‘Be quiet, Amy.’ Her grandfather had heard enough. ‘Well, Fliss? I’m waiting for an answer.’
‘You’re not talking to Amy now, Dad,’ retorted Fliss, deciding her own grievance with her daughter would have to wait. ‘Amy was helping Mr Quinn unpack some books, that was all. He was glad of her company.’
‘And you left her with this man? With a man you hardly know?’ Her father shook his head. ‘I thought you’d have had more sense!’
Fliss stared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh—’ He swung away to lift his coffee mug from the hook and poured himself a cup before saying anything else. Then, aware that she was still watching him, he muttered, ‘I should have thought it was obvious.’
Fliss felt cold. ‘I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean,’ she began, and Amy looked confused.
‘What does Grandad mean?’ she asked innocently, and Fliss realised she couldn’t say anything more in front of her daughter.
‘Your grandfather’s just feeling liverish,’ she said instead, deciding getting dressed would have to wait until after breakfast. ‘Now, I suggest you go and put your clothes on. I’ll get my shower after you’ve finished.’
Amy moved reluctantly towards the door and Fliss was hardly surprised when she paused in the doorway. ‘We are going out, aren’t we, Mummy?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You’re not going to say no because Grandad’s cross?’
Fliss blew out a breath. ‘Just get dressed, Amy,’ she advised the little girl flatly, but Amy was persistent.
‘Are we?’ she pleaded. ‘Please say we are.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Fliss, giving her father a reflective look. ‘Now, scoot.’
‘Can I wear my new skirt?’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ Fliss declared drily, and the child had to be content with that.
But after Amy had disappeared upstairs, Fliss turned from taking milk from the refrigerator and said, ‘Why are you being so horrible about this? What have I done to make you think I can’t look after myself and my daughter?’
Her father pulled out a chair at the table and then shook his head. ‘You can ask me that?’
Fliss caught her breath. ‘I was sixteen, Dad.’ She paused. ‘I thought we’d got over that.’
‘We have,’ he muttered, setting his mug on the table and then dropping wearily into his chair. ‘But dammit, Fliss, I’ve told you what I’ve heard about that man.’
‘And what have you heard exactly?’
‘Just what I said—that he’s had some mental problems since he got back from Abuqara.’
‘What kind of mental problems?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her father took a mouthful of his coffee. ‘God knows what state he was in when he got back.’
Fliss sighed. ‘Isn’t this just gossip?’
‘Well, you said yourself he’d left London because he felt he needed space.’
‘So?’
‘So—why would he do that? I mean, as I hear it, the company he worked for were more than willing to give him his old job back.’
‘Perhaps he felt like a change.’
‘Yes.’ Her father reached for the morning newspaper Fliss had picked up from the hall when she came down. ‘Well, in my opinion, no one in their right mind would have turned down the opportunity to pick up where they had left off. Most wouldn’t get the chance.’
Fliss lifted a loaf from the bread bin. ‘Perhaps that was because he was good at his job,’ she said practically, but her father wasn’t having that.
‘And perhaps it’s because he knows he can’t hack it anymore,’ he retorted shortly. ‘Grow up, Fliss. The man’s a kook, and if you can’t see it, you don’t deserve to have responsibility for an impressionable child like Amy.’
Chapter Ten
MATT wasn’t sure whether he’d expected Fliss to back out of the arrangement or what. It had been obvious that her father hadn’t been pleased to find them together and no doubt he exerted quite a lot of influence on her life. And, although Fliss had offered the invitation, he had the feeling she’d expected him to refuse.
What he definitely hadn’t expected, however, was that she and Amy would turn up on his doorstep less than an hour later carrying backpacks and a cooler. Fliss’s face was flushed and even Amy looked a little less exuberant than usual, and he wondered what had been said after he’d left.
‘Hi, Quinn.’ As usual, Amy was the first to speak. ‘Are you ready to go?’
Matt frowned. ‘I can be,’ he said, his eyes on Fliss’s face. Then, ‘You could have used the front door, you know.’
‘We walked,’ said Fliss, and he could tell by her tone that she was embarrassed to admit it. ‘Um—my father’s decided he needs the car today.’
‘No problem. We can use mine.’ Matt stepped back. ‘Come on in. The coffee’s still hot. Help yourself to a cup while I put some shoes on.’
‘Do you have any more of that lemonade I had yesterday?’ asked Amy at once, dumping her backpack just inside the door and looking expectantly round the kitchen.
Her mother gave her a reproving look. ‘You’ve just had breakfast,’ she said, following her daughter inside. ‘You don’t need another drink.’
‘But I’m thirsty,’ protested Amy, and Matt opened the fridge and pulled out a can of cola.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, taking a glass from the cupboard. He hoped it would give him a chance to have a private word with Fliss. He arched his brows in her direction and they moved to the far side of the room. ‘Everything OK?’
‘As it will ever be, I suppose,’ she said tightly, shedding her own backpack, and he found himself staring at her breasts again.
Dragging his eyes away, he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Your father doesn’t approve of me, does he?’
‘He doesn’t know you.’
‘Nor do you.’
She averted her eyes. ‘I know enough.’
‘You think?’
She looked at him then. ‘Are you trying to get out of this arrangement?’
‘No.’
She shook her head, and her hair, which was loose about her shoulders this morning, fell forward to hide her face. ‘Maybe you should.’
Her drooping stance made him long to put out his hand and loop that fiery curtain back behind her ear so he could see her expression. But with Amy watching them over the rim of her glass, he restrained himself.
All the same, he was aware that spending time with Fliss was probably not the most sensible thing he’d done in his life. She disturbed him in ways Diane never had, and, although she was not conventionally beautiful, her creamy features had a warmth and sensuality that was far sexier than mere good looks could ever be.
Strictly speaking, he supposed, trying to downplay his attraction, she was slightly overweight. Her breasts were full, possibly too full, and the generous swell of her hips gave a distinctly provocative curve to her bottom. Yet in low-rise pink cut-offs, with white daisies hand-embroidered along the seams, and a matching