Читать книгу Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

ON SATURDAY morning Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her third cup of coffee of the day and trying to make sense of the pages she’d written the night before, when Daisy came clattering down the stairs.

It was barely seven, and on any normal weekend morning it would have been virtually impossible to get her daughter out of bed before nine o’clock. But clearly Daisy’s mind was fixated on the same issue that had kept Rachel awake half the night.

‘Did he ring?’

Daisy didn’t waste time on polite preamble, and Rachel put down her coffee cup and shuffled her pages into a single pile. ‘No.’

‘He didn’t?’ Daisy stared at her aghast. ‘I thought that must be why you were up so early.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no one’s rung. Either last night, or this morning.’

Daisy looked dismayed. ‘But he said he would ring,’ she protested, and Rachel thought that, despite all her efforts to appear grown up, her daughter was still very much a child with a child’s simplistic view of the world.

Getting to her feet, she gave Daisy a hug and said, ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, sweetheart. I expect his meeting went on longer than he’d anticipated, and perhaps he had other plans for the evening.’

Plans that had no doubt included the company of some ravishing female, Rachel reflected drily. A man like Mendez was hardly likely to spend his nights alone. He was far too attractive; far too sexy. He didn’t wear a wedding ring—not that that meant a lot, if Steve was anything to go by—but there was bound to be some glamorous socialite who found his slightly cruel good looks and sensual appeal absolutely fascinating. As she did, Rachel admitted reluctantly. Though in her case, she assured herself, it was a purely professional assessment.

‘How long does a phone call take?’ Daisy pulled away from her mother and went to take a carton of milk out of the fridge. Pouring herself a glass, she added sulkily, ‘I wish Dad had arranged for me to fly with British Airways. Then we wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else.’

Rachel was tempted to second that, but she was sensible enough to know that, however tardy he might be, they hadn’t heard the last of Joe Mendez. ‘Give it until lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Then, if we still haven’t heard anything, I’ll ring him.’ She felt a hollowing in her stomach at the thought but she ignored it. ‘Okay?’

‘Oh, cool!’ Daisy’s upper lip was still coated with milk as she came and gave her mother a wet kiss on her cheek. Her delight was unmistakeable. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Refusing to consider what she was going to say if she had to contact Mendez, Rachel scrubbed the place Daisy’s lips had touched with a rueful hand. Then, wrapping her cotton dressing-gown closer about her, she picked up the manuscript and started for the door. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long. Then I’ll get breakfast.’

‘I can do that.’ Daisy finished her milk and popped the glass into the dishwasher. ‘What would you like? I can make French toast.’

‘Just toast will do,’ said Rachel, guessing the girl was only trying to be helpful. But as she started up the stairs she hoped that, by offering to ring Mendez, she hadn’t given Daisy the idea that she wouldn’t object if her daughter rang him herself.

Knowing she had to go out sometime today to do some food shopping, Rachel dressed in jeans and a black V-necked tee shirt. She dried her hair and then caught it up in a loose knot on top of her head. She didn’t bother with any make-up, and a pair of strappy leather sandals completed her outfit. She looked what she was, she thought, surveying her appearance without conceit: a single mother approaching middle age, with no particular claim to either youth or beauty.

Daisy had the toast ready when she re-entered the kitchen, and there was fresh coffee simmering on the hob. Daisy had taken the time to dress too, though her baggy cut-offs and cropped tank top looked as if they’d spent the night on her bedroom floor.

‘There you go,’ she said, setting the toast on the table where ajar of marmalade and the butter dish already resided; if her cheeks looked a little pink, Rachel put it down to the heat of the grill.

‘This looks good.’ Although she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, Rachel buttered a slice of toast and spooned on a little of the marmalade. Then, taking a bite, she looked expectantly up at her daughter. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘I had some cornflakes,’ said Daisy quickly. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

‘No.’ But Rachel’s brows drew together as she spoke. Then, dismissing the suspicion that Daisy wasn’t being altogether truthful, she added, ‘I’ll have to go out later. We’ve got nothing in the fridge, and I need some fresh bread.’

