Mistress To A Millionaire
HELEN BROOKS
When a sexy Italian tycoon offered Daisy Summers a job as live-in nanny, her first instinct was to refuse. How could she share a secluded villa with Slade Eastwood without becoming involved intimate with him?Only, Slade wouldn't take no for an answer. His power and wealth bought him most things except a mother for his young son. Slade wanted Daisy. Her sweetness would make her the perfect nanny for little Francesco; her sultry innocence would make her the perfect mistress for himself!
“I want you, Daisy,” Slade whispered against her lips.
“I want you in every way possible,” he continued, “and ‘being friends’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. And don’t say you don’t want me, because I know you do.”
Why had she ever let herself get into this? Slade was her boss—she was paid to look after his child!
Then, with absolute clarity, Daisy knew what was going to happen next, and she knew she wasn’t going to fight it.
Slade’s head dipped slowly toward hers….
HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading, swimming, gardening and walking her two energetic, inquisitive and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin.
Mistress to a Millionaire
Helen Brooks
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
DAISY breathed in and out very slowly to steady her quivering nerves and surreptitiously glanced at her reflection in the shop window. She looked good—she did—and she could do this. She had to do it. This was the start of the rest of her life, and she didn’t intend to begin it hiding in the shadows.
She took one more quick glance at the tall, slender image which—courtesy of a new hairstyle and new wardrobe—still didn’t look like her, and then dived out into the surging mass of humanity that populated the crowded London pavement.
Afterwards she told herself it was because she was concentrating so hard on appearing to be like everyone else—self-assured and poised and quite sure of where they were going—that she stepped straight off the pavement without looking, but that was much later.
For now there was a terrific squeal of brakes which made her lift up her head in horror just in time to see the car almost upon her. And there was nowhere to go. Nowhere. She just had to wait for it to hit her, her head up and her eyes wide with fear and shock. And then there was…nothing.
‘Daisy? Can you hear me, dear? Try and open your eyes, there’s a good girl.’
Daisy could hear the soothing, faintly motherly voice somewhere above her head, but it was remote, unreal, smothered by the enormous lead blanket that was weighing her down and making even opening her eyes impossible.
‘She is beginning to come round but it will be a slow process, you understand? And it’s quite likely she will have no recollection of the accident or even who she is at first. The mind tends to retreat in the aftermath of a nasty accident like this one.’
No recollection of the accident or who she was? Daisy wanted to tell them she remembered everything as a small surge of indignation made her fight against the heaviness in her body, but she was too tired. Much too tired.
‘Have you managed to trace her family yet? Or a friend, anyone? Someone must know her.’
This voice was male, deep and very masculine, with a slight twang of an accent that lifted it out of the norm. She knew she hadn’t heard it before; it was the sort of voice you remembered.
‘The police are working on it, Mr Eastwood, but her handbag contained very little in the way of identification, as you know. We aren’t even sure her name is Daisy; we only have the inscription on her bracelet to go by.’
‘I thought all women carried enough paraphernalia around with them to sink a battleship.’
His voice was slightly irritated now but the woman’s tone was quite unruffled when she said, ‘Well, this one doesn’t. She seems to be the original mystery woman, but I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of it soon.’
‘Your faith in their powers is stronger than mine.’ The last remark was deeply sarcastic, and for some reason she wasn’t quite sure of Daisy felt a surge of dislike well up in her. What business of his was it anyway, what she did or didn’t carry in her bag? she asked herself silently. And then she thought, as she slipped back into unconsciousness, He’s got a cheek, that man, whoever he is…
When Daisy next surfaced out of the thick fog all was quiet, and as before she lay for some time without moving or opening her eyes, wrapped in a feeling of inertia that was paralysing. But then gradually, through the exhaustion, she became aware that she was hurting. In fact it was painful just to breathe.
She opened her eyes slowly, very slowly; the light was bright and seemed to send a hundred little arrows shooting into her brain as her eyelids rose.
She was in hospital? Subconsciously she must have been prepared for it because it wasn’t a surprise to see the nurse sitting by the side of the bed, or to find herself attached to a drip which was positioned just within her eye range.
She moved her head slightly and immediately the action brought a groan from her lips, causing the nurse to raise her head sharply from the papers on her lap which she immediately put to one side as she rose to her feet. ‘You’re awake at last.’ It was the same motherly voice she had heard earlier. ‘How are you feeling, Daisy? It is Daisy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Her mouth was so dry it was difficult to get the word past her tongue which was sticking to the roof of her mouth. ‘Could…could I have a drink of water, please?’
‘Course you can, dear, but just a little sip at first, all right?’ The nurse helped her sit up in bed and adjusted the pillows behind her back before handing her a tiny glass, barely bigger than a thimble. The cold water tasted like the nectar of the gods and Daisy couldn’t remember tasting anything so heavenly before, but then she had never felt so thirsty before either, she reflected dazedly.
‘You had a little accident; do you remember?’ The nurse was talking as though Daisy were five years old.
‘Yes—yes, I do. It was my fault.’ Daisy winced as she tried to settle herself more comfortably; besides every muscle and bone in her body aching like mad, there seemed to be an army of little men inside her head using her brain as a drum.
‘You were very lucky,’ the nurse said brightly as she busied herself tucking in the bedclothes at the foot of the bed. ‘It could have been a lot worse. As it was you got away with grazed arms and legs, a couple of fractured ribs and concussion. And, of course, cuts and bruises,’ she added as an afterthought.
Funny, but she didn’t feel very lucky. ‘How long have I been here?’ Daisy asked weakly. And where was here?
‘You were brought in yesterday morning, so that’s over twenty-four hours now.’ The nurse had finished with the covers and moved back to stand at the head of the bed, looking down at her with a sympathetic smile for a moment before she said, her tone enquiring, ‘We’ve been trying to trace your family, Daisy.’
‘They live abroad.’ And then, before anything more could be said, Daisy continued quietly, ‘I’ve only just moved to London, actually, so I don’t know anyone here yet. I…I was on my way to a job interview yesterday morning.’
‘Oh, dear.’ The sympathy became tangible. ‘Well, I’m afraid you won’t be able to think of working for two or three weeks, but don’t worry about that for now. You’ve got to concentrate on getting well. And Mr Eastwood is covering any expenses whilst you’re here, incidentally,’ she added briskly.
‘Expenses?’ Daisy wrinkled her brow and then stopped when it hurt too much.
‘This is a private hospital, dear.’
Of course, she should have known. Daisy’s bewildered glance took in the large room, the matching covers and curtains, the television in one corner and the easy chairs and small coffee table in another at the side of an internal door which obviously led to the en suite bathroom. She gulped audibly, and then managed to ask, her voice very small, ‘And Mr Eastwood is…?’
‘The poor guy you gave the fright of his life to when you decided to fling yourself under the wheels of his car.’ The deep, dark voice from the doorway brought the nurse jerking round and Daisy stiffening in the bed. Neither of them had heard the door to the corridor outside open.
‘Falling at my feet is one thing.’ A pair of black glittering eyes held Daisy’s wide, honey-brown gaze with a power that was formidable. ‘I might even have enjoyed that, but as it was…’
‘I…I’m sorry.’ Daisy stared at him, her head swimming, but whether it was weakness due to her condition or the result of being pinned by that piercing gaze she wasn’t sure.
The man in the doorway was tall, very tall, with hair like a raven’s wing and the sort of arrogantly handsome looks that were as disturbing as they were attractive. He radiated power and vitality, but not in a comforting or reassuring way—or at least Daisy didn’t find it such. The chiselled cheekbones in the cruel, aesthetic face, the dark straight brows and finely moulded mouth were quite devastating but altogether overwhelming.
Daisy watched him as he crossed the room and she wasn’t aware she had shrunk back against the pillows, but the night-black eyes holding hers missed nothing, and the lazy smile which had been hovering at the corners of the firm mouth straightened.
‘Slade Eastwood.’
