The Parent Test. Elizabeth Duke
Yet—she swallowed hard—his appearance didn’t repel her, as it should have. He looked incredibly, heart-stoppingly sexy.
As if realising he was under scrutiny, Cam’s mouth curved in a face-crinkling smile that was part mocking, part rueful.
‘I haven’t had time to shave yet, though I did manage a quick shower, after the baby threw up all over me. Lunchtime was interesting too…’ He brushed a hand over his stained T-shirt. ‘This was a clean shirt until Emma made it clear she doesn’t like mashed pumpkin. I’m on my own this weekend,’ he explained. ‘I gave Mary the weekend off to visit her family, and Philomena doesn’t come at weekends.’
Philomena, Roxy assumed, was his housekeeper. Since she wasn’t around at weekends, she was unlikely to be one of his bimbos!
‘You’re finding our niece a handful?’ she asked hopefully. If he was complaining already, it shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade him to hand Emma over.
‘Even the best mothers find babies a handful at times,’ he said dryly. ‘Come in, Roxy, I’ll show you to your room. You can see Emma later. She’s asleep at the moment and I don’t believe in waking a sleeping baby unnecessarily.’
Roxy bit her tongue, tempted as she was to protest at the implication that she was unnecessary. He was quite right not to wake the baby. Even if his motive might be suspect.
As he closed the door behind her he studied her face for a disconcerting few seconds. She sucked in a breath as strong warm fingers closed round her chin, tilting her face upward.
‘Well…they certainly did a good job.’ His tone was faintly caustic. Not a hint of sympathy. He drew back, letting her go as if the very touch of her repulsed him. ‘Though why in hell’s name you’d want to have cosmetic surgery in the first place, let alone now, when you could have been here at home comforting your father or your sister’s baby…well, it leaves me baffled. And disgusted, frankly.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You think—’
‘Well, okay…so you were already in hospital with some virus—fair enough—but don’t deny you used the opportunity to have a little nip and a tuck while you were recuperating in that L.A. hospital.’
Roxy’s chest heaved, her breath coming in furious gulps. ‘Who—told—you—that?’ she managed to gasp out.
‘Your father told me…no, Blanche. Blanche, cutting in on poor old George, as usual.’ The corner of his lip quirked. He shared her opinion of Blanche. The only thing they did share, though she’d hoped at one time—a fleeting, futile hope—that they might one day share other things, too.
‘She told me, quite clearly, that you were having cosmetic surgery on your face,’ Cam said flatly.
Jealous, bitchy Blanche…Roxy’s hands balled into fists. ‘I didn’t have cosmetic surgery,’ she ground out. ‘I had microsurgery. To repair a wound. Trust Blanche to get it wrong.’ Deliberately, if she knew Blanche.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Microsurgery? A wound? Where?’ Again she had to suffer his scrutiny, his gaze searing into her already flushed skin.
She swallowed. ‘On my mouth. My lower lip. I tripped over a street kerb as I jumped out of a car in L.A. to rush into a shop. I crashed headfirst onto a concrete plant pot’
‘You were gallivanting around LA, shopping, after hearing the news of your sister’s death?’ Cam shook his head, cold contempt in his eyes. ‘Your father sent you an urgent fax six weeks ago, while you were still in northern Mexico. You sure were in no hurry to come home!’
She glared at him. ‘I didn’t get Dad’s tax until three weeks after he sent it! I was at a campsite in a remote part of northern Mexico at the time. Deliveries aren’t exactly reliable in that part of the world. By then the funeral had already been held.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘I was devastated at missing it.’
As she gulped in a breath, Cam eyed her skeptically. ‘But having missed it, you decided there was no rush.’ His tone was scathing, his unfair condemnation cutting into her like a knife.
‘I was rushing—that was the whole trouble! One of our team—an American—offered to drive me across the border to L.A. airport. We were on our way there when the accident happened. I’d leapt out on the way to buy a toy for Emma.’
As Cam’s gaze flickered to the giant teddy in her arms she shook her head. ‘I bought this yesterday—at L.A. airport. After my stupid fall, I ended up in hospital, having surgery—microsurgery—on a badly cut lip. And a couple of days later I was hit by a mysterious bug I must have picked up in Mexico.’
As she paused for breath she noted shakily that Cam’s eyes had lost some of their icy scorn. But not much. The very fact that she’d been away for so long—out of reach for so long—obviously weighed against her.
‘And it was bad enough to keep you in hospital for another three weeks?’
‘Yes!’ Indignation flashed in her eyes. ‘It completely knocked me out. I had a raging fever…I was delirious for days…and weak as a kitten for days after that. And because of the surgery on my lip, I couldn’t even talk to begin with!’
‘Well…your surgeons should be commended.’ She felt his dark gaze on her mouth. ‘There’s not a trace of any scarring. Or bruising. You’d never know you’d had anything done.’
She frowned. Did he still not believe her?
‘They did the repair from inside my mouth—that’s why there’s no visible scarring. And the swelling and bruising have had time to heal, thanks to that horrific virus. My mouth feels fine. Perfect. I feel fine.’ She didn’t want him to think she was still weak, and perhaps unable to take care of her niece.
‘You still look pale…and very thin…but if you’re feeling fine again, that’s splendid’ Taking her bag, he turned on his heel, freeing her at last of his burning gaze. ‘Come on, Roxy…let’s get you settled in.’
CAM didn’t speak as he led her along the main passage to the guest wing. Perhaps, Roxy thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt, he didn’t want to risk waking the baby.
Seeing him from behind reminded her—a bittersweet reminder—of the first time she’d ever set eyes on him, as he’d stood at the altar alongside his brother, waiting for Serena and her bridesmaid to join them. Roxy had been the bridesmaid and Cam the best man.
Only their backs had been visible. Cam, the elder brother, was half a head taller than the bridegroom, with shoulders that were considerably wider than those of his equally well-built brother. His glossy dark hair contrasted starkly with Hamish’s wiry, gingery mop. At the sight of Hamish’s brother, who was to be her partner for the evening, she’d almost overbalanced halfway down the aisle. Her feet, unused to high heels, had rolled over slightly on her long spiky heels.
She’d tried to avoid looking at him after that, but annoyingly, his image had remained. She’d taken a few deep breaths, wondering how she could be so aware of a man after a single, fleeting glance from behind. Normally she had nothing but scorn for roving-eyed, love-’em-and-leave-’em types—the type Cam was rumoured to be.
No woman, Hamish had liked to joke, was safe around Cam. No woman could resist him.
No woman? Roxy had stirred at the challenge.
Cam Raeburn, she’d naively thought at the time, would need more than a pair of powerful shoulders and a head of glossy black hair to hold her interest for more than two minutes!
Ha! She’d been like a lamb to the slaughter!
She hadn’t come directly