‘But you can’t.’

Daisy spoke impulsively and Rachel looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why not?’ ‘Well—because Mr Mendez is going to phone, isn’t he?’

‘So?’ Rachel’s gaze turned to one of enquiry. ‘We have an answerphone. If we’re not here, I’m sure he’ll leave a message, and I can ring him back.’

Daisy pressed her lips together. ‘But what if he comes round?’

‘Comes round?'Rachel was wary. ‘Why on earth would he come round?’ Not to see her, she was sure. ‘He’s said he’ll phone. And, if he doesn’t, I’ve already said I’ll phone him.’

‘He’s not in,’ said Daisy quickly, and Rachel’s eyes widened in disbelief.

‘He’s not in?’ she echoed. Then, shaking her head to clear it, she went on, ‘How do you know he’s not in?’

But she didn’t need the girl to answer. She already knew. Daisy had done what she’d been half-afraid she might and had phoned Mendez while she was in the shower.

‘I—I spoke to that man who works for him,’ Daisy confessed unhappily. ‘Mr Mendez calls him Charles.’ She bit her lip, perhaps hoping that Rachel would take pity on her. But when it became apparent that her mother wasn’t about to speak, she hurried on, ‘He—he was really offhand.’

Rachel regarded her disapprovingly. ‘And that surprises you?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s barely eight o’clock, Daisy. It’s Saturday, and people don’t appreciate being woken up so early.’

Daisy’s expression lightened. ‘So maybe Mr Mendez was really there?’ she suggested. ‘But this man—Charles—didn’t want to disturb him.’ She looked encouragingly at her mother. ‘Do you think that’s what happened?’

‘It’s possible.’ But Rachel suspected it wasn’t that simple. It was far more likely that Mendez had slept elsewhere, and her stomach tightened at the thought. Then, dismissing the images that evoked from her mind, she said, ‘It would serve you right if Mr Mendez decided that taking you to Florida was more trouble than it was worth. Then your father would be stuck with your air fare. I wonder how he’d feel about that?’

It was a low blow, and Rachel regretted letting her own disappointment rule her tongue. She wanted Daisy to spend time with Steve; of course she did. It was just hard to accept that her daughter wasn’t so different from her father after all.

Daisy looked positively mortified now, and, knowing she couldn’t let her shoulder all the blame for the way she was feeling, she sighed. ‘Look, I’m sure that’s not going to happen. But you have to be patient. I imagine Mr Mendez has more important matters than arranging your trip to attend to. If you take my advice, you’ll let him get back to you in his own good time.’

‘But what if he forgets?’

Rachel’s laugh was bitter. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,’ she said drily. ‘Now, I suggest you let me finish my coffee, and then you can come with me to the supermarket.’

It was after eleven by the time they got back to the house. Despite Daisy’s agitation, Rachel had been determined not to let Joe Mendez think that she, at least, was desperate for his assistance. Daisy was thirteen, after all, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t make the journey on her own on a commercial flight. Rachel knew that the air crew could be relied upon to keep an eye on her, and Steve would be meeting her in Miami.

Consequently, it was something of a blow to find the powerful SUV parked at their gate when she turned into Castle Close. Although she’d only seen the vehicle once before, the identity of its owner was unquestionable, and she didn’t need Daisy’s cry of excitement to reinforce her opinion.

‘It’s Mr Mendez!’ Daisy exclaimed, hopping out of Rachel’s modest Audi as soon as she applied the brake. ‘I wonder how long he’s been waiting? I told you we shouldn’t have gone out.’

Rachel reserved judgment on that, but in any case she had no time to reply. Daisy was already running to the front of the Lexus, full of excitement as she waited for Joe Mendez to open the door.

He did so at once. Long, powerful legs encased in tight-fitting black jeans again this morning appeared; tan-coloured deck shoes, once more without socks, lowered to the pavement. As she stood, Rachel glimpsed a white tee shirt in the open V of a black knitted polo, which exposed his arms and the dark shadow of his tattoo. There was a dark shadow on his jawline too, she noticed, so evidently he hadn’t bothered to shave. But the slightly dishevelled look suited him. He was that kind of man.

