Sharon Kendrik - His Baby!

‘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.

‘Do you think that you can suddenly arrive back here and start playing the heavy?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Or does it just do your ego good to have Mick kowtowing to you as if you were the village squire?’

The grey eyes glittered. ‘I really don’t see what you’re so uptight about, Daisy. I would have thought it was perfectly normal to enquire when we might expect you home. It’s a question I would have asked if it had been my mother he was driving. The roads are particularly icy at this time of year, as I’m sure you know.’

Oh, how great to be compared to his mother! ‘Mick’s a perfectly good driver!’ defended Daisy, who had never been in a car with him in her life.

‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ answered Matt urbanely, but his eyes were hard as they flicked intently and tellingly at the amount of leg she was showing. ‘And is that all he’s good at, I wonder?’

Daisy’s cheeks flamed at the implication and at the sudden fizzing of excitement which his cool scrutiny of her legs could provoke. ‘That was a cheap remark!’

He shrugged. ‘Only if you choose to interpret it that way. I could have been talking about his ability to handle a—tractor.’

‘Oh, sure!’

‘And you still haven’t told me what time you’ll be home.’

‘The dance finishes at eleven,’ said Daisy reluctantly, because she knew that determined glint in Matt’s eyes of old.

‘Good. I’ll expect you back by eleven-thirty. I’ll wait up,’ he added, his eyes glittering with a spark of humour as he registered the set line of her mouth.

Something about his confident self-assurance and that arrogant grace sent her blood-pressure soaring. ‘You’ve been away for years!’ Daisy, who knew it down to practically the very second, cried exasperatedly. ‘So how do you think I’ve managed to survive without your bully-boy tactics up until now?’

There was something very like a warning glint in those narrow grey eyes. ‘I don’t know, Daisy,’ he murmured softly. ‘But I intend finding out. You certainly aren’t the same girl I remember.’

‘Of course I’m not! I’m eighteen years old now!’

‘Positively ancient,’ he mocked.

‘And I’m not a girl any more—I’m a ...’ She flushed but still stared at him defiantly, just daring him to make fun of her. ‘Woman,’ she finished, but reluctantly.

The blazing grey gaze was very steady, no trace of mockery there now. ‘So you are,’ he said quietly, and then, on a different, indefinable note which made Daisy’s heart lurch, he added, ‘Somehow I wasn’t expecting it. And now I must go and check on Sophie. Goodnight, Daisy.’ But just before he turned to walk up the stairs he gave her a long, hard look, and she remembered just how for midable he could be. ‘And don’t be late,’ he added softly.

Daisy gulped as she watched his dark, retreating frame, her eyes unwillingly drawn to the long, long legs in the black denim, the broad shoulders in the soft grey shirt. Don’t be late! She’d be as late as she liked! She certainly wasn’t afraid of Matt.

She wasn’t!

Well, maybe she was. Just a little bit. And wasn’t it best to humour him? Because there was no way she wanted him to discover that she’d opted out of doing her exams and didn’t have a clue what she wanted to do in the future. Daisy shuddered as she tried to imagine Matt’s reaction to that . No way. She couldn’t face his anger—certainly not at Christmas.

But there was no reason why he should find out, she told herself reassuringly as she pulled on her thick black coat and buttoned it up to her neck. Mrs Hamilton had promised faithfully that she wouldn’t breathe a word to Matt. And she wouldn’t go back on a promise. And, she thought, if he was only here for a short while, he’d be busy with the baby and catching up with his old friends for most of the time.