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?’
‘An hour,’ Cara said knowledgeably. She glanced at the tiny bundle sleeping in Bryn’s arms. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right until then?’
Gerry nodded. ‘She should be. She’s certainly not hungry now, or she wouldn’t have stopped crying. I’ll make a much-needed cup of coffee.’ Her stomach lurched as she met the measuring scrutiny of Bryn Falconer’s green eyes. ‘Can I get you one, or some breakfast?’ Cara didn’t drink coffee, and vowed that breakfast made her feel ill.
The corners of his long, imperious mouth lifted slightly. ‘No, thank you.’ He transferred his glance to Cara’s face and smiled. ‘Don’t you have to get ready for work?’
‘Yes, but I can’t leave you holding the baby!’ Giggling, she flirted her lashes at him.
Disgusted, Gerry realised that she felt left out. Stiffly she reached for the coffee and began the pleasant routine of making it.
From behind her Bryn said, ‘I don’t run the risk of losing my job if I’m late.’
Cara cooed, ‘It must be wonderful to be the boss.’
Trying very hard to make her voice steady, Gerry said, ‘Cara, you can’t be late for your go-see.’
‘I know, I know.’ Reluctance tinged her voice.
Gerry’s mouth tightened. Cara really had it bad; last night she’d been over the moon at her luck. Now, as though a chance to audition for an international firm meant nothing to her, she said, ‘I’d better change, I suppose.’
Gerry reached for a cup and saucer. Without looking at him, she said, ‘You don’t have to stay, Mr Falconer. I’ll look after the baby until the police come.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ he replied easily. ‘Cara, if you’re ready in twenty minutes I’ll give you a lift into Queen Street.’
‘Oh—that’d be wonderful!’
Swinging around, Gerry said grittily, ‘This is a really important interview, Cara.’
‘I know, I know.’ Chastened, Cara sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll wear exactly what we decided on.’
She walked around Bryn’s long legs and set out for the door, stopping just inside it when he asked Gerry, ‘Don’t you have to work too?’
Cara said, ‘Oh, Gerry’s on holiday, lucky thing. Although,’ she added fairly, ‘it’s her first holiday since she started up the agency three years ago.’
‘You’re very young, surely, to be running a model agency?’
Although neither Bryn’s words nor his tone gave anything away, Gerry suspected he considered her job lightweight and frivolous. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she gave him her smile again and said, ‘How kind of you. What do you do, Mr Falconer?’
Cara hovered, her lovely face bemused as she looked from one to the other.
‘Call me Bryn,’ he invited, hooded eyes gleaming behind those heavy lashes.
‘Thank you, Bryn,’ Gerry said politely, and didn’t reciprocate.
