Heavenly Angels. Carole Mortimer

course.’ She nodded smoothly, smiling reassuringly at the children. ‘When you’ve finished eating put your plates on the side and then go and wash your faces and hands, so that you don’t get sticky fingers all over your daddy’s furniture,’ she advised ruefully, sure that that wouldn’t go down too well at all. The apartment was beautifully furnished and decorated, and expensively so—not at all suitable for young and active children. ‘As soon as I’ve finished talking to your father we’ll all wrap up warm and go for a walk—’

      ‘A walk?’ Nick Rafferty interrupted incredulously. ‘My dear Miss—young woman.’ He scowled. ‘I’m sure it can’t have escaped your notice; it’s been snowing for almost twenty-four hours!’

      Of course it hadn’t ‘escaped her notice’. Silly man, that was the reason she was here. If it hadn’t been snowing, Samantha Fairfax’s car wouldn’t have skidded on the ice and snow and then driven down the side of an embankment. If it hadn’t been snowing so heavily then the accident wouldn’t have happened that way. Besides, she loved the snow. Always had. At least, she presumed she had…

      ‘Children love to be out in the snow, Mr Rafferty,’ she explained over the excited shouts of Jamie, Josh and Lucy.

      ‘Obviously.’ He glowered darkly at the din her suggestion had created. ‘The sitting-room,’ he bit out harshly. ‘Now.’ He turned on his heel and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bethany to follow him.

      She calmed the children and repeated her instructions before following him, frowning a little as she watched him pour himself half a tumblerful of whisky before throwing the fiery liquid to the back of his throat and swallowing it in one gulp. She had tried whisky once; it had made her eyes water, her nose run and her throat burn!

      Nick Rafferty turned and saw her watching him, and those dark brows met fiercely again over icy grey eyes.

      She moved further into the room, quietly closing the door behind her, noticing with pleasure the empty plate on the table; the whisky shouldn’t have too much of an effect when he had eaten first. ‘Tell me, Mr Rafferty—’ she smiled at him ‘—do you have a dog?’

      He looked taken aback by the question, as if it was the last thing he had expected her to say. Which it probably was… ‘A dog?’ he repeated blankly. ‘No, of course I don’t have a dog,’ he snapped. ‘What would I do with a dog up here?’

      ‘A cat, then?’ she suggested smoothly.

      ‘A cat would be no more happy in a penthouse apartment than a dog would,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘Why do you ask?’ He looked at her warily.

      Bethany gave a dismissive shrug, her expression bland. ‘You seem to be in the habit of issuing orders without the customary “please” and “thank you”. I could only assume that came from dealing with a pet,’ she explained evenly, tidying his cup and saucer and plate into a neat pile.

      Grey eyes narrowed to steely slits as he watched her economy of movement. ‘Point taken, Beth,’ he finally rasped abruptly. ‘I apologise for my lack of “customary” politeness,’ his voice grated harshly, as if it weren’t ‘customary’ for him to apologise for his behaviour too often either.

      Probably not because it wasn’t ever applicable, Bethany decided as she met his gaze unwaveringly, more likely a case of him just not being a man who usually felt the need to apologise for anything.

      ‘But it must be apparent to you that this situation isn’t “customary” either!’ He ran an agitated hand through his already ruffled hair. ‘Robert dumped the children on me last night, their mother is critically ill in hospital, Christmas is only two days away and then you turn up here claiming to be an angel!’ He shook his head, staring down at the bottom of his empty whisky glass. ‘Is it any wonder I felt the need of a drink?’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘But to answer your initial question.’ He straightened. ‘No, I don’t have a dog any longer. I did have. It died five years ago.’

      Bethany watched him as he paced the carpeted floor. He was such a man alone. He had three children, was obviously rich, and yet he seemed such a solitary figure—as if part of him was missing. It must be through choice, Bethany decided. A man of his means, a man with his handsome good looks, could have had such a different sort of life. She wondered why he didn’t…