His Baby!

‘A dance?’ Daisy might have been suggesting a solo space mission, from the look on his face.

‘Yes, a dance!’ she retorted. ‘Don’t sound so surprised, Matt. This may not be New York, but we have quite an active social life here in Cheriton.’

‘Do you really?’ he murmured, and Daisy got the distinctly annoying feeling that he was laughing at her.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4ab63ad6-a6d9-535e-b639-17ad29d1ab31)

ALONE, in the sanctuary of her bedroom, Daisy piled her newly washed hair on top of her head. Did that make her look more sophisticated? She peered at herself critically in the mirror. Not really. Sighing, she reluctantly pulled the pins out and the golden-brown hair spilled in satin tendrils over her breasts.

Which meant that it was going to take what she wore to convince Matt Hamilton that she was not some wayward little schoolgirl he could patronise like mad, but a living, breathing adult!

Her wardrobe wasn’t exactly extensive but she had something to suit most occasions, and one dress in particular which would score very high in the razzle-dazzle stakes. Black and slinky, it was the most outrageous garment she possessed. She slithered into it and surveyed herself in the bedroom mirror again. Perfect! Absolutely perfect!

In black Lycra, it clung like a second skin and skimmed to midway down her thighs. She wore it with opaque black tights and understated black pumps and then completely went to town on her make-up. When she’d finished she was satisfied; the glitter of green shadow emphasised the flecks in her golden eyes and the rose lip-gloss the full curve of her mouth. Her hair she left falling unfettered, so that it swung in a scented golden-brown curtain all the way down her back.

The only vaguely festive jewellery she owned was some glittery stuff which had been fashionable last year, and she clamped on the big, dangly earrings and the matching bracelet, and was just coming out of her bedroom when she almost collided with Matt coming out of his.

He had obviously just been putting Sophie to bed, since he had removed his black cashmere sweater and there were damp patches spattered all over the front of his grey shirt. Evidence of a playful bathtime, she thought with a sudden wistfulness, wishing that he’d asked her to help him.

His mouth curved into a disdainful imitation of a smile as his eyes slowly flicked over her with all the judgemental deliberation of a sergeant major inspecting the troops.

‘Well, what do you know?’ he murmured sardonically. ‘Here we have another illustration of Daisy’s sartorial elegance. And this time we find that the fairy has fallen off the top of the Christmas tree and landed right here in front of me.’

She kept the smile pinned to her lips. ‘And if that’s supposed to puncture my confidence,’ she told him sweetly, ‘then I’m afraid you haven’t succeeded, Matt. Better luck next time!’

He ignored her remark. ‘So where are you really heading tonight, Daisy? To some tacky strip-joint where you’re the star turn?’

‘And you can keep your cheap comments to yourself!’ she snapped back at him, furious as a cat who’d been confronted by water. ‘You obviously know absolutely nothing about women and what we like to wear.’

He gave a cool smile, and a spark of challenge lit the bright grey eyes. ‘You don’t think so?’ he murmured. ‘Well, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disabuse you of that opinion, my dear Daisy. I happen to know enough about women to advise you that if you have it, then it’s definitely best not to flaunt it. Unless you’re aiming for the trampy look.’

A slow flame of anger began to build inside her, and all the pent-up hurt she’d felt when he’d gone off and married Patti came bubbling to the surface. ‘But Patti flaunted it, didn’t she?’ she taunted recklessly as she remembered that backless dress with the slits all the way up the side which had revealed her magnificent body. And then she stopped, appalled at herself as she realised what she’d said. ‘Oh, Matt,’ she began remorsefully. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—’

His mouth was a hard line as he moved a little closer. ‘But you did mean it,’ he contradicted her, in a voice soft with menace. ‘You know you did, Daisy.’

Suddenly, this was no longer the Matt she knew and remembered—the combination of protector and childhood hero. This Matt was altogether more threatening—dark and brooding and exuding something, some indefinable something, which sent a shiver of excited recognition all the way down Daisy’s spine. She bit her lip, feeling way, way out of her depth. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken ill—’

‘Of the dead?’ he put in.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘But it’s the truth, Daisy, and we’re taught to speak the truth. Patti did flaunt herself. She was beautiful, and she knew it. Her career as a singer capitalised on the flaunting of that beauty. But you’re no rock singer,’ he finished, and his eyes hardened. ‘And what you’re wearing I would have thought was a little unsuitable for a hop at Cheriton Village Hall. I don’t quite think the locals are ready for it, do you?’

