Книга - Mendez’s Mistress

Mendez's Mistress
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.A new world of exquisite pleasure!When Rachel meets the delectable Joe Mendez, her life is turned upside down! Joe’s irresistible charisma, dark good looks and searing, raw sexuality bring shy Rachel completely out of her shell – and she’s shocked by the strength of her own desire. But as a single mother struggling to cope with a difficult daughter, she can’t allow herself the luxury of more than a fleeting affair. She's his very willing mistress…but will she ever be his wife?







Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!


I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.




Mendez’s Mistress

Anne Mather





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Cover (#u4edbced4-3300-5ad7-9626-92b77315037a)

About the Author (#uc71da66f-5c97-5f07-a6cf-258e6c0e1dea)

Title Page (#ud93c0704-fb32-571b-b1a3-e464a316ace7)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#uf4826211-b0fa-5136-9b0b-d5cc8ec7abee)


‘H E WAS everything a woman might ever want in a man: tall, dark, ruthless good looks masking a dangerous will that had made him a millionaire before his twenty-fifth birthday. He sat beside her on the sofa, too close for comfort, and oozing the kind of blatant sexuality that weakened her defences. Power and determination had made him successful in business, but Lavender had no intention…’

‘I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to, Mum.’

Rachel had been lost in the intriguing love life of her latest heroine when Daisy appeared in her office doorway, but her daughter’s words brought a crushing end to that imaginary world.

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Rachel exclaimed, getting up from her desk to give the girl a swift hug. ‘When did I say I didn’t want you to go?’

‘You didn’t,’ said Daisy, recoiling from her mother’s embrace with all the youthful independence of a thirteen-year-old. ‘But I know what you think of Lauren. I don’t like her much either. And the last time I visited them they were still living in England.’

Rachel sighed. She was always amazed at Daisy’s capacity to understand her feelings. She wasn’t always amenable. Like any teenager her age, she and her mother didn’t always see eye to eye. But where her father was concerned, there was no contest.

Daisy had known that his invitation to spend at least two weeks of her summer holidays with him and his second wife at their home in Florida could prove controversial. For the first three years of his marriage to Lauren, Steve had only seen his daughter a handful of times, even though Rachel had agreed to share custody. But suddenly, since Steve’s move to the company’s headquarters in Miami last year, he’d been eager to have her spend every holiday with him.

Rachel hadn’t voiced any objections. She wanted Daisy to know her father. But there was still a twinge of apprehension at the thought that Daisy might find life in the United States far more exciting than living here in Westlea, a quiet English country town.

‘Look, I don’t mind,’ she assured Daisy now, refusing to consider how she would feel if Daisy did decide to live with her father. Rachel’s unexpected success in recent years as a romantic novelist had proved satisfying, but it certainly wouldn’t compensate for the loss of her daughter as well as her husband.

‘Well…’ Daisy still looked doubtful, and Rachel wanted to hug her again. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘You’ll have a lovely time,’ said Rachel, unable to resist tucking a strand of dark hair behind her daughter’s ear. She paused. ‘I just wish your father hadn’t arranged for you to travel across the Atlantic with some strange man.’

Daisy laughed then. ‘He’s not a strange man, Mum,’ she protested. ‘I have met him before. When Daddy lived in London. He’s his boss, actually. His family owns Mendez Macrosystems. Lauren really likes him. I know she thinks he’s hot.’

Rachel’s jaw dropped. ‘Hot?’

‘Yeah.’ Daisy stared at her. ‘Duh. As opposed to boring? Honestly, Mum,’ she grimaced, ‘if you’re writing for a modern audience you ought to know these things.’

‘I know.’ Rachel was defensive. ‘But what makes you think Lauren regards this man as hot ?’ She pulled a face. ‘For heaven’s sake, she and your father have only been married for four years.’

‘And your point is?’ Daisy was sardonic. ‘Oh, Mum, get real, will you? Women like Lauren are always on the lookout for the next good thing.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should be having this conversation, Daisy.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well…because Lauren is your father’s wife.’

‘You were Daddy’s wife when she decided she wanted him,’ pointed out Daisy shrewdly. ‘Honestly, Mum, I don’t know what you’re worried about. If she and Dad get a divorce, you and he could get back together.’

Could they?

Rachel didn’t answer her, aware that that option was no longer as attractive as it might once have been. Experience had taught her that Steve Carlyle was not and had never been the man she thought she’d married. Lauren Johansen hadn’t been the first female to attract Steve’s attention during the nine years of their relationship. She’d just been the richest, and the most determined.

‘Anyway, you’ll get to meet him yourself before we go,’ Daisy went on, reverting back to their earlier discussion. ‘Mr Mendez, I mean. When he picks me up to take me to the airport.’ She dimpled. ‘Wait until I get back and tell Joanne. She’ll be so hacked off. I can’t wait.’

Rachel groaned. ‘“Hacked off”? Daisy, what kind of language is that?’

‘Okay, green with envy, then, is that better?’ Daisy pulled a face. ‘Like I say, Mum, you really need to update your vocabulary.’

‘Not with words like that,’ said Rachel a little prudishly, and then, realising she wasn’t going to get any more work done that morning, she switched off her computer and followed her daughter out the door. ‘Anyway, it’s lunchtime. Do you want an omelette or a salad?’

‘Couldn’t I have a ham-and-cheese toastie?’ asked Daisy wheedlingly. Lately, since she’d got her period, she was inclined to put on weight rather too easily, and Rachel was trying to wean her onto a healthier diet.

‘I suppose so.’

Rachel was pragmatic. Daisy was unlikely to stick to eggs and salads while she was on holiday, so what was one sandwich more or less? Which reminded her, they only had five days before Daisy left for Florida. A depressing thought.

Daisy was due to spend the following day with her grandparents. Steve’s mother and father had never approved of their son’s behaviour, and as Rachel’s parents had died in a car accident when she’d only been a teenager herself, she and the elder Carlyles had always been very close. It meant Rachel would have a whole day to try and catch up with her deadline, which had definitely floundered since Daisy had accepted her father’s invitation.

Consequently, she was irritated when the doorbell rang just after eleven o’clock that morning. She wasn’t expecting any visitors. There were no edited manuscripts on their way back to her for approval, so it was unlikely to be the postman. And her neighbours knew better than to interrupt her before twelve o’clock.

Getting up, she went across to her office window and looked out. She was seriously considering not answering the door, but the sight of a powerful black SUV standing at her gate caused her to revise her opinion. Who on earth did she know who owned a vehicle like that?

No one.

And then a man stepped back from the shadow of the overhang and looked up directly at her window. A dark man, she saw, with hair cut so short it was barely more than stubble over his scalp. It was difficult to judge how tall he was from this angle, but Rachel got the impression of height and power, broad shoulders encased in an age-scuffed leather jacket.

