Mistress To A Millionaire. HELEN BROOKSЧитать онлайн книгу.
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