It was an effort for her to get out of the car, but eventually she did so, aware that Daisy was chattering away happily. Probably blaming her mother for them not having been at home, thought Rachel ruefully. Well, it had been her fault, but she wasn’t ashamed of it. If Daisy hadn’t taken it into her head to ring the man, he’d have contacted her sooner or later. Or not—as he chose.

Meanwhile Joe was wishing Daisy would stop talking long enough to allow him to speak to her mother. Judging by the reluctance with which Rachel had got out of the vehicle, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. But when she opened the boot and started unloading bags of groceries onto the path, he had the perfect excuse to go and assist her.

‘Hi,’ he said as he reached the pile of plastic carriers. ‘Let me help you.’

‘I can manage.’ Rachel knew she sounded ungrateful, but she couldn’t help it.

However, Joe ignored her. Hefting two bags in each hand, he nodded towards the house. ‘You go ahead and open the door. I’ll follow you.’

Rachel’s lips tightened, but short of forcibly wresting the carriers from him, she had no choice but to do as he said. Rescuing the remaining bag and her handbag, she locked the car and brushed past him. But she was intensely conscious of him behind her as she hurried up the path to the house.

If Rachel was conscious of Joe’s eyes upon her, Joe was no less aware of it himself. Contrary to the description Charles had invented, Rachel had a decidedly provocative rear. True, she was no fashion model, but that was to her advantage. The cheeks of her bottom were nicely rounded above legs that were longer than he’d thought. For a woman of—what, thirty-two, thirty-three?—she had an extremely attractive figure.

He blew out a breath as he unloaded the bags onto the kitchen table. Why the hell was he thinking about how she looked? It wasn’t as if they even knew one another—not, properly at least—and there was no doubt that she resented him. Ever since she’d learned that Daisy would be flying with him and not on some public airline, he’d hardly had a cordial word out of her. Damn it, it wasn’t his fault if she and her ex-husband didn’t communicate.

‘Mr Mendez hasn’t been waiting long.’ Daisy came into the kitchen behind them, a beaming smile on her face. ‘That’s good, isn’t it, Mum?’

‘I’m sure Mr Mendez would agree with you.’

Rachel’s response was full of irony, and Joe’s resentment stirred anew. ‘I did ring first,’ he said, directing his words to her. ‘I thought you might be working and not want to be disturbed.’

‘So you decided to come and disturb me anyway.’ Rachel didn’t know why she felt so angry, but she did. And finding Mendez on her doorstep seemed to be the last straw after the way Daisy had behaved. ‘I’m sorry. I had some shopping to attend to.’

‘I could have spoken to Daisy.’

‘You could.’

‘Mum—’

Daisy had obviously realised that things were not going as well as she’d anticipated. But Joe didn’t need her involvement, any more than Rachel had wanted his earlier. ‘Just leave this to your mother and me,’ he said, trying for a pleasant tone. ‘Why don’t you go and do some packing or something?’

Daisy sniffed. ‘Mum,’ she said again, the word full of entreaty, and Rachel took a deep breath.

‘Mr Mendez is right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it would be as well if he and I had a private word. Just go up to your room, okay?’

‘But, Mum—’

‘Do as your mother says,’ said Joe sharply, and Daisy’s jaw dropped in surprise.

‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ she protested, any admiration she’d felt towards him momentarily extinguished by his tone.

Joe stared at her. ‘Can’t I?’ he countered, his mood deteriorating rapidly, and her lower lip jutted.

‘Mum—’

‘Oh, just go upstairs, Daisy.’ Rachel didn’t appreciate Joe’s interference either, but it was easier not to get into it with the girl present. ‘Please.’ She softened the word with a slight smile. ‘I’ll call you when you can come down again.’

Daisy pursed her lips but, after a few moments, she slouched moodily out of the room. A few seconds later, they heard her climbing the stairs.

