Sharon Kendrik - His Baby!

Daisy tried not to grit her teeth with frustrated rage as she nodded obediently.

‘And I’d like you to meet Patti Page,’ said Matt.

‘H-hello,’ stammered Daisy, feeling as flat as she always did the day after her birthday.

‘Hi,’ said Patti, her superb lips twisting with barely feigned amusement as she took in Daisy’s very obviously home-made dress. ‘Honey,’ she purred into Matt’s ear, ‘I’m absolutely starving. Something or someone’s given me the biggest appetite.’ And here she winked suggestively at Daisy. ‘So can we please go eat something?’

‘Of course we can,’ he answered, and Daisy saw the American woman’s hand slide possessively underneath his jacket, could see it moving sensuously beneath the soft, dark cloth in a gesture which just shrieked of sexual possessiveness, and Daisy knew a very real desire to scream out loud.

‘I’ll see you later, Daisy,’ Matt told her.

But she didn’t see him later, not to talk to, though she found him watching her across the ballroom from time to time, that curiously intense look on his face again. All Daisy saw was Patti creeping out of his room at dawn, and the following morning they both drove off very early, and at great speed.

And within weeks came the news that Matt and Patti were married and were expecting a baby . . .

Slowly and reluctantly, Daisy came back to the present to find Matt watching her, his elegant dark brows quizzically raised.

‘Such pensive daydreams, Daisy,’ he mocked softly, in a knowing voice. ‘Care to share them?’

Had he guessed? Could he tell by her face that she’d been thinking about him? Was she really so transparent—or was it just that Matt was uncannily perceptive where she was concerned?

Daisy pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes and rose to her feet. She had to get out of here. Matt’s presence had awakened too many confused feelings within her. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said politely. ‘I want to go and wash my hair.’

‘Oh?’ came the arrogant query. ‘It looks fine to me.’

‘Not fine enough,’ she corrected him stiffly, and then, as if to prove to him that she was no longer a child, she added, ‘I’m going to a dance tonight.’

‘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

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?’