P.S. I'm Pregnant: Hot-Shot Tycoon, Indecent Proposal

He whipped back the sheet and leaped out of bed—his faith in the wonder of womankind restored. He’d have that shower after all, get dressed and then head to her place and invite her back for breakfast. Whatever she had planned for the next couple of days he’d persuade her to drop it.

Daisy seemed to be remarkably susceptible to him—whether she liked it or not. Getting her over this little hump so they could finish what they’d started shouldn’t be too tough. He strode into the bathroom, his whistled rendition of ‘Molly Malone’ echoing off the tiles.

CHAPTER SIX

CONNOR was feeling a lot less jolly two hours later as he stood on Daisy’s doorstep. He braced the box under his arm, heard the furious feline hiss from inside and stabbed the door buzzer, impatient to see Daisy again and get at least one thing sorted to his satisfaction.

It had taken him an eternity to chase her landlady’s cat down and get it in the box—and he had a criss-cross of scratches on his hand for his trouble. Unfortunately the cat wasn’t the only thing that had mucked up his morning. After a panicked call from the architect on his Paris project, he’d had to book a Eurostar ticket for this afternoon.

As soon as he’d put the phone down to his PA, Danny had been on the line from Manhattan, begging him to bring his trip there forward a week to stave off the now apparently imminent possibility of the Melrose project going belly up. He really hadn’t needed another conversation about Danny’s ludicrous ‘fake fiancée’ solution so he’d ended up agreeing to fly over there from Paris at the end of the week.

All of which was going to stall his plans to get the delicious Daisy Dean back in his bed any time soon. But once he’d finally wrestled the cat into the box, he’d made up his mind he wasn’t prepared to write the idea off completely. Not yet.

He glanced at his watch. He knew a cosy little four-star restaurant in Notting Hill where he and Daisy could discuss their next moves over a glass of Pouilly Fumé and some seared scallops before he grabbed a cab to St Pancras International. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t stake his claim before he went. A three-week wait would be a pain, but he could handle it if he had something tangible to look forward to when he got back.

He pressed the buzzer again. Where the hell was she? It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning and she’d been up most of the night—surely she couldn’t have gone out?

He noticed the ragged paint on the huge oak door and glanced up at the house’s elegant Georgian frontage. Crumbling brickwork and rotting window sills proved the place had been sadly neglected for years. She really did live in a dump.

The thought brightened his mood considerably.

Maybe he could persuade her to housesit while he was gone. He’d had a call back from the estate agent while he was having his spat with the cat. Even if he got an offer straight away as the guy seemed to think, it would take a bit to do all the paperwork. And he liked the idea of Daisy being there, waiting for him when he got back from his trip. He was just imagining how much they could enjoy his homecoming when the door swung open.

‘Well, if it isn’t the invisible neighbour.’ The elderly woman standing on the threshold stared down her nose at him, which was quite a feat considering she was at least a foot shorter than he was. The voluminous silk dressing gown with feather trim she wore looked like something out of a vintage Hollywood movie. Her small birdlike frame and the wisps of white hair peeking out of her matching silk turban would have made her look fragile, but for her regal stature and the sharp intelligence in her gaze. Which was currently boring several holes in his hide.

‘What do you want?’ she sneered, eyeing him as if he were a piece of rotting meat. ‘Finally come to introduce yourself, have you?’

As Connor didn’t know the woman, he figured she must have mistaken him for someone else. ‘The name’s Connor Brody. I’ve a cat with me belongs to the landlady here.’

He put the box down in front of her, the screech from inside making his ears throb and the slashes on his hand sting.

She gasped and clutched a hand to her breast as her face softened. ‘You’ve found Mr Pootles?’ she whispered, tears seeping over her lids. She bent over the box—the anticipation on her face as bright as that of a child on Christmas morning.

He stepped forward, about to warn her she was liable to get her hand ripped off, but stopped when she prised open the lid and a deep purr resonated from inside. He watched astonished as she scooped the devil cat into her arms. Lucifer rubbed its head under her chin, gave another satisfied purr and slanted him a smug look. The little suck-up.

‘How can I ever thank you, young man?’ The old woman straightened, clutching devil cat to her bosom as if it were her firstborn babe. ‘You’ve made an old lady very happy.’ The joyful tears sheening her whiskey-brown eyes and the softening of her facial features made her look about twenty years younger. ‘Wherever did you find him? We’ve been searching for weeks.’

