Surrender To Seduction

Gerry had perfected her technique for dealing with men—a lazy, flirtatious approach robbed of any element of sexuality. Instinct warned her that it wasn’t going to work with this man; flirting with him, she thought, struggling for balance, would be a hazardous occupation indeed.

A green gaze, clear and cold and glinting like emeralds under water, met hers. Set beneath heavy lids and bordered by thick black lashes, the stranger’s eyes were startlingly beautiful in his harsh, compelling face. He took up far too much room in her civilised house, and when he moved towards the telephone it was with a swift, noiseless precision that reminded Gerry of the predatory grace of a hunting animal.

Lord, but he was big! Gerry fought back a gut-level appreciation of just how tall he was as he dialled, recounted the situation with concise precision, gave a sharp inclination of his tawny head, and hung up. ‘They’ll call a social worker and get here as soon as they can. Until then they suggest you keep it warm.’

‘Her,’ Gerry corrected, cuddling the baby closer. It snuffled into silence and turned its head up to her, one eye screwed shut, small three-cornered mouth seeking nourishment. ‘No, sweetheart, there’s nothing here for you,’ she said softly, her heart aching for the helpless child, and for the mother desperate enough to abandon her.

‘You look quite at home with a baby,’ Cara teased, recovering from astonishment into her natural ebullience.

Gerry gave her a fleeting grin. ‘You’ve lived here long enough to know that I’ve got cousins from here to glory, most of whom seem to have had babies in the past three years. I’m a godmother twice over, and reasonably handson.’

The baby began to wail again, and Cara said uncertainly, ‘Couldn’t we give it some milk off a spoon, or something?’

‘You don’t give newborn babies straight cows’ milk. But if someone could go to the dairy—I know they sell babies’ bottles there; I saw a woman buy one when I collected the bread the other day—we could boil some water and give it to her.’

‘Will that be safe?’ the strange man asked, his lashes drooping slightly.

Gerry realised that her face was completely bare of cosmetics; furthermore, she wore only her dressing gown—her summer dressing gown, a thin cotton affair that probably wasn’t hiding the fact that she was naked beneath it. ‘Safer than anything else, I think. Here,’ she said, offering the baby to Cara, ‘hold her for a moment, will you?’

The younger woman recoiled. ‘No, I can’t, I’ve never held a baby in my life. She’s so tiny! I might drop her, or break an arm or something.’

‘I’ll take her,’ the green-eyed stranger said crisply, and did so, scooping the child from Gerry’s arms with a sure deftness that reassured her. He looked at Cara. ‘Put the kettle on first, then go to the dairy and buy a feeding bottle. My car keys are in my right pocket.’

She pouted, but gave him a flirtatious glance from beneath her lashes as she removed the keys. ‘You trust me with your car? I’m honoured. Gerry, it’s a stunning black Jag, one of the new ones.’

‘And if you hit anything in it,’ the man said, with a smile that managed to be both sexy and intimidating, ‘I’ll take it out of your hide.’

Cara giggled, swung the keys in a little circle and promised, ‘I’ll be careful. I’m quite a good driver, aren’t I, Gerry?’ She switched her glance to Gerry and stopped, eyes and mouth wide open. ‘Gerry!’

‘What?’ she asked, halfway to the door.

Cara said incredulously, ‘You haven’t got any make-up on! I’ve never seen you without it before!’

‘It happens,’ Gerry said, and managed to slow her rush to a more dignified pace. At the door, however, she turned and said reluctantly, ‘She hasn’t got a napkin on.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time a baby’s wet me,’ he said drily. ‘I think I can cope.’

Oh, boy, Gerry thought, fleeing after an abrupt nod. I’ll just bet you can cope with anything fate throws at you. Ruler of your destiny, that’s you, whoever you are! No doubt he had another expensive dark suit at his office, just in case he had an accident!

In her bedroom she tried to concentrate on choosing clothes, but she kept recalling the impact of that hard-hewn face and those watchful, speculative eyes.

And that smile. As the owner of a notorious smile herself, Gerry knew that it gave her an undeserved edge in the battle of the sexes. This man’s smile transformed his harsh features, honing the blatant male magnetism that came with broad shoulders and long legs and narrow hips and a height of close to six foot four.

It melted her backbone, and he hadn’t even been smiling at her!

Where on earth had Cara found him?

Or, given his aura of masterful self-possession, where had he found her?

The younger woman’s morals were no concern of hers, but for some reason Gerry wished that Cara hadn’t spent the night with him.

Five minutes later she’d pulled on black trousers and ankle boots, and a neat pinstriped shirt in her favourite black and white, folded the cuffs back to above her wrist, and looped a gold chain around her throat. A small gold hoop hung from each ear. Rapidly she applied a thin coat of tinted moisturiser and lip-glaze.

Noises from outside had indicated Cara’s careful departure, and slightly more reckless return. With a touch of defiance, Gerry delicately smoothed a faint smudge of eyeshadow above each dark blue-green eye. There, she told her reflection silently, the mask’s back in place.

Once more her usual sensible, confident self, she walked down the hall to the living room. Previous owners had renovated the old villa, adding to the lean-to at the back so that what had been a jumble of small rooms was now a large kitchen, dining and living area.

The bookcases that lined one wall had been Gerry’s contribution to the room, as were the books in them and the richly coloured curtains covering French windows. Outside, a deck overlooked a garden badly in need of renovation—Gerry’s next project. It should have been finished by now, but she’d procrastinated, drawing endless plans, because once she got it done she might find herself restlessly looking around for something new to occupy herself.

Cara was sitting beside the man on one of the sofas, gazing into his face with a besotted expression.

Had Gerry been that open and easy to read at twenty?

Probably, she thought cynically.

As she walked in the stranger smiled down at the baby lost in his arms. Another transformation, Gerry thought, trying very hard to keep her balance. Only this one was pure tenderness. Whoever he was, the tawny-haired man was able to temper his great strength to the needs of the weak.

The man looked up. Even cuddling a baby, he radiated a compelling masculinity that provoked a flicker of visceral caution. It was the eyes—indolent yet perceptive—and the dangerous, uncompromising face.

After some worrying experiences with men in her youth, Gerry had carefully and deliberately developed a persona that was a mixture of open good humour, light flirtation, and warm charm. Men liked her, and although many found her attractive they soon accepted her tacit refusal to be anything other than a friend. Few cared to probe beneath the pleasant, laughing surface, or realised that her slow, lazy smile hid heavily guarded defences.

Now, with those defences under sudden, unsparing assault—all the more dangerous because she was fighting a hidden traitor in her own body and mind—she was forced to accept that she’d only been able 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?’