Passionate Protectors?: Hot Pursuit / The Bedroom Barter / A Passionate Protector. Anne Mather
And discovered that the label indicated that they were suitable for a nine- to ten-year-old!
Rosie! she thought incredulously, a gulp of laughter escaping her. They had obviously been bought for Rosie, but just as obviously they were too big for her. Ripping open the cellophane, Sara pulled them out and examined them more closely. Made of white cotton, they looked plain and practical, and, although they’d probably be a tight fit, she thought they’d do very well.
A feeling of gratitude filled her, and with it a sense of shame at her own presumption. Matt was trying to help her; that was obvious. She had to stop believing that all men were like Max. They weren’t. He had been the exception. Was it evil to be glad he was finally out of her life?
The briefs were barely decent, but Sara didn’t care. With Matt’s sweat pants bulking around her thighs, and the ends of his shirt tied at her waist, she looked anything but provocative. He’d also left a pair of sports socks, which she found worked equally well as slippers. After she’d rinsed out her own bra and panties, and hung them on the radiator in the bathroom to dry, all that was left for her to do was brush out her hair and plait it again. She was sitting at the dressing table, securing it with an elasticated band, when there was another knock at her door.
She stiffened. She couldn’t help it. Old habits die hard, she thought, taking a deep breath and calling, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Rosie.’ The little girl needed no further bidding before opening the door and putting her head round it. ‘Can I come in?’
Sara found herself smiling. ‘It looks as if you are in,’ she remarked mildly. ‘But, yes. Come in. What can I do for you?’
Rosie entered the room, revealing that she’d changed out of her school clothes into cut-off jeans and a pink tee shirt. She had evidently washed her face, too, though Sara could see the telltale smears of what appeared to be chocolate around her mouth. But she looked sweet and wholesome, and Sara wanted to hug her.
‘Daddy says supper will be ready in ten minutes,’ she declared, regarding her father’s guest with interest. ‘Are those Daddy’s clothes?’
‘Yes.’ Sara nodded. ‘He was kind enough to lend them to me.’ She got up from the stool. ‘How do I look?’
‘We—ll.’ Rosie was thoughtful. ‘They look a bit big,’ she confessed at last. Then, glancing about her, ‘Don’t you have any clothes of your own?’
‘Not here,’ replied Sara, determinedly suppressing thoughts of where the rest of her clothes were. ‘Oh, and your father gave me these.’ She held up the packet that had contained the bikini briefs. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Oh, no!’ Rosie giggled. ‘Daddy’s Aunt Margaret sent them last Christmas. She’s ever so old, and Daddy says her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.’
‘Ah.’ Sara screwed the packet into a ball, preparatory to taking it downstairs to throw away. ‘Well, I’m very grateful for that.’
‘Do they really fit you?’ asked Rosie, staring at her critically, as if trying to imagine how they might look on an adult, and Sara grimaced.
‘Just about,’ she answered, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. ‘Shall we go down?’
Rosie hesitated. ‘Have you changed your mind? About staying, I mean? I wish you would.’
Sara sighed. ‘Rosie—’
‘’Cos Daddy really needs someone. We slept in this morning, and I was nearly late for school.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should be having this conversation, Rosie.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because—because, like your Daddy said, I’ve got to leave tomorrow.’
Rosie’s lips pursed. ‘Don’t you like it here, either?’
‘Of course I do.’ Sara wished she didn’t have to lie to the child. ‘I think you’re very lucky to live so close to the sea.’
‘Most people don’t.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘Then—’
‘I think we should go down for supper,’ Sara insisted firmly. She pulled a face at her reflection, knowing the little girl could see her. ‘I just hope your father isn’t expecting any visitors tonight.’
Chapter Five
MATT came awake slowly, staring up at the ceiling that was striped with bars of sunlight. He’d left the window open the night before, he remembered, and the slats of the blind were moving in the breeze.
He often left his window open. He liked to come awake to the muted roar of the sea. The constant movement of the tides gave him a feeling of constancy, a sense of knowing that in this world not everything was subject to change.
So why did he have such a feeling of unease this morning? he wondered, pushing the sheet back to his waist and running an exploratory hand over the rough pelt of hair that angled down to his navel and beyond. And then he remembered his uninvited visitor. Sara Victor, if that really was her name. And why should he care, anyway? She was leaving this morning. When he got back from taking Rosie to school he’d pretend to check her car and miraculously find that it was working. Then she’d have no excuse to hang about any longer, and he could get back to doing the job he loved.
Only it wasn’t quite that simple. Rosie had taken an instant liking to her, which was unusual in itself. Since Hester had retired the little girl had been introduced to many of the would-be nannies who had turned up at his door, and she hadn’t been impressed with any of them. Granted, most of the younger ones hadn’t wanted to live in the area, but even those who had had left a lot to be desired so far as Rosie was concerned.
He’d agreed with her for the most part. He didn’t want Rosie’s life controlled by either a bimbo or a martinet. And, although he’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in any attachment, he’d always been aware of the dangers inherent in having a younger woman living in his house.
And now Rosie had formed an attachment of her own.
He’d seen it happening, of course. All last evening he’d been forced to watch his daughter falling more and more deeply under Sara’s unconscious spell. And it was unconscious. He knew that. Sara hadn’t set out to entrance the little girl; she just couldn’t help doing so.
She had the knack of drawing Rosie out of herself. Without talking down to her, she was able to put herself on the child’s level, and Rosie had responded in kind. Matt hadn’t been aware that his daughter was missing anything until he’d heard her discussing her dolls’ outfits with Sara. What did he know of women’s fashions, or of the most attractive shades of lipstick and nail varnish? He hadn’t even known Rosie knew about such things until she’d produced a bottle of some glittery substance, which had apparently come as a free gift with one of the preteen magazines he’d bought for her, and proceeded to paint Sara’s nails with it.
When he’d protested that Miss Victor couldn’t possibly want her nails painted that particular shade of pink, Sara had insisted she didn’t mind.
‘It’s okay,’ she’d assured him lightly. ‘It washes off.’ Then she’d given a wry smile. ‘At least I hope it does.’ She’d held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. ‘Do you like it?’
Matt didn’t remember what he’d said. Whatever it was, it had made no lasting impression on him. What he did remember was that she disturbed him; that he’d been far too aware of her as a woman ever since she’d appeared downstairs wearing his old chambray shirt and sweats.
When he’d left the clothes on her bed he’d never dreamt that he’d have such a powerful reaction to her wearing them. But the knowledge that she’d obviously not been wearing a bra had aroused the most unsettling images in his head. He’d