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And she wasn't being vain about that. No one could mistake it. His body language, the way he looked at her, the gleam in the silvery eyes, the way his voice lowered, softened—everything about him spelled out his intentions.
Apart from the presence of the child who was now contentedly munching her way through a banana they were practically back to where they'd been last night.
The game was on again.
This time the build-up would be slower, of course, because Sophie was around, the fizzing sexual tension increasing because of that, and maybe this time he wouldn't give her the option of backing away.
Catching her breath, she wondered why she hadn't led him on last night, kept to her plan to get him really wound up, allowed the wretch to believe he'd scored yet again, then slapped him down at the very last moment.
The answer, she knew, was breathtakingly simple. As his eyes focused intensely on hers across the sweetly scented dappled shade, she knew that had things progressed any further, any further at all, she wouldn't have had the will-power to stop him from taking events to their natural conclusion, because when he touched her, or looked at her the way he was doing now, she turned into a mindless idiot.
A wanton, mindless idiot.
So it had to end now. The decision was sudden and completely certain. There would be no more games, no more half-crazed schemes to teach him what it felt like to be rejected. Cruelly rejected.
Before this afternoon was over she would tell him who she was, remind him of what he'd done to Katie, spell out the consequences of his thoughtless, heartless treatment and leave.
The danger of taking the other path was far too great.
CHAPTER EIGHT
'Not eating?' Finn, sitting on the grass with his long legs stretched out in front of him, leaned back on one elbow. The movement brought him slightly closer to his daughter's nanny.
The idle question elicited no response. The golden eyes were dark, troubled, the soft, lusciously pink lips parted, trembling just a little. Sublimely kissable lips...
'Aren't you hungry?'
'I...' She looked down at the buttered roll in one hand, the plump red tomato in the other and put them both down on the paper napkin he'd provided. 'No. I don't think I am.' Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. She didn't know what she thought, what she wanted. She only knew that she wanted out of here, away from this man, out of this situation.
She turned away, agitatedly aware of the brevity of her shorts, the fully exposed length of leg, and wished she were wearing something smothering, preferably fashioned from mattress ticking because the rules of the game she'd been playing no longer applied.
'Something to drink, then?'
Without waiting for a reply he poured apple juice from a carton into a paper cup and gave it to her. She took it, taking enormous care to avoid touching his fingers, and sipped, watching with unwilling respect as he helped his tiny daughter drink from her beaker then gently settled the sleepy-eyed moppet down on the blanket, on her side, stroking the back of her starfish hands until the big brown eyes began to close.
'She's tired out—it's all the excitement and running around in the clean air. I'm glad Mytton Wells came on the market at the right time because I don't think I could ever have found anything else so perfect for us—she's going to love living here,' he said softly as he lifted his eyes from the now sleeping child. 'And you, Caro? How would you feel about living out of here?'
It would be a wonderful place to live, but what did her opinion matter? She wouldn't be living here, even if she were given the option. Which she wouldn't be, not unless he was thinking of trying to persuade her to stay on as Sophie's permanent nanny. She had already told him she wouldn't consider doing that. So why should she bother to answer?
She shrugged his question away, slim shoulders lifting then falling indifferently, her mind already occupied with other things. Very soon now she was going to tell him how foul she thought he was, and tell him precisely why she thought that. The idea wasn't particularly appealing but she owed it to Katie.
'You prefer the city? Or is there a boyfriend in the background you'd miss?' Finn asked. The distinct possibility that there might be a man in her life hadn't seriously occurred to him before now. He couldn't imagine why it hadn't. He couldn't be the only man on the planet to find her irresistible. Unless, of course, he'd instinctively known she was his, or would be, the past presence of any other man in her life immaterial, not worth thinking about, nothing serious. An occasional theatre or dinner date; that's all I can make time for. I'm a career woman, first and foremost. And that doesn't mean I'm frigid,' she said challengingly.
'No?'
A dark brow quirked outrageously and she felt her face flame and, against her better judgement, found herself defending, 'Look—much as I love her, I can't help knowing my mother is the type of woman who can't stand on her own. She married young, and until Dad was killed in a riding accident she leaned on him, and after that she leaned on me, and, in a strange sort of way, on Gran. I don't want to be like that. I wa
nt to stand on my own, make a life of my own before I even think of sharing it with a man. So until I'm certain of who I am and where I'm going my career comes first.'
'Truly?' The glint in his eyes, the curve of his sexy mouth should have set warning bells ringing in her mind. He seemed to have moved closer, close enough for him to lift a hand, let his forefinger laze its slow, tormenting way down the length of her arm. His touch made her breath thicken and burn in her lungs. 'And what is your career? A life full of other people's babies—and none of your own?' His finger trailed its way back up her arm and when she opened her mouth to make an objection that same finger gently closed her lips, making her eyes go wide and dark with panic.
His own eyes gleamed with sudden satisfaction, his mouth practically curling with it, as if he could actually taste it on his tongue. 'You told me you never stayed with a family for more than a few weeks, otherwise you became too emotionally involved with your young charges.' He felt the soft quivering of her lush and lovely mouth beneath his finger and hated himself for teasing her, trying to drag the truth out of her, yet he continued softly, remorselessly, because one way or another he had to get her to admit the nanny deception. 'Doesn't that tell you anything?'
His finger wandered down to her chin and trailed slowly down the length of her throat, coming to rest in the small hollow at the base where he could feel the vital, wild thud of her pulses.
'Such as?' The counter-question was instinctive even though the words were physically difficult to form. This close, touching her, he seemed to have paralysed her, robbed her even of the will to move.
'Such as you need babies of your own.'