She stepped behind the curtain automatically, not wanting him to think she was spying on him, but it was too late. He’d seen her. The second peal of the bell proved it, and with a rapidly beating heart she left her office and hurried downstairs.

As she unlocked the door, she wondered if she was being entirely wise. After all, she was alone here. She didn’t know this man, and he certainly looked as if he was no stranger to trouble.

But that was her novelist’s imagination taking over, she thought impatiently. He was stranger, yes, but he’d probably picked the wrong address. He might be looking for someone. Julie Corbett, for example. Her flirtatious neighbour two doors down definitely attracted a lot of male attention. The kind of male attention this man had in spades.

She opened the door a few inches, making sure to keep most of her body hidden. Her strappy vest and shorts were not for public consumption, not when she was sure her hips spread every time she sat down at her desk. ‘Can I help you?’

The man—she’d been right, he was tall: easily six feet, with a lean, muscled build—grinned at her. His face was darkly tanned, almost swarthy, with well-defined cheekbones, dark, hooded eyes, and a nose that looked as if it might have been broken at some time. He wasn’t handsome, as the men she wrote about were handsome, but she had to admit that tough, masculine features and a hard thin-lipped mouth were infinitely more sexy. He was also younger than she was, she decided. But that didn’t prevent him from embodying the kind of power and authority that made her catch her breath.

God!

‘Rachel,’ he said, shocking her still further by his casual use of her name. ‘It is Rachel, isn’t it?’

Rachel swallowed. ‘Should I know you?’ she asked faintly, sure that they’d never met before, and he pulled a wry face.

‘No,’ he said, his accent definitely not English. ‘But I know your daughter. Daisy?’ And when that aroused no immediate recognition, ‘I’m Joe Mendez.’

Rachel felt weak. This surely couldn’t be the man who owned Mendez Macrosystems—Steve’s boss! It didn’t seem possible. Weren’t company executives supposed to wear three-piece suits, and ties and lace-up Oxfords? Not black leather jackets over tee shirts and jeans, and sockless loafers that had seen better days.

‘I—Daisy’s not here,’ she said lamely, and Joe Mendez propped a hand against the wall beside the door and regarded her with the same look of tolerance her daughter sometimes employed.

‘I didn’t come to see Daisy,’ he said, glancing behind him at the SUV. ‘Is it okay leaving the car there?’

Which seemed to denote an expectation of being invited in. Rachel hesitated. ‘It’s a quiet road,’ she said. Indeed, few unfamiliar vehicles entered the cul-de-sac. ‘Um—what can I do for you, Mr Mendez?’

‘Joe,’ he corrected her evenly. He glanced pointedly over her shoulder. ‘May I come in?’

‘Oh…’ Well, why not? she argued frustratedly. It wasn’t as if he was a complete stranger, and she owed it to Daisy to be polite. She stepped back, remembering, as her bare feet protested the chill of the hall tiles, that she was hardly dressed for visitors, but it was too late to think of that now. ‘Of course.’

‘Thanks.’

Joe stepped into the hall, immediately filling it with his presence, and, leaving him to close the door, Rachel led the way into a rather formal sitting room. It was rarely used, and in spite of the mildness of the day it had a cool, impersonal feel. But she could hardly take him into the kitchen-cum-breakfast room where she and Daisy spent most of their time, could she?

He stood in the doorway, surveying the room, and Rachel gestured rather offhandedly towards the sofa. ‘Please, sit down.’

He smiled, slightly uneven white teeth adding to his sensual appeal. Rachel knew she’d never encountered a man like him before and, remembering what Daisy had said, she could quite see why Lauren might think he was ‘hot’.

She was relieved when he moved into the room and took a seat on the sofa, although he didn’t appear to relax. He sat on the edge of the cushions, legs spread, hands hanging loosely between. And, when he looked up at her with a slightly whimsical expression, Rachel knew he was perfectly aware of the effect he was having on her.

Which made it easier, somehow. If she could just convince herself that she wasn’t like all those other women who lusted after him—Lauren, for example—she could handle this.

‘Coffee?’ she asked brightly, overwhelmingly conscious of her exposed midriff and bare legs. ‘I usually make myself a cup at this time of the morning.’

‘Sounds good.’

He was easy, and Rachel offered him a smile before quickly exiting the room. Had she time to dash upstairs and put on trousers and a shirt? she wondered as she hurried into the kitchen. But no. That would just be pandering to his conceit, and if you turned up unexpectedly you should be prepared to take people as you found them.

She’d filled the container before going up to work, so all she had to do was turn on the coffee maker. Within seconds the comforting suck and slurp of the filter filled the air and, with a careless shrug, she turned to take two mugs from the wall cupboard above the counter.

‘Daisy told me you’re a writer,’ said Joe Mendez from behind her, and Rachel almost dropped the cups. Without any apparent sound, he’d left the sitting room and was now standing at the bar where she and Daisy usually ate their breakfast. He’d shed his leather jacket to reveal a tight-fitting body shirt and jeans that rode low on his lean hips, and Rachel couldn’t help a certain twinge of resentment that he’d felt relaxed enough to make himself at home.

‘Oh, only just,’ she muttered at last, setting the mugs on the counter and turning to the fridge for milk.

‘You write romantic novels, I understand,’ he said, pursuing it. He grinned. ‘Where do you get your inspiration?’

Well, not from men like you, thought Rachel, unsure how to answer him. ‘I—er—I have a good imagination.’

‘Not just that, surely?’ He grinned again. ‘Daisy’s very proud of you.’

Rachel’s smile was thin. ‘Daisy’s biased,’ she said, wondering why she felt this need to deny her success. For heaven’s sake, she was proud of her achievement. Two successful titles and her agent panting for her next manuscript—it was a would-be writer’s dream.

He shrugged then, and, turning away from the bar, he walked to the windows that overlooked the garden at the back of the house. ‘Nice view,’ he commented, taking in the smooth stretch of lawn, the small summer-house that Steve’s father had built when Daisy was a baby. ‘Have you lived here long?’

Rachel’s lips tightened. ‘Didn’t Steve tell you?’

He swung round then, hands resting low on his hips, dark eyes frankly curious. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘Steve didn’t tell me a lot about you. Should he have done? Am I treading on someone’s toes here?’

Rachel immediately felt dreadful. ‘No,’ she said unhappily. ‘Sorry. Don’t take any notice of me. I was just being bitchy.’

Joe arched his dark brows. ‘That still doesn’t answer my question: what is Steve supposed to have told me?’

‘Oh…’ Rachel wished she’d never started this. ‘It’s just, well, this house used to belong to Steve’s parents. They gave it to us when we got married, and…and after the divorce…’ She shrugged. ‘They wanted us—Daisy and me—to stay here.’

