Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair. Anne Mather
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loaded onto the video iPod, but her eyes widened when she saw her mother had changed.
‘That’s new, isn’t it?’ she asked, and Rachel realised she’d bought it after Daisy had left for America.
‘I had a date with Paul Davis,’ she said offhandedly. ‘I had to have something to wear.’
‘It’s nice.’
Daisy offered her approval before returning to the film, and Rachel spent the rest of the evening flicking through the magazines the nurse had brought her from the visitors’ lounge. They didn’t stop her nerves from jangling every time someone opened Daisy’s door, but they helped keep her mind off seeing Joe again.
It was completely dark when she stepped outside later. But the heat hadn’t dissipated. It wrapped itself around her like a damp blanket. Yet the scents of night-blooming blossoms seemed accentuated somehow, their fragrance giving the warm air a sensuous appeal.
Rachel had half expected Joe to be waiting for her in the foyer, but when the lift reached the ground floor only a female receptionist and two security guards were gathered about the desk. ‘Have a pleasant evening, Ms Carlyle,’ the receptionist called cheerfully, and Rachel was heartened by the fact that people were beginning to recognise her.
All the same, she wasn’t happy standing out on the forecourt. At night, the clinic had a whole new ambience, and an awareness of how vulnerable she was to possible thieves or muggers couldn’t help but cross her mind. After all, it was after nine o’clock. She couldn’t remember when she’d last gone out so late at home. If ever.
When a low-slung dark vehicle swung into the grounds of the facility, Rachel drew back in alarm. The car was unfamiliar to her, and when it drove under the portico where she was standing she considered going back inside.
Then a window was lowered, and Joe said, ‘Hey, Rachel!’
He was driving himself this evening, and he stopped the car beside her and thrust open his door. ‘I’m late, I know,’ he added, pulling a sheepish face. ‘The traffic on the turnpike was murder.’
Rachel’s tongue circled her lips. He had no idea how glad she was to see him. ‘I haven’t been waiting long,’ she said quickly, and managed a slight smile when he looked down at her.
‘You should have stayed inside,’ he commented, his dark eyes taking an intense interest in her appearance. She was glad now she was wearing the new outfit. For the first time in his presence she didn’t feel her age. ‘A beautiful woman alone is always vulnerable.’
A beautiful woman! He’d said it again, and Rachel felt a shiver of anticipation slide down her spine. It didn’t matter that she knew she wasn’t beautiful. It was just so good to pretend she was.
‘So …'Joe indicated the car behind him. ‘Shall we get going?’
‘Why not?’ Rachel nodded, noticing how attractive he looked in lightweight cream trousers and a dark brown shirt. His collar was unfastened, and his folded-back sleeves displayed forearms liberally dusted with dark hair. There was a slim gold watch on his wrist, and a heavy gold ring occupied the smallest finger of his left hand. He was nothing like Steve, she thought. And wasn’t she grateful for that?
The low sports-saloon had the distinctive smell of leather combined with what she recognised as an expensive men’s cologne. And mingling with the rest was the singular scent of a heated male body.
The engine roared to life, and Joe swung the powerful vehicle out into the stream of traffic. Dozens of pairs of headlights streamed towards them, illuminating palm trees and huge planters filled with flowering shrubs. Waxy anthuriums and scarlet proteas grew in careless profusion, reminding her of the semi-tropical climate, the heat of which had been briefly relieved by the fresh breeze blowing in her face.
‘There’s a tropical storm off Cuba,’ Joe commented as she tucked her tumbled hair behind her ears. ‘With a bit of luck, it won’t come our way.’ Then he smiled. ‘How’s Daisy tonight?’
Rachel thought how ironic it was that Joe seemed more concerned about her daughter than the girl’s father. ‘She’s fine.’ She paused. ‘She really loves the video iPod. She’s been watching one of the films you downloaded for her.’
‘That would be fun for you.’
‘Well, we did talk a little. Mostly about the fact that she wants to come home with me.’
‘To England?’
‘Hmm.’ Rachel nodded. ‘I’ve explained that Dr Gonzales might not agree. I’ve got an appointment to see him tomorrow morning.’ She hesitated and then went on, ‘I half wish she could. Steve has other plans, I think. He didn’t expect this to happen.’
Joe’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. So Lauren had apparently got her way about the proposed trip to New York. He didn’t know why he felt so angry about the way they were treating Daisy, but he did. She wasn’t his daughter, but that didn’t stop him from caring what happened to her.
‘Why don’t you stay on for a couple more weeks?’ he found himself saying, almost without his own volition. ‘I have a house on Biscayne Bay you could use. It would give Daisy time to recuperate.’
Rachel caught her breath. ‘I couldn’t do that.’ ‘Oh, right.’ Joe frowned. ‘You’ve got a deadline for your book. I’d forgotten about that.’
‘The book’s not a problem.’ Rachel lifted her shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t be able to work if I was worrying about Daisy.’
‘So what is the problem?’ asked Joe quietly, bringing the powerful sports car to a halt outside what looked like a private dwelling. ‘You don’t want my help, is that it?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What are you afraid of, Rachel? That I’ll expect some personal compensation in lieu of rent?’
‘No.’ Rachel glanced anxiously towards the building they were parked outside, wondering if she’d been entirely wise to trust him after all. ‘I—we, that is, Daisy and I—we can’t stay in your house.’ She shook her head. ‘However innocent your offer is, it wouldn’t be right.’
She thought Joe swore, but he thrust his door open without saying anything more and seconds later he was at her side of the vehicle, offering her his hand. His fingers were surprisingly cool considering the temperature, or perhaps it was the sweaty slipperiness of her own that made such a contrast.
Rachel’s skirt slid along her thighs as she swung her feet to the pavement, and Joe felt another surge of frustration at the effect those slim bare legs had on his libido. For God’s sake, what was wrong with him? She wasn’t the kind of woman to get involved with. The word ‘commitment’ simply wasn’t in his vocabulary.
Meanwhile Rachel was making an effort to smooth her tangled hair. Threading her fingers through it, she was intensely conscious of how her action exposed a provocative wedge of her midriff. Had Joe noticed? she speculated, her pulse quickening. Of course he had. She caught her breath. Was he wondering how far she was prepared to go?
The appearance of a young man wearing a black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and pin-striped trousers brought a welcome breath of sanity to the situation. ‘Evenin', Mr Mendez,’ he greeted Joe familiarly. ‘Evenin', ma’am; welcome to the Sea House. And how are y’all this evening? Hopin’ that tropical storm gives us a wide berth, I’ll bet?’
‘You got it.’ Joe forced a smile and handed over his car keys. Then Rachel felt his hand in the small of her back. ‘Come on.’ He ushered her up the steps into a lamplit foyer. ‘The food here is excellent. I always come at least once when I’m in Miami.’
The maître d’ met them in the foyer; a short, dark-skinned man of Latino ancestry, he greeted Joe like a long-lost brother. ‘Joe, my man,’ he said, shaking Joe’s hand warmly. ‘I heard you were in the city and I was wondering if you were going to pay us a visit this time around.’
‘Would I miss tasting