He held out a large hand and in the brief few seconds that his warm, strong fingers enclosed Daisy’s small paw she felt the impact right down to her toes.
‘Daisy Summers,’ she returned shakily.
‘Daisy…’ His lips lingered on her name, and the ebony gaze stroked over the delicate young woman in front of him, her beautiful golden-brown eyes set in a face that was hauntingly lovely and surrounded by a soft cloud of silky silver-blonde hair. ‘An unusual name but most apt,’ he drawled slowly.
‘Apt?’ The dizziness had gone but she was so tired she couldn’t put any strength in her voice, much as she wanted to.
‘Your eyes are the gold at the heart of a daisy and your hair its petals.’ The dark, husky voice caused a shiver to pass over her skin, and then, as she continued to stare at him with huge eyes, his tone changed as he turned to the nurse and said, ‘When did she regain consciousness?’
‘Just a short while ago, Mr Eastwood.’
He nodded, turning back to Daisy. ‘Then I’ll let you get some rest,’ he said smoothly. ‘It’s still early days.’
‘Oh, please?’ He was already halfway to the door when her voice stopped him, and as he turned to face her again Daisy summoned up all her courage and said tremblingly, ‘I…I can’t stay here any longer, Mr Eastwood; I understand you are paying for me? I…I can’t reimburse you immediately, but of course I will do so when—’
‘Reimburse me? There is no question of that.’
‘Oh, yes, I must, but I can’t afford to stay— I mean I must leave today—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ There wasn’t the slightest touch of a bedside manner as he rapped out the words, and then, as she flinched back against the covers, he said more quietly, ‘It was my car which put you in here so it is only right I take the responsibility for your recovery. Please don’t give the matter another thought. And the name is Slade.’
‘But the accident was my fault; you didn’t have a chance of missing me,’ she stated weakly. And then, as the thought occurred to her, she asked, ‘Did I damage your car?’
He stared at her as though she were mad for a long moment and his voice reflected the expression on his face when he murmured, ‘Did you…? What the hell does the car matter?’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ she whispered miserably.
He wasn’t about to tell her that his severe braking, added to a wild swerve to avoid hitting her head-on, had resulted in the rear of his Aston Martin Volante coming into unfortunate contact with a lamppost, and now he shrugged easily. ‘The car is fine but you are not—end of story. And you will stay in here until the doctors are satisfied you are well enough to leave.’
It was authoritative and cool and acted like a shot of adrenalin straight into Daisy’s wilting frame. She sat up straighter, ignoring the jabs of red-hot pain the mild movement caused, and now her voice was much stronger when she said firmly, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t do that, Mr Eastwood.’
For crying out loud, what was the matter with the woman? Slade Eastwood called on his meagre store of patience and willed the exasperation out of his voice. ‘Yes, you can, Daisy,’ he said with measured stoicism. ‘You gave me the fright of my life yesterday morning—’ his stomach muscles tensed at the memory ‘—followed by a very anxious twenty-four hours. The financial side of things is nothing, nothing, okay? At the risk of sounding crass I can afford for you to live here for ever if necessary, so please, indulge me? You owe me that at least.’
Put like that it completely took the wind out of Daisy’s sails and he sensed it immediately, following up with, ‘I’m sure we’re talking about a few days, a week at the most, and it will mean I sleep easy at night.’
Oh, this was awful, awful; what should she do? Daisy stared at him, her honey-gold eyes enormous in the wan paleness of her face, and then, as he returned her look steadily, his face now betraying nothing but friendly concern, it was all suddenly too much. She felt too ill and too exhausted to argue with him, and all she wanted to do was to sleep.
‘All right.’ She heard the words with a pang of self-disgust at her feebleness. ‘But I insist on paying you back eventually. It just might take a while.’
‘We’ll discuss that when you’re feeling better.’ He glanced at the gold watch on one tanned wrist, and now it struck her that his suit alone must have cost a small fortune. ‘I have an appointment; I must go. Goodbye for now.’
She nodded her farewell, her eyelids already closing, and she was asleep before he had even closed the door behind him.
For the rest of the day Daisy alternately woke for a few minutes and then slept again, but the next morning, after a solid night’s sleep, she awoke properly. The muzziness which had clouded her thinking was gone, her mind was her own again, and she was ravenously hungry even though it still hurt just to breathe.
It appeared Slade Eastwood had called a few times the day before for reports on her progress, but it wasn’t until that evening, and after a delicious dinner of chicken and mushrooms in a white wine sauce with fresh vegetables, that the man himself made an appearance. Daisy had just scraped the last remnants of chocolate mousse from her dish—a process made more difficult by the fact that her right arm was now as stiff as a board and she was using her left hand—and as a sharp knock sounded at the door she knew immediately who it was.
‘Come in.’ She was pleased how firm and controlled her voice sounded; she wasn’t feeling a bit like that inside. Melted jelly, more like, she thought irritably as she took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow and pushed the tray aside as the door opened.
‘Hello again.’
This time the lithe, lean body was dressed in black denim jeans and a heavy black leather jacket, and his dark presence seemed to fill the room as he came towards the bed. But Daisy was prepared this time—just—for the impact he had on her.
‘Hello.’ She even managed a relatively normal smile, which faltered slightly as he presented her with a beautiful little posy of pink rosebuds and small perfect daisies enclosed in lace and silk ribbons. ‘Oh…thank you, they’re lovely,’ she said quickly as the delicate perfume of the roses touched her senses.
‘My pleasure.’ It was deep and sardonic and the black eyes swept over her with something in their depths that brought a flush to her cheeks. And then he hooked the upholstered straight-backed chair the nurse had left by the side of the bed with one hand, sitting astride it with his forearms resting on its back as he said, ‘How are you feeling?’
How was she feeling? Up to a minute ago she’d been feeling as though she’d made enormous progress, but now she felt as dazed as when she’d first regained consciousness! But she wasn’t about to betray that to those piercingly astute eyes.
‘Much better, thank you.’ She forced another bright smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll be well enough to leave tomorrow and—’
‘The nurse tells me your immediate family live in the States?’ he interrupted lazily, one dark brow raised enquiringly. ‘So does that mean you’ve got no one to look after you when you leave here?’
Daisy looked at him for a long moment without answering, but her brain was working rapidly. Her nurse had spent almost an hour chatting that afternoon about this and that, and she had felt at the time that some of the questions the woman had asked were inspired by more than casual interest. But the uniformed figure had been persistent, and although she had fielded quite a few of her carefully worded questions by the time the nurse had left Daisy had felt uneasy about how much she had revealed. And she felt doubly uneasy now.
She shrugged lightly. ‘I don’t need anyone to look after me,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m a big girl now.’
‘A big girl who is lucky to be alive and must be feeling as though she has been run over by a steam engine,’ he countered smoothly. ‘And if your family live in the States and you have only just moved down here from Scotland—’ she was right, Daisy thought sharply, the nurse had been gathering information for Slade Eastwood ‘—the city can be a pretty lonely place,’ he finished quietly.
Lonely? Lonely she could take, Daisy told herself silently. In fact in the last hellish sixteen months there had been times she would have welcomed it with open arms. She kept her voice very steady when she said, ‘It’s not a problem; really it isn’t.’
‘Yes, it is.’ It was cool and calm and imperturbable.
The black eyes were holding hers effortlessly and in spite of herself she found it impossible to break the brilliant gaze. She gathered her scattered wits about her and tried for firmness. ‘Please don’t think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done, Mr Eastwood—’
‘Slade. I told you before.’
It was the second time he had interrupted her in as many minutes and it was irritating, especially as the cold, arrogant face was watching her with a faintly patronising expression that caught her on the raw.
Daisy took a long, silent breath and continued tightly, ‘But I am perfectly capable of looking after myself when I leave here.’
‘My car still bears the imprint of you looking after yourself,’ he said with a silkiness that disguised pure steel.
As Daisy’s mouth came open in a little O of surprise and indignation he continued looking at her steadily, and then, as she spluttered a bit and searched frantically for a retort that would be adequately scathing, he smiled, his teeth showing white and strong against the tanned skin of his face.