‘Ah.’ He seemed to understand. ‘They didn’t approve of the divorce?’

‘Something like that.’ In actual fact, Steve’s parents had been outraged when the son they’d always worshipped had proved to be less than godlike.

Joe looked thoughtful. ‘And were you wondering if your ex-husband had sent me here?’ he asked after a moment.

It had crossed her mind, but Rachel chose not to admit it. ‘I’m just wondering why you came here, Mr Mendez,’ she said steadily. Then, as the coffee finished filtering, ‘Black or with milk?’

‘Black,’ he said, as she’d guessed he would. ‘And call me Joe, please. Mr Mendez sounds like my father.’

Rachel poured the coffee without answering him. But she was thinking that perhaps she had made a mistake, after all. Perhaps this man wasn’t Steve’s boss. Perhaps his father was.

The coffee smelt delicious and Rachel, who tended to survive on caffeine during the day, pushed a mug towards Joe Mendez and then lifted her own mug to her lips. It was hot, but so refreshing that she took a generous swallow before looking at him again. ‘Shall we go back into the sitting room?’

He shrugged as if it was of little importance to him, but taking his cue from her, he followed her across the hall and into the other room. He waited until she’d seated herself in a tapestry-covered armchair before resuming his seat on the sofa, sampling his own coffee with apparent enjoyment.

‘This is good,’ he said, glancing round the room as he spoke. Then, his eyes finding hers again, ‘I hope I’m not wasting too much of your time.’

Rachel gave a wry smile. ‘My work’s not that important,’ she assured him. She grimaced. ‘Actually, I could do with the break.’

‘Not going well?’

He sounded genuinely interested and she decided to take his words at face value. ‘You could say that,’ she admitted. ‘Since—well, since Daisy’s been invited to Florida, there’s been a lot to do.’

Joe regarded her intently. ‘You don’t want her to go?’ he asked shrewdly, and Rachel couldn’t prevent the faint trace of colour that entered her cheeks at his words.

‘Oh, no. I mean, yes, I want her to go. She hasn’t seen her father for almost a year, and it’s important for them to keep in touch. It’s just…’

‘A big step for her to take on her own?’ he suggested gently, and she was amazed at his perspicacity.

It suddenly seemed as if she’d misjudged him, and with a rueful shrug she said, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘I’ve never even crossed the Atlantic myself.’

Joe grimaced. ‘It’s not that big a deal. We Americans speak the same language, at least. Even if we don’t always understand one another.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Are you an American? I thought I detected—I don’t know—a faint accent, but I could be—’

‘My parents were born in Venezuela,’ he interrupted her easily. ‘But I’ve lived in the States all my life. My parents moved to Miami before I was born, and I guess I consider myself an American first and a Venezuelan second.’

Rachel nodded. Almost involuntarily, she was relaxing, and it was only when the phone rang that she realised she still didn’t really know why he’d come here.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up and going out into the hall to use the extension there. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He nodded, but she was aware of him getting to his feet and she made a point of closing the door behind her. Then, hurrying to the phone, she lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

‘Rachel?’ It was her mother-in-law, and immediately she thought of Daisy.

‘Yes. Is something wrong? Daisy’s with you, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she’s here.’ Evelyn Carlyle spoke affectionately. ‘We’ve just been discussing her trip to Florida. Are you sure you’re all right with this, Rachel? I mean, Steve has no right—’

‘I’m fine with it,’ said Rachel quickly, aware of other ears that might be listening behind the sitting room door. ‘Is that why you rang, Lynnie?’

‘No, no,’ Evelyn was swift to reassure her. ‘As a matter of fact, I was a little worried about you, dear. Madge Freeman tells me you’ve had a visitor this morning. She was on her way into town and she saw a strange man at your door, and I just wondered if you were all right.’

Trust Madge Freeman, thought Rachel drily, aware that the elderly lady who lived opposite missed little that went on in the Close. ‘I’m okay,’ she said now, playing for time. ‘How have you had a conversation with Mrs Freeman? Surely she didn’t ring you just to tell you I’d had a visitor?’

‘Well, no…’ Evelyn sounded a little put out. ‘Daisy and I bumped into her at the supermarket.’ She paused and then continued determinedly, ‘So who was it, dear? I told Madge it was probably just one of those double-glazing salesmen.’

Rachel didn’t think Joe Mendez would have appreciated being thought of as a double-glazing salesman, but she was curiously loath to discuss her visitor with her mother-in-law.

Which was silly, she told herself, but aware that her conversation might be audible to her visitor, she said, ‘It’s Mr Mendez. Ask Daisy. She’ll tell you all about him.’

‘Mendez?’ Evelyn evidently recognised the name. ‘Isn’t that the company Steve works for?’

Rachel sighed. ‘It is.’

Evelyn made a sound of impatience. ‘So why is he visiting you? Nothing’s happened to Steve, has it?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ said Rachel drily, wondering why her mother-in-law would imagine that she might be informed in such circumstances. ‘No, I think he’s just come to reassure me that he’ll look after Daisy on the flight to Florida.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sure Daisy’s told you all about it.’

‘Well, she’s said something,’ replied her mother-in-law grudgingly. ‘And that’s the only reason he came?’

Rachel blew out a breath. ‘I think so.’ She knew a moment’s irritation. ‘That is, I’m sure so. But I’ve got to go, Lynnie. He’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long.’

‘He’s still there?’ Evelyn sounded shocked now, and Rachel felt almost guilty for having to admit that he was. ‘But it must be over an hour since Madge saw him ringing your bell.’

And your point is? mouthed Rachel silently, copying one of Daisy’s favourite expressions. But all she said was, ‘I made coffee.’ She managed a light laugh. ‘And mine’s probably cold by now.’

‘Hmm.’ Evelyn sniffed. ‘Well, you’d better get back to your visitor, then, hadn’t you? Ring me when he’s gone, just so I know you’re okay, right?’

Rachel shook her head. Yeah, right, she thought, but with a casual, ‘Speak to you later,’ she put down the receiver.




CHAPTER TWO (#uf4826211-b0fa-5136-9b0b-d5cc8ec7abee)


W HEN she re-entered the sitting room, Rachel found it was deserted. The empty mug sitting on the glass-topped coffee table in front of the hearth was the only proof she hadn’t imagined her disturbing visitor. Except for Madge Freeman, of course. And that surprisingly testy call from her mother-in-law.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth as a draught of cool air alerted her to the fact that the French doors were partly open. Moving across the room, she saw Joe Mendez on the patio outside, leaning indolently against the basketball post Daisy had had her grandfather erect for her at the beginning of the summer.

As if she’d clumped across the room in hiking boots instead of her bare feet, he turned as she approached the windows. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said as he came towards her. He nodded over his shoulder. ‘Who looks after the yard?’