‘The cat’s been bunking in my kitchen,’ he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, not sure he really deserved her thanks. ‘I should warn you. There’s more than one cat now.’

The elderly lady’s eyes popped wide. ‘Oh?’

He nodded at the creature, who was gazing at him as if butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth. ‘Your Mr Pootles became a mammy eleven days ago. I have four kittens at mine.’

‘Four…’ The lady gasped and then giggled, sounding for all the world like a sixteen-year-old girl. She held the cat up in front of her and nuzzled it. ‘You naughty cat. Why didn’t you tell me you were a girl?’

Connor figured it probably wasn’t his place to point out the cat couldn’t talk. ‘Here.’ He pulled out a spare set of keys from his pocket. ‘You’ll want these to get the kittens now, as they’re too little to be on their own for long.’

‘Why, that’s awfully sweet of you,’ she said, taking the keys.

‘They’re in a cupboard in the kitchen,’ he added. ‘Is Daisy around?’ he asked, awkwardly. ‘I need to speak to her.’

The old lady’s eyes widened as she put the keys in the pocket of her gown. ‘You know Daisy?’ she asked, sounding a lot more astonished about that than she had been about her tomcat’s kittens.

‘Sure, we’re friends,’ he said, colour rising in his cheeks under the old woman’s scrutiny. It wasn’t a lie. If what they’d got up to that morning didn’t make them friends, he didn’t know what did.

‘Well, I never did,’ she said. ‘After all the nonsense Daisy’s said about you in the last few weeks.’

What nonsense? She hadn’t even met him until last night.

‘Daisy’s such a dark horse.’ The old woman gave him a confidential grin, confusing him even more. ‘I always thought she might have a little crush on you, the way she could not stop talking about you. Little did I know she’d been fooling us all along. So, did you two have a lovers’ tiff? Is that why she said all those awful things?’

‘No,’ he said, totally clueless now. And not liking the feeling one bit. ‘What things?’

The old woman waved her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, you know Daisy. She’s always got an opinion and she does love to voice it. She told us all how you were rich and arrogant and far too self-absorbed to care about a missing cat. But we know that’s not true now, don’t we?’

Connor’s lips flattened into a grim line. So she’d badmouthed him, had she, and before she’d even met him. Wasn’t that always the way of it? As a boy it had driven him insane when people who barely knew him told him he’d never amount to a thing. That he’d turn out no better than his Da.

But Daisy’s bad opinion didn’t just make him mad. It hurt a little too. Which made him more mad. Why should it bother him what some small-minded, silly little English girl thought?

Was that why she’d bolted? Because she’d decided he wasn’t good enough for her? If she thought that she was in for a surprise.

‘Is Daisy in her room? I need to speak to her.’ Make that yell at her.

‘Of course not, dear,’ the old lady said quizzically. ‘Daisy and Juno are working on The Funky Fashionista.’

‘The what?’

The woman gave him a curious look. ‘Her stall in Portobello Market.’

‘Right you are,’ he said hastily. Not knowing what Daisy did for a living probably made his claim to be a friend look a bit suspect. He took a step down the stairs, keen to get away.

Portobello Road Market was round the corner. It shouldn’t take him too long to track her down—and give her a good piece of his mind.

‘But, Mr Brody…’ The elderly woman called him back. ‘How will I get your keys back to you?’

‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said, a smile playing across his lips as the kernel of an idea began to form. ‘You keep them. If I lock myself out, it’ll be useful for you to have a set.’

He waved and hopped down the last few steps to the pavement.

He mulled his idea over as he strode down the street towards the Bello. And the more he mulled, the more irresistible the idea became. Sure what he had in mind was outrageous, and Daisy wasn’t going to like it one bit, if her disappearing act that morning was anything to go by. But if ever there was a way to kill two birds with one stone, and teach a certain little English girl how not to throw said stones in glass houses, this had to be it.

After the shoddy way she’d treated him, it was the least she deserved.

Daisy Dean owed him. And what he had in mind would make the payback all the sweeter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘NO WONDER you’re knackered. It’s called compassion fatigue.’ Juno scowled as she placed the last of Daisy’s new batch of silk-screen printed scarves at the front of the stall. ‘You didn’t need to spend the whole night there looking after him. You don’t owe that guy a thing. And I bet he didn’t even thank you for it.’

