Nights of Passion. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ door downstairs and, praying she didn’t look as nervous as she felt, Rachel smoothed damp palms over her hips and left the room.

      Descending the stairs, she felt as if she’d timed her entrance. Which simply wasn’t true. She would have much preferred to be drinking her coffee in the kitchen when they arrived, and she hoped Joe didn’t think it was deliberate.

      Still, she couldn’t prevent her eyes from sliding over him before they fastened on her daughter. He was more formally dressed this morning, his charcoal-grey suit and lighter grey shirt fairly screaming their designer label. His only concession to the occasion was the fact that he wasn’t wearing a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt weren’t fastened and, as she came down the stairs, she was offered a disturbing glimpse of night-dark hair in the opening.

      Predictably, it was Daisy who spoke first. ‘You look nice, Mum,’ she said, and Rachel felt an embarrassing wave of colour surge into her face. Not that she didn’t know what Daisy was trying to do. Her daughter wasn’t exactly subtle.

      But Joe was watching and, although her eyes promised retribution later on, she said, ‘Thank you.’ Then, more pointedly, ‘You should have let me know you were going out.’

      ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ said Daisy blithely, and Rachel hoped that Joe didn’t think she often overslept.

      ‘How thoughtful,’ she managed, before turning to their visitor. ‘I’m sorry about this, Mr Mendez. I had no idea Daisy would come to your house.’

      ‘No problem.’ His dark eyes were disturbingly intent as they rested on her hot face, and Rachel felt as if her insides had turned to liquid. ‘She’s quite a character, your daughter.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And very entertaining.’

      ‘Is she?’ Rachel wondered what Daisy had been saying to inspire that kind of response.

      But before she could say anything else he spoke again. ‘Well, I guess I better get going. I’ve got a lunch meeting with some business colleagues at twelve o’clock.’

      Rachel licked her lips. ‘You wouldn’t like some coffee before you leave?’ she ventured, and then chided herself anew when he shook his head.

      ‘Not right now, thanks,’ he said, pulling a face at Daisy when she showed her disappointment. His gaze switched back to Rachel. ‘How would it be if I called you later about the arrangements for Monday? I’ve got your number, if you’ll forgive the pun.’

      Rachel nodded. ‘This afternoon, you mean?’

      ‘Or this evening?’ He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Will you be in?’

      Most definitely, thought Rachel ruefully, but she managed to sound as if she’d had to think about it. ‘I’ll be here,’ she agreed.

      ‘Great.’ A trace of a smile appeared. ‘Speak to you later then.’

      As she watched him walk down the path to the gate, Rachel wondered what had ever possessed her to think that he’d want to spend any more time with her than he had to. He’d done the gentlemanly thing and brought Daisy home, but that was that. Job done.

      She closed the door without waiting for him to get into his car. After Monday, she’d probably never see him again. And that was just as well for all concerned. Now all she had to do was deal with Daisy who, she noticed wryly, had already made herself scarce ….

      Joe drove back to his house in Eaton Court Mews with an odd sense of frustration. He felt as if he’d handled the whole business with Rachel Carlyle badly. But, damn it, he was doing her a favour here, wasn’t he? So why the hell did he feel as if he was in the wrong?

      He scowled. He wished he’d never offered to give the kid a ride across the Atlantic now. It was creating all sorts of problems he hadn’t even thought of when Steve had told him his daughter was coming to Florida for a visit.

      In truth, he’d felt sorry for the guy. It couldn’t be easy, living the better part of four-thousand miles from your only offspring, and according to Steve his ex-wife had blocked his last few attempts to see Daisy. Naturally she could only come to stay during her school vacations, but at both Christmas and Easter Rachel had had other plans.

      That was why he’d suggested that the kid could travel with him. Surely her mother could have no objections to that? He and Steve had known one another for over five years, ever since Carlyle had come to work for Mendez Macrosystems in London, and since his move to Miami last year they’d become friends.

      But evidently Steve hadn’t chosen to tell his ex-wife of the arrangements. Despite what he’d been told about her, Joe didn’t think Rachel’s shock at learning that Daisy wouldn’t be flying on a commercial airline was simulated. She hadn’t known. He’d bet his life on it.

      He shook his head. Which begged the question: why hadn’t Steve told her? Okay, he was prepared to accept that their relationship must have suffered when they’d got a divorce, but she could hardly blame Steve for that. According to the account he’d heard, there’d been faults on both sides, not least the fact that Rachel had done everything she could to sabotage her husband’s career. Ted Johansen had told him that Lauren would never have got involved with Steve if he and Rachel hadn’t been having problems. According to him, his daughter wasn’t that kind of girl.

      Something Joe had reserved judgment about.

      Nevertheless, Steve should have explained what was happening. Just because he found Rachel difficult to reason with didn’t excuse him entirely, and Joe had every intention of giving him a piece of his mind when he got back to the States.

      Now he pulled the Lexus into Eaton Court Mews and drew up outside the house he’d bought on one of his frequent trips to London. He’d liked it because of its character and antiquity, its wisteria-clad walls a far cry from the busy thoroughfare that passed just a few feet beyond the arched entrance to the mews.

      He entered via an oak-studded door to one side of the ground-floor garage and took the stairs to the next floor, where the first level of living rooms was situated. It had taken him some time to get used to not calling this the ‘second floor', as they did back home, but Charles Barry, his English housekeeper, was gradually educating him.

      Charles himself appeared as Joe walked into a comfortably furnished sitting room. Furniture, which Charles had helped him choose, gave the room an attractive authenticity, with lots

      of polished wood and distressed-leather sofas beneath the narrow-paned dormer windows.

      ‘Mission accomplished?’ he asked, referring to his employer’s undertaking to deliver Daisy back to her mother, and Joe pulled an amused face.

      ‘I guess so,’ he said, without conviction. He shook his head. ‘I just wish I didn’t have the feeling that I’m the bad guy here.’

      Charles, a slim, prematurely grey-haired man in his fifties, arched an enquiring brow. ‘Mrs Carlyle doesn’t appreciate your consideration, I gather?’

      ‘You could say that.’

      ‘Something of a harridan, is she?’

      ‘Hell, no.’ The words were out before Joe could stop them. But they were true. No way could Rachel Carlyle be described as a harridan. And that was possibly one of the reasons why he was feeling so frustrated now.

      Charles СКАЧАТЬ