Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair

It took an effort, but he pulled his hands from beneath her tee shirt and raised them to her shoulders. Then gently, but firmly, he attempted to put some space between them. It would be easier to think without the innocent sexuality of her body seducing his, he told himself grimly. But when he saw her face, his good intentions crumbled. She looked so bewildered suddenly that something inside him seemed to snap. With a groan of resignation, he abandoned any hope of getting out of this unscathed. Pulling her against him again, he captured her face between his palms and lowered his head to hers.

Her lips were barely parted, but when he skimmed his tongue over the full lower one she caught her breath. Joe pushed his tongue inside, searching, possessing, doing what he admitted he’d wanted to do since he’d first glimpsed those tears on her face.

‘Dear God,’ he muttered, as desire rose hotly to the surface. His hands slid down her spine, moulding her to him, finding the provocative curve of her bottom before gripping the back of her thighs.

The kiss deepened and Rachel’s world seemed to narrow to this man’s mouth, this man’s hands. Her head was swimming, emotions she’d never experienced before causing her whole body to feel hot and alive. She was drowning in a dark sea of intimacy, of passion, where the satisfaction of her senses was the only thing that mattered.

Joe’s senses rocketed, the blood pounding in his ears, his mind spinning dizzily out of control. With his fingers spreading against the back of her head, he crushed his mouth to hers with increasing urgency. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he told himself. Not when she was kissing him back with a hunger that matched his own.

And then, from a distance, Rachel heard a familiar voice calling her. ‘Mum! Mum!’ There was a pause, which allowed her to identify the sound. ‘Mum, can’t I come down now?’

Daisy!

Oh God!

Rachel’s strangled cry startled Joe. He, too, had heard the other voice, his brain scrambling to remember where he was. Then, like a douche of cold water, it came to him: he was trying to seduce Steve Carlyle’s ex-wife.

He pulled away automatically at the same moment Rachel was wrenching herself free. For God’s sake, what had he been thinking? What crazy impulse had made him behave like a savage?

Rachel was heading for the door into the hall. He could see she was panicking, unaware that her tee shirt was loose and crumpled and that his stubble had scraped her cheeks. Her hair was loose from its knot. It tumbled down around her shoulders, and Joe wondered how it would feel if he threaded his fingers through the silky strands. However, the look she cast at him over her shoulder brought the whole situation into damning focus.

He’d goofed, and badly. Her expression said it all. And while he wasn’t totally to blame for what had happened, if he hadn’t touched her the situation would never have developed as it had.

‘Hey,’ he said, causing her to glance back at him again. However, when she lifted a warning hand to silence him, he muttered, ‘You might want to check yourself out before you leave. Or do you want your daughter to know what you’ve been doing?’

Rachel halted abruptly, her hand going to her tumbled hair, discovering the pins that had held it in place had disappeared. They were scattered all over the floor, she saw with an inward groan, but she didn’t have time to find them all now. Pulling open a drawer where she kept pens and notepads, she found an elastic band and, gathering her hair in one hand, she secured it in an untidy pony-tail.

She saw Joe arch a mocking brow as she started for the door again, but her attention was concentrated on her daughter now. ‘Just—just give us a couple more minutes, Daisy,’ she called when she reached the doorway. ‘We’re almost through.’

Ain’t that the truth? thought Joe as Daisy answered with a long drawn-out, ‘O-kay.’ Once again, he was asking himself how on earth he’d allowed himself to be distracted. Rachel was attractive, sure, but she wasn’t his type. And from the way she was looking at him, he certainly wasn’t hers.

She turned back to him with evident reluctance. He sensed she wanted to say something to defend herself, but she must know as well as he did that what had happened couldn’t be explained away. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said at last, and he could tell she was struggling to appear more composed than she was. She licked her lips, lips that were still swollen from his lovemaking, Joe saw with some satisfaction. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do about Daisy. I’ll let you know when I’ve had time to think.’

‘To think about what?’ Joe sagged back against the table. ‘Oh, please, don’t tell me you’re going to make this an excuse for refusing to let Daisy go and visit with her dad?’

‘No.’ Rachel squared her shoulders. ‘No, she can go. I’m just not sure she should go with you.’

Joe stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Why?’ he demanded, his patience shredding. Frustration was making him antsy, and he wasn’t in the mood for any more of her attitude. ‘I hope you’re not implying that because I kissed you I’m not to be trusted with your daughter. Grow up, Rachel. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.’

‘And we both know that’s not true, don’t we?’ she retorted. She shook her head. ‘I have to think about this. I’m older than you. I can’t just dismiss what just happened as you apparently can.’