Oh, yes, he did.

The heat suffused Daisy’s cheeks as she recalled how thoroughly Connor Brody had thanked her. She ducked behind the rack of cotton dresses and prayed Juno hadn’t noticed her reaction.

‘Why are you blushing?’

Daisy peeked over the top of the rack to see Juno watching her. Did the woman have radar or something? ‘I’m not blushing. I’m rearranging the dress sizes.’ She popped back behind the rack. ‘It never ceases to amaze me how out of order they get,’ she babbled, shoving a size fourteen in between two size eights.

‘Daze, did something happen I should know about?’ Juno asked quietly, appearing beside her. She placed her hand over the one Daisy had clutching the rack. ‘If he did something to you, you can talk to me—you know that, right?’

The concern in Juno’s eyes made Daisy’s blush get a whole lot worse as embarrassment was comprehensively replaced by guilt.

It had taken her less than twenty minutes of angst after bolting out of Connor Brody’s house that morning to get over her panic attack. She wasn’t even sure what she’d got so worked up about now. Okay, so she’d jumped him, but who wouldn’t in her situation? She’d been exhausted. She’d spent the whole night in close proximity to that beautiful body of his. She’d seen him at his most vulnerable plagued by those terrible nightmares and it had created a false sense of intimacy. So what? He hadn’t exactly objected when she’d demanded he make love to her. And she’d never be idiotic or delusional enough to fall in love with a man like Connor Brody. A man who was so totally the opposite of the nice, calm, settled, steady, average guy she needed.

All of which meant she could rest assured that what had happened in Connor Brody’s bed that morning hadn’t suddenly turned her into her mother. Because that had always been her mother’s mistake—not the pursuit of good sex, but the belief that good sex meant you must have found the man of your dreams. Daisy knew that good sex—even stupendous sex—had nothing whatsoever to do with love.

The relief she’d felt had been immense.

But the one thing Daisy hadn’t been able to get past—or to justify—was the scurrilous way she’d treated Connor Brody. Not just after they’d made love—but before she’d ever met him. Was it any wonder Juno thought something bad had happened at Brody’s house when Daisy had spent the last few weeks assassinating his character to anyone who would listen?

And on what evidence? None at all. She’d judged him and condemned him because he was rich and good-looking and, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, because she’d fancied him right from the first time she’d laid eyes on him and she’d resented it.

She’d broken into his home, all but accused him of killing a cat he’d actually been looking after and then—after trying to make amends during the night by nursing him through his fever—she’d ruined it all by seducing him first thing the following morning and then freaking out and running off.

Thinking about the way she’d brushed off his perfectly sweet attempts to calm her down made her cringe. He’d been a nice guy about the whole thing—had even offered to talk about it, and how many guys did that after a one-night stand? And what had she done? She’d told him to get lost. The poor guy probably thought she was a total basketcase and frankly who could blame him?

Daisy gave a deep sigh. At the very least she owed the man an apology. What was that old saying about pride going before a fall? She might as well have hurled herself off a cliff.

‘Daze, you’re really starting to worry me.’ Juno’s urgent voice pulled Daisy out of her musings. ‘Tell me what he did. If he’s hurt you, I’ll make him pay. I promise.’

Daisy gave a half-smile, amused despite everything at the thought of Juno, who was even shorter than she was, going toe to toe with Brody. She shook her head. ‘He didn’t hurt me, Ju. He’s a nice bloke.’

She paused. Maybe nice was too tame a word to describe Connor Brody, but it served its purpose here. ‘If anything, it’s the other way around—I hurt him.’

She knew she hadn’t done more than dent his pride a little, but that still made her feel bad.

Walking round the stall, Daisy pinged open the drawer on the antique cash register. She lifted out the rolls of change and began cracking them open.

‘How?’ Juno asked, picking up a five-pence roll and ripping off the paper wrapping.

Daisy blew out a breath. ‘I’ve been a complete cow to him. All those things I said to you and Mrs V and everyone else, all the assumptions I made. They all turned out to be a load of old cobblers.’ The tinkle of change hitting the cash drawer’s wooden base couldn’t disguise the shame in her voice.

‘What makes you think he’d care?’ Juno scoffed, but then she’d always been willing to think the worst of any good-looking guy. Daisy wondered when she’d started to adopt the same prejudices.