‘The yard?’ Rachel’s brows drew together for a moment as she backed out of his way. ‘Oh, you mean the garden.’ She grimaced. ‘I do. When I can find the time.’

‘You do a good job,’ he commented, sliding the door closed behind him. ‘It’s nice. Colourful.’

Rachel smiled. ‘That’s probably all the weeds,’ she said modestly. Then, ‘Sorry to be so long. That was my—um—Steve’s mother.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘Mrs Carlyle.’ He paused, pulling a wry face. ‘Steve asked me to check on them while I was here.’

Rachel stared at him. ‘But you said—’

‘He didn’t ask me to check on you,’ Joe assured her flatly. ‘That was my idea.’

‘To check on me?’

‘No.’ Joe ran a frustrated hand around the back of his neck, his nails scraping over the stubble at his nape. ‘I just wanted to meet you.’ He paused, his dark brows descending. ‘Not a good idea?’

‘No…’ Now it was Rachel’s turn to look uneasy. She was intensely aware of the way his stomach had flexed when he’d raised his arm, biceps clenching, the dark outline of a tattoo just visible below his sleeve. ‘It’s just—’

‘I guess I wanted to reassure you that your daughter will be safe with me,’ he continued, his hand falling to his side again. ‘My pilot’s the best. Totally trustworthy, totally reliable.’

‘Your pilot?’ Rachel blinked, and gave a bewildered shake of her head. ‘Does that mean you’re not using commercial transport?’

‘Didn’t Steve tell you?’

As a matter of fact, Steve hadn’t told her anything, Rachel reflected flatly. The invitation had come in one of his occasional emails to his daughter, and she’d just naturally assumed…

She attempted to regroup. ‘Does Daisy know this?’ she asked, wondering if Daisy had received another message she knew nothing about.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She and Daisy had a pretty good relationship, all things considered, and, apart from the usual gripes about homework and curfews, she’d have said her daughter never kept anything from her.

Joe shrugged. ‘I guess so,’ he said, evidently aware of her disapproval. ‘Hey, it’s not a big deal. You can come check out the plane for yourself, if you like.’

Rachel gazed at him incredulously. ‘And that would achieve what, exactly?’ she asked, aware that her voice had risen several notches. ‘I think you’d better go, Mr Mendez. I need to speak to Daisy. If—if you have a number where I can reach you afterwards…’

Joe regarded her closely, those intense dark eyes bringing a surge of colour to her cheeks. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked, and Rachel sucked in a disbelieving breath.

‘I don’t know you, Mr Mendez. I don’t know whether I can trust you or not. I just need to think about what you’ve told me.’

Joe shook his head. ‘Okay.’ There was a faint trace of hostility in his tone now, and Rachel prayed she wasn’t treading on anyone’s toes here. Even Steve’s, she added reluctantly, though why the hell he hadn’t told her what was going on she didn’t know.

‘So, if I can get back to you…’ she ventured unhappily, and then jerked back in alarm when he reached for his jacket lying on the arm of the sofa beside her. For a crazy moment, she’d thought he was reaching for her, and a trace of the panic she’d momentarily felt showed in her face.

But she should have had more sense, she chided herself as he picked up the jacket and searched his inside pocket for a card and a pen. A man like Joe Mendez would have no trouble in finding a woman if he wanted one. He’d scarcely waste his time and energies on a thirty-something divorcée with very ordinary features and dirty-blonde hair.

Linking her fingers tightly together at her waist, she prayed he hadn’t noticed her mistake. For heaven’s sake, what was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dated anyone since Steve had walked out on her. Okay, she’d only slept with one man, but she should still have remembered the difference between civility and sex.

Meanwhile, Joe was scribbling something on the back of a business card, and after a moment he handed it over. ‘This proves who I am, and I’ve given you my present address,’ he said somewhat drily. ‘I’ve written my cell number, too. Call me when you’ve decided what you want to do.’

‘Thanks.’

Rachel took the card with nervous fingers, unable to deny the jolt of electricity she felt when his hand touched hers. Her eyes darted to his, but she had no idea if he’d been aware of it. There was a guarded quality about his gaze now, and thick black lashes any woman would have envied swept down to obscure his expression.

‘No problem,’ he said, hooking his jacket over one shoulder and heading towards the open door. He swung open the outer door and then paused on the threshold. ‘Tell Daisy I said hi,’ he added tightly before starting down the path to the gate.

Ridiculously, Rachel felt guilty the minute she’d closed the door. She felt as if she’d totally screwed up, and she could imagine how Daisy would react when she told her what had happened. But for goodness’ sake, Mendez was a stranger. To her, at least, she amended with an impatient click of her tongue. Just because Daisy had met him before didn’t mean she had to trust him.

But it was neither his trustworthiness nor Daisy’s probable frustration that accompanied her into the kitchen when she went to rinse out their coffee mugs. It was the effect he had had—was still having, if she was honest—on her. Damn it, the hairs on her neck still prickled when she thought about him. And she could remember every detail about him with a meticulousness that bordered on the extreme.

The sound of the phone ringing was a welcome relief, though she suspected she knew who her caller was. And she was right. ‘Rachel? I thought you were going to ring me when your visitor had gone.’

‘How do you know he has gone?’ muttered Rachel to herself, feeling grumpy, but she managed to adopt a reasonable tone. ‘He’s just left,’ she said brightly. ‘Um—can I speak to Daisy?’

‘No.’ Her mother-in-law didn’t sound very pleased. ‘That was why I was ringing, actually. She’s on her way home. As soon as she heard Mr Mendez was there she insisted on taking off. She’s going to be very disappointed when she gets home and finds he’s not there.’

I’ll bet, thought Rachel drily, and not just because of that. ‘Okay,’ she responded. ‘I expect she’ll give you a ring later.’

‘Hmph.’ Evelyn Carlyle snorted. ‘Well, remind her to do it, will you? We always like to know she’s safely home.’

‘I will.’

Rachel couldn’t believe she was getting off so lightly, but just as she was about to put down the receiver, Evelyn spoke again. ‘So—what did you think of him? Had he only come to reassure you about Daisy’s trip? He lives in Florida, doesn’t he? It’s good of him to offer to escort her, don’t you think?’

Rachel pressed her lips together. But only briefly. ‘Very good,’ she managed, not prepared to get into the details with Evelyn right now. To her relief, she heard a key being inserted in the front door. ‘Oh, this sounds like Daisy now. Speak to you later.’

This time she put the receiver down before Evelyn could say anything else and stood, feeling ridiculously apprehensive as Daisy let herself into the house. The girl looked round expectantly, and then, when her mother didn’t say anything, she exclaimed, ‘Don’t tell me he’s gone!’

‘Afraid so.’ Rachel forced a smile and walked back into the kitchen. The two coffee mugs on the drainer seemed to reproach her, and Daisy, following her, gave an indignant cry.

