‘Call me Bryn,’ he invited, hooded eyes gleaming behind those heavy lashes.

      ‘Thank you, Bryn,’ Gerry said politely, and didn’t reciprocate. His smile widened into a swift shark’s grin that flicked her on the raw. In her most indolent voice Gerry persisted, ‘And what do you do?’

      The grin faded as rapidly as it had arrived. ‘I’m an importer,’ he said.

      Cara interrupted, ‘I’ll see you soon, Bryn.’

      Bryn Falconer’s gaze didn’t follow her out of the room. Instead he looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms, and then up again, catching Gerry’s frown as she picked up the package of sterilising preparation.

      ‘Gerry doesn’t suit you,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Is it your real name?’

      Gerry’s brows shot up. ‘Actually, no,’ she drawled, emphasising each syllable a little too much. ‘It’s Geraldine, which doesn’t suit me either.’

      His smile had none of the sexy warmth that made it so alarmingly attractive. Instead there was a hint of ruthlessness in it as his gaze travelled with studied deliberation over her face. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. “The fair Geraldine”,’ he quoted, astonishing her. ‘I think it suits you very well. You’re extremely beautiful.’ His glance lingered on the flakes of colour across her high cheekbones. Softly he said, ‘You have a charming response to compliments.’

      ‘I’m not used to getting them first thing in the morning,’ she said, angry at the struggle it took her to achieve her usual poised tone.

      His lashes drooped. ‘But those compliments are the sweetest,’ he said smoothly.

      Oh, he knew how to make a woman blush—and he’d made the sexual implication with no more than a rasp in the deep voice that sent a shivering thrill down her spine, heat and cold intermingled. Into her wayward mind flashed an image of him naked, the big limbs slack with satisfied desire, the hard, uncompromising mouth blurred by kisses.

      No doubt he’d woken up like that this morning, but it had been Cara’s kisses on his mouth, Cara’s sleek young body in his arms.

      Repressing a sudden, worrying flare of raw jealousy, Gerry parried, ‘Well, thank you. I do make excellent breakfasts, but although I’m always pleased to receive compliments on my cooking—’ her voice lingered a moment on the word before she resumed, ‘—I don’t know that I consider them the sweetest. Most women prefer to be complimented on more important qualities.’ Before he had a chance to

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