‘That’s not the point,’ Daisy said. ‘I care.’

‘All you really said was that he’s rich and arrogant. What’s so awful about that?’

‘He may be rich, but he’s not arrogant.’ As she said it Daisy recalled the way he’d kissed her senseless before she’d even woken up properly. ‘All right, maybe he is a little bit arrogant, but I expect he’s used to women falling at his feet.’ She certainly had.

‘So what? That doesn’t give him the right to take advantage—’

Daisy pressed her fingers to Juno’s lips. ‘He didn’t take advantage of me. What happened was entirely consensual.’ Just thinking about how consensual it had been was making her pulse skitter.

‘What exactly did happen?’ Juno’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because it’s beginning to sound as if more than rest and recuperation were involved. You’re not telling me you slept with him, are you?’

Daisy’s flush flared back to life at the accusatory look in Juno’s eyes. How on earth was she going to explain her behaviour to Juno when it had taken her so long to explain it to herself? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the rumble of a deep Irish accent had both their heads whipping round to the front of the stall.

‘Hello, ladies.’

Daisy’s heartbeat skipped a beat. He looked tall and devastating in the same worn T-shirt and jeans he’d stripped out of that morning—and amused. His lips twitched in that sensual smile she remembered a little too vividly from the moment she’d woken up in his bedroom.

‘While I hate to interrupt this fascinating bit of chit-chat—’ he gripped the top of the stall’s canopy and leaned over the brightly coloured scarves and blouses ‘—I’d like to have a word, Daisy.’ His forefinger skimmed her cheek. ‘In private.’

Daisy swallowed, feeling the burn where the calloused fingertip had touched.

‘Daisy’s busy. Buzz off.’

He dropped his hand and shifted his gaze to Juno, still looking amused. ‘Who would you be, then? Daisy’s keeper?’

‘Maybe I am?’ Juno blustered, standing on tiptoe and thrusting her chin out—which made her look like a midget with a Napoleonic complex next to Brody’s tall, relaxed frame. ‘And who the hell are you? Mr High and—’

Daisy slapped her hand over Juno’s mouth.

‘It’s all right, Ju,’ she whispered, desperate to shut her friend up. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

All she needed now was for Brody to get an inkling of what she’d said about him to pretty much the whole neighbourhood. This apology was going to be agonising enough, without Juno and her attitude wading in and making it ten times worse.

‘I’ll explain everything later,’ she said into Juno’s ear, holding her hand over her friend’s mouth. ‘Can you look after the stall on your own for half an hour?’

Daisy took Juno’s muffled grunt as a yes and let her go.

‘Fine,’ Juno grumbled. She shot Brody a mutinous look. ‘But if you’re not back by then I’m coming after you.’

Daisy gave Juno a quick nod. Great, she guessed she’d owe Juno an apology too before this was over. She picked up her bag and rounded the stall to join Brody. Right at the moment, though, she had rather bigger fish to fry.

‘I know a café round the corner in Cambridge Gardens,’ she murmured, walking through the few milling shoppers who’d already made it up to the far end of the market under the Westway where The Funky Fashionista was situated.

He fell into step beside her but said nothing.

‘Why don’t we go there?’ she continued, not quite able to look at him. ‘They do great cappuccinos.’

And Gino’s cosy little Italian coffee house was also off the tourist track enough that it shouldn’t be too crowded yet. The last thing she wanted was an audience while she choked down her monster helping of humble pie.

It took them less than five minutes to get to Gino’s. Not surprising given that Daisy jogged most of the way, clinging onto her bag with both hands and making sure she kept a couple of steps ahead of Brody’s long stride. As soon as they’d walked away from the stall she’d been consumed by panic at the possibility that he might touch her or speak to her before she’d figured out what she was going to say to him.

And how ridiculous was that? she thought as they strolled into Gino’s and she grabbed the first booth by the door. He’d been buried deep inside her less than three hours ago, given her the most earth-shattering orgasm of her life and now she was scared to even look at him.

She slid into the booth and hastily dumped her bag onto the vinyl-bench seat beside her, blocking off any thoughts he might have of sitting next to her. Casting his eyes at the bag, he slid his long body onto the bench opposite. As he rested his arms loosely on the table she noticed the Boston Celtics logo ripple across his chest.

