you stay and talk with Dora, Kane, while I do that? Dora, ply our guest here with some of your cream sherry. That should keep him out of mischief.’
‘I don’t ever drink and drive,’ Kane replied, an amused lift to the corner of his mouth. ‘But I’m sure Dora and I can find plenty of subjects to talk about whilst I watch her cook.’ And he gave Jessie a look which implied that by the time she returned for Dora’s roast-lamb dinner, he’d know everything there was to know about her.
She and Dora had had many deep and meaningful discussions over the last year or so, and women, unlike men, usually told the truth about themselves. A clever questioner could find out anything he wanted to know.
Jessie suspected she’d just made a tactical error.
But it was too late now.
She comforted herself with the knowledge that no matter what Kane discovered, she still had her own mind, and her own will-power. He couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
The trouble was that deep down, in that hidden woman’s place which she’d been ignoring for over four years, the craving to be made love to was growing.
Sexual temptation was a wicked thing. Dark and powerful and primitive. It was not swayed by reason, or pride. It was fed by need, and fanned by desire. She wanted Kane’s body inside her much more than Dora’s roast dinner.
She wanted him in ways that she’d never wanted Lyall.
So what are you going to do about it, Jessie? she asked herself bluntly as she went through the motions of giving her daughter a bath.
‘Mummy,’ Emily said as Jessie massaged the no-tears shampoo through her thick curls.
‘Mmm?’ Jessie murmured a bit blankly. Her mind was elsewhere, after all.
‘I like Kane. He’s nice.’
‘Yes, yes, he is.’
‘Do you like him, Mummy?’
‘I…well…I…’
‘He likes you.’
Jessie sighed. No point in trying to pull the wool over Emily’s eyes. Or in lying. Not if she eventually gave in and went out with Kane on Friday night.
‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I think perhaps he does.’
Jessie waited for the next question. But none came. Emily just sat there in silence.
Jessie bent down to see the expression on her daughter’s face. But it carried that brilliantly blank look which her daughter could adopt when she wanted to hide her feelings from her mother.
‘Emily Denton, what are you thinking?’ Jessie demanded to know.
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t lie to me. Tell.’
‘I was thinking about Christmas, Mummy. Does Santa always give you what you ask for?’
Jessie was glad of this change of subject. ‘He does, if you’re a good girl.’
‘I’m a good girl.’
Jessie smiled and gave her daughter a kiss and a cuddle. ‘You surely are. You have nothing to worry about, sweetie. Come Christmas Day, you’re going to get absolutely everything you asked for.’
JESSIE should have predicted that Kane would charm both Dora and Emily to the degree he did. The man was a charmer through and through. By the time she and Emily returned to the main part of the house for dinner, he had Dora eating out of his hand.
As for Emily…Santa Claus himself couldn’t have caused more excitement in the child. She insisted on sitting next to Kane, who treated her as no one had ever treated her before. As if she was a special little princess whose every word was precious and every wish immediately catered to.
Any worry Jessie harboured over her daughter growing too attached to a man who would only be a temporary part of her life was momentarily pushed aside when she saw how happy Emily was. When it was time for her to go to bed—way past her usual time—Emily begged Kane to read her a bedtime story. Which he duly did, and very well too.
Naturally, when the first story was finished, Emily begged for more. A family trait, Jessie decided bitterly, always wanting more.
Kane read her another story, 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.
