The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (234 page)

‘And request you rejoin me at dinner,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

‘I'm no longer hungry, I don't like you, and—' she paused fractionally, and aimed for the kill ‘—the last thing I want to do is spend another minute in your company. Is that clear?'

Raoul inclined his head in mocking acceptance. ‘Perfectly.' He attended to the clasp and held open the door.
‘Au revoir.'

Stephanie slid in behind the wheel, inserted the key into the ignition and fired the engine. ‘Goodbye.'

The instant he closed the door she reversed out of the parking bay, then without sparing him a glance she drove toward the exit.

Minutes later she joined the flow of traffic traveling toward the center of town, and it wasn't until she'd cleared the three major intersections that she allowed herself to reflect on the scene in the hotel car park.

She'd managed to have the last word, but somehow she had the feeling Raoul Lanier had deliberately contrived his apparent defeat. And that annoyed the heck out of her!

‘You're home early,' Sarah said with surprise when Stephanie entered the house just before nine.

‘Everything all right?' Stephanie asked as she placed her bag down onto the table, and began removing her earrings.

‘Fine. Emma is never any trouble. She had a glass
of milk at seven-thirty, and went to bed without a murmur.'

She looked at the textbooks laid out on the table, the empty coffee mug. ‘Another coffee? I'm making myself some.'

Sarah stood, closed and stacked her books, then slid them into a soft briefcase. ‘Thanks, but I'll take a rain check.'

‘I appreciate your coming over at such short notice.'

‘It's a pleasure,' the baby-sitter declared warmly. ‘You have a lovely quiet house, perfect study conditions.' She grinned, then rolled her eyes expressively. ‘Two teenage brothers tend to make a lot of noise.'

Stephanie extracted some bills from her purse and pressed them into the girl's hand. ‘Thanks, Sarah. Good luck with the exams.'

She saw her out the door, then she locked up and went to check on Emma.

The child was sleeping, her expression peaceful as she clutched a favorite rag doll to her chest. Stephanie leaned down and adjusted the covers, then lightly pushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen forward onto one soft cheek.

The tug of unconditional love consumed her. Nothing,
nothing
was as wonderful as the gift of a child. Emma's happiness and well-being was worth any sacrifice. A stressful job, the need to present cutting-edge marketing strategy, estimating consumer appeal and ensuring each project was a winner.

The necessity, she added wryly, to occasionally entertain outside conventional business hours. She was familiar with an entire range of personality traits. In her line of business, she came into contact with them all.

Yet no man had managed to get beneath her skin the way Raoul Lanier did. She dealt with men who'd made flirting an art form. Men who imagined wealth condoned dubious behavior and an appalling lack of manners. Then there were those who had so many tickets on themselves they no longer knew who they were.

She'd handled each and every one of them with tact and diplomacy. Even charm. None of which qualities were evident in the presence of a certain Frenchman.

He
unsettled her. Far too much for her own liking. She didn't want to
feel
insecure and vulnerable. She'd tread that path once before. She had no intention of retracing her steps.

Stephanie entered the main bedroom, carefully removed her dress and slipped off her shoes, then she cleansed her face free of makeup, stripped off her underwear and donned a long cotton T-shirt before returning to collect her mug of coffee and sink into a deep-cushioned chair in front of the television.

At ten she turned out the lights and went to bed, only to lay awake staring into the darkness as she fought to dismiss Raoul Lanier's disturbing image.

 

The in-house phone buzzed, and Stephanie automatically reached for it, depressed the button and endeavored to tame the frustrated edge to her voice. ‘Yes. What is it, Isabel?'

It wasn't shaping up to be a good day. That little Irish gremlin, Murphy, had danced a jig on her turf from the moment she woke. Water from the shower ran cold from the hot tap, necessitating a call to a plumber. Emma wanted porridge instead of cereal, then requested egg with toast cut into soldiers, only to take two mouthfuls and refuse to eat anymore. Depositing her daughter at day care resulted in an unprecedented tantrum, and she tore a nail wrestling the punctured tire from her boot at the tire mart en route to work.

‘I have a delivery for you out front.'

‘Whatever it is, take care of it.'

‘Flowers with a card addressed to you?'

Flowers? No one sent her flowers, except on special occasions. And today wasn't one of them. ‘Okay, I'm on my way to reception.'

Roses. Tight buds in cream, peach and pale apricot. Two, no three dozen. Long-stemmed, encased in cellophane, with a subtle delicate perfume.