Joe blinked. ‘Why do you think you’re older than me?’ he exclaimed blankly. ‘I’m thirty-four, and I know for a fact that Steve’s only thirty-five.’

‘Steve’s not thirty-five!’ The words were out before she could prevent them. ‘He’s two years older than me. He’ll be forty on his next birthday.’

Joe looked surprised. ‘You’re sure about that?’ he asked, and she wondered if she’d put her foot in it again.

‘I’m sure,’ she admitted in a low voice, and Joe realised he hadn’t taken Daisy’s age into consideration. He remembered Steve telling him in one of his more confidential moments that he’d been married for five years before Daisy had been born.

Rachel had opened the fridge again and was stowing some tomatoes into the salad drawer. Her face was red, and he wondered what she was thinking. For his part, he was trying to come to terms with the fact that she was thirty-seven. She certainly didn’t look it. Or act it, he conceded, reliving those moments when he’d been inclined to believe she was as inexperienced as Daisy.

‘Look,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sorry, okay? What happened, happened. I’m not ashamed of it. You’re a beautiful woman. I only did what any man in my position would have done.’

Rachel wondered if that was entirely true. She couldn’t imagine Steve touching her in that way. But then, she and Steve should never have got married, never have had a baby. It was one of those sad anomalies that Daisy definitely hadn’t kept them together.

‘Is everything all right?’ Daisy was suddenly standing in the doorway, eyeing them both with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She frowned at her mother. ‘Why is your face red? Is something wrong?’

Rachel couldn’t prevent her hand from going to her cheek, and she glanced guiltily at Joe before saying, ‘Nothing’s wrong, Daisy. Mr Mendez was just leaving.’

Daisy wasn’t stupid. ‘Leaving?’ she echoed. ‘So—are the arrangements for Monday already made?’

‘You’d better ask your mother,’ said Joe, without sympathy. ‘I think she might be having second thoughts.’

He knew a moment’s remorse when Rachel turned agonised eyes in his direction, but he refused to pretend that all was well when it so obviously wasn’t.

‘Why?’ Daisy gazed at her mother now. ‘I thought you’d agreed to let me go.’

‘I did.’ Rachel was defensive. ‘It’s just—’

‘Your mother doesn’t trust me,’ said Joe flatly, pushing away from the table. His eyes bruised Rachel’s. ‘I suggest you let me know when you’ve decided what you want to do.’

‘Oh, but—’

Daisy’s eyes had filled with tears and, before she could beg him to reconsider, Rachel intervened. ‘There’s no need for that,’ she said stiffly. ‘Just tell me where and at what time you’d like us to meet you on Monday and we’ll be there.’

Joe blew out a breath. ‘My chauffeur will pick her up about nine o’clock Monday morning,’ he responded. ‘If you change your mind again, let me know.’

Shelley was waiting at Eaton Court Mews when he got back.

She’d evidently been there for some time, because a tray of coffee was cold on the table and her face mirrored her impatience with his behaviour earlier.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded as soon as he strolled into the sitting room. ‘What do you mean by walking out like that? I go to sleep with you beside me and I wake up to find you’ve gone.’

‘Sorry.’ But Joe wasn’t in the mood to make more apologies and when Charles followed him into the room he turned with some relief. ‘Black coffee, please,’ he said. ‘And perhaps Ms Adair might like to join me. Oh, and do you have any of those English muffins? I could do with something hot and sweet.’

‘I hope you’re not looking at me,’ said Shelley, her tone softening as if she realised this was not the time to start a slanging match. But Joe only shook his head and lounged into a comfortable leather armchair.

‘Just food,’ he said, and Charles withdrew before another argument ensued.

However, realising he was allowing his frustration towards Rachel to influence his mood, Joe looked up at Shelley standing by the window. ‘Have you been here long?’

She shrugged. Although he’d only thrown his clothes on before leaving her apartment, she had evidently taken some trouble with her appearance. A pale blue gauze dress dipped provocatively at her breast before flaring gently to her knees. Four-inch heels added height to her five-feet-ten-inch frame, and her blonde bob had been spiked to perfection. Evidently she’d dressed to please, and he felt guilty that right at this moment her pale good looks left him cold.

‘Long enough,’ she said now, moving over to his chair and perching on the arm. ‘You need a shave, darling. I’m not one of those women who like getting the equivalent of razor burns every time I kiss you.’

Unwanted, the image of Rachel as he’d last seen her flashed into his mind. How was it possible that he’d found her so appealing? So appealing, in fact, that if her daughter hadn’t interrupted them.

‘Joe, you’re not listening to me!’ Shelley’s voice rose again, and now there were hectic splashes of colour in her cheeks. ‘Where have you been? Charles is so tight-lipped. He wouldn’t breathe a word.’