Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair

‘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 exusband 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

THERE 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.