LITMIR.BIZ

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ought to be boarding up the door.

      Charlie appeared as they entered the sitting room and Rachel’s heart twisted as she saw how tired her daughter looked.

      ‘Has he gone—?’ She broke off when she saw the tall figure behind her mother. ‘What are you doing here?’ She sounded more curious than critical.

      ‘Mr…. Steve is hungry.’

      ‘So am I.’

      ‘Bath and bed in that order.’ To Ben’s surprise, Charlie shrugged, grinned and obeyed the instruction. ‘Have a seat,’ Rachel then invited.

      He did, and looked around with undisguised curiosity. ‘Nice place.’ If it was true that a room reflected the personality of the owner, Miss Rachel French’s lovely exterior hid an uncluttered, unpretentious but warm interior. It was a lot easier to live with than the seventies retro look the designer he’d let loose on his own place had left him. He spread his long legs in front of him and gave a satisfied sigh. It was too late to go to Sabrina’s now anyhow.

      ‘Do you…do you have a place?’ She removed her eyes self-consciously from the tears in his worn jeans. Her vivid imagination had conjured up some sordid squat.

      He looked into her concerned grey eyes; she looked almost embarrassed. Obviously she thought he was comparing her good fortune to his lack of it.

      ‘I have a place.’ She looked relieved and he felt a bit of a rat, but not enough of a rat to come clean. ‘Not as nice as this,’ he said sincerely. If she knew his address she wouldn’t believe his sincerity.

      ‘I didn’t meant to pry; it’s just there’s a lot of homelessness…’

      ‘Are you a do-gooder, Rachel?’

      She was instantly conscious of the casual way he used her name. He had a nice voice—deep and easy on the ears. Well, a bit more than easy on the ears, really, she admitted ruefully. It probably came in very useful in the seduction stakes.

      ‘You make it sound like an insult. Some people do genuinely care, you know,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m know I’ve been fortunate and I also know that pity isn’t a very constructive emotion.’

      ‘But it’s a very natural one,’ he said. Somewhere along the line the roles had got reversed. Wasn’t she supposed to be putting him at ease?

      ‘It’s a bit late to be talking about social inequalities,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll make you that sandwich.’ Suddenly she felt the need to escape those velvety brown eyes.

      ‘Can I help?’

      Rachel was alarmed that he’d followed her into the small galley kitchen. His presence made the small space seem even more confining. Whatever his domestic circumstances, there was nothing wrong with his personal hygiene; if there had been she’d have known it in the confines of the tiny room. He didn’t ladle on the masculine fragrance with a heavy hand like Nigel, thank goodness! He smelt so male, she thought, breathing in appreciatively. Abruptly her spine stiffened. What am I doing? she thought in confusion.

      ‘No, it’s fine. Will cheese do? I don’t have much; tomorrow’s shopping day.’ As if he was interested! She knew she was babbling and couldn’t stop.

      The chances were he was well accustomed to the effect he had on women—he probably traded on it. He knew his way around the female psyche all right, and probably the female anatomy too! She suddenly imagined the long, sensitive fingers that lay lightly on her work surface touching pale skin, and she shivered.

      ‘Cheese will be fine. Charlie tells me you’re getting married.’ Elbows bent behind him, he leant back on the countertop.

      Rachel bent down to retrieve the knife she’d dropped, the action hiding her flushed cheeks. Just how much had her daughter confided to this stranger? she wondered in alarm. Her alarm was given an extra edge because she realised that the skin she’d been visualising his hands touching was her own! Lack of food was obviously affecting her brain! She pushed a slice of cheese into her mouth and hoped this would give her flagging blood sugar a boost.

      ‘Children don’t miss much,’ he said with the comforting certainty of someone who knew about these things. Actually he didn’t know much about children; his sister would be insulted to be included in that category and his niece was a baby of seventeen months whom he’d not seen above twice in her young lifetime. ‘And I couldn’t help but overhear…’

      ‘Charlie doesn’t miss much.’ Rachel dropped the knife in the sink and pulled a clean one from the drawer. ‘She’s very bright—with an IQ that makes me feel inadequate sometimes. It’s easy to forget how young she is on occasion.’ She had begun to wonder whether it had been a good move coming to the city to be close to the school that specialised in ‘gifted children’ Charlie didn’t seem to be settling in at all.

      ‘And are you?’ Getting married, that is?’ he added.

      ‘I don’t know.’ Now why the hell did I tell him that? she wondered. Perhaps it was just a relief to speak to someone who didn’t have a vested interest.

      ‘It must be hard bringing up a child alone,’ he mused casually. ‘I suppose it would be a relief to find someone to share the responsibility with, especially if he’s loaded…’

      ‘I’m not looking for a father for Charlie. Or a meal ticket.’ She felt her defensive hackles rising. Was he trying to get a rise, she wondered suspiciously, or was he just plain rude?

      ‘Just as well—the father bit, I mean.’ She gasped audibly and he smiled apologetically into her face over which a definite chill was settling. ‘The cosy rapport was noticeable by its absence. She seems to hate his guts.’

      Rachel found herself responding with a rueful smile even though she felt vaguely uneasy at the intimacy developing in this conversation with a total stranger.

      ‘Charlie has very definite views,’ she admitted. ‘But, as much as I love my daughter, I don’t let her vet the men I see.’ ‘Men’ made her social life sound a lot more interesting than it was. Over the past ten years how many had there been? No calculator required, she thought wryly. ‘Mayonnaise?’

      ‘Yes, please.’

      ‘Help yourself,’ she said, sliding the plate in his direction.

      ‘Thanks.’ Benedict pulled out one of the two high stools that were pushed underneath the counter. ‘Aren’t you eating?’ Two stools, he noticed, not three; boyfriend didn’t stay over too often, then. He felt a surge of satisfaction.

      Rachel thought of the meal she’d never got to eat. ‘I lost my appetite somewhere between losing my child and fighting with my fiancée.’

      She glanced down at her finger and realised she’d never actually picked up the ring. She’d never actually said yes. She didn’t believe in fate, but it did seem as if someone was trying to tell her something. Perhaps there was enough of the romantic left in her to wish she could marry someone she genuinely didn’t want to live without. Someone whose touch she craved. A man with whom she could share her deepest dreams and fears—who would make her feel complete.

      ‘Do you do that much?’

      For a horrified split second she thought she’d spoken out loud. It took her another couple of confusion-filled seconds to realise he wasn’t referring to her fantasising and then make the connection with her earlier comment.

      ‘I don’t make a habit of losing Charlie.’ What a night; it’s no wonder my concentration is shot to hell, she thought.

      ‘I meant fighting with your boyfriend—though he’s hardly a boy, is he?’ He took another healthy bite of the sandwich and watched the angry colour mount her smooth cheeks. He’d touched a nerve.

      ‘Nigel is forty-two,’ she snapped back, her fingers drumming against the work surface. ‘I’ve not the faintest idea why I’m justifying myself to you!’ she muttered half to

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