‘You gave him coffee?’

Rachel busied herself with tidying the counter. ‘Shouldn’t I have done?’ she asked lightly. ‘I always offer visitors coffee, you know that.’

‘So why isn’t he still here? Grandma only rang about twenty minutes ago.’

‘I know.’

‘So what? Didn’t he like the coffee?’

Rachel sighed and said carefully, ‘We’d already had a conversation before your grandmother phoned. You must know that, too. You were at the supermarket when you met Mrs Freeman, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Daisy sounded sulky now.

‘Well, then.’

‘What I don’t understand is why you didn’t ring me and tell me he was here.’ Daisy scowled. ‘You knew I’d like to meet him again.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the flight.’

She turned away, but now Rachel felt a twinge of impatience. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said tightly. ‘On the flight to Florida. In his private plane.’

If she’d had any doubts that Daisy knew what she was talking about they’d have been extinguished at that moment. Her daughter’s face suffused with colour, and she couldn’t have looked any more guilty if she’d tried.

‘He told you,’ she said lamely, and Rachel felt a disappointed hollowing in her stomach.

‘Unlike you,’ she said, regarding Daisy with cool eyes. ‘I assume your father informed you of the arrangement?’

‘Well, yes.’ Daisy hunched her shoulders, looking suddenly much younger than her years. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘And…what? You decided to keep it to yourself?’

‘Dad said you probably wouldn’t understand.’ She hesitated. ‘He said there was no need for you to know.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’

‘I know.’ Daisy bit into her lower lip. ‘But, well, I didn’t think it was that important.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me anyway?’

Daisy shrugged.

‘Because you knew how I’d react,’ Rachel answered for her. ‘Really, Daisy, I thought we were always honest with one another.’

‘We are.’

‘Except when your father asks you not to be, apparently,’ declared Rachel tersely, aware she was breaking her own rules about not slagging off Steve to his daughter. ‘Oh, well, it’s done now. But I have to tell you, it’s something I need to think about and I’ve told Mr Mendez the same.’

Daisy gasped now. ‘You mean you’ve implied you might not agree to my going with him?’

Rachel refused to feel cowed. ‘I’ve said I’ll ring him after I’ve spoken with you.’ She paused, and then added defensively, ‘What did you expect me to say, Daisy? That I’ve got no objections to you flying for—what?—twelve hours in a plane with a man I hardly know?’

‘Daddy says it’s about nine hours, actually.’

‘Well nine hours, then.’ Rachel felt angry again. ‘Oh, yes, your father knew what he was doing when he asked you not to tell me what was going on.’

Daisy’s lips pursed. ‘It’s not like Mr Mendez is a—a pervert or something.’

‘All right. I’ll admit he seems respectable enough…’

‘Respectable!’ Daisy scoffed.

‘But I should have been given the full story, not just your father’s edited version.’

‘I know.’ Daisy sighed. ‘I tried to tell him that. Like, in my emails. But you know what he’s like.’

Not any more, mused Rachel, aware of a surprising wave of relief at the thought. Suddenly the memory of her ex-husband seemed distant and indistinct, usurped by the image of a man whose raw sexuality had assaulted her senses in a way Steve never had.

Not wanting Daisy to detect what she was thinking and attribute any of it to her father, Rachel drew a deep breath and opened the door of the fridge. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ve said I’ll think about it, and I will. Now, what would you like for lunch? I have to warn you, I expected you to have lunch at Grandma’s, so I don’t have anything special to offer you.’

Daisy seemed anxious now. But not about her lunch. ‘You’re not thinking of changing your mind, are you, Mum?’ she asked, and Rachel wondered how sincere her daughter’s offer not to go to Florida had really been. ‘I mean, you liked him, didn’t you?’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Mendez.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘He seemed very nice.’ And how insincere was that? ‘But that has nothing to do with it.’

Daisy was looking really worried, and despite her resentment towards Steve for putting her in this situation, Rachel felt a reluctant surge of sympathy for her. She was only thirteen, after all, and she didn’t deserve to suffer because of their marital politics.

‘Just leave it for now,’ she said, taking a carton of eggs out of the fridge to avoid looking at her daughter. ‘How about pancakes? Or would you prefer take-out?’

The subject was dropped but not forgotten. It was only four days until Daisy was due to leave for Florida, and Rachel knew she couldn’t delay indefinitely.

After lunch, Daisy disappeared up to her room and Rachel wondered if she was emailing her father with the latest developments. She spent the afternoon expecting an irate email from her ex-husband, but when she checked her mail before closing the computer there were only two messages: one from a friend in London and the other from her agent.

Supper was not a comfortable meal. Rachel opened a bottle of red wine that she’d been saving for a special occasion—but with Daisy only pushing her pasta round her plate, giving her mother soulful looks every time their eyes met, the effort was wasted.

Eventually, after blocking every opening her mother tried to make, Daisy said, ‘How’s your book going?’ and Rachel was so taken aback she could hardly think of a response. Daisy had never shown any interest in her writing before, regarding it in much the same light as any child regarded a parent’s occupation.

‘Um—it’s going okay,’ she said at last, getting up to pour herself another glass of Merlot. ‘I expect I’ll get it finished while you’re away.’

‘So I am going, then?’ Daisy pounced on the admission.

‘I expect so.’ Rachel wished she hadn’t brought the subject up again.

‘Oh, good.’ Daisy leant forward and attacked her plate with renewed enthusiasm. ‘I knew you wouldn’t really stop me from going.’

Rachel shook her head, but she didn’t deny it. How could she? But she did intend to speak to her ex-husband about the arrangements as soon as Daisy was asleep.

She managed to catch Steve before he went out for the evening. He was predictably miffed at receiving a call from his ex-wife at home. Any communication between them—infrequent though it was—was usually conducted during office hours, and he was even more annoyed when he heard why Rachel wanted to speak to him.

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Rache!’ he exclaimed, using the abbreviation of her name that she’d never liked. ‘What’s your problem? I’d have thought you’d be pleased she wasn’t having to travel in an economy seat. Besides, Mendez is a great guy. I don’t know what kind of creeps you’ve been dating since you and I split, but take my word for it, you’ve got nothing to worry about from him.’

Rachel took a deep breath, pressing her lips together for a moment to prevent the angry retort she wanted to make. Then she said stiffly, ‘Very well. But I wish you’d contacted me before making different arrangements.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Steve was sardonic. ‘Why do you think I—?’ He broke off and another feminine voice could be heard in the background. ‘I know, I know. I’m coming, baby,’ he said in an aside, and then, his tone sharpening, ‘So, when Mendez gets in touch with you, you won’t put up any objections, right?’

‘When he…?’ Rachel licked her lips. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, he’s already been in touch.’

‘He has?’ Steve was wary.