Rachel waited until she’d heard the door to Daisy’s bedroom bang closed before giving Joe a frigid look. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to apologise,’ she said. ‘Thanks to her father, Daisy is in the middle of all this. Naturally, she feels confused.’

‘You think?’ Joe propped his hips against the counter opposite and folded his arms. ‘I thought that was me.’

‘You?’ Rachel was taken aback now. ‘You’re not confused.’

Joe shrugged, as if that might be open for discussion, but all he said was, ‘I am also in the middle of this feud you’ve got going with Steve.’

Rachel tried to calm herself. ‘It’s not a feud.’

‘Then what is it?’ Joe’s dark brows ascended. ‘I gather the divorce wasn’t an amicable one.’

‘Did Steve tell you that?’

He had, but Joe wasn’t about to admit it. ‘It seems fairly obvious,’ he said, avoiding the question. ‘Why don’t you want Daisy to spend time with her father? Just because you don’t get on—’

‘I’ve never stopped Daisy from seeing her father,’ Rachel broke in hotly. ‘And, if he’s told you I have, he’s lying.’

Joe sucked in a breath. ‘So how come Steve hasn’t had any physical contact with Daisy since he left England?’

Rachel gasped. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you!’

‘Humour me.’ Joe didn’t really know why he was pursuing this except that she seemed so frustrated. ‘You have to admit, it’s twelve months since he and Lauren moved to Florida.’

‘I know.’ Rachel hesitated, but the need to defend herself drove her on. ‘But—well, at Christmas, Daisy didn’t want to visit her father. Her grandparents would have been so disappointed if we hadn’t had Christmas Day with them, and school started again at the beginning of January.’

‘Okay.’ Joe shrugged. ‘I’ll accept that you wouldn’t want to send Daisy away at Christmas. But according to Steve she could have visited earlier this year.’

‘You mean at Easter?’ Rachel’s nostrils flared. ‘Didn’t he tell you? Daisy was ill at Easter. She had glandular fever and, if you know anything about the disease at all, you’ll know that it can take months to recover fully. As a matter of fact, I phoned Steve and asked if there was any way he could come and see her.’ Rachel’s nails curled into her palms when she remembered her ex-husband’s response. ‘He—he said he already had plans for the holiday. Which obviously didn’t include crossing the Atlantic.’

Joe frowned ‘He didn’t tell me that.’

Rachel snorted. ‘I wonder why.’

‘You don’t like him much, do you?’

‘I don’t like what he’s trying to do to me and Daisy,’ said Rachel flatly.

‘What is he doing?’ Joe was curious.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I’d still like to know.’

‘Why?’ She turned to the bags on the table and started unloading their contents. ‘So you can tell Steve what a mean, resentful cow I am when you go home?’

Joe caught his breath. ‘Hey, you’ve got some attitude there!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t think you’re mean or resentful. I just think you and Steve have got your wires crossed and you both need to sort yourselves out. For Daisy’s sake.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Rachel had started putting perishable items into the fridge, but now Joe couldn’t prevent himself from moving round the table and grabbing her arm. ‘Hey,’ he said, immediately aware of her soft flesh beneath his fingers. ‘I’m not your enemy.’ He released her again, unconsciously rubbing his palm down the seam of his jeans, as if that would remove the tantalising memory of her skin. ‘I’m just trying to understand what’s going on here. Fill me in. Tell me about when Steve still lived in London.’

Rachel shivered. It was the first time he’d touched her, and she was overwhelmingly aware that her response had been far from indifferent. For a moment, her senses had been assaulted by the clean, male scent of his body, his heat briefly robbing her of the will to move away. She was aware of her nipples pebbling beneath her cotton tee shirt, a melting feeling that centred somewhere low in her abdomen, turning her limbs to water.

Realising she had to get a hold of herself, she shoved the pack of cheese she was holding into the fridge and backed up against the closed door. That was better, she thought, feeling the chill cooling her spine and causing goose bumps to take the place of the beads of sweat that had feathered the back of her neck.

