‘Was that my fault?’
Her eyes flickered upwards and he could see she’d forgotten he was there. A flood of self-conscious colour washed over her pale skin. She glanced nervously down to check that the gown was covering what it ought and Benedict’s lips twitched.
‘No, of course not. I really am very grateful, you know, and I’d like to say thank you, without…’
‘Bruising my feelings?’ he suggested. His words brought a rueful smile to her lips and a twinkle to her eyes.
‘How can…?’
‘I missed my dinner bringing…Charlie home. A sandwich…?’ He accompanied his words with a smile that had been melting female hearts since he was five years old.
Invite a man that looked like this into her home? Cautious instincts instilled from an early age fought a brief battle against her deep sense of maternal gratitude.
She gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Follow me.’
He’d already proved himself trustworthy when he’d brought Charlie home. So he looked dangerous with his long hair and unshaven face, not to mention those sexy dark eyes, but all that was just superficial and she’d told Charlie often enough not to judge by appearances… All the same she couldn’t dismiss the flutter of uncertainty in the pit of her belly. It did seem a lot like inviting the wolf into your house when you 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.