Pagan Enchantment. Carole Mortimer

His derision was obvious.

      ‘You’re talking about sex,’ Merry stated disgustedly.

      ‘Yes.’

      She looked at him with rebellious green eyes. ‘Maybe you should try looking at this from my point of view,’ she said softly, too softly if he did but realise it.

      He didn’t. ‘In what way?’

      ‘That you have one main disadvantage that I don’t like either.’

      ‘Oh yes?’ he prompted warily, sensing her challenge now.

      ‘Yes,’ she gave him a too-sweet smile. ‘With the stupidity of youth,’ she mocked, ‘I happen to believe in love and romance. A middle-aged cynic like you wouldn’t normally appeal to me at all!’

      There were several minutes stunned silence after this taunting statement, and Merry found herself holding her breath as she waited for his reaction. Suddenly Gideon began to chuckle, a soft throaty sound that developed into a laugh of pure enjoyment.

      ‘I forgot one thing in that list of disadvantages,’ he still smiled. ‘You’re blunt to the point of rudeness.’

      She shrugged, relieved that he hadn’t exploded at her audacity. ‘So are you.’

      He turned to include her in his smile, the devastation of blue eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter lines beside his nose and mouth, his teeth very white against his tanned skin, knocking the breath from her body. ‘Would you like to start again, Meredith?’ he queried softly.

      At last her breath returned to her, her lungs seeming to be starved of oxygen as she realised just how lethal this man could be if he ever stopped thinking of her as a child. Although that wasn’t very likely!

      ‘We could try,’ she answered cagily, not sure it was possible for any woman to be friends with this man. ‘Most people call me Merry,’ she invited.

      ‘And most people—those that don’t think of me as a middle-aged cynic, that is,’ he mocked, ‘call me Gideon. I’m sure you have a beter idea than me what the others call me?’

      ‘Yes—I mean, no. Er—no,’ she blushed.

      ‘Sure?’ he derided.

      No, she wasn’t sure! She could think of a hundred names she could call him right at this minute, and she wouldn’t need to repeat herself once! ‘No,’ she lied.

      Gideon’s mouth quirked as if he knew of the lie. ‘We got off to a bad start,’ he said quietly. ‘And as we’re somehow related through the marriage of our parents I think we should make an effort to get on together.’ He was completely serious now. ‘Especially if it turns out you do want to get to know Anthea as your mother. Being my girl-friend is a safety valve, for both of you. You know that, don’t you?’

      ‘I don’t see how,’ she frowned.

      ‘If you decide you can’t accept Anthea knowing you’re her daughter, really feel you can’t love her, then our romance will just end, with Anthea none the wiser as to your identity.’

      She could see that, but she still frowned. ‘You said I look like—like her,’ she reminded him. ‘What if she makes the connection straight away?’

      ‘She won’t,’ Gideon assured her confidently. ‘Once you were out of that disgusting make-up I looked for a likeness to Anthea. I found it only because I was looking for it. If you’re my girl-friend Anthea wouldn’t even think of the possibility of your being her daughter. She’s given up hope of ever finding you,’ he added huskily.

      Merry swallowed hard, feeling Anthea Steele’s despair in Gideon’s concern. ‘Did she look for me?’

      ‘Once you were sixteen, yes,’ he nodded. ‘And while a child can trace his or her parent, the parent doesn’t really have the same privilege. She gave up her child, the child was happily adopted. And unless you made a claim to meet your real mother then Anthea’s longing to know you would remain unanswered. I’m afraid my own investigations weren’t made as fairly as Anthea’s,’ he told her drily.

      No, she could imagine Gideon would have little patience with the rules and regulations in life, would brush them aside if they got in his way—as he had when tracing her.