‘Yes.’ Rachel hesitated. ‘He came to the house today.’

Steve swore to himself, and once again Rachel heard that other voice, which must have been Lauren’s, making some kind of protest. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,’ he said again, his tone much less indulgent now. There was another brief exchange and then he addressed himself to Rachel again. ‘Don’t tell me you let Mendez know how you felt? Damn it, Rache, the man owns the company!’

Rachel stifled a groan. Until that moment, she’d been assuring herself that it had to be Joe Mendez’s father who was the real power behind Mendez Macrosystems, but now she was forced to revise her opinion.

‘I—I may have done,’ she allowed in a low voice, and Steve swore again.

‘Are you completely crazy?’ he demanded angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Rachel, do you want me to lose my job? Is that what this is all about?’

Rachel had been feeling rather guilty for creating a difficult situation, but Steve’s attitude really ticked her off. ‘You have to be joking,’ she retorted coldly. ‘Why would I want to run the risk of forcing you to return to England? Believe me, Steve, I have no desire to see your lying face again.’

She’d slammed down the receiver and was standing, staring at the phone, when she heard a stair creak behind her. She turned in time to see Daisy, dressed only in the vest and shorts she used to sleep in, creeping cautiously back up the stairs. She’d obviously heard at least the end of what her mother had said, and her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment when Rachel spoke her name.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, looking shamefaced. ‘I didn’t realise it was Dad you were talking to. I—I thought something might have happened to Granddad or Grandma.’

Rachel doubted that, but she wasn’t in the mood to start another argument. Not tonight. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to speak to your father about the arrangements. Go on back to bed. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be up myself in a few minutes.’

Daisy hesitated. ‘You and Dad are never likely to get back together, are you?’ she murmured regretfully, and Rachel thought how depressing it was when a child was involved.

‘No,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just not going to happen.’

‘Oh, well.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘I guess I can live with it. I mean, you’re bound to meet someone else someday. Someone really nice. Not like Lauren at all.’

It was after midnight when Rachel tumbled into bed, but for once she didn’t immediately fall asleep. Usually her eyes were so tired she lost consciousness the minute her head touched the pillow, but tonight her mind was too active to relax.

It was ringing Steve so late, she decided. With the time lag, she’d had to wait until after eleven to catch him at home. But it hadn’t been something she’d wanted to discuss while he was at the office, even on his mobile phone, with possibly a receptionist or a secretary listening in.

However, it wasn’t Steve’s image that kept her awake until the early hours. It wasn’t his blond good looks and slim athleticism that haunted her sleep. The image she found behind her eyes was that of Joe Mendez, whose tough, somewhat ruthless features and muscled profile ticked every one of the boxes Daisy might have desired…




CHAPTER THREE (#uf4826211-b0fa-5136-9b0b-d5cc8ec7abee)


T HERE was someone at the door. Rachel could hear the bell ringing quite clearly and she struggled up in bed, wondering who on earth would call at this hour of the morning.

But it wasn’t the doorbell. As soon as she sat up and got her bearings, she realised it was the phone beside the bed that had awakened her. It was silent now. Daisy must have answered it downstairs, she thought resignedly. It wasn’t like her daughter to be up so early, but it was holiday time, not a school morning; go figure.

What time was it? she wondered, groping for the small travelling clock she kept beside the bed. She was horrified when she saw it was after ten o’clock. She rarely slept in, but after the restless night she’d had it was hardly surprising. She must have fallen asleep eventually, but right now she felt decidedly rough.

Pushing her legs out of bed, she swayed a little as she got to her feet. Too much red wine, she thought, hauling on her towelling bathrobe and opening the bedroom door. Wasn’t it just typical that, the one morning someone chose to call her this early, she was still in bed?

She almost jumped out of her skin when the phone began to ring again. She’d stepped out onto the landing, wondering where Daisy had got to, when its insistent peal assaulted her ears. Daisy could answer it, she thought, starting down the stairs. It was most likely someone for her.

But Daisy didn’t answer it and Rachel looked back up the stairs, wondering if her daughter had slept in too. Daisy’s bedroom door was closed, but that didn’t prove anything. She tended to regard her bedroom as her private space, and Rachel rarely intruded without an invitation.

Continuing down the stairs, Rachel picked up the receiver in the hall. ‘Yes?’ she said, the headache that was beginning to throb behind her temples making her sound snappy.

‘Rachel?’ Her throat dried. Oh God, it was him again. Joe Mendez. He must be ringing to find out what she’d decided. Had he spoken to Steve? ‘I just wanted—’

‘To know about Daisy,’ she interrupted him quickly. ‘I did intend to ring you later today.’

‘No.’ Joe spoke crisply. ‘I didn’t ring you to find out about Daisy. I know you’ve agreed to let her go. She told me so herself.’

Rachel blinked. ‘She told you?’ She was confused.

‘Wait a second.’ There was a momentary shifting of the phone, a muffled protest, and then a reluctant voice said, ‘Hello, Mum.’

It was Daisy. Rachel groped for the oak chest that served as both a place to drop the mail and somewhere to sit to change one’s shoes and sank down onto it. ‘Daisy!’ Her voice cracked. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t be mad, Mum.’ Daisy, at least, knew how she was feeling. ‘I had to come and see Mr Mendez. I had to tell him you were okay with me travelling with him.’

Rachel felt dazed. ‘Why?’

‘Well, because I heard what you said to Dad, and I didn’t—’

‘Anything I said to your father was between us two, do you understand that?’ Rachel’s headache felt so much worse now. ‘Honestly, Daisy, I thought I could trust you. Now—now I don’t know what to think.’

‘Oh, Mum.’

‘Where are you, anyway?’

‘At—at Mr Mendez’s house.’

‘His house?’ Rachel was stunned. ‘How did you know where he was staying?’

‘It was on his card,’ muttered Daisy unhappily. ‘You just left it in the hall, and I—I picked it up.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Rachel could hardly take it in. ‘You had no right to read that card, let alone go out without my permission to visit someone you hardly know!’

‘Don’t be like that, Mum, please.’

‘How do you expect me to be?’ Rachel felt her temper rising. ‘I can’t believe you’d do something so deceitful. Particularly as I’ve been awake half the night worrying about this trip.’ Well, that was only partly true, but Daisy didn’t need to know that. ‘And now I discover you’ve taken matters into your own hands.’

There was another muffled exchange and then Joe said, ‘Sorry if this has been a bit of a shock. I guess you’ve been wondering where Daisy was. I’m going to bring her home, but I felt I ought to let you know she’s okay.’

Rachel’s shoulders hunched. She was too ashamed to say she hadn’t even known her daughter had gone out, but she managed a polite, ‘That was kind of you.’

‘Yeah, well.’ She suspected he might have detected the irony in her voice and his next words seemed to prove it. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, right? I think she meant well.’