‘Look, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot again.’
His voice was smooth and assured and she didn’t trust him an inch—which was awful really, she told herself in the next instant, when he had been nothing but kindness itself. Installing her in this fabulous room, offering to pay for her stay, expressing concern for her welfare… Her sense of unease grew and it wasn’t helped by the overwhelming sense of vulnerability she was feeling. He was so big and dark and masculine, and as she was lying here, virtually helpless, his virility and devastating magnetism were more than a little threatening.
‘Of course we haven’t got off on the wrong foot.’ She was lying through her teeth and they both knew it. ‘It’s just that I prefer to be independent and pay my own way—’
‘How do you intend to do that without a job and in your present condition?’ he interjected coolly.
If he did that one more time she would let him know exactly what she thought of his high-handed arrogance, Daisy told herself furiously as she struggled to keep calm and answer him. Not that there was an answer as such…
‘I have a little money put by,’ she said stiffly through clenched teeth, ‘and the doctor has advised me it will only be a matter of a few weeks before I am fit again. Once I get work I shall start reimbursing you,’ she assured him firmly.
‘I understand you work with children?’ In contrast to her taut body and tight voice he was utterly relaxed, his voice soft and low as he watched every expression on her face.
Daisy nodded, her eyes wary. The nurse really had been a little mine of information to her employer! ‘I’m a qualified nursery nurse,’ she affirmed quietly, ‘and I’d been at my last job for two years before the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Before I decided to leave and come to London,’ she continued quickly.
The dark eyes had narrowed slightly at her hesitation but he made no comment, merely nodding slowly. ‘And of course you have references, certificates, that sort of thing?’ he asked easily.
‘Of course.’ Where was this leading? Daisy had the impression this conversation was more than mere social intercourse and she felt very uneasy now.
‘This is good.’ And he smiled slowly.
For a moment the slight accent she had detected before was more evident, increasing the impression of foreignness his terminology had caused. Daisy didn’t smile back.
‘Is it?’ She stared at him. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.
‘I have a problem you might be able to help me with, Daisy,’ he said coolly, ‘and it would be a means of solving the present dilemma in a way that would suit us both. You seem determined to repay me—although it is not at all necessary—is that correct?’ He raised dark eyebrows as he waited for her reply.
‘It certainly is,’ she said firmly. He was the last man in all the world she wanted to feel an obligation to, and this room must be costing a small fortune. The accident had been all her fault, totally, and she wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t caused some damage to his car—although no doubt that would be covered by insurance. Nevertheless, she was deeply in his debt and it made her want to squirm. Oh, boy, didn’t it just!
‘I thought so.’ Black eyes met honey-brown. ‘Then perhaps if I outline the situation as I see it we can go from there?’ He didn’t wait for a response from her before he continued, ‘You are going to be somewhat incapacitated for two or three weeks, and, however large your nest-egg, rent and other living expenses will soon make a hole in your capital. Agreed?’
Capital? She wouldn’t exactly call her four hundred pounds capital, Daisy thought bleakly. She had paid the rent on her minute bedsit three months in advance—thank goodness—but a few weeks with no salary would soon make her destitute.
‘Agreed?’ he persisted smoothly as she stared at him without speaking, her brain trying to assimilate what he was saying.
Daisy nodded stiffly. She had the feeling he had made a pretty good guess as to the state of her bank balance.
‘Which brings us to my problem.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the chair and she tried to ignore what the movement did to her nerve-endings as the dark power of his masculinity became tangible.
‘I have an apartment in London, but my main home is in Italy,’ he continued quietly, ‘and that is where my family live.’
His family? A little dart of something, something she didn’t want to examine, brought Daisy’s eyes wide. She hadn’t had him down as a family man somehow, but the Italian connection explained both the dark good looks and the accent.
‘My mother is Italian but my father was English,’ he continued as though in explanation of her thoughts. ‘I lived in England for the first twenty years of my life but then when my father died and my mother moved back to her own country my life became a little more complicated. I took over my father’s business interests here but spent a good deal of time with my mother’s people; my wife’s family is part of the far-reaching clan.’
He was married. Well, hadn’t she sensed it the moment he had mentioned family? Daisy asked herself silently. And of course a man like him wouldn’t remain single for too long—some enterprising female, more beautiful and tenacious than the rest, would have been sure to have snapped him up. And she was welcome.
The last thought was unexpected but carried a wealth of bitterness that surprised her in spite of herself. But he was too good-looking, too charismatic, too dynamic to make a comfortable partner to be with, she affirmed to the accusing voice in her head that said she was being unfair. And if anyone should know she should. She’d had enough of good-looking men to last her a lifetime.
‘My wife was reluctant to live in England so we made our home in Italy and I continued to divide my time between the two countries.’ If Slade noticed the shadows in her eyes he made no comment on it, and his voice was cool and matter-of-fact as he said, ‘When my son was born Luisa became even less inclined to travel. In fact she became almost phobic about her home.’
‘You have one child?’ Daisy asked carefully.
He nodded. ‘Francesco is six years of age,’ he said quietly, his voice softening on the name. ‘The accident which took his mother’s life was also the cause of putting him in a wheelchair eighteen months ago.’
Daisy was too shocked to do more than gasp.
‘He is walking again now,’ Slade said quickly, ‘but he is a difficult little boy. I feel this is less to do with his mother’s death than the outrageous spoiling he receives at the hands of his maternal grandparents and aunties and uncles. Of course it is understandable—’ this last was said in a tone which suggested Slade did not understand or accept it at all ‘—but it cannot continue. When Luisa died her mother undertook the task of hiring a nanny and nurse for Francesco when he came out of hospital. I let her do this because she was still devastated by Luisa’s death and needed something to occupy her mind, but it was a mistake. The nurse left once Francesco was walking again, six months later, but Luisa’s mother is at the house most days and the nanny is completely under her influence.’
‘And your mother?’ Daisy asked quietly, totally immersed in the story. ‘Does she live near you?’
‘She married again four years ago and now lives in Madesimo, which is a village high in the Spluga Valley close to the border of Switzerland. It is far enough away from Merano to prevent daily visits,’ he added drily. ‘Now Francesco’s nanny is getting married and leaving my employ it is time for someone to take a firm hand with Francesco when I am not around to do so, and I intend to see that this happens. I also feel it is time for my son to develop his English heritage, and to that end I have had it in mind to advertise for an English nanny. You have saved me the trouble, maybe?’ he added with a wry twist to his lips.
‘Me?’ Daisy squeaked nervously. He had to be joking! It appeared he was not.
‘There is a reason why this would be impossible?’ he asked steadily, the brilliant gaze hard on her flushed face.
Too true, and it was sitting a foot or so away from her, Daisy thought desperately. But she couldn’t very well say so.
‘You have no commitments to keep you in England from what the nurse tells me,’ Slade said calmly, ‘and you have recently come to London to begin afresh.’
Daisy hadn’t told the nurse what she wanted to get away from and Slade Eastwood didn’t enquire either. She wouldn’t have told him anyway, and perhaps he had sensed that? She asked herself.
‘That being the case, one place is as good as another. Francesco’s nanny told me of her impending marriage at the weekend and wishes to leave my employ in three months’ time.’ His mouth tightened. ‘My wife’s mother is not getting involved this time,’ he added grimly. ‘Not in the smallest way.’
‘But…but you don’t know me,’ Daisy murmured helplessly. This was crazy, surreal; it couldn’t be happening.
‘I know your circumstances make it possible for you to get to know Francesco well before Angelica leaves,’ Slade said coolly, ‘and I have learnt more about you than I would glean at an interview. You are not easily intimidated and you are both honest and brave, as your insistence to reimburse me proves,’ he added drily. ‘All those qualities would be essential when dealing with the household in my absence. If your qualifications and references are satisfactory then I think we could look on our meeting as fate?’
