Morgan's Secret Son. SARA WOOD

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Yes! It’s going to surprise a lot of people, I imagine. I’m pretty knocked out too—this house isn’t what I’d expected at all. I’d imagined my father in a little cottage with roses over the door, and wearing tweedy things with leather patches on the elbows. This is really grand!’

      ‘Is it?’

      Jodie’s voice faltered a little at the contempt in the man’s eyes. But she wasn’t to be put off. ‘Sure it is. Now, if you’re wondering, I’m his long-lost daughter from New York,’ she explained. ‘You’ll want credentials, I suppose. Understandable. You can’t let anyone in, can you? Somewhere…I have his letter…’ Eagerly she scrabbled in her bag and produced it. ‘It’s a bit blurred in places because I cried over it,’ she pointed out hurriedly. ‘And it’s coming apart at the folds because—’

      ‘I get the picture,’ he said tightly.

      He shot her an unreadable look from under his brows then switched on the porch light and bent his tousled head to study the first few lines. Jodie restrained her urge to leap about from one foot to the other and yell, Let me in—now! and contented herself with idly observing him as an exercise in self-discipline.

      It surprised her to see that his hair was gorgeous: thick and silky, gleaming with the brilliance of a raven’s wing in the light. Her thick brown lashes fluttered with unwilling feminine admiration as her gaze took in his killer looks and the sheer masculinity of his angled jaw and powerful shoulders. Then her eyes widened in wonder. There were some creamy stains on his black sweater.

      She was just pondering on this odd fact when the hairs began to rise on the back of her neck and she sensed that he must be studying her again, with that bone-slicing stare. She looked up and gasped. His expression was one of utter repugnance.

      ‘He wrote this six months ago,’ he said icily.

      ‘I know that! I replied immediately—’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes!’ Her face went hot at his disbelief. ‘I did!’ Her brow furrowed when she realised what his doubt must mean. ‘Are you telling me that my father didn’t get my letters?’ she asked in dismay.

      ‘Correct.’

      Exasperated by the monosyllabic responses, she drew her brows into an even deeper frown.

      ‘That’s impossible. I wrote several times in quick succession—and I telephoned twice—’ she said with dignity.

      ‘If that were true—if,’ he interrupted coldly, ‘why did you come?’

      Her eyes widened. ‘Because I want to see him, of course! Something doesn’t add up here. I sent those letters. They can’t all have been lost.’

      ‘I agree. He had no letters from you. So you must be lying. I think you’d better leave.’

      She glared and clenched her fists in angry distress, her mouth beginning to tremble. Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes. It would be tragic if this was as far as she got! So near, so far…

      ‘I’m not going till I see my father! I did write!’ she insisted in desperation. ‘Something’s happened to the mail. A wrong zip code, maybe. I spoke to a woman on the phone. I’m not imagining that. I asked for Sam Frazer, said who I was, and she told me he didn’t want to see me—’

      ‘Well, that final comment is true, at least,’ he drawled. ‘I suggest you turn around and go home.’

      He’d turned and was about to shut the door when she lunged forward and jammed herself in the gap. The dog barked excitedly, its teeth snapping close to her thigh.

      ‘Ouch!’ she gasped. ‘Get this door and this dog off me!’

      The pressure of the door was removed from her protesting flesh.

      ‘Leave!’ ordered the man.

      Glowering, she stayed put; the dog backed away obediently. She rubbed her arm and thigh, conscious that she was deliberately being intimidated by the man’s looming bulk.

      ‘What did you do that for?’ he asked impatiently. And then, with a small thread of concern in his voice, ‘Are you hurt?’

      ‘It’s nothing,’ she dismissed. ‘But I couldn’t let you slam the door in my face. I’ve flown across the Atlantic to see my father. Surely he can spare a few moments of his time?’

      ‘No. He can’t.’

      Her imploring face lifted to his. ‘Just a few moments… I won’t bother him for long, but… You must let me in,’ she said, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘Please! You’ve no idea what it’s like not to know your father! I need to see him so badly—even if it’s just the once and never again! It’s not much to ask, surely? To see what he looks like, to hear his voice…’ Her own voice cracked up annoyingly. ‘I—I don’t even have a photograph! Let me have memories of him to take away with me, if nothing else,’ she added in a croaky husk. ‘Imagine how you’d feel in my position!’

      ‘Hell.’ His growl was followed by a long pause, as if he was struggling against his better judgement. Jodie waited with bated breath, willing him to relent. ‘You’d better come in,’ he muttered grudgingly, to her great relief.

      Then, before she could gather her wits, he’d turned on his heel and was walking into the beamed hall beyond, the dog at his side. She stared at his daunting back with irritation. This guy wasn’t a servant to anyone. He oozed authority with every flicker of his ink-dark eyes. He wasn’t pleasant, either.

      But everything pointed to the fact that he knew her father well. And the hostile welcome must be because he knew that her father had been disappointed and upset when her expected letters didn’t arrive.

      No. Correction. There was another reason. This guy might be the person who’d dissuaded her father from going ahead with the reunion. If so, she had to persuade the guy that he had nothing to fear from her.

      Jodie gave a feeble smile. Fear! He wouldn’t be afraid of the devil himself if he came calling!

      Suddenly she started, remembering the recorded delivery. That must have arrived—proof enough! She would call his bluff.

      In seconds she crossed the dark oak floor and caught hold of the man’s arm. It felt hard and muscled as it tensed beneath her fingers. His whole body became stiff and taut, as if she’d invaded his space. Crushed by his cold dislike, she let her hand slide away.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hastily. ‘But I had to stop you before you reported back to my father. I want you to know I’m not lying. I can prove that I had the right address and that he must have had my letters.’

      The hard, uncompromising gaze pierced into her brain and she felt giddy.

      ‘How?’

      With an effort, Jodie pulled herself together. She might be tired and woozy, but this was important.

      ‘I sent a letter by recorded delivery to say I was coming. It must have been safely delivered into the right hands; it’s guaranteed! And if that arrived, then so did all the other letters!’ she said in triumph.

      ‘Ah.’

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