Sharon Kendrik - His Baby!

Especially friends of the female variety, thought Daisy gloomily. No doubt every woman within miles would soon be flocking to the house, like ants crawling over a jam-pot, once news got round that he was back. There was something very appealing and romantic about a man looking after a baby on his own at the very best of times, but if that man happened to possess over six feet of dark, devastating charm, with a mind like a steel trap, and a self-made fortune which would rival Rockefeller’s—then he’d probably have to fight them off in droves.

Daisy was filled with a stubbornly persistent air of dejection as she swung her long legs into Mick’s battered old car, taking care to keep her knees tightly pressed together, the way they showed you in the magazines. And her mood wasn’t exactly lightened by the truculent scowl which was putting unaccustomed furrows on Mick’s normally smooth, tanned forehead.

‘You didn’t tell me that he was home!’ he muttered darkly as the ignition spluttered then fired on the third attempt and the car pulled away up the curving drive.

Daisy turned to him in surprise. ‘Why on earth should I?’

‘You know,’ he mumbled awkwardly.

‘No, I don’t know. What possible difference should Matt being home make to me? He’s not my guardian. He’s just the son of my mother’s employer.’

Mick shrugged. ‘I suppose I’ll have to get you home on time now, won’t I?’

Daisy frowned. ‘Why? Weren’t you going to?’

His perfect white teeth gleamed like tombstones in the darkness. ‘Thought we’d take the old Delaware road on the way home. They say there’s a great view from there.’ He leered suggestively. ‘Maybe another time. How long’s he staying?’

Absolutely ages,’ lied Daisy sharply, annoyed at herself for feeling so relieved that Matt’s intervention had obviously tempered the ardent desires of Mick Farlow.

Or so she thought.

What she hadn’t expected was for Mick to have the memory span of a gnat, and to forget about not drinking and getting her home on time. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when she took off her coat and he saw what she was wearing, and he immediately took her over to join a group of his friends she’d never met or even seen before. One or two of them looked distinctly shady and she didn’t like the way they were eyeing her up and down, their eyes frequently drawn to her high bust and long legs. She fervently began to wish that she hadn’t worn the dress after all. Oh, why the hell hadn’t she listened to Matt?

She watched uneasily as Mick drank three pints of beer in quick succession, but immediately agreed to his suggestion of a dance. At least if he was dancing he wouldn’t be drinking.

Which was pretty dumb of her. If she’d stopped to think about it, she would have expected him suddenly to develop the dexterity of a feeding octopus once he got her onto the dance floor.

As the dance progressed, Daisy grew more and more uneasy, and then she heard a ribald chuckle and loud whistles from his friends as he slid his hand down to rest proprietorially on her bottom. She felt quite ill.

‘Get your hands off ,’ she hissed.

The fingers splayed out over one buttock. ‘Come on, baby—you know you love it really.’

Repelled and beginning to feel frightened, Daisy tried to wriggle out of his arms, but he was a strong farm worker, his burly arms bearing testimony to the physical work he did all day, and his grip was too tight for her to release herself.

‘Yeah, that’s nice.’ He leered. ‘Do it some more. Move that beautiful body against me, baby.’

Really scared now, Daisy was nonetheless determined to keep her head, recognising with disgust that the struggle was exciting him, and that he was making damned sure that she knew about it. ‘Will you let go of me?’ she demanded with icy authority.

‘Oh, come on . . .’ His words sounded slurred. ‘Sexy little thing like you—’

‘Please?’ she appealed.

‘Just begging for it—’

‘Or I’ll scream—’

‘Yeah, scream,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘A little resistance makes it a lot more fun. And I’ll sure have you screaming later. Screaming for more—’

Daisy brought her foot down hard on his, but since she didn’t weigh a lot and her shoe was completely flat it made no impact whatsoever.

She bent her mouth close to his ear and spoke very slowly and deliberately. ‘If you don’t let go of me right now, then I shall use my knee to hit you in a part of your anatomy which I am assured is painful beyond belief—’

To her astonishment, he let her go at once, and Daisy searched around wildly before grabbing her coat and bag. Blindly, she ran out of the hall and into the cold night air of the December evening, every instinct in her body telling her to put as much distance between them as possible.

Her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in short, painful bursts which looked like smoke against the blackness of the night. At least the snow of earlier hadn’t settled, she thought fleetingly as she stumbled along. She tried to reason with herself that she was probably overreacting, that Mick had just been a little drunk and over-amorous, and that he wouldn’t actually have tried anything.

But there had been something so determinedly sinister about the way he had been holding her against her will that nothing she told herself gave her any comfort. For the first time in her life Daisy felt vulnerable and weak and abused. She had come up against a superior masculine strength which had been cruelly manipulative and had threatened her, and she didn’t like it one little bit.

Haring down the road and scarcely able to keep her balance on the icy silver surface of the glittering hoar-frost, she almost fell into the public telephone box and scrabbled around in her bag for change. It seemed to take for ever to find a fifty-pence piece and with a shaky finger she dialled the number, momentarily disconcerted and then hopelessly relieved when she heard the curt, clipped tones of Matt.

‘Yes?’

‘Matt—’ And Daisy burst into tears.

‘Daisy?’

She made a gulping sound, waiting for his terse interrogation, but it didn’t come. All he said, in an urgent and yet tightly controlled voice, was, ‘Where are you?’

‘In ...’ She gulped.

‘Daisy—for God’s sake just pull yourself together and tell me where you’re phoning from.’

‘The—call box.’

‘Go into the pub—’

‘But—’

‘ Now ,’ he ordered. ‘And wait for me there.’

She heard the click as the line was disconnected, and she replaced the receiver as though it were a very heavy weight.

The pub, she thought, and looked just yards down the road to where the Red Lion was festooned with blazing fairy lights for Christmas. Dazedly, she could see the sense of Matt’s logic—it was a far better idea to wait in the warmth and security of the pub than to stand alone in an isolated phone box—but the last thing in the world she felt like doing was having to face all the local revellers in the state she was in.

But in the event she didn’t have to, because as soon as she pushed the door open the landlord’s wife came bustling out from behind the bar and laid a plump, comforting arm around her shoulders.

‘Come with me, dear,’ she said firmly, and propelled Daisy behind the bar and through the connecting door which led to the landlord’s private apartments.

Dazedly, Daisy allowed herself to be seated on an over-stuffed sofa, and obediently sipped at the disgustingly sweet cup of tea which was placed in her hands, while the landlady kept up a running commentary.

‘Are you all right, dear?’