Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair. Anne Mather
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coat and wearing half spectacles came briskly into the room. She hoped he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. If so, he must have a very poor opinion of her.
‘Um—yes,’ she said awkwardly, and the man smiled.
‘I thought so.’ He came across the room to shake her hand. ‘I’m Dr Gonzales. Daisy is my patient. And I have to say she looks much brighter now than she did when I saw her this morning.’
‘That’s ‘cos my mum’s here,’ said Daisy at once, and Dr Gonzales inclined his head.
‘Most probably,’ he agreed, consulting the chart hooked to the foot of the bed. ‘But we’ll see, shall we?’ He looked up. ‘How is your head feeling now? Do you still have some pain?’
‘No.’
Daisy’s response was just a little too pat and Dr Gonzales didn’t look as if he was deceived. ‘Maybe just a little?’ suggested Rachel, remembering the way Daisy had winced earlier, and her daughter gave her a resentful look.
‘You’d have some pain if someone had drilled your skull,’ she countered sulkily as a nurse followed the doctor into the room. ‘I’ll feel better when I get out of here.’ Then, as Rachel widened her eyes in warning, ‘Well, I will.’
‘I suggest we allow your mother to go and get a cup of coffee,’ declared Dr Gonzales smoothly as the nurse began to roll back the sleeve of Daisy’s gown. ‘She looks a little tired, don’t you think?’ Then, to Rachel, ‘Perhaps we could have a few words later this evening? I’d like to explain what has happened and how long I think Daisy needs to stay here.’
‘Of course.’ Rachel glanced at her watch. It read almost midnight, but it was still on British time. ‘I—er—I need to speak to someone. To arrange about my luggage. If you could give me half an hour?’
‘Take an hour,’ advised Dr Gonzales kindly. ‘I’ll be here all evening. You might like to have a rest. Are you staying somewhere close by?’
‘The Park Plaza hotel,’ said Rachel, and she thought he seemed a little surprised by her answer. But he didn’t demur.
‘Shall we say eight-thirty?’ he suggested. ‘In my office. The receptionist will tell you where it is.’
Daisy gazed at her despairingly. ‘You’re not leaving?’ She choked back a sob. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘I’ll be back.’ Rachel glanced at the doctor, and he nodded his head almost imperceptibly. She squeezed Daisy’s hand. ‘You be good, baby. I’ll be back before you’ve even noticed I’ve gone.’
There was no sign of Joe when Rachel let herself out of Daisy’s room and she guessed he must be waiting downstairs. He couldn’t have left, she assured herself as she took the lift down to the lobby. Her suitcase was still in the boot of the limousine.
But when the lift doors opened it was Luther who was standing there, waiting for her. ‘Mr Mendez had to leave,’ he explained politely. ‘He sends his apologies and has instructed me to escort you to your hotel.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel’s stomach hollowed with disappointment. Until that moment, she hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted to see Joe again. ‘Well, thank you.’ She glanced uncomfortably at the receptionist, who was watching their exchange with obvious interest. She forced a smile. ‘Shall we go?’
The limousine was visible as soon as they stepped out of the doors; its sleek black lines dominated every other vehicle on the parking lot. Luther helped her into the back, then closed the door and got behind the wheel. He moved easily for such a big man, and the smile he gave her through the rear-view mirror was reassuring.
‘The Park Plaza, right?’ he said, and Rachel nodded.
Then, before the screen between them could be raised, she shifted forward in her seat and said nervously, ‘Exactly how far away is it? Could I walk from the hotel to the hospital?’
‘Not a good idea,’ declared Luther without hesitation. ‘I guess it’s over a mile, and most people hire a car to get around.’ He paused. ‘That’s not your problem. Mr Mendez is letting you have the use of one of his cars while you’re here.’
Rachel’s lips parted. ‘But—he can’t do that.’
‘Hey, you don’t tell Mr Mendez he can’t do nothing.’ Luther grinned. ‘Leastways, not when he’s just thinking of your safety. You’re a stranger, Ms Carlyle. You don’t know the area. It can be a dangerous place, especially at night.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say nothing.’ Luther was dismissive. ‘You just tell Mr Mendez how you feel when you see him again.’
When you see him again.
Considering how Rachel had been feeling about Joe Mendez when she’d landed in Miami, it was amazing how reassuringthose words sounded. Did Joe intend to see her again or did Luther mean he might run into her at the hospital? Either way, the prospect was massively—and dangerously—appealing.
CHAPTER NINE
JOE stood at the windows of his condo, looking out at the angry waves crashing against the shore. Although the rain had gone, the wind had picked up in its absence, bending the palms that lined Ocean Drive, and causing the few pedestrians to stay out of reach of the blowing sand.
It was almost dark, and he hadn’t even started to get ready for the reception he was due to attend in South Beach. The painter son of one of Macrosystems’ directors was having his first showing in one of the art deco galleries on Lenox Avenue, and Joe had accepted an invitation more out of respect for the father than the son.
Of course, when he’d first heard about the showing, he hadn’t had any inkling that other matters might be occupying his mind—or that the woman he’d tried his damnedest to forget would have come back into his life. How could he have known that Daisy would have an accident so serious that her father would have to contact her mother? And why, when he’d learned that Steve was making no arrangements to meet his ex-wife, had he decided to get involved? Rachel wasn’t his concern, damn it. So why did he feel as if she was?
It was time he put the Carlyles and their problems behind him. For this evening, at least. Tomorrow, he intended to speak to Steve and find out why the hell he hadn’t been honest with Daisy’s mother. He’d have allowed his ex-wife to arrive in Miami without even knowing where her daughter was being treated.
But it still wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself irritably, turning away from the windows and surveying the lamplit room behind him. Pale wood and terracotta-coloured furnishings gave the huge room a stark simplicity, the space maximised by carefully chosen articles of furniture that offered comfort without dwarfing their surroundings.
The penthouse living space had windows on two sides, and leather-seated chairs surrounding an Italian marble-topped table occupied the other embrasure. It provided an intimate dining area, useful when his guests were small in number, but this evening he found no pleasure in his possessions. He was impatient and on edge, unsure why he hadn’t waited at the hospital. He’d wanted to, God knew, but things were getting far too heavy. He’d always been in command of his relationships before, but where Rachel was concerned it was a whole new ball game.
And he didn’t like it.
The sound of the intercom penetrated his grim introspection, and seconds later his housekeeper came to ask if he was at home to a Mr Carlyle.
‘You did say Mr Carlyle?’ he asked sharply, and in spite of what he’d been telling himself just a moment ago the idea that Rachel might have found out where he lived caused his blood to pump hotly through his veins. After all, Marla was Mexican, and her English wasn’t always perfect.
‘Mr Carlyle, yes,’ she repeated, her brown eyes bright with enquiry. ‘You