Passion & Pleasure: Savage Awakening / For Pleasure...Or Marriage? / Taken for His Pleasure

Fliss shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it.’

The man breathed heavily. ‘I gather that’s not her name?’

‘No.’ Fliss tried to control her temper. It wasn’t his fault, after all. ‘It’s Amy. Amy Taylor. Nancy Drew is just—’

‘Yeah, I know who Nancy Drew is.’ He interrupted her drily. ‘Way to go, Nancy. Solved any exciting cases lately?’

Amy pursed her lips, but she reserved her anger for her mother. ‘Now see what you’ve done!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve made me look silly in front of Quinn!’

‘Quinn?’

Fliss’s eyes moved to the man again and glimpsed the spasm of resignation that crossed his face. ‘Matthew Quinn,’ he agreed flatly. ‘I’ve bought this place.’

‘Oh.’ Fliss wondered why he seemed so reluctant to tell her that. ‘Oh, well—good,’ she murmured. ‘I hope you and your—er—family will be very happy here.’

‘I don’t have a family,’ he replied in that harsh, abrasive voice that Fliss found as sexy as his appearance. ‘But thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Fliss managed a polite smile and then caught her lower lip between her teeth. Would this be a good time to explain why Amy felt she had a right to enter his garden at will? Maybe he would need a housekeeper, too. If he didn’t have a wife…

‘Come on, Mum.’ Amy caught her arm now and attempted to pull her away. ‘It’s nearly time for school.’

‘Is it?’

Fliss’s brows narrowed. Since when had Amy been so eager to go to school? Her suspicions resurfaced. What had she been doing? What had this man been saying to her that she didn’t want her mother to know about?

Her eyes returned to his dark face, but when he met her gaze with a cool appraisal she was forced to look away. Her gaze dropped down over his tight-fitting T-shirt, over drawstring sweat pants that couldn’t hide the impressive bulge of his sex, the powerful length of his legs. And bare feet. Her skin prickled. He must have just got out of bed.

Had Amy awakened him?

And then she saw the box-like structure that was wedged beside the doorstep and comprehension dawned. The compulsive—if unwilling—awareness his hard male beauty had had on her disappeared beneath a sudden wave of frustration.

Grasping Amy’s arm before she could get away from her, she pointed to the offending item. ‘What is Buttons’s hutch doing here?’ she demanded shortly. ‘Is he inside?’ She dipped her head. ‘Yes, I can see he is. Come on, Amy. What is he doing here?’

Amy’s shoulders drooped and Fliss wasn’t at all surprised when her eyes moved appealingly to Matthew Quinn. Of course, she thought irritably. He must have known about this. That was what he and Amy had been talking about when she’d interrupted them. And he hadn’t said a word, even though he must have realised that she hadn’t been aware of what was going on.

She turned on him then, prepared to voice her indignation—however unjustified that indignation might be—and found him leaning tiredly against the frame of the door. His face was drawn now and scored with a haunting weariness she was sure wasn’t just the result of lack of sleep.

Immediately, all thought of reprimanding him fled. The man looked ill, for goodness’ sake. And exhausted. Or utterly bored by their exchange.

‘Um—are you all right?’ she ventured, and at her words he seemed to make a conscious effort to recover himself.

‘A little fatigued is all,’ he assured her firmly, but he backed into the kitchen as he spoke and now she could smell the acrid aroma of charred bacon. He glanced behind him, evidently noticing the same problem, and, forestalling any offer she might have made, he added, ‘Can we continue this at some other time, Mrs Taylor? I’m afraid my breakfast is burning.’

Chapter Two

FLISS endeavoured not to think about Matthew Quinn again until she’d taken her daughter to school.

Instead, she’d concentrated on Amy’s behaviour, on how disappointed she was that the little girl had lied to her. When, faced with the prospect of Buttons being sent to the local animal shelter for his own safety, Amy had come up with a solution of her own, her mother had been relieved. A friend at school had offered the rabbit a home, she’d said, and Fliss had allowed her to take Buttons away on her grandfather’s wheelbarrow, never dreaming that Amy had had no intention of giving the rabbit to anyone.