Then, without exactly looking at him, she said, ‘Why should it matter to you?’

Joe shook his head. Damned if he knew. He didn’t know what the hell he was getting into here, but he knew he couldn’t just walk away without at least attempting to understand what was going on.

In an effort to distract himself from the urge to capture her chin in his hand and force her to look at him, Joe propped his hips against the table behind him and folded his arms. ‘How often did Daisy see her father before he moved to the States?’ he asked, and her green eyes flickered briefly in his direction.

‘How often?’ He sensed she didn’t want to answer him and he wondered why. ‘Um—she saw him,’ she said with a lift of one shoulder, prevaricating. ‘Anyway, that’s not why you’re here, is it? I expect you’d like to confirm the arrangements for Monday. If you’ll tell me where and at what time you’d like us to meet you …’

‘My chauffeur will pick her up.’ Joe was aware that she was nervous, that she’d like to get this over with and for him to go. He frowned, and then asked curiously, ‘What’s wrong? Why are you so defensive? Is it because Steve wanted to take Daisy to Florida with him when he left England and you wouldn’t let him?’

‘What?’ Rachel was forced to look at him now, stunned at the accusation. And despite her reluctance to discuss her exhusband with a virtual stranger, she added tensely, ‘Steve never even suggested taking her with him. Did he tell you that he did?’

Joe raked long fingers over his scalp. He should never have started this. ‘That was the impression I got,’ he said at last, watching the colour drain out of her face. His free hand curled into a fist. ‘Obviously I was wrong.’

‘Yes.’ Rachel drew a choking breath and turned away, unable to look at him any longer. ‘Yes, you were,’ she continued, pressing her palms against the door of the fridge now, aware that it wasn’t helping. ‘If—if you must know, I don’t think Daisy even noticed when Steve left the country.’

There, she’d said it. Something she’d never said to anyone, not even Steve’s mother. But it was true nevertheless. Her exhusband had spent little time with Daisy when they’d been together, and after the divorce he’d always been too busy with his new wife and her friends—and, of course, his golf—to care that Daisy was growing up without a father.

Joe stifled an inward groan. He knew he’d upset her, knew he’d torn the skin off an old wound that was apparently still raw enough to bleed. And that wasn’t his nature. He didn’t hurt women; even the women he’d ended relationships with were still speaking to him. Yet, although he’d guessed he was getting into deep water when she’d avoided his question, he’d persisted in probing, in exposing her vulnerability.

His muscles tightened. He should get the hell out of here now, before he did something they would both regret. He didn’t even know why he felt such a sense of responsibility towards her, but the fact remained, he did.

Pushing away from the table, he laid an impulsive hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and he realised she was trembling. God, this was a woman who’d been married and divorced, who’d borne a child, for heaven’s sake; yet he still felt responsible for her. He couldn’t resist; his fingers tightened on the fine bones beneath her tee shirt and the urge to pull her into his arms became almost irresistible.

The air between them was fairly crackling with emotion, and for once he wished Daisy would interrupt them. Hell, this wasn’t his problem, he told himself, but that didn’t stop him from moving closer until her bottom brushed temptingly against his thigh.

Rachel moved then, jerking away from him, not understanding why her eyes were suddenly filled with tears. She’d shed all the tears she was going to shed for Steve Carlyle, she told herself fiercely. And she didn’t need Joe Mendez’s pity either. She could just imagine how this would play when he got back to Florida, and the idea that Steve and Lauren might find her stupid feelings amusing was totally humiliating.

‘Rachel,’ Joe said helplessly, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ She pulled a tissue out of the box on the window sill and quickly blew her nose. ‘I’ll get Daisy. I expect she’s dying to know what’s going on.’

Joe groaned. ‘What is going on, Rachel?’ he demanded, and she was obliged to turn and face him.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, striving for a lighter tone. But when she attempted to move past him, Joe saw the betraying sparkle of tears on her lashes.

‘Hell, Rachel,’ he protested, and ignoring all the good advice he’d been giving himself, he caught her about the waist and hauled her into his arms.