He gave his old, familiar smile then, and Daisy recognised the gesture immediately. Matt thought that he was about to get his own way and so he was laying on the charm with a trowel.

Well, he darned well wasn’t going to get his own way, not this time! Daisy pursed her lips together indignantly. ‘And what gives you the right to come back here and start dictating what I should or shouldn’t be wearing?’

‘Right?’ He looked genuinely perplexed, the harshness having momentarily fled from his face. ‘Why, the right of friendship, of course. I thought we were friends—and friends look out for one another, don’t they?’

Daisy stared at him and felt a sudden sadness overwhelm her. Friends?

No.

She and Matt were no longer friends. Something had happened to friendship along the way, and it had become something far less innocent ... Somewhere along the way, her girlish crush had matured into a tugging pull of desire. Her innocent fantasies had blossomed into real needs. Because when she looked at Matt now it was with the acknowledgement of his potent sex appeal, the earthy charisma which he exuded like an aura around him. She found herself wondering what it would be like not just to kiss him but to lie naked beside him, to have all that virile strength embracing her ... enfolding her . . .

She shivered slightly and pushed the disturbingly erotic thoughts away as she met his steady gaze squarely. ‘And now, if you’ve finished your little lecture, please may I be excused?’

‘Be my guest.’ He gave her a humourless smile. ‘And how do you propose getting to this—er—dance?’

‘I’m getting a lift, actually.’

‘A lift?’

He made it sound as though an alien spacecraft was about to land on the lawn outside. ‘Yes, a lift. You remember, Matt. Car draws up to house. Driver gets out, opens door. Daisy gets in. Car goes “broom-broom!” and roars off at speed!’

‘Don’t be so damned flippant!’ he snapped.

‘Then don’t be so damned autocratic!’ she retorted, with a shake of her head which set her hair shimmering, ridiculously pleased as she saw him watch the movement with reluctant fascination.

‘And just who’s giving you this lift?’ he enquired silkily.

Daisy opened her mouth to reply, but at that precise moment the doorbell clanged. ‘See for yourself,’ she told him sweetly, and ran downstairs.

‘Oh, I shall,’ he said softly, from just behind her.

Daisy had been rather pleased when Mick Farlow had invited her to the village dance, since he happened to be flavour of the month. And no wonder. At a towering twenty-one years old, with a thatch of thick blond hair and the kind of shoulders which could support at least two women sitting on them, Mick was the local dreamboat. Even Daisy had agreed that. But that had been before she’d known that Matt was coming home . . .

So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that as Matt un-smilingly opened the door to her would-be suitor Mick Farlow should suddenly pale into complete and utter insignificance beside the tall, dark man who seemed to dominate the spacious hallway. It was like comparing a candle’s light to a flaming beacon.

Daisy thought how boyish Mick looked compared to Matt. How smooth and shiny his skin was, when contrasted with Matt’s virile and shadowed jaw. He even looked ill-at-ease in his best suit, the tie sitting awkwardly on his broad neck. Matt, who was casually dressed in black jeans and a grey shirt, somehow managed to look more elegant than Mick in all his formal clothes. All of a sudden, Daisy heartily wished that she weren’t going to the dance.

‘You’ve come to collect Daisy, I believe?’ asked Matt.

‘Er, that’s right—sir.’

Daisy closed her eyes in despair. Sir? Oh, for heaven’s sake—now Mick was sounding positively feudal!

‘You’ll not be drinking, I hope?’ And it sounded more like an order than a question, thought Daisy indignantly. Of course he wouldn’t be drinking.

‘N-no, sir.’

‘And what time do you propose having her home?’

At this point, Daisy thought, she would explode with rage. He was acting like some sort of jailer, for heaven’s sake! ‘Go and get in the car, Mick,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll be out in a moment.’

‘But—’

‘Now!’ she ordered firmly as she gave him a gentle shove out of the door, before turning to stare indignantly up at Matt.