‘Stephanie Sommers? Please sign the delivery slip for this envelope.'

Who would send her such an expensive gift? Even as the query formed in her mind, her mouth tightened at the possible answer.

He wouldn't…would he?

‘They're beautiful,' Isabel breathed with envy as
Stephanie detached an accompanying envelope and plucked out the card.

“A small token to atone for last night. R.”

Each word seemed to leap out in stark reminder, and she wanted to shove Raoul Lanier's
token
into the nearest wastepaper bin.
Atone? Twenty
dozen roses wouldn't atone for the studied arrogance of the man.

‘Shall I fetch a vase?'

Stephanie drew a shallow breath, then released it. ‘Yes.' She handed the large cellophane sheaf to her secretary. ‘Place these on the front desk.'

‘You don't want them in your office?'

‘They'll make me sneeze.' A slight fabrication, but she didn't want to be constantly reminded of the man who'd gifted them. ‘Take messages on any of my calls for the rest of the afternoon, unless they're urgent, or from Emma's day care center.'

She stepped back into her office, closed the door, then crossed to her desk, picked up the letter opener and slit the envelope.

Quite what she expected to find, she wasn't sure. Certainly it had to be relatively important to warrant special delivery.

Stephanie extracted the slim piece of paper, saw that it was a check, made out to her and signed by Raoul Lanier for an amount that covered the cost of dinner the previous evening. To endorse it, just in case she might be in doubt, there was a hotel business card attached with his name written on the reverse side.

How dare he?
The dinner was a legitimate business expense. Raoul Lanier had chosen to make it personal.

Well, she knew just what to do with his check. Her fingers moved automatically, and seconds later the torn pieces fluttered into the wastepaper bin.

Stephanie sank into her chair and turned on the screen on her computer.
Work.
She had plenty of it. All she had to do was immerse herself in the electronic checking of pertinent details to dispense the omnipotent Frenchman from her mind.

Except it didn't quite work out that way. His image intruded, disrupting her focus, minimizing her concentration.

It was something of an endurance feat that she completed the day's schedule without mishap, and she closed down the computer as Isabel entered with a sheaf of messages. Three of which she returned, two were put to one side for the morning, and one she discarded.

Raoul Lanier could whistle
Dixie,
she decided vengefully as she slid papers into her briefcase and caught up her bag.

Her gaze skimmed the office in a cursory check before leaving for the evening. She caught sight of the special delivery envelope that had contained Raoul Lanier's check, and she reached for it, flipped it idly between her fingers, then on impulse she bent down and caught up the torn check she'd consigned to the wastepaper bin.

Stephanie took an envelope from her stationery
drawer, placed the torn check into it, dampened the seal, then wrote Raoul Lanier in bold black ink, followed by the name of his hotel.

The Sheraton wasn't that far out of her way, and a wry smile teased her lips as she anticipated his expression when he opened the envelope.

Tit for tat wasn't an enviable modus operandi, but she was darned if she'd allow him to have the upper hand.

It was a simple matter to drive up to the main hotel entrance and hand the addressed envelope to the concierge. Difficult to hide a vaguely exultant smile as she eased the car onto the main road.

Traffic was heavy, consequently it took at least three light changes to pass through each main intersection as she headed for the day care center.

Emma looked slightly flushed, and her eyes held a brightness that foreshadowed an increased temperature. ‘I'll see how she fares through the night,' Stephanie declared quietly to the attendant nursing sister. ‘I may keep her home tomorrow.'

‘Give me a call in the morning.'

An hour later she'd bathed and changed Emma, encouraged her to eat a little dinner, only to have her throw up soon after. Something that occurred with regularity throughout the night.

By morning they were both tired and wan, and at eight Stephanie made a series of calls that gained a doctor's appointment, the office to relay she'd be working from home and to divert any phone calls to her message bank and finally, the day care center.

‘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.

‘W
HAT
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.

‘In your dreams,' Stephanie reiterated with pseudo sweetness.

His expression didn't change, although his voice was a soft drawl that conveyed innate knowledge.
‘Oui.'

She drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. ‘If you don't leave immediately, I'll make a call and have you charged with harassment.'

Stephanie closed the door, and leaned against it for several long minutes, then she drew in a deep breath and moved toward the kitchen. Crossing to the refrigerator she took a can of cola, popped the tab, then she extracted a glass and filled it with the sparkling dark liquid.

