He stared at her, his brows dark. ‘But I am his father and I do not have the comfort of such a revelation,’ he said with cutting sarcasm. ‘Angelica is far too subservient with both Francesco and his grandmother and this has not been good. You saw a charming little boy out there and he can be that—at times—but he also has a mind of his own and a will that is very strong.’
Like father, like son, Daisy thought drily.
Something in her face must have alerted Slade to her thoughts because he nodded as though in answer to something which had been voiced. ‘Yes,’ he murmured quietly, ‘the Eastwood determination and resolve, but I make no apology for handing them down to my son, Daisy. There have been times in my life when I have been very grateful for the grit and drive my father instilled in me from an early age, but that is the thing—it needs to be channelled and directed in the right way.’
‘I can accept all that.’ Her chin was still up. ‘But I would not be comfortable being called Miss Summers, Slade. It has to be Daisy.’ He wasn’t the only one with a bit of determination and resolve, she thought hotly. ‘And when I take over the care of Francesco I would want the freedom to deal with him as I see fit.’
As Slade went to speak Daisy held up her hand, something which caused the
black eyebrows to rise.
‘I shall not be weak with him,’ she continued quickly, ‘but I don’t consider cuddles and love weak; in fact they are essential, as are laughter and fun and allowing a child to be a child.’
‘You think I am too hard on him.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Well, you will learn.’
‘Perhaps we both will,’ she countered bravely.
She had expected further frowns, perhaps even one of the rapier-sharp remarks he was so good at, but then he totally took her aback as he stared at her for a moment more before flinging back his head and letting out a roar of laughter. ‘For such a little, slender thing you are as single-minded as a lioness, aren’t you?’ he said after he had finished laughing, amusement turning his voice warm. ‘I was not wrong about you.’
She stared back at him without smiling, not at all sure how to take the apparent good humour. She hadn’t got Slade Eastwood down as a man who tolerated defiance in those he employed—just the opposite in fact. She didn’t understand him at all.
‘Yes, well, I have my own opinions.’ She saw the black eyes were alive with laughter. ‘Especially where my work is concerned,’ she added tartly.
‘I was not laughing at you, Daisy,’ he said quietly, holding her angry gaze firmly as all amusement fled from his.
That was exactly what he had been doing, she thought drily, but it hadn’t been that which had concerned her. It was him—Slade Eastwood. He was something of an enigma, and that would have been all right if it hadn’t been accompanied by an overwhelming magnetism and dark attractiveness that were definitely dangerous. She didn’t trust him—not an inch—and she didn’t like him either. He was too…male.
‘Now why do I get the feeling that if I could read your mind I wouldn’t like it?’ Slade asked softly, and her eyes refocused on him at the sound of his deep voice.
It was so near the truth that Daisy felt guilty colour stain her face in a hot flood.
‘Hmm.’ He eyed her darkly. ‘I seem to have hit a nerve.’ He moved the couple of feet between them to her side, lifting her chin lightly with one finger as he stared down into the soft gold of her eyes. ‘I am not your enemy, Daisy. I wish you to know this.’
There had been the odd occasion before when he’d sounded more Italian than English and this was another of them. It increased the feeling of vulnerability she always felt in his presence, and although he seemed quite unaffected by her closeness the smell and feel of him were turning her insides to melted butter.
She shrugged awkwardly. ‘I know; I didn’t think…’ Her voice trailed away as he shook his head in repudiation of her protest, the dark eyes mocking.
‘Yes, you did,’ he said coolly. ‘You don’t like me. Well, this is not a problem; you do not have to like me as long as you like Francesco and handle him well. My son’s welfare is all-important. I think we can agree on that at least?’
She looked up at him without speaking, her eyes wide and honey-tinted and her hair a soft cloud of silver about her face. She wanted to say something, something witty or droll to lighten what had suddenly become a strangely intimate moment, but the last sixteen painful months had dulled her responses with the opposite sex and especially with an extraordinary man like Slade Eastwood. She was aware she was standing there like the original dumb blonde but she couldn’t help it.
‘So, there is no problem. Yes?’ he pressed quietly.
She nodded silently, mesmerised by his nearness.
‘This is good.’ And then he dropped what was obviously intended to be a swift casual kiss on the tip of her nose in the same moment that Daisy moved slightly, opening her mouth to reassure him that Francesco was her only concern too.
As his warm lips met her half-open mouth the spark that ignited was instantaneous and it took them both by surprise. As his hands went out and he took hold of her upper arms, moving her closer into him, she didn’t even think of moving away or stopping him, and then his mouth was devouring hers in a long, deep kiss that was all fire and passion.
Her eyes were shut and the delicious smell of him was all about her, and now he covered her face in small hungry kisses, his mouth warm against her closed eyelids, her throat, her ears, before it moved to take possession of her lips again in a sweet, drugging kiss that fed the heady rush of sensation that had exploded at the first touch of his mouth.
His hands had moved down to her hips, fitting her softness against his hard frame with a smoothness that spoke of his experience, but it was the feel of his body’s blatant desire that brought Daisy out of the whirlwind of hot sensation and back into the real world.
What was she doing? What was she allowing? In the same instant that the thought hit they both heard the sound of Francesco’s voice in the hall outside, and their breaking away was simultaneous, Daisy stumbling backwards on shaky legs.
‘Papà? Papà, can I show Daisy the house now?’
The door had opened just after Daisy had sunk into one of the beautifully upholstered armchairs dotted about the vast room, and in the seconds it took for Francesco to talk to his father Daisy pretended to fiddle in her handbag for something, to give her hot face time to cool down. She couldn’t believe—she couldn’t believe she had just done that. If the ground opened up and swallowed her right now she wouldn’t care. In fact it would be a blessing. What on earth was he thinking? Oh, what had she done…?