then another, till Emily’s yawns finally stopped and she fell asleep.
‘She’s dropped off,’ Jessie said from where she’d been standing in the bedroom doorway with her arms crossed, watching Kane’s performance with swiftly returning cynicism. ‘You can stop reading now.’
He looked up from the book. ‘But I need to find out if Willie Wombat finds his long-lost father,’ he protested with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and the most charming smile.
Jessie steeled her heart and rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. You take Willie Wombat out into the living room and finish the story whilst I tuck Emily in. I’ll be with you shortly to see you out.’
‘What, no nightcap?’
‘No. It’s late and I have to go to work tomorrow. You do too.’
‘I’m the boss. I can come in late.’
‘Well, I can’t. I’m on probation for three months.’
‘Who says?’
‘Michele. Apparently, that’s Harry Wilde’s hiring rule. If a new employee can’t cut the mustard in three months, he or she gets their walking papers.’
‘Harry never told me that. There again, I don’t think he expected me to have to do any hiring during the month he was away. Does the idea of probation worry you, Jessie?’
‘No. I can cut the mustard. No problem.’
‘I’ll just bet you can.’
He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the side of Emily’s bed, glancing over at the other bed as he made his way towards the door.
Jessie was eminently grateful that she shared a room with her daughter. Also that her own bed, like Emily’s, was nicely single. It eliminated temptation.
Jessie stepped aside to let him through the doorway.
‘Don’t make yourself too comfortable,’ she warned drily. ‘I won’t be long.’
He didn’t answer, just gave her a searching look as he moved past.
Jessie wished she’d shut her mouth. Saying too much was almost as bad as saying too little.
She hadn’t done much talking during the roast-lamb dinner. Dora and Emily had done enough. And Kane, of course. Brother, could that man talk.
The trouble was he was so darned interesting. And entertaining. Yet, in retrospect, he hadn’t actually talked about himself, an unusual trait for a man. His concentration had mostly been on Emily and Dora.
Dora must have told him her whole life story during the course of the meal, from her childhood to her childless marriage to her husband’s death, then her recent years of looking after her increasingly fragile widowed mother. She had even revealed how much she resented her younger brother’s not having helped with their mother, something she hadn’t even told Jessie.
Kane had made all the right noises at the appropriate places. He had a knack with sympathetic murmurs, that was for sure.
Emily had tried to outdo Dora, giving Kane a minute-by-minute description of everything she did every day, pausing for words of praise at intervals, which she duly got.
Jessie smiled wryly down at her daughter as she tucked the sheet around her. Cheeky little devil. A right little flirt too, fluttering her long eyelashes up at Kane all the time.
Jessie had steadfastly not fluttered or flattered or flirted with the man in any way all evening. But despite her keeping a safe distance, he’d still got to her. A quiet look here. A smile there.
Oh, yes, he’d got to her. Made her want things she hated herself for wanting. Not just sex. But more. Too much more.
He was the devil in disguise, tempting her, tormenting her. She knew she should resist him, but feared she was fighting a losing battle. All she could salvage was a bit of pride by not making her surrender too easy. Jessie suspected that Kane Marshall had always found winning much too easy. It would do him good to work for her conquest, such as it would be. Nothing special to him. Just another bit of skirt. Another notch on his gun.
Jessie wondered how many women there’d been since he’d split with his wife. She resolved to never let him know he was the first man she’d even looked at since Lyall, let alone wanted this badly.
‘All finished,’ she said brusquely as she marched from the bedroom into the living room. ‘Let’s go.’
He was sitting on the sofa, the one that ran along the wall opposite the television. It was a very roomy sofa. His suit jacket, she noted, had been removed and was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. His tie was there as well, and the top button of his business shirt was undone.
Clearly, he had seduction on his mind, not leaving.
A tremor raced through Jessie.
‘You have a very intelligent little girl,’ he said as he snapped shut the book he’d been flicking through, placed it on the side-table next to the sofa and stood up. ‘Very sweet, too,’ he added.
‘Unlike her mother,’ Jessie snapped, once again folding her arms across her chest.
‘Oh, I suspect the mother could be even sweeter than the daughter,’ he said as he walked slowly towards her, bypassing the chair with the jacket and tie. ‘In the right circumstances.’
‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she warned when he was less than an arm-length away.
She was standing in the middle of the kitchenette, with her back not far from the kitchen sink.
He stopped and frowned at her. ‘You do realise you are being ridiculous,’ he said softly.
Was she?
Possibly. But she wasn’t about to back down.
‘I will not have sex with you with my daughter sleeping in the next room.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Sex was not what I had in mind for now, Jessie. Just a kiss. Or two.’
‘Huh! Men like you don’t stop at a kiss or two.’
He frowned. ‘Men like me,’ he murmured. ‘Now, I wonder what you mean by that? Presumably nothing very complimentary. I suspect you’ve already lumped me in with the type of divorced guy who wants to sow his wild oats, with no strings attached. Or perhaps the sleazebags you told me about who target single mothers because they think they’re desperates. Am I right?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’re wrong. I’m nothing like that at all.’
‘I only have your word for that.’
‘I haven’t been with a woman since my divorce,’ he shocked her by saying. ‘Natalie was the last woman I slept with.’
Jessie blinked. It was over a year since he’d left his wife! It didn’t seem possible. A man like him, so handsome