Her skin felt heated, and her pulse beat fast at the edge of her throat. Damn him. Who did he think he was?

A hollow laugh escaped into the silence of the room. Raoul Lanier knew exactly who he was. What's more, she had the instinctive feeling he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

The question was,
what
did Raoul Lanier want with her?

Sex. Why else did men pursue women, if not to indulge in intimacy?

Hadn't she discovered that to her cost? Ben had said the sweet words and pushed all the right buttons. Until she fell pregnant. Then he became someone she didn't know at all, and she'd walked away, vowing never to trust a man again, ever.

There were men she dealt with in the course of her business life, and despite numerous invitations she'd held steadfast to her rule not to date.

However none had affected her as Raoul Lanier did. Instant awareness. Sexual chemistry at its zenith, she added with silent cynicism.

Electric, primeval,
shocking,
she acknowledged, remembering vividly the moment their gazes met when he'd walked into her office.

Within seconds, it had seemed as if her life came to a standstill and there was only
him.
Invading her senses, warming her blood, staking a claim. As if he possessed a blueprint to her future. It had unnerved her then. It disturbed and unnerved her now.

Her fingers clenched until the knuckles shone white, and she crossed to the sink and discarded the glass.

Do something. Anything. The ironing, she decided. Heaven knew she had enough of it. By then Emma would be awake, and she'd entertain her until it was time to cook dinner.

Two hours later Stephanie settled Emma in front
of the television and slid an educational video into the VCR.

‘I'll start dinner, sweetheart.' The house favored open-plan living, and the lounge adjoined the dining room, both of which were visible from the kitchen.

There was chicken and vegetable broth left from yesterday, and she peeled potatoes, carrots and added broccoli to go with the steamed chicken. Better to stick to something fairly bland for the next day or two.

She had just added water to the saucepan when she heard the singsong peal of the doorbell. She reached for the kitchen towel, dried her hands and crossed into the lounge.

‘Doorbell,' Emma announced solemnly as Stephanie moved into the hallway.

The only person who popped in without forewarning was her neighbor, and she opened the door with a ready smile, only to have it fade as she recognized the man on the landing.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I believe we've already done that,' Raoul said with musing mockery. He held out two brown paper sacks. ‘I brought dinner.'

‘Why?' she demanded baldly.

‘Why not?' he posed lightly.

‘Mommy?'

Stephanie closed her eyes, then opened them again, spearing him with a look that spoke volumes before turning toward her daughter. ‘It's okay, dar
ling,' she said gently. ‘Go back into the lounge. I'll be there in a minute.'

‘Hello, Emma.'

His voice was calm, soothing…friendly,
warm,
damn him!

‘Hello.' Emma was openly curious, and not at all intimidated. ‘Who are you?'

Raoul sank down onto his haunches in one fluid movement. ‘A friend of your mother's.'

‘What's your name?'

‘Raoul.'

‘Are you having dinner with us?' the little girl queried solemnly.

‘Would you like me to?'

Oh my, he was good! Stephanie shot him a glance that would have felled a lesser man.

‘Yes.'

Unfair,
she wanted to scream.

‘Mommy?'

‘I'm sure Raoul—' she hesitated fractionally over his name ‘—has plans for the evening.'

‘Do you?' Emma asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

‘No plans,' Raoul assured.

Dammit, he was enjoying this!

‘You can watch my video,' Emma invited, offering a generous smile.

‘I'd like that.'

Stephanie met his eyes, glimpsed the silent query lurking there and wanted nothing more than to close
the door in his face. ‘I don't think it would be a good idea.'

‘I promise to be on my best behavior,' Raoul declared solemnly.

Don't you get it? she wanted to demand in anger. You're
not
welcome. And never will be, a silent voice echoed.

He inclined his head, aware that she was teetering on the edge, and anything he said at this point could work to his disadvantage.

‘Please, Mommy.'

Blind trust. To a child, everything was simple. If only it was as simple for an adult!

Stephanie inserted the key and unlocked the security door. ‘Come in.' Her voice was polite, but lacked any pretense of enthusiasm or graciousness.

‘You're big,' Emma declared as he entered the lobby, and he smiled.

‘Maybe it's because you're small.'

‘I'm three,' the little girl pronounced proudly.

Raoul indicated the paper sacks. ‘If you lead the way, I'll deposit these in the kitchen.'

