Just feed Missy. If you raid the kitchen, I’m sure you’ll find something for her.’
He bent over and dropped a kiss on her cheek, just as she turned her head, and his lips brushed hers.
It was the lightest touch, the merest whisper of a kiss, but something happened inside her that had her staring at the door long after he’d gone through it to the garage and disappeared through the gates and up the quiet, tree-lined road.
She lifted her hand and laid her fingers flat against her lips, feeling them thoughtfully. She could still feel the imprint—could feel the warmth, the texture of his lips, firm yet soft, supple, tantalising. How strange, that a kiss from Ben could make her feel so—
What? Alive? Aware?
Cherished…?
Ben pulled into the underground car park, spoke to the security guard, slipped him a couple of notes and glided into the visitor’s spot the man pointed to.
The lift was waiting, and he went up the three floors and emerged into a carpeted foyer. A leggy blonde beamed at him and unravelled her limbs, tugging her skirt seductively. ‘Can I help you?’ she purred.
‘I’d like to see Oscar Harding, please.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
Ben dug out his most manipulative smile and shared it with the ditzy woman. ‘I’m sure he’ll be willing to see me—could you be a darling and tell him I’m here? It’s Ben Warriner.’
She picked up the phone, and Ben scanned the doors around the foyer. None of them had Oscar’s name on, but he would stake his life that the right door would have a plate on it announcing his importance. Oscar would never let it go unremarked, so it must be further away, along the corridor perhaps.
He turned his attention back to the one-sided conversation. ‘A Mr Warriner’s here to see you, Mr Harding—Ben Warriner? He said you’d want to see him—oh. Right. I’ll tell him that.’
She cradled the phone and looked up with an awkward smile. He would hazard a guess Oscar had said something unprintable, and she was obviously unskilled in this form of diplomatic brush-off. ‘I’m afraid he’s tied up for the rest of the day,’ she lied, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘He said to make an appointment, if you don’t mind.’
‘Unfortunately I do,’ Ben said smoothly. ‘I’ve come a long way, I’ll see him now. Which room is he in?’
Her eyes flicked involuntarily towards the corridor, and she looked even more uncomfortable. ‘Oh—no, you can’t. I’m sorry, he won’t see you, Mr Warriner, not without an appointment. He doesn’t see anyone—’
‘I think you’ll find he will.’ He strode down the corridor, leaving the girl calling after him and frantically reaching for the phone. A pair of double doors blocked the corridor, and he palmed them out of the way and scanned the doors.
Bingo. Bold as brass and writ large, as he’d expected— ‘OSCAR HARDING, MANAGING DIRECTOR’.
He turned the handle and thrust the door open, just as Oscar rose from behind his desk.
‘Throwing your weight around, Warriner, and upsetting my staff?’
Ben smiled grimly, scanning the desk and noting the photographs of Liv and the children strategically placed to reflect well on him. ‘My apologies. I wanted a word,’ he told him. ‘You’ve been refusing my calls, Oscar, making things difficult. I’ve been trying to get you all day.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Aren’t we all? I’ve had a few distractions in the last twenty-four hours, though—three, to be exact. It’s made it a little difficult to concentrate.’
‘I had a feeling she’d come to you,’ Oscar said lazily. ‘She always did run to Uncle Ben when things got hot.’
‘Hot? I would say things got stone-cold, Oscar—not hot. So, are you going to have me thrown out?’
Oscar laughed and sat down again, waving at the chair opposite. ‘Good heavens, no. We’re both civilised men. Have a seat, Ben. What can I do for you? Has she sent you to negotiate her grovelling return, like the prodigal wife?’
Ben stifled the retort, thrust his hands in his pockets and crossed to the window. He preferred to stand—it gave him more authority over this snake in the grass. Anyway, it wouldn’t take long…
She was asleep when he got back, curled up in his favourite chair at the end of the kitchen, her lashes like black crescents against her pale cheeks. She looked as young as Missy, and his heart went out to her.
He crouched down and laid a gentle hand on her knee.
‘Liv?’
Her lashes fluttered and lifted, and he reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. ‘Hi.’
She struggled upright. ‘Hi. You’re later than I thought you were going to be.’
‘I got held up. I’ve been to see Oscar. We’re going to collect your things in the morning.’
Her jaw dropped, and she collected herself and shook her head. ‘Wha—how?’
He smiled slightly. ‘Let’s just say there are one or two things I know about that he’d like kept secret.’
Her jaw snapped shut, and she stood up, hugging her arms around her waist. ‘So—what are we going to take? Doesn’t he mind?’
‘I didn’t ask. As for what we’re taking, everything that’s yours or the children’s that you want. I’ve ordered a van and two packers, and it’ll be there at eleven tomorrow so you can go through the flat yourself and pick up anything you want to bring. You can decide what to do with everything once it’s here—throw it out, if you like.’
‘Or sell it. Loads of my clothes don’t fit any more. I could sell them in a second-hand shop. The money might come in handy.’
‘What about all the money you earned modelling?’ Ben asked, puzzled. ‘There must have been—well, I hate to think how much.’
She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Didn’t you notice the flash cars and the furniture in the flat?’
‘I haven’t seen the flat. I went to the office.’
‘That’s even worse. He spent a fortune there “creating the right image”. Don’t worry, Ben, there’s nothing left of my modelling money. Oscar’s seen to that over the last four years.’
‘You gave it to him?’
She snorted wryly. ‘Not exactly gave. What do you think we lived on until it ran out? His business? I don’t think so. It’s been screeching and bumping along on the bottom for more years than I care to think about, but God forbid anyone should guess. I only found out by accident. We still had to project the right image, though. Some of my clothes were hideously expensive, but he thought it was justified—he saw me as the ultimate fashion accessory. I should be able to get quite a good price for them.’
But
