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He frowned, his shrug negligible, a barely perceptible upward drift of his shoulders before he released the handbrake and drove the vehicle onto the narrow country lane at a carefully sober pace.
The relaxed holiday mood of hers hadn't lasted long. Pity. He would have enjoyed relaxing with her, drawing her out, getting to know her.
But something had obviously wound her up, made her regroup those prickly defences.
Had she become suddenly conscious of letting go, of actually enjoying the day and the company, then, because of that, become fearful that she might be unwary enough to confess whatever troubles had brought her into his employ in the first place? Only time and patience on his part would tell.
'If the village shops prove hopeless I'll try further afield.' As soon as that spineless inanity was out of his mouth Finn could have bitten his tongue off. He sounded like an old woman, harping on about provisions and shopping! It wasn't the sort of conversation he wanted to have with her at all!
'I'm sure that won't be necessary. We're not going to be around for long so I guess we can survive on the basics.' Caro forced herself to speak lightly e
ven though her throat was tightening, her pulses thudding. Her stupid heart had leapt like a landed fish, her whole body and mind panicking, when he'd smiled into her eyes back there.
Panicking because, much as she would like to be able to, she couldn't deny the way her wretched body had responded to those wicked, come-to-bed eyes.
Although the whole object of the exercise was to give him the impression that that was exactly what was happening to her, it had to be make-believe, not sickeningly terrifying reality!
She dared not come anywhere near responding to him in any way—except in revulsion and disgust and utter, utter contempt! Unfortunately, she was unusually vulnerable as far as he was concerned. It meant she had to be permanently on her guard.
She gave him a contrived wide-eyed look, horribly aware of the rapid, suffocating beats of her heart. 'If it would help I'll cope with the catering while we're here, and leave you free to house-hunt, or whatever.'
Didn't they say the way to a man's heart was through his stomach? And wasn't she a great cook?
She barely knew one end of a baby from another but she knew her way around a kitchen. If all else failed she could try to grab his interest via her culinary skills.
'Catering, viewing properties—whatever, I'd rather we did everything together.'
Lightly spoken but an order nevertheless. It kept her silent while he negotiated the narrow high street. The tone of his voice had been an unveiled caress. It sent shivers down her spine.
Fear, distaste, whatever. One thing she did now know: if she returned the right signals the game would be on.
She waited until he'd parked in the shade of one of the oak trees that bordered the village green, then gathered up all of her courage and lightly touched his bare forearm with the tips of her fingers.
'Everything?' The firm vibrancy of the flesh beneath her fingertips made her pulses flutter; the instinctive tightening of those honed muscles and tendons in preparation for action made her throat close up with fright. At least she didn't have to work at sounding husky! She hated touching him. She wanted to snatch her hand away.
Forcing herself to keep control, she made herself add, 'Sounds—interesting,' and eased her fingers gently away from that tanned male flesh, knowing the game was on as speculation changed to triumphant male certainty in the deep silver pools of his eyes.
But he didn't push it; at least he wasn't crass enough to do that. She had to be grateful for small mercies. The flicker of awareness, of male certainty, had been compelling, unarguable.
She barely knew one end of a baby from another but she knew her way around a kitchen. If all else failed she could try to grab his interest via her culinary skills.
'Catering, viewing properties—whatever, I'd rather we did everything together.'
Lightly spoken but an order nevertheless. It kept her silent while he negotiated the narrow high street. The tone of his voice had been an unveiled caress. It sent shivers down her spine.
Fear, distaste, whatever. One thing she did now know: if she returned the right signals the game would be on.
She waited until he'd parked in the shade of one of the oak trees that bordered the village green, then gathered up all of her courage and lightly touched his bare forearm with the tips of her fingers.
'Everything?' The firm vibrancy of the flesh beneath her fingertips made her pulses flutter; the instinctive tightening of those honed muscles and tendons in preparation for action made her throat close up with fright. At least she didn't have to work at sounding husky! She hated touching him. She wanted to snatch her hand away.
Forcing herself to keep control, she made herself add, 'Sounds—interesting,' and eased her fingers gently away from that tanned male flesh, knowing the game was on as speculation changed to triumphant male certainty in the deep silver pools of his eyes.
But he didn't push it; at least he wasn't crass enough to do that. She had to be grateful for small mercies. The flicker of awareness, of male certainty, had been compelling, unarguable.
She'd given him the signals he'd been looking for, the green light that told him she was willing. The game was on.
Nothing happened.