Her eyes flicked away.

Don’t even go there, you silly woman. Hasn’t that chest got you in enough trouble already?

She raised her hand to salute Gino, who was standing behind the counter. ‘Would you like a cappuccino?’ she asked as she watched Gino wave back and grab his pad.

‘What I’d like is for you to look at me.’

The dry comment forced her to meet his eyes.

‘That’s better,’ he said, the low murmur deliberately intimate. ‘Was that so terrible now?’

Daisy decided to ignore the patronising tone. She supposed she deserved it.

‘Look, Mr Brod… I mean, Connor. I’ve got something to say and I…’ She rushed the words and then came to a complete stop, her tongue stalling on the apology she’d worked out.

Then Gino stepped up to the booth. ‘Hello, Daisy luv. What’ll it be? The usual?’

Daisy stared blankly at her friend, struggling for a second to remember what her usual was. ‘No, thanks, no muffin today.’ She’d probably choke on it. ‘Just a latte, not too heavy on the froth.’

‘As always, my lovely,’ Gino said as he jotted the order on his pad, his broad cockney accent belying the swarthy Italian colouring he’d inherited from his mother. ‘What’s your poison, mate?’ he asked, addressing Brody.

‘Espresso.’

‘Coming right up,’ Gino replied. Then to Daisy’s consternation he tucked his pad under his arm and offered Brody his hand. ‘Gino Jones, by the way. This is my place,’ he said as Brody shook it. ‘Haven’t seen you in here before. What’s your name?’

Daisy rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten what a busybody Gino could be.

‘Connor Brody,’ Brody replied. ‘I moved in next door to Daisy a few weeks back.’

Gino frowned, releasing Brody’s hand. ‘You’re not the bloke who—’

Daisy coughed loudly. Good God, had she blabbed to Gino about Brody too? Why did she have such a big mouth? ‘Actually, we’re in a hurry, Gee,’ she said, slanting Gino her ‘shut up, you idiot’ look. ‘I’ve left Ju alone on the stall and the market will be heaving soon.’

‘No sweat,’ Gino said carefully. ‘I’ll go get your drinks.’ Then he shot her his ‘don’t think I won’t ask you about this guy later’ look and left.

‘You know, it’s funny,’ Brody said, although he didn’t sound at all amused, ‘but people around here don’t like me much.’ The statement sounded slightly disingenuous, but Daisy suspected that was wishful thinking on her part.

Her stomach sank to the soles of her shoes as guilt consumed her.

Time to stop messing about and give the man the apology she owed him. And she better make it a good one.

‘Mr… Sorry, Connor.’ She stalled again, forced herself to continue. ‘I’ve behaved pretty badly. Climbing into your garden, accusing you of…’ She paused. Don’t say you thought he killed the cat, you twerp. ‘Of not helping to find Mrs V’s cat. And then…’ The blush was back with a vengeance as he watched her, his face impassive. ‘This morning I forced you to make love to me. And then I ran off without saying goodbye. I feel completely ashamed of my behaviour… It was incredibly tacky and I’m awfully sorry. And I’d like to make it up to you.’ She stumbled to a stop, not sure what else to say.

His expression had barely changed throughout her whole rambling speech. Maybe he’d looked a little surprised at first, but then his face had taken on this inscrutable mask.

‘Hmm,’ he said, the sound rumbling up through his chest. For some strange reason, Daisy’s knees began to shake. She crossed her legs.

He cocked his head to one side. ‘That’s a lot of sins you’ve to make up.’

‘I know,’ she said, hoping she sounded suitably contrite.

To her surprise, he reached across the table and took her hand in his, threading his fingers through hers. ‘What makes you think I was being forced, Daisy Dean? Did it seem to you I wasn’t enjoying myself?’

She gulped past the dryness tightening her throat. How had they got onto this topic? ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just. I was rather demanding. I don’t think I gave you much of a choice in the matter.’

She ought to tug her fingers away, but somehow they’d got tangled up in his. Just as her stomach was now tangled in knots.

He rubbed his thumb across her palm, making her fingers curl into his. ‘You’d be wrong about that,’ he said. ‘You gave me a choice and I took it. With a great deal of enthusiasm.’

His thumb began stroking her wrist, doing appalling things to her pulse rate. She was just about to muster the will to pull her hand away when he let her go and sat back.