The Husband Assignment

‘Sick,’ Emma said in a forlorn voice, and Stephanie leaned down to brush her lips across her daughter’s forehead.

‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll go see the doctor soon, and get some medicine to make you better.’

Washing. Loads of it. She took the second completed load out and pushed it into the drier, then systematically filled the washing machine and set it going again.

A gastro virus, the doctor pronounced, and prescribed treatment and care. Stephanie called into the pharmacy, collected a few essentials from the nearby supermarket, then she drove home and settled Emma comfortably on the sofa with one of her favorite videos slotted into the VCR.

A sophisticated laptop linked her to the office, and she noted the calls logged in on her message bank, then settled down to work.

Emma slept for an hour, had some chicken broth, a dry piece of toast, then snuggled down in the makeshift bed Stephanie set up on the couch.

By evening Emma was much improved, and she slept through the night without mishap. Even so, Stephanie decided to keep her home another day as a precaution.

Work was a little more difficult with a reasonably energetic child underfoot, and when she’d settled Emma into bed for her afternoon nap she crossed to the phone and made a series of necessary calls.

One revealed the information she sought, in that Michel Lanier was investing personal, not Lanier corporate funds. Therefore it was solely Michel to whom she owed professional allegiance.

Stephanie opened her laptop, and began sourcing the necessary data she needed to complete a report. Although film was her area of expertise, she worked on other marketing projects and liaised with several of her associates.

It was almost three when the doorbell rang, and she quickly crossed to open the door before whoever was on the other side could ring the bell again.

Security was an important feature for a single woman living alone with a young child, and aluminum grills covered every window and both doors.

Possibly it was a neighbor, or a hawker canvassing door-to-door.

Stephanie unlocked the paneled wooden door and was temporarily unable to contain her surprise at the sight of Raoul Lanier’s tall frame beyond the aperture.

He looked vital, dynamic, his broad-boned features portraying a handsome ruggedness that was primitive, compelling. Almost barbaric.

Words formed to demand how he’d discovered where she lived. Then they died before they found voice. All Raoul Lanier had to do was lift the telephone and make a few inquiries to elicit the pertinent information.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT are you doing here?’

Raoul arched an eyebrow. ‘Do you usually greet everyone this way?’

‘No,’ she managed to say coolly.

‘And keep them standing on the doorstep?’

He bothered her more than she was prepared to admit. On a professional level, she had no recourse but to suffer his presence. However, this was her time, her home, which made it very personal.

She was safe. The outer wrought-iron security door was locked. He couldn’t enter unless she chose to release the catch.

‘I conduct business in my office, Mr. Lanier. I suggest you contact my secretary and make an appointment.’

‘In case it slipped your mind, you refused to take my call.’

‘I had to do some urgent work on the computer,’ she explained, determined not to sound defensive. ‘My secretary took messages.’

‘I gave her one. You didn’t return it.’

She regarded him carefully. ‘There was no need, given Michel is investing personal, not Lanier company funds, into the film.’

‘As a matter of interest, did the roses make it into your office?’

Stephanie’s eyes flared, then assumed cool control. ‘I had Isabel put them in reception.’

‘And tore up my check.’

‘It was a business dinner,’ she reminded firmly.

‘Business was on the agenda,’ Raoul granted in measured tones.

‘It was the sole reason I accepted your invitation.’

There was cynical amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes. ‘You have since made that remarkably clear.’

‘I’m not into playing word-games, nor do I indulge in male ego-stroking.’

He laughed. A deep throaty sound that held a degree of spontaneous humor, and something else she didn’t care to define.

‘Invite me in, Stephanie.’

‘No. Emma is due to wake from her nap anytime soon.’

‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

‘I don’t date, Mr. Lanier,’ she added icily.

‘Raoul,’ he insisted evenly. ‘The sharing of a meal doesn’t necessarily constitute a date.’

He really was too much! ‘What part of no don’t you understand?’ she demanded, and saw his eyes narrow slightly.

‘Are you so afraid of me?’

Fear had many aspects, and while her personal safety wasn’t in question, her emotional sanity was something else entirely. She’d turned the lock on her emotional heart and thrown away the key. This man saw too much, sensed too much, and was therefore dangerous.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ she said quietly.

One eyebrow arched. ‘You think so?’

‘We have nothing to discuss.’

‘Yes,’ Raoul argued silkily. ‘We do.’

His gaze seemed to sear right through to her soul, and it took enormous willpower to keep her eyes level, emotionless.