Rachel tried not to feel resentful that this man—this stranger—felt he had the right to advise her about how to treat her daughter. But all she said was, ‘Thanks. I appreciate your comments,’ and rang off before indignation got the better of politeness.

However, as soon as she’d replaced the receiver she realised she had no idea where Joe’s—house? Hotel?—was. She’d hardly glanced at his card. And now she could only guess how much time she might have before they got here.

She was desperate for a cup of coffee, but she didn’t dare wait while it brewed. Instead, she spooned grains into the filter and left it to percolate while she took a swift shower.

Her hair was still damp when she stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, surveying her appearance. Tucking the artificially darkened strands back behind her ears, she decided it didn’t look too bad. It was foolish, she knew, but instead of her usual working gear of shorts and a cotton top she’d chosen to wear a dress. It was a simple camisole, in shades of cream and brown, which she thought complemented her lightly tanned skin. The dress ended at her knees, and she left her legs bare.

The shower had eased her headache somewhat, but she took two paracetamol with her coffee. Then, realising she hadn’t put on any make-up, she dashed back upstairs, and was in the process of brushing a bronze shadow onto her lids when she heard a car in the road outside.

Her hand shook for a moment, and she was forced to repair the damage before realising she hadn’t time to put on any lipstick now. She could hear Daisy opening the 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 frowned. ‘I detect a note of ambiguity here,’ he said. ‘Do I take it you’re having second thoughts about delivering the girl to her father?’

Joe’s jaw compressed. ‘Steve didn’t bother to tell his ex-wife that Daisy would be travelling with me,’ he explained flatly. ‘On the Jetstream, I mean. She assumed we’d be using public transport.’

‘I see.’ Charles considered this. ‘And that’s created a problem?’

Joe gave a curt nod. ‘You got it.’

‘Ah.’ Charles was thoughtful. ‘But surely, now that she’s met you for herself, Mrs Carlyle must be reassured?’

‘You think?’

‘She’s not?’ Charles looked taken aback. ‘So what kind of woman is she? Didn’t Mr Carlyle say that she’s a writer?’ He cupped his chin in one hand. ‘I’m imagining a rather…overweight lady, all flowing scarves and Birkenstocks. Am I right?’

Joe couldn’t prevent the laugh that erupted from him then. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong!’ he exclaimed, picturing Rachel as he’d first seen her in her cotton vest and shorts. ‘No, she’s not overweight, Charles. She’s not skinny, you understand? She’s got some shape. But she’s not fat.’

Charles regarded him intently. ‘But not young? Not like the second Mrs Carlyle?’

‘No.’ Joe conceded the point. Steve had definitely gone for looks over intelligence the second time around. It had also helped that Lauren’s old man was one of the directors of the company, he reflected, before adding, ‘But Rachel’s okay. Quite attractive, actually.’

Charles’ brows ascended again. ‘Well…’He didn’t appear to know how to answer that so, changing the subject, he asked if his employer would like something to drink before he left for his meeting. ‘You did say you had a luncheon appointment,’ he reminded him politely, and Joe glanced somewhat impatiently at his watch.

‘Oh, yeah,’ He blew out a breath. Then, ‘No, that’s okay.’ He nodded towards the built-in bar hidden behind a wall of bookshelves. ‘I’ll get myself a soda, if I want one.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Charles withdrew and Joe moved across to the windows, staring out unseeingly onto the mews below. He found himself wondering what exactly had gone wrong with the Carlyles’ marriage. Sure, he’d heard Steve’s—and Johansen’s—interpretation of events. But having met Rachel personally, he found it harder to believe that she would neglect her home and family in favour of her career. A woman like that would hardly put up any opposition to exactly how her daughter was to travel to Florida. Indeed, she’d probably be glad of the break from teenage angst, however it was going to be achieved.

Still, he had to factor in the probable resistance she had to Daisy spending any time with her father and stepmother. If Steve was to be believed—and until the last couple of days he’d had no reason to doubt that he was—she’d done her best to turn Daisy against him and Lauren.

His scowl returned. He could so do without this, he thought irritably. Do without this damned lunch with the company’s British executives, too. If he hadn’t promised his father to follow in his footsteps, and keep all branches of Macrosystems in the frame, he’d have scrubbed any and all business meetings and spent the rest of the day at the nearest race track.

Still, this evening he had his date with Shelley Adair to look forward to. She’d been most put out when he’d cried off the party she’d been giving the evening before. But after his altercation with Rachel Carlyle, he hadn’t been in the mood for the kind of noisy reception Shelley favoured. Besides, if he was perfectly honest, he’d expected Rachel to have second thoughts and ring him to apologise and, when she hadn’t, he’d gone to bed feeling decidedly aggrieved.

So why was he wasting more time thinking about her? He’d been downright astounded when Daisy had turned up at his door this morning. It had been the last thing he’d expected, and at first he’d thought she’d come because her mother had asked her to. Finding out Rachel hadn’t even known she’d left the house had soon disabused him of that notion, and he’d been half inclined to blame Daisy’s behaviour on her mother. But bringing up a teenager like Daisy on her own couldn’t be easy. That was why he’d reined in his own irritation when Rachel had reacted as she had.

He sighed. Were Steve’s complaints about her justified? The way Rachel was acting made him inclined to think again. He just wished he wasn’t involved in the situation, wished he didn’t have these suspicions that she was the victim here.




CHAPTER FOUR (#uf4826211-b0fa-5136-9b0b-d5cc8ec7abee)


O N S ATURDAY morning Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her third cup of coffee of the day and trying to make sense of the pages she’d written the night before, when Daisy came clattering down the stairs.

It was barely seven, and on any normal weekend morning it would have been virtually impossible to get her daughter out of bed before nine o’clock. But clearly Daisy’s mind was fixated on the same issue that had kept Rachel awake half the night.

‘Did he ring?’

Daisy didn’t waste time on polite preamble, and Rachel put down her coffee cup and shuffled her pages into a single pile. ‘No.’

‘He didn’t?’ Daisy stared at her aghast. ‘I thought that must be why you were up so early.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no one’s rung. Either last night, or this morning.’

Daisy looked dismayed. ‘But he said he would ring,’ she protested, and Rachel thought that, despite all her efforts to appear grown up, her daughter was still very much a child with a child’s simplistic view of the world.

Getting to her feet, she gave Daisy a hug and said, ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, sweetheart. I expect his meeting went on longer than he’d anticipated, and perhaps he had other plans for the evening.’

Plans that had no doubt included the company of some ravishing female, Rachel reflected drily. A man like Mendez was hardly likely to spend his nights alone. He was far too attractive; far too sexy. He didn’t wear a wedding ring—not that that meant a lot, if Steve was anything to go by—but there was bound to be some glamorous socialite who found his slightly cruel good looks and sensual appeal absolutely fascinating. As she did, Rachel admitted reluctantly. Though in her case, she assured herself, it was a purely professional assessment.

