Hot Pursuit by Anne Mather Page A

hint of colour that entered her pale cheeks at his words.
    She was wearing her own clothes again this morning, and Matt’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the taut breasts pushing at the semi-transparent fabric of her dress. Its shades of blue and green matched the luminescence of her eyes, which he was aware were watching him with wary intensity. Slim arms were wrapped protectively about her midriff, and he wondered if she realised what a giveaway that was.
    â€˜Um—good morning,’ she responded at last, and Matt despised the sudden surge of blood that her husky voice caused to rush to his groin. All of a sudden he was remembering the sexual fantasies he’d been having about her earlier, and even the fact that he now knew she was another man’s wife didn’t make them any the easier to dismiss.
    â€˜Sit here, Daddy.’
    Rosie pulled him to the seat beside hers, and Matt strove to act naturally. Hell, he thought, he was behaving as if he’d never been with a woman before. What was there about Victoria Bradbury that struck such a chord in his subconscious? What was there about her wary face that inspired thoughts of naked bodies and sweat-soaked sheets?
    â€˜Did you sleep well?’ he asked at length, realising that, however much he might want to, he couldn’t broach the subject of her identity while Rosie and Mrs Webb were present. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to speak to her at all until Rosie had been delivered to school, and that might prove something of a problem. After all, he’d promised his daughter to discuss the subject of Sara’s employment at breakfast.
    â€˜Very well,’ she replied politely, evidently taking her cue from him, though he doubted she was being entirely honest.Although she’d done her best to disguise them, there were still dark rings around her eyes, and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t really surprised. ‘It’s so peaceful here.’
    â€˜Sara likes the seaside, Daddy,’ put in Rosie eagerly, evidently hoping to prompt him into saying something positive, but it was Mrs Webb who spoke next.
    â€˜You’re not from around here, are you, Miss Victor?’ she observed, setting a bowl of cornflakes in front of Rosie. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that’s a southern accent.’
    Matt saw the way the younger woman stiffened at these words, but she managed to produce a tight smile. ‘I—yes. You’re right. I’m from London,’ she admitted, with obvious reluctance. Then, changing the subject, ‘Just toast for me, please.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    Mrs Webb was persistent and, taking pity on his guest, Matt intervened. ‘I think we’re all set here,’ he said, regarding his own plate of bacon and eggs without enthusiasm. ‘If we need anything else I’ll come and find you. Okay?’
    â€˜Well—if you say so.’ Mrs Webb wasn’t giving up without a struggle. ‘Couldn’t I tempt you with an omelette, Miss Victor?’
    Matt felt Sara’s eyes dart to his again, and he guessed she was remembering the lunch he had made her the previous day. ‘Toast is fine,’ she insisted, and the housekeeper had to accept defeat.
    â€˜I’ll leave you, then,’ she said, giving Matt a speaking look. ‘Remember, Rosie’s got to leave for school in less than twenty minutes.’
    â€˜I haven’t forgotten,’ said Matt drily. ‘Thank you.’
    Mrs Webb pursed her lips and left the room, and as soon as the door had banged behind her Rosie made a face. ‘She’s cross because Daddy didn’t ask her to sit with us and have her coffee,’ she confided, with a giggle. ‘We usually have breakfast in the kitchen, you see.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    Sara looked to Matt for confirmation and he sighed. ‘She does like to share all the village gossip,’ he agreed, wishingRosie wasn’t quite so candid.