Now, however, her deception had been discovered, and in the most embarrassing way possible. Matthew Quinn either considered Fliss was an unfit mother—a label that had been slung at her more times than she cared to remember since, at the age of sixteen, she’d discovered she was pregnant—or an unfeeling one, which was probably worse.

Amy, attempting to justify her actions, had assured her mother that ‘Quinn’ hadn’t minded the fact that he had had an unwanted squatter on his land, but Fliss believed she knew better. From what she’d seen of him, she thought Matthew Quinn was not a well man, and he’d probably only been humouring the child to avoid further argument.

Whatever, Fliss was faced with the not-very-pleasant task of returning to the big house to collect the rabbit and make her apologies. Again. Amy wouldn’t be pleased, particularly if she was once again forced to consider the prospect of Buttons living out his days at the animal shelter, but it couldn’t be helped. Whatever Matthew Quinn had said, she doubted he would really appreciate having a furry mammal—however appealing—on his premises on a permanent basis.

And if he did have a wife…

Just because he’d said he didn’t have a family didn’t necessarily mean…

But that was one speculation too far. Fliss had no intention of making that mistake. OK, he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He was also one of the most dangerous to her peace of mind and, with or without a wife, he was way out of her league.

Her father was up by the time she got back from taking Amy to school.

Until four years ago George Taylor had run the small pharmacy in the village. But a dwindling population—due to the shortage of jobs, and many houses being bought as second homes by city-dwellers—plus the cheaper attractions of the supermarket in nearby Westerbury, had hastened his retirement. These days he supplemented their income by writing articles for the local paper, occasionally babysitting Amy when Fliss worked occasional evenings at the local pub.

Harvey, her father’s retriever, barked and jumped up at her excitedly when she let herself into the cottage, and she wished the dog would act his age. Harvey was seven years old, for heaven’s sake. Old enough to behave himself. But he still acted like a puppy and her father spoiled him outrageously.

‘Everything OK?’ he asked now as Fliss came into the kitchen, where he was enjoying his breakfast of toast and marmalade, and she dropped down into the chair opposite him and pulled a face.

‘As it will ever be, I suppose,’ she grumbled, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring herself a cup. ‘I’ve just discovered where Buttons is living.’

‘The rabbit?’ Her father put his paper aside and regarded his daughter curiously.

‘Yes, the rabbit.’ Fliss scowled.

‘Well, I thought Amy had found him a home,’ he said, puzzled. ‘Don’t tell me she’s keeping the rabbit in her room.’

‘No. Nothing like that.’ Fliss shook her head. ‘She’s been keeping it at the Old Coaching House.’

Her father started to laugh and then subdued it. ‘Well, the little monkey,’ he said instead. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter, does it? The place is empty.’

‘As a matter of fact, it’s not,’ declared Fliss, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘There’s a new tenant. Or rather, a new owner. I met him this morning.’

‘Really?’ George Taylor looked surprised. ‘They’ve kept that quiet. I didn’t even know it was on the market.’

‘Nor did I.’ Fliss looked momentarily wistful. ‘It certainly brings it home to me that Colonel Phillips is gone for good.’

‘Hmm.’ Her father nodded, and then reached across the table to pat his daughter’s hand. ‘He was very old, Fliss. What was he? Ninety-two or—three?’

‘Ninety-one,’ said Fliss firmly. ‘And I know he was old. But he was very kind to me.’

Her father sighed. ‘And you were kind to him, too. I doubt if he’d have got anyone else to do all his housework as you did.’

‘He paid me,’ Fliss protested. ‘I miss that income, I really do.’

‘Well, I can’t say I’m sorry you’re not working as a domestic any longer,’ declared her father, buttering another slice of toast. ‘You deserve better than that. I don’t know what your mother would say about you wasting your degree.’