‘How long does a phone call take?’ Daisy pulled away from her mother and went to take a carton of milk out of the fridge. Pouring herself a glass, she added sulkily, ‘I wish Dad had arranged for me to fly with British Airways. Then we wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else.’

Rachel was tempted to second that, but she was sensible enough to know that, however tardy he might be, they hadn’t heard the last of Joe Mendez. ‘Give it until lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Then, if we still haven’t heard anything, I’ll ring him.’ She felt a hollowing in her stomach at the thought but she ignored it. ‘Okay?’

‘Oh, cool!’ Daisy’s upper lip was still coated with milk as she came and gave her mother a wet kiss on her cheek. Her delight was unmistakeable. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Refusing to consider what she was going to say if she had to contact Mendez, Rachel scrubbed the place Daisy’s lips had touched with a rueful hand. Then, wrapping her cotton dressing-gown closer about her, she picked up the manuscript and started for the door. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long. Then I’ll get breakfast.’

‘I can do that.’ Daisy finished her milk and popped the glass into the dishwasher. ‘What would you like? I can make French toast.’

‘Just toast will do,’ said Rachel, guessing the girl was only trying to be helpful. But as she started up the stairs she hoped that, by offering to ring Mendez, she hadn’t given Daisy the idea that she wouldn’t object if her daughter rang him herself.

Knowing she had to go out sometime today to do some food shopping, Rachel dressed in jeans and a black V-necked tee shirt. She dried her hair and then caught it up in a loose knot on top of her head. She didn’t bother with any make-up, and a pair of strappy leather sandals completed her outfit. She looked what she was, she thought, surveying her appearance without conceit: a single mother approaching middle age, with no particular claim to either youth or beauty.

Daisy had the toast ready when she re-entered the kitchen, and there was fresh coffee simmering on the hob. Daisy had taken the time to dress too, though her baggy cut-offs and cropped tank top looked as if they’d spent the night on her bedroom floor.

‘There you go,’ she said, setting the toast on the table where a jar of marmalade and the butter dish already resided; if her cheeks looked a little pink, Rachel put it down to the heat of the grill.

‘This looks good.’ Although she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, Rachel buttered a slice of toast and spooned on a little of the marmalade. Then, taking a bite, she looked expectantly up at her daughter. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘I had some cornflakes,’ said Daisy quickly. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

‘No.’ But Rachel’s brows drew together as she spoke. Then, dismissing the suspicion that Daisy wasn’t being altogether truthful, she added, ‘I’ll have to go out later. We’ve got nothing in the fridge, and I need some fresh bread.’

‘But you can’t.’

Daisy spoke impulsively and Rachel looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why not?’

‘Well—because Mr Mendez is going to phone, isn’t he?’

‘So?’ Rachel’s gaze turned to one of enquiry. ‘We have an answerphone. If we’re not here, I’m sure he’ll leave a message, and I can ring him back.’

Daisy pressed her lips together. ‘But what if he comes round?’

‘Comes round?’ Rachel was wary. ‘Why on earth would he come round?’ Not to see her, she was sure. ‘He’s said he’ll phone. And, if he doesn’t, I’ve already said I’ll phone him.’

‘He’s not in,’ said Daisy quickly, and Rachel’s eyes widened in disbelief.

‘He’s not in?’ she echoed. Then, shaking her head to clear it, she went on, ‘How do you know he’s not in?’

But she didn’t need the girl to answer. She already knew. Daisy had done what she’d been half-afraid she might and had phoned Mendez while she was in the shower.

‘I—I spoke to that man who works for him,’ Daisy confessed unhappily. ‘Mr Mendez calls him Charles.’ She bit her lip, perhaps hoping that Rachel would take pity on her. But when it became apparent that her mother wasn’t about to speak, she hurried on, ‘He—he was really offhand.’

Rachel regarded her disapprovingly. ‘And that surprises you?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s barely eight o’clock, Daisy. It’s Saturday, and people don’t appreciate being woken up so early.’

Daisy’s expression lightened. ‘So maybe Mr Mendez was really there?’ she suggested. ‘But this man—Charles—didn’t want to disturb him.’ She looked encouragingly at her mother. ‘Do you think that’s what happened?’

‘It’s possible.’ But Rachel suspected it wasn’t that simple. It was far more likely that Mendez had slept elsewhere, and her stomach tightened at the thought. Then, dismissing the images that evoked from her mind, she said, ‘It would serve you right if Mr Mendez decided that taking you to Florida was more trouble than it was worth. Then your father would be stuck with your air fare. I wonder how he’d feel about that?’

It was a low blow, and Rachel regretted letting her own disappointment rule her tongue. She wanted Daisy to spend time with Steve; of course she did. It was just hard to accept that her daughter wasn’t so different from her father after all.

Daisy looked positively mortified now, and, knowing she couldn’t let her shoulder all the blame for the way she was feeling, she sighed. ‘Look, I’m sure that’s not going to happen. But you have to be patient. I imagine Mr Mendez has more important matters than arranging your trip to attend to. If you take my advice, you’ll let him get back to you in his own good time.’

‘But what if he forgets?’

Rachel’s laugh was bitter. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,’ she said drily. ‘Now, I suggest you let me finish my coffee, and then you can come with me to the supermarket.’



It was after eleven by the time they got back to the house. Despite Daisy’s agitation, Rachel had been determined not to let Joe Mendez think that she, at least, was desperate for his assistance. Daisy was thirteen, after all, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t make the journey on her own on a commercial flight. Rachel knew that the air crew could be relied upon to keep an eye on her, and Steve would be meeting her in Miami.

Consequently, it was something of a blow to find the powerful SUV parked at their gate when she turned into Castle Close. Although she’d only seen the vehicle once before, the identity of its owner was unquestionable, and she didn’t need Daisy’s cry of excitement to reinforce her opinion.

‘It’s Mr Mendez!’ Daisy exclaimed, hopping out of Rachel’s modest Audi as soon as she applied the brake. ‘I wonder how long he’s been waiting? I told you we shouldn’t have gone out.’

Rachel reserved judgment on that, but in any case she had no time to reply. Daisy was already running to the front of the Lexus, full of excitement as she waited for Joe Mendez to open the door.

He did so at once. Long, powerful legs encased in tight-fitting black jeans again this morning appeared; tan-coloured deck shoes, once more without socks, lowered to the pavement. As she stood, Rachel glimpsed a white tee shirt in the open V of a black knitted polo, which exposed his arms and the dark shadow of his tattoo. There was a dark shadow on his jawline too, she noticed, so evidently he hadn’t bothered to shave. But the slightly dishevelled look suited him. He was that kind of man.





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