Fate her foot! Daisy broke from the power of the dark gaze and lowered her eyes to hide her thoughts. She couldn’t work for this man, see him every day when he was at home, live in his house! She just couldn’t. ‘The thing is, Mr Eastwood, working as a nanny has never appealed,’ she said slowly as she looked at the bright poppies on her bedcover. ‘I’ve always worked in a classroom environment with twenty or so children.’
‘Then working with one would be easy,’ he countered swiftly. ‘And how do you know you wouldn’t like it until you have tried? We could make the position temporary—say, a trial period of three months at first, to make sure both parties feel it is successful. I am prepared to pay you a retainer for the next few weeks while you recover from your injuries and settle your affairs in England—’ he mentioned a sum that made Daisy’s mouth fall open for a second ‘—and then, once you are fit again, you could fly out to Italy and have the latter half of Angelica’s notice with her and my son. It would work very well all round.’
She lifted her gaze now and the piercing black eyes were waiting for her, their power immediately mesmerising.
‘My son has a private tutor at home so you would not be required to undertake his schooling beyond encouraging him at his lessons of course; your contribution would be in the capacity of a mother figure providing discipline, control and restraint.’
Discipline, control and restraint? Daisy thought bemusedly. It sounded to her as if he was looking more for an army corporal than a nanny. This just had to be a total non-starter.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Eastwood,’ she began politely, wondering if it was she who was crazy or he, ‘but I’m sure when you’ve had time to consider this properly you will see that it just wouldn’t work. Of course I am very grateful for all your kindness—’
‘Prove it.’ It was straight for the jugular and totally unexpected. ‘And I would just make the point that you would have your own suite and the door has a bolt,’ he added pointedly, ‘and my housekeeper and her husband live on the premises.’
She stared at him as a flood of scarlet stained her skin. She hadn’t thought he was suggesting anything improper! Not for a second! How dared he assume that? Her voice was very tight when she said, ‘I didn’t think for a moment that this was anything other than a job offer, Mr Eastwood.’
‘No?’ It was lazy and slightly amused.
‘No!’ she snapped back hotly.
‘This is good.’
No, this was bad. Very bad! In fact this was the last thing in the world that she needed after the horrendous agony of the last year or so, Daisy thought desperately. She had come to London to bury herself in the uncaring pace of the big city, where no one cared very much about anyone else. She could lick her wounds in comfort here, without well-meaning friends dropping by to ‘cheer her up’.
If she had got the job she was going for on the morning of the accident it would have been perfect. A straightforward nine-to-five existence, then home to her tiny bedsit where she could please herself. If she hadn’t wanted to see another soul out of work hours she wouldn’t have had to. But this… This was impossible. She didn’t want to be a mother figure to anyone—in fact she didn’t want to get close to anyone ever again.
‘Look, I really don’t want this kind of job.’ She tried again.
‘Think about it.’ It was an order but spoken in a silky tone that made it difficult to fire back as she would have liked to. ‘This way all your debt is wiped out, you get the chance to see new horizons whilst earning an excellent salary and it won’t look bad on your CV either.’
‘But I don’t understand. Why me?’ she asked helplessly, her huge honey-brown eyes with their thick brown lashes open wide and her silver-blonde hair falling about her shoulders in gleaming waves.
Slade Eastwood looked at the slender young woman in the bed. If he answered that truthfully he had about as much chance of persuading her to take the job as making snowballs in hell, he thought ruefully, and how could he explain what he didn’t understand himself anyway? He just knew he couldn’t let her walk out of his life, not yet. That was all.
‘Why you?’ He smiled coolly, his thoughts hidden. ‘Why not? You were in the right place at the right time, perhaps?’
‘Hardly.’ Daisy thought of her sore arms and legs and her ribs throbbed their protest at his statement.
‘Like I said, think about it.’ He rose, and she felt the movement in every fibre of her being. She didn’t like the effect this man had on her; he was hypnotising.
‘My son is very important to me, Daisy.’ He was halfway to the door when he turned to face her again, and now the brilliant eyes were very black and very steady. ‘I want the best for him, as does every father for his son, and I won’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of that.’
Daisy just looked at him—she couldn’t think of a thing to say and she wasn’t at all sure exactly what he was getting at.
‘I want Francesco to grow up with certain standards, principles, and he needs to imbibe those at an early age. At the moment he is vulnerable, he is getting a great deal of sentimental, indulgent love which is without solid foundation and this will not do. I cannot be with him every minute of every day and due to the influences I have mentioned when I am with him there is inevitable confrontation. This must stop.’
Daisy nodded but still didn’t speak. If he thought this was persuading her to take the position as nanny he couldn’t be more wrong, she thought weakly. He was positively terrifying, and all her sympathy was with his son and his mother-in-law!
‘I will return tomorrow evening when you have had time to give the proposal further thought, and in the meantime I will arrange to have a contract delivered for your perusal, stating the terms of employment and your salary and so on should you decide to accept the post.’
This was ridiculous. She had to tell him right now that there was no way she would consider working for him. ‘Mr Eastwood, I really don’t think there is any likelihood of my leaving England and working in Italy,’ Daisy said as firmly as she could considering the dark gaze was burning her face.
‘No? I disagree.’ His tone had altered and it brought her chin up in unconscious preparation for battle. ‘By your own decision, when you leave this establishment you will be some thousands of pounds in my debt,’ he said coolly. ‘It will clearly take you months, maybe much longer, to pay that back, even supposing you are fortunate enough to step into employment immediately you are well. Unless you are prepared to reconsider and allow me to cancel the debt?’ he added softly.
‘There is no question of that,’ she bit back quickly.
He shrugged slowly. ‘Then my offer seems a very sensible solution,’ he suggested sardonically. ‘Added to that, you are free from all ties now, and Italy is even better than London for forgetting the past and forging a new life.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, too shocked to say any more.
‘I told you, I love my son, Daisy.’ It was cold and clipped. ‘You do not think I would make you the sort of offer I have suggested without making sure you are a suitable companion for him?’
‘You’ve had me checked out?’ If she had ever been this mad before she couldn’t remember it.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘You are twenty-four years of age, born and raised in England, and you have two younger sisters. When your family moved to the States four years ago you stayed behind and married a Ronald McTavish a year or so later. Your divorce became final two weeks ago, at which point you moved to London. Correct?’ The dark eyes narrowed questioningly.
‘Correct.’ He could just say ‘correct’ like that, when her life had been wrecked and devastated and she still didn’t know how she was ever going to make anything concrete out of the debris. Her chin rose higher. She would not, she would not betray anything of what she was feeling to this cruel, unfeeling monster.
She nodded tightly. ‘You have been busy.’
‘I am a businessman in a cut-throat world,’ he said calmly. ‘It is often necessary to make sure I am fully acquainted with all relevant data and to know from whom I can obtain it.’
‘You mean you have contacts you pay for information,’ Daisy stated icily. ‘People who poke and pry to get you what you want.’
‘And you disapprove of this?’
‘When it affects me, yes.’ She was glaring at him now. ‘What else did your spies unearth?’ she bit out testily.
‘What else should they have discovered, Daisy?’ he asked easily, his cool, implacable expression giving nothing away.
She was aware he had purposely thrown the ball back in her court and that she was dealing with a master of manipulation and it checked the angry retort she was about to make. She wouldn’t gain anything by losing her temper, she warned herself silently. Not with this man. She forced herself to shrug casually and not wince when the movement twanged sore muscles and aching ribs. ‘I think you’ve covered the basics,’ she said in as bored a tone as she could manage.
He’d give her ten out of ten for sheer guts. Slade stared across at the ethereal girl in the bed as his mind raced behind its cold fa?ade. Whatever had put that haunted look in her eyes had been bad, very bad, he thought grimly, and the marriage had clearly been anything but a bed of roses. As she’d said, his data was pretty basic—too basic, he decided suddenly. He had ascertained she was damn good with children and that there was no mud clinging to her name, although his informant had indicated that the husband had played around a bit, and that had seemed enough initially.
