by JL Simpson
What was worse, leaving the car or Daisy alone in a less than safe housing estate? Two more boys appeared on the horizon.
He frowned at Daisy. “Be careful.”
She smiled. “It's my middle name.”
“And hurry up!”
*
Daisy stood in the front hall of the house and wrinkled her nose as the sour smell of mildew and neglect assaulted her nostrils. The death certificate said Tomas Jenks passed away a little more than a month ago. He could have been in hospital for weeks before that for all she knew. Even if he had been at home, she doubted his health would have allowed him to do much housework. Lung cancer was a horrible way to go. She'd watched her maternal grandfather wither and die with the disease. Even though she'd only been ten at the time, she'd never forgotten watching the big strong man, who'd lifted her onto his shoulders and spun her around like a top, shrink and age almost overnight. His face gaunt and gray as he fought for every breath, he'd barely been able to wheeze out her name. She shivered and shook the melancholy memories off.
Liam had looked through Tomas Jenks' personal possessions, but he might have missed something. Daisy wandered into the living room and lifted the net curtain at the front window. Unless she wanted the kids currently surrounding Solomon's car to suffer serious injury, she didn't have a lot of time.
She moved further into the lounge, opening and closing the drawers in the sideboard before walking into the kitchen. A hunt through the cupboards netted another set of keys. She shoved them in her pocket, only stopping long enough to glance out the window to check on Solomon as she made her way up the stairs. The front bedroom had a threadbare green carpet with matching faded curtains. The sunshine-yellow bed covers were rumpled. A pair of blue men's pants and a white shirt were draped over a dining room chair that sat in the corner of the room. If she didn't know Mr. Jenks was dead, she'd assume he'd be back any minute. Odd that no one had made up the bed or done anything with his clothes.
The doors to the wardrobe were ajar. She pulled them open and stepped back. The man hadn't been much of a dresser. Nothing she had seen so far gave her a clue to his family connections, but they had given a clear indication that whatever he was leaving couldn't be worth a whole lot. A quick rifle through his jacket pockets scored her a used train ticket to London and an annual pass to a museum.
Daisy checked the back bedroom