It was a comfortable one-level house, relatively modern with average-size rooms. Raoul's presence seemed to diminish them, and she was supremely conscious of him as he followed her down the hallway.

It was almost as if all her fine body hairs stood on end in involuntary protection. Which was crazy, she silently chastised. Already she was fast becoming a mass of nerves, and he hadn't even touched her.

What would you do if he did?
Don't think about it. It's not going to happen.

She crossed around behind the kitchen counter in an unconscious attempt to put some space between them.

There was already two saucepans simmering on the stove, and she indicated them as he placed the sacks down. ‘I usually feed Emma about this time.'

‘Then perhaps we can eat together.'

Stephanie opened one sack, and removed plastic containers that revealed tandoori chicken, steamed rice and a selection of vegetables. The second sack contained a crusty baguette, a selection of cheeses and a bottle of wine.

It offered a tasty feast, and surpassed the broth, boiled chicken and plain vegetables she'd intended to share with Emma.

‘I'll fetch an extra plate and cutlery.'

‘Tell me where they are, and I'll attend to it while you set out the food.'

‘You can sit next to me,' Emma said in a bright voice.

Oh Emma,
don't.
This is a one-off, not the beginning of a friendship.

‘It will be a pleasure.'

‘I'm a big girl now. I can eat all by myself.'

It was meaningless chatter, and Stephanie didn't know whether to smile or sigh as her daughter regaled their reluctantly invited guest with the names of her friends at the day care center, her swimming lessons, a recent birthday party, videos she liked to
watch and the much anticipated event…a trip to the theme park Movieworld on Saturday.

‘Mommy's got tickets,' Emma assured as she finished the last of her vegetables. ‘You can come, too.'

Oh, no, he can't. ‘Mr. Lanier is a very busy man, darling. Besides, you may not be well enough to go,' Stephanie qualified quickly. ‘We'll have to wait and see.'

She didn't want to spend time with him, even in the company of her daughter. And he knew. She could sense the faint amusement evident as she stood to her feet and began collecting plates and cutlery together.

‘You can watch my video with me while Mommy does the dishes.' Emma began to hop down from the chair, then she paused. ‘Please leave the table, Mommy?'

Stephanie felt her heart tug at Emma's earnest attempt to remember her manners. ‘Yes,' she said gently, watching as her daughter unhesitatingly accepted Raoul Lanier's hand.

How could Emma be so friendly with someone she'd only just met? A man, when Emma came into contact with so few men.
Especially a man of Raoul Lanier's caliber.
Someone Stephanie had disliked on sight.

Dislike
wasn't an adequate description, she decided cynically as she crossed to the sink and began rinsing plates.

His mere presence attacked the protective wall she'd built around herself. She liked to think she had
total control, and responsibility for her life and everything in it rested solely with
her.
She didn't need a man invading her space, her time, her emotions.

Unless, of course, a woman was sufficiently fortunate to find the right man. Someone who would recognize and respect a woman's needs, who would give as well as take.

Get a grip,
a skeptical voice derided silently. You're content with the status quo, remember? You have a home, a good job and a child who is the light of your life. What more do you want?

Nothing,
she assured herself, and knew she lied.

The rinsed plates and cutlery were consigned to the dishwasher, and she dealt with the saucepans with more diligence than was necessary.

Stephanie reentered the lounge and almost halted midstep at the sight of Emma seated beside the man she wished was anywhere else but
here.

They looked
comfortable
with each other, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Be honest, and admit you hate it, an inner voice taunted.

What's more, Emma was giving Raoul a running commentary on the video as it played, drawing his attention to the various figures in and out of costume.

A glance at the screen was sufficient for Stephanie to determine the video had only a few minutes left to run, and as the credits rolled Stephanie reached for her daughter's hand as she deactivated the VCR. ‘Time for your bath, sweetheart.'

For a moment it seemed Emma might object, then she slid off the cushioned seat and stood.

‘I'll come back and say good-night,' she assured Raoul with childish earnestness as he unwound his length in one fluid movement.

‘Mr. Lanier has to leave,' Stephanie said firmly, willing him to do just that. Her voice gentled, ‘You'd better say good-night now.'

Emma looked at him with unblinking solemnity for all of twenty seconds. ‘Good night.'

Stephanie began to lead her daughter from the room, only to have Emma pause and ask wistfully,

‘Will you come and see us again?'