But he wanted to know more now. In fact he wanted to know everything there was to know about Daisy Summers. He smiled once, nodded, and left the room.
CHAPTER TWO
HOW dared he, how dared he poke and pry into her private life like that? Slade Eastwood was a stranger; he was nothing to her; he had no right to hire other strangers to find out her personal circumstances. It was nothing short of outrageous.
For a long time after Slade had left Daisy sat—her eyes burningly dry and her mouth a tight white line in the paleness of her face—and brooded on their conversation.
She just couldn’t believe anyone would have the nerve to do something like that and then brag about it, she told herself bitterly, although she shouldn’t be surprised at anything the male sex was capable of if she thought about it.
The thought brought her mind focusing on Ronald and immediately she pushed him away. Not yet; she couldn’t think of him yet, not without wanting to die or kill him or both, and the bitterness and rage were weakening and she needed all the strength she had right at the moment if she was going to get out of this hospital.
She had to leave this place in the morning whatever the doctor said. She had asked the nurse earlier that afternoon just how much it was costing Slade Eastwood for her to stay here, and if she hadn’t been lying down she would have fallen down when the woman had told her. And each day was upping the bill by as much money as she could earn in a month. Hot panic caused her to take too deep a breath and pain from her ribs sliced through her.
‘Steady, girl, steady.’ She spoke out loud into the tranquil surroundings, the beautiful furnishings and hushed luxury mocking her. Why, oh, why had he insisted she be brought here, instead of allowing her to be taken to a National Health hospital? she asked herself desperately. She would give the world to be in a noisy, utilitarian ward with no frills and fancies right now! But she would leave in the morning—she would—no matter what the medical staff advised.
The decision brought a measure of comfort and she lay back in the bed with a tired sigh. She could phone Stephanie, she thought suddenly. Her friend had been brilliant over the last sixteen or so months, unswervingly loyal and totally committed to her even though Stephanie’s husband had been Ronald’s best friend, and she had promised the other girl she would let her know how the interview had gone when she had spoken to her three nights ago. Stephanie must be wondering why she hadn’t phoned the following night.
Stephanie answered on the second ring and on hearing the familiar voice Daisy suddenly had the ridiculous urge to cry. She breathed in slowly and then exhaled, gripping the receiver tightly as she said, her voice bright, ‘It’s me, Steph.’
‘Daisy? Oh, Daisy, where’ve you been? I’ve phoned the house several times over the last two days and each time someone different has answered and said there’s no reply from your room. I’ve been so worried,’ Stephanie said plaintively.
‘It’s all right.’ Daisy felt immensely cheered by the naked concern in her friend’s voice. ‘I haven’t thrown myself off London Bridge yet.’
‘Don’t joke; I’ve had all sorts of crazy thoughts,’ Stephanie said weakly. ‘You’ve gone through so much and been so brave, but everyone has a breaking point. Did you get the job?’ she added as an afterthought. ‘The one you mentioned when we last spoke?’
‘Not exactly.’ This bit was going to be difficult; Daisy wouldn’t put it past Stephanie to come hurtling down to London in an effort to persuade her to go back home with her. ‘Now, don’t panic, but I’ve got something to tell you…’
Stephanie listened in absolute silence while Daisy filled her in on all that had happened, finishing with, ‘But don’t worry because I really am fine. You ought to see this room, Steph. It’s beautiful. I’ve never been so cosseted in my life.’ Daisy glanced about her as she spoke, her eyes rueful.
‘Oh, Daisy.’ There was a snuffle and sniff before Stephanie continued, ‘You’re the nicest person I know and for this to happen after everything else that’s gone wrong—it just doesn’t seem fair. And he jolly well should be taking care of things in my opinion!’
‘It was my own stupid fault, Steph.’
There was a long pause and then Steph said, ‘Look, there’s something you should know, Daisy, but I don’t know how to tell you. It’s… Ronald’s back. And…and he’s looking for you. He’s already tried to persuade Malcolm to give him your address.’
‘Malcolm didn’t, did he?’ Daisy asked urgently, her heart hammering as she sat up straighter.
‘No, course not,’ Stephanie said drily. ‘He values his conjugal rights too much to make a mistake like that! But apparently Ronald’s walked out on Susan; he said to Malcolm that the shock of receiving the decree absolute made him realise what he’s thrown away and he wants to ask you for another chance.’
Another chance? Daisy felt sick. He thought she could ever forgive him after what he had done? He must be mad.
‘I don’t want to see him, Steph,’ she said flatly.
‘No, I knew you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause and then Stephanie said, her voice quiet but the sound of howling babies in the background, ‘The twins have woken up; I’ll have to go but I’ll ask Mum to have them for a day or two and come down to see you.’
‘Steph, there’s no need, really.’
‘I want to.’ And now Stephanie’s voice was even quieter when she added, ‘Malcolm said Ronald is determined to find you. He said he won’t take no for an answer, that he’ll do anything—camp on your doorstep for ever—but he intends to get you back. He really thinks he can persuade you, Daisy.’
‘He can’t.’ Daisy’s voice was grim.
‘I know.’
Once the goodbyes had been said and Daisy had put the phone down she lay for some minutes without moving, her head whirling and her stomach sick as Stephanie’s words reverberated in her head.
Ronald was looking for her. Even now he might be on his way to London. She had only let a few close friends have her new address and hopefully they would have the sense to keep her whereabouts secret if Ronald asked, but she couldn’t be sure about that. She hadn’t stated specifically for him not to be told simply because it hadn’t occurred to her that he would come looking.
Her stomach turned over again and she felt she needed to get to the bathroom, but as she swung her legs over the side of the bed the room turned into a kaleidoscope of whirling colour and she made a little, ‘Oh,’ of distress.
She sat quite still for a moment or two and gradually the spinning hues solidified, the room stopped revolving and everything settled into its rightful place.
Daisy stretched her feet tentatively towards the floor. She felt odd, very odd, but if she rang the bell and asked for the nurse to accompany her into the bathroom it was sure to be reported and it would make it more difficult for her to insist on leaving tomorrow. She would just take it nice and slow and she’d be fine; it was only a few feet to the en suite after all.
She was halfway across the room when she felt she was going to black out. A part of her brain which was governed by instinct and self-preservation warned her to sit down before she fell down, and she sank on all fours, her knees and hands taking her weight and her head hanging down. Oh, she felt ill. She felt so, so ill. How on earth was she going to get back to bed.
‘What the hell…?’
Daisy hadn’t been aware of the door opening, neither was she conscious of the footsteps across the room, but as strong-muscled arms lifted her up as effortlessly as if she were a child she relaxed into them with a little sigh of helplessness whilst willing herself not to pass out completely.
And then, as a whiff of delicious and expensive aftershave enhanced by clean, warm male skin invaded her senses it sent a shot of adrenalin straight into her wilting frame, and she opened dazed golden eyes to see Slade’s hard, handsome face just inches from hers. The shock of it made her want to faint again.
‘Oh…’ She wriggled feebly, but in the next instant he had reached the bed, whereupon he placed her gently into its welcoming folds before drawing the duvet securely around her.
She shut her eyes again—this couldn’t be happening; it was a mirage, an awful but frighteningly seductive dream—but when they flickered open it was to see him standing by the side of the bed, his dark face frowning as he rang the bell.
‘Don’t…don’t do that,’ she murmured faintly. ‘Leave it.’
He glanced at her and then in answer rang it again.
‘Please… I’m all right now, really.’
‘Don’t talk such utter rubbish.’ It was curt and sharp and altogether too much, and to Daisy’s utter horror she felt the prick of tears against the back of her eyes.
No, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of him, not in front of Slade Eastwood! The thought was there but Daisy was powerless to follow it through, and in the next instant, as she felt her face crumple, she put her hands over her eyes to hide their betrayal.
There was a moment of blank silence and then she felt a crisp handkerchief being pushed under her nose and heard a soft and altogether different voice say, ‘Hey, come on; it’s not as bad as all that. You’re doing fine.’
She didn’t want his handkerchief, she didn’t want his words of comfort, and she certainly didn’t want him to sit on the edge of the bed and put his arm round her shaking shoulders; but that was what was happening, Daisy realised with a touch of horror.
The hospital nightie was pretty as hospital nighties went—at least it wasn’t a monstrosity of stiff white linen and wide gaping holes which were regulation hand-outs in state hospitals—but the pale pink cotton was thin and the gypsy-style neck was low, and her skin was tingling and heated at his nearness. She could feel his hand burning her where it rested on the top of her arm and he had pulled her into him, half cradling her against his chest. The black leather jacket was open and the dark blue silk of his shirt was soft and fragrant against her hot face and he smelt wonderful. Intoxicatingly wonderful.
As the thought hit her she jerked away from him, her hands unconsciously reaching out and pushing him away and her eyes wide with shock as she hitched into the far corner of the bed like a small animal seeking sanctuary from its predator.
The nurse had chosen that particular moment to open the door and now, as she glanced at Daisy’s scarlet countenance and Slade’s grim face, her voice was purposely bland and her expression scrupulously professional when she said, ‘You rang, Daisy?’
‘I rang,’ Slade bit out tightly. ‘I just came back to give Miss Summers some papers I’d promised her and I found her collapsed on the floor. What the hell is going on?’
‘It’s not her fault.’ Daisy’s protest was hotly indignant.
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Eastwood.’
‘Sorry is not good enough.’
They were both ignoring her as though she were invisible, Daisy thought frustratedly, and she was the patient!
‘I can assure you it won’t happen again, but Miss Summers does only have to ring the bell if she is feeling unwell,’ the nurse said carefully. ‘This was fully explained.’
‘I don’t want her left alone for the next twenty-four hours.’
Slade’s voice was clipped and cold and Daisy felt terribly sorry for the poor nurse and furiously angry with him. She went into attack mode. ‘Now look here!’ Her voice was loud and she didn’t try to moderate it as she continued, once she had Slade’s attention, ‘It was my fault I was out of bed, not hers, and I hadn’t collapsed anyway. I was just feeling a little…peculiar, that’s all.’
‘You term lying stretched out on the floor looking like death “peculiar”, I call it a collapse,’ Slade growled darkly. ‘Either way it shouldn’t have happened.’ He turned back to the nurse accusingly.
‘You’re quite right, Mr Eastwood.’ The nurse was trying to pour oil on troubled waters, her voice placating, but Daisy had the bit between her teeth now.
‘He is not.’ Now it was she who was glaring at the uniformed figure and as she suddenly recognised the fact Daisy made an effort to school her features into a more acceptable expression. ‘He is not,’ she repeated more calmly. ‘I simply felt a little faint for a moment or two, that’s all. There’s no need for all this fuss. And I feel fine now, absolutely fine,’ she finished brightly.
‘There is every need and the matter is not open for discussion.’
The sheer arrogance took Daisy’s breath away, and her fury was not helped by the subservient stance the nurse was taking as far as Slade was concerned. Daisy glowered at him with intense dislike, and he looked back at her, his arms crossed against his chest and the black denims and heavy jacket making him appear even more dark and forbidding. And handsome. Oh, yes, definitely handsome, Daisy acknowledged silently, but in a cruel, imperious, scornful way that made her long for the power to dent that outsize ego. But he was invincible—it was written all over him—and made of ice, not flesh and blood.
The next few minutes were taken up with the nurse fussing about taking Daisy’s temperature and checking her blood pressure. ‘It’s a little high.’ She frowned at the equipment in her hand. ‘We’ll check it again later.’
She wasn’t surprised it was high, Daisy thought as she slanted a quick glance at Slade Eastwood from under her eyelashes. The last ten minutes had been enough to send anyone’s temperature rocketing. Why couldn’t she have stepped in front of an ordinary family saloon with a little grey-haired old man at the wheel?
‘Now, can I get you both a drink? Tea, coffee?’ The nurse was obviously out to make amends—she was all bustle and activity and her smile was bright as she turned to face them before leaving the room.
‘A coffee would be most welcome,’ Slade replied easily.
And Slade had returned to charm mode, Daisy noted viciously as she gritted her teeth and watched him settle himself in a comfy chair he had pulled close to the bed.
Once the door had shut behind the nurse Daisy stared at Slade warily and he looked back at her quietly for a few moments before saying, ‘Relax, won’t you? I’m not about to give you the third degree.’
‘I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you,’ she lied stiffly.
‘You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ he stated firmly, quite unimpressed by the falsehood. ‘I’ve dealt with some difficult women in my time but you’re one on your own. Is it me you dislike or men in general?’ he added sardonically.
‘I’m sure there must be some men who aren’t complete and utter rats.’ It was out before Daisy even had time to consider her words and brought the black eyes narrowing on her flushed face with even more intensity.
‘But you doubt it,’ he said with silky softness. ‘Is that right?’
This conversation was not going the way she would have liked it. ‘I didn’t say that,’ Daisy prevaricated quickly, ‘but obviously a divorce leaves something of a nasty taste in one’s mouth. Now, you mentioned some papers you wanted me to look at?’ It was a clear request to change the subject and much to her surprise he acquiesced, contenting himself with one more long, level look before reaching into the inner breast pocket of his black leather jacket and bringing out a bulky envelope which he handed to her.
There was a letter detailing the offer of employment on a trial basis of three months from commencement of duties, along with a contract of terms and conditions. The salary took Daisy’s breath away—in three months she would earn far more than she could expect in a year as a nursery nurse. She felt out of her depth and quite stunned at the power and wealth of this man.
‘I don’t expect an immediate decision but I thought I might as well get the details to you for you to consider overnight,’ Slade murmured softly when she didn’t move or raise her head from the papers in her hands. ‘And of course all travelling expenses, storage costs here in England if you want to keep some furniture or personal items in a safe place—anything of that nature—would be covered by myself too.’
It was generous—it was incredibly, wildly generous; she just couldn’t believe it, Daisy acknowledged blankly.
‘Your rooms at Festina Lente would comprise of your own small sitting room, bedroom and en suite bathroom,’ Slade continued smoothly, ‘which are situated next to Francesco’s suite.’
‘Festina Lente?’ Daisy caught at the name of the villa as much for something to say as anything else—she had never felt so overwhelmed in all her life. And gauche. Painfully gauche.
‘It means hurry slowly—that is, take things easily,’ Slade answered after the slightest pause. ‘My wife did not approve of my lifestyle—’ his voice was sardonic ‘—and naming the villa such was her way of reminding me of the fact. It was a gentle reminder—’ the mordant note deepened ‘—because Luisa was not a confrontational woman; in fact she couldn’t cope with conflict.’
Daisy nodded. He hadn’t added, Unlike you, but she felt the words in the air nevertheless and it rankled.
‘You would like to see a photograph of Francesco?’ It was a rhetorical question: he had already placed the picture in front of her on the bedcover, leaving her no choice in the matter.
Daisy looked down at the small, brown-eyed and black-haired little boy who was looking into the camera with a serious face, his wide, heavily lashed eyes guaranteed to melt the hardest heart, and fell immediately in love. He was so sweet, so small and fragile, and not at all as she had expected.
‘This was taken only a couple of months ago,’ Slade said softly as she picked the photograph up to scrutinise it more closely. ‘Of course the mental and physical strain of the accident and the ensuing months have meant he is not as robust or as big as other children his age, although the doctors have assured me this will rectify itself in time.’
He was trying to tug on her heartstrings—manipulate her for his own advantage. Daisy knew it but somehow—with the photo of his motherless son in her hands and the appealing little face looking up at her with an expression deep in the soulful eyes that no child should have—it didn’t matter.
‘Yes, I’m sure it will,’ she said quietly. ‘Children are far more resilient than we give them credit for.’
Anything else he might have said was interrupted by the return of the nurse and a coffee tray groaning with fresh scones and cream and strawberry jam. ‘I thought you might fancy a snack with your coffee.’ She was bustling about pulling the coffee table close to Slade and missed the dark, amused look he gave her, but Daisy noticed it and her soft lips tightened.
He thought he only had to snap his fingers and the rest of the world jumped, she thought irritably—and that was probably because they did! If it had been anyone else—anyone else—she would have been overcome with gratefulness for all they had done for her, and she didn’t doubt for a minute he was quite willing to forget all she owed him as he had suggested. But she would rather die than be beholden to this man. She couldn’t explain why—there was no logic or rhyme or reason to it—but he didn’t even have to open his mouth to catch her on the raw.
In spite of the prevailing atmosphere Slade seemed to thoroughly enjoy his scones and coffee, sitting back comfortably in the easy chair—one leg crossed over the other and the big body perfectly relaxed—as he munched his way through three of the scones and drank two cups of black coffee.
Daisy forced herself to eat one scone—she certainly wasn’t going to let him think she was nervous or in any way affected by his presence—but each mouthful was a huge effort and the food tasted like cotton wool. And behind the calm mask she found her brain was working at express speed.
Ronald was looking for her—she had to face that, along with the knowledge that her ex-husband always accomplished anything he set out to do. He was a determined man and—she had come to realise in the last sixteen months—an extremely ruthless and selfish one. He wouldn’t care a fig about her feelings or the fact that she didn’t want to see him; in fact any opposition would only make him more intent on having his own way.
They had met when she was at college in Cambridge—her family having lived in the area—and Ronald was attending the university there. He had been taking maths and physics and was a brilliant student, and his striking good looks had meant he was never short of female hangers-on, but right from the moment he had seen her at one of the nightclubs in the town the students frequented he hadn’t looked at another woman. Or so she had thought. Yes, so she had thought!
Oh, she had been so gullible. It made her want to squirm if she thought about it. She forced herself to bite into the scone and chew steadily as her stomach muscles clenched at the memory.
When her father had received a marvellous job offer in the States and the family had decided to uproot themselves from everything familiar, she had stayed. For Ronald. And a year later, when he had graduated with a first, they had married. She now knew that he had been seeing other women—one-night stands mostly—all through their courtship and engagement, and marriage hadn’t changed him. Not one iota.
He was a serial adulterer. That was how Stephanie had described him when the full story had come to light, and she was right. But by then Daisy’s heart had been smashed to smithereens.
She took a sip of coffee, that same heart pounding at the unwelcome memories that were crowding in. She wasn’t aware of an ebony-black gaze trained on her pale face, or the intensity in Slade’s eyes as he watched her—she was back in Scotland on a cold, snowy December night some sixteen months ago, and she had just opened an envelope which had been waiting for her on her return home from work.
She had expected to find a Christmas card—it was only a week before Christmas Eve and hordes of cards were arriving daily—but instead her fingers had closed on the photographs the envelope had contained. Explicit photographs—foul in content—of Ronald and another woman. She had stared at them for long minutes, her mind and body stunned and still, and then she had walked through into their shining kitchen and sat and waited for Ronald to come home.
He had blustered and shouted—he had even raised his hand to slap her at one point in the almighty row that had followed his return, but something in her eyes had stopped him. And he had lied, over and over again, saying his association with the woman in the pictures had been over before he had met her. But a hundred little question marks which had been mounting for years were adding up and Daisy hadn’t let the matter go.
Eventually he had admitted to the affair, saying it had finished six months before and that the woman in question was jealous of her. The woman had been jealous, but not of her— Ronald had just started seeing the woman’s best friend, which had sent the female in question into a frenzy of bitter resentment and spite at his rejection.
It had been that revelation which had opened the door to further disclosures—unearthed slowly over a matter of weeks whilst she had been staying with Stephanie and Malcolm. The present woman—Susan Bannister—was wealthy, very wealthy, rich enough to finance the business Ronald had been longing to set up for some time, and it hadn’t seemed to worry Susan that her lover’s wife was five months pregnant.
She had lost the baby.
Daisy took another deep gulp of the coffee as her stomach churned and the blackness came. She had had a miscarriage—brought on by extreme stress and anxiety, according to the doctor at the hospital—and her daughter had lived for three minutes. She had held the tiny body in her arms for much longer than that, and as she had stared into the beautiful little face her love for Ronald had turned to hate.
And now he was looking for her, and there would be confrontation after confrontation—she knew enough about Ronald to know that. And he could get nasty, very nasty—she knew that too.
‘…if that suits you?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Daisy came out of the black abyss to the realisation that Slade had been talking and she hadn’t heard a word.
‘I said should you decide to accept the post of nanny to my son I would like you to fly out to Italy no later than the middle of May if that is convenient?’ Slade repeated patiently. The patience was unusual for him but he had seen something in her face which had appalled him in the last few moments.
She stared at him—the hospital room, Slade, the normality of it all strange after the darkness of her thoughts.
‘And I would like you to make a decision as soon as possible, of course,’ he added carefully. ‘Three months is not very long and the clock is already ticking away.’
And that same clock might be bringing Ronald nearer and nearer. The thought spun in her head. And she was never going to come to terms with the loss of her daughter and all that had happened with the threat of Ronald in the background.
Italy was far, far away. Her ex-husband wouldn’t find her in Italy, and perhaps she might even find some peace of mind in an alien land where there was nothing to remind her of that terrible Christmas Eve when they had buried her daughter in a tiny little white coffin? Perhaps…
She looked straight at Slade now and the hard, glittering eyes were waiting for her response, their darkness unfathomable.
‘You…you said a trial period?’ she asked numbly.
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her white face. ‘Yes, I did,’ he said evenly. ‘And you have my word that if you find the post is not to your liking there will be no questions asked or pressure brought to bear. You will be flown home at the end of three months and that will be that.’
‘You might find I’m not to your liking,’ Daisy said quietly, her voice shaking a little. ‘It works both ways.’
Slade looked into the deep honey-gold eyes with their thick, silky lashes, at the small, straight nose and full, generous mouth framed by a silver halo of white-blonde hair, and he nodded again. ‘Yes, I might,’ he agreed expressionlessly, his dark face giving nothing away.
She was crazy to even be considering accepting this job. She didn’t want to work for him and she certainly didn’t want to be a mother figure to the sad little boy in the photograph when her arms were still aching for her own baby daughter, Daisy told herself silently. And then she heard a voice—which sounded suspiciously like her own—saying, ‘All right, Mr Eastwood, I would be very pleased to accept your generous offer if you are sure I am suitable for the post. But…but if you want me to come to Italy I would prefer to do it soon—as soon as possible in fact.’
‘I see.’ The deep, slightly husky voice betrayed no surprise or emotion whatsoever, and Daisy found it helped enormously. Suddenly it wasn’t such a crazy thing to do—it was a job, just a job, and if it didn’t work out on either side nothing was lost. But she would be out of Ronald’s grasp, in a different environment, and that could only be good. ‘But there is one thing I must stipulate,’ he added quietly.
‘Yes?’ she asked weakly, suddenly nervous again.
‘My name is Slade. This “Mr Eastwood” makes me feel sixty-four instead of thirty-four,’ he murmured with dark amusement.
And then he smiled, really smiled, and the cold, autocratic face turned into someone else—someone much younger, someone who could be tender, someone who was so breathtakingly attractive that it was mind-blowing…and someone who scared her to death.
CHAPTER THREE
DAISY flew out to South Tyrol in northern Italy straight from the hospital a few days later once the doctors were satisfied that the concussion, which had proved more of a problem than her fractured ribs, was gone. She collected her clothes and other personal items en route to the airport, her passport being up to date.
She had advised Stephanie against visiting her at the hospital the same night she had accepted Slade’s offer of employment, and her friend had understood perfectly. Stephanie, too, was under no illusion now as to Ronald’s true nature, and neither woman would have been surprised if he had tried to follow Stephanie or use her in some way to reach Daisy.
The flight was short and uneventful but very comfortable—courtesy of the first-class ticket Slade had insisted on buying for her—and Slade had promised she would be met at Verona airport and driven to Merano in South Tyrol, a distance of some 175 kilometres, by his housekeeper’s husband who acted as gardener and chauffeur.
Only it wasn’t Mario who greeted her once she was through Customs, much to Daisy’s consternation.
‘Daisy.’ Slade’s voice was deep and warm and his big body—clothed in an open-necked pale gold shirt which showed the shadow of curly black hair at the top of his chest, and black denim jeans, tight across the hips—perfectly relaxed. He looked cool and controlled and utterly at ease with himself, she noted desperately, whereas she—she was hot all over. Which was stupid, ridiculous, she admonished herself savagely. She was here as one of his employees—no more and no less, and she was not physically attracted to this man. She would never let herself be attracted to a man again—or certainly not a good-looking, sensual type anyway. Ronald had been like that.
‘Hello, Slade.’ It was easier than she had thought to call him by his Christian name and she even managed a cool smile in spite of her churning stomach and weak knees.
‘How was your flight?’
He had taken her arm as he’d spoken and after her, ‘It was fine,’ he smiled before turning to the porter who had all her luggage stacked on his trolley and speaking in rapid Italian.
And then he turned back to her, giving her another swift, all-consuming glance before saying, ‘Come this way.’
She noticed he matched his long legs to her shorter strides as he led her out of the airport building, but she was concentrating very hard on acting like a sensible, down-to-earth prospective nanny and forced her eyes and her thoughts from the hard, lean body at the side of her.
‘I thought Mario was meeting me?’ she asked with careful aplomb.
They had reached his car, and as the porter loaded her cases into the back of the magnificent and very stately Bentley Turbo Slade glanced at her, his ebony eyes narrowed against the white sunlight which, although bright, was without real heat. ‘Disappointed?’ he asked lazily.
‘No, of course not,’ she said a trifle stiffly, flushing slightly.
‘I’m not convinced.’ He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her intently and she looked back. ‘You need a few good platefuls of Isabella’s pasta,’ he said consideringly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She couldn’t believe her ears.
‘You’re too slender, and it’s not just because of the accident, is it? You haven’t been eating properly for months,’ he accused calmly. ‘You are far too fragile.’
How dared he? How dared he? Daisy’s expression revealed just how she welcomed his observation but he was quite unrepentant, his black eyes very direct as he added, ‘Tell me I’m wrong.’
‘I’m sorry, but what I eat or don’t eat is absolutely nothing to do with—with anyone but me,’ she snapped hotly.
He was quite aware of what she had been about to say; his crooked grin confirmed it. ‘Daisy, in a few weeks’ time you will assume the responsibility for my son,’ he said mildly, ‘and that gives me the right to make sure you are eating properly. And sleeping properly. And anything else beneficial for your ultimate well-being.’ He eyed her angry face impassively.
‘I don’t think so!’ She couldn’t believe his arrogance.
‘I know so,’ he said steadily.
He had terribly thick lashes for a man. The observation—coming out of nowhere as it did—was shocking, and caused her lips to tighten. ‘I am more than able to fulfil your requirements,’ she said coolly, and then, as the thick black eyebrows rose and his eyes assumed a wickedly mocking glint, the colour flooded her face. ‘What I meant was—’
‘I know what you meant, Daisy.’ His voice was soothing but there was laughter at the back of it.
He was laughing at her! She was surprised at how much it mattered, but then, in the next instant, he had opened the door of the car and was ushering her into its luxurious interior.
She was still bristling when he joined her in the Bentley and she was very much on the defensive, but then he took her aback when he turned to her, his dark, handsome face suddenly very serious as he said, ‘I’m glad you’ve come, Daisy.’
Her immediate reaction was withdrawal and he noticed this, his voice purposely steady and without expression as he added, ‘Francesco needs the stability you can give him.’
Francesco? She stared at him as her guilty mind reprimanded her for the terribly presumptuous nature of her thoughts. He had been talking about her role as mother figure to his son—of course he had—and she had assumed… She blushed to think of what she had assumed. Why would a man like Slade Eastwood be interested in the nanny? she asked herself caustically. He could have any woman he wanted with a lift of his little finger.
‘Of course you won’t be taking a major role while those ribs heal, I know that,’ he continued smoothly, starting the powerful engine as he spoke. ‘But it will be good for Francesco to get to know you gradually, without any pressure. All in all, I think this has worked out very well.’
Daisy, still coping with her dreadfully carnal mind, could only nod weakly.
‘It will take us a couple of hours to reach Merano,’ Slade said gravely, slanting a look at her red face, ‘and I’m sure you must be starving. I thought we’d stop for a meal at a little inn I know. The food is excellent and the atmosphere convivial.’
She could smell that delicious aftershave he used and she was terribly conscious of the hard, aggressive power in the big male frame so close to her—it was causing all sorts of feelings she could well have done without.
Animal magnetism. She almost nodded at the thought and stopped herself just in time. It didn’t mean a thing, not really—any woman would probably react the way she was doing. He was a virile, strong male in the prime of life and the instinctive biological urge that had kept the human race going from the start of creation was perfectly natural. It was. Perfectly natural. And as such nothing to worry about.
‘I’m quite happy to go on to Festina Lente if it’s easier.’ She had become aware he was waiting for a reply and now her voice was rushed. ‘I did eat on the plane.’
‘Cardboard rubbish.’ He dismissed the truly delicious meal she had enjoyed in the opulent surroundings of the first-class luxury with a disparaging flick of one hand. ‘Besides which I haven’t had lunch and I’m peckish. That is a wonderful English word, yes? Peckish? Like kicking the bucket and coming a cropper? I have found it difficult to translate such words and phrases into Italian.’
He was trying to put her at her ease. Daisy knew it but it actually made her all the more tense. She opened her mouth to make some sort of response but he continued seamlessly, ‘I want Francesco to have an understanding of such things. You will find he speaks very good English and he likes the language, which is a bonus, but it is the little things—the colloquialisms—that are so important. I do not want textbook correctness.’
‘Right.’ Daisy nodded in what she hoped was a brisk fashion.
‘Your name—where did Daisy come from?’ he asked suddenly.
‘What?’ He had startled her.
‘I said, why Daisy? Isn’t that an unusual name these days?’ Slade asked quietly, his eyes on the road ahead.
‘I suppose so.’ She didn’t want to discuss her name with him; she didn’t want anything of even a remotely personal nature between herself and this big, dark frighteningly attractive man, but in the circumstances maybe that was a little ridiculous, Daisy acknowledged weakly as she forced herself to continue. ‘My mother’s name is Lily and when she had me my father thought it would be fun to have another flower name.’
She had never liked her name and something in her voice indicated this as she continued, ‘And then my sister was born four years later—she’s Rose—and then Violet arrived two years after that. My father—’ She stopped abruptly and then forced herself to go on. ‘My father used to call us his precious bunch of flowers,’ she finished tightly.
‘Used to?’ He glanced at her quickly for a moment.
‘He died just over sixteen months ago.’ Exactly twenty-four hours after the miscarriage.
‘I’m sorry.’ And somehow he sounded as though he was.
Daisy swallowed hard and then shrugged quickly. ‘These things happen.’ But it didn’t make them fair, she added silently. She had been ill after losing the baby—a nasty post-natal haemorrhage which had been followed by further complications and an infection—and she had been unable to make the journey to America for her father’s funeral. And because of her father dying so unexpectedly from a massive heart attack her mother and sisters had been tied to their home base when she had needed her mother most. Two separate tragedies intrinsically linked, the after-effects of which had rippled on in an ever increasing circle.
Even now she sometimes woke in the middle of the night after a bad dream unable to believe her father was really gone. If she could have seen him—attended the funeral—shared the outward display of grief—something—it would have been a means of coming to terms with her loss—or so the doctor had said. But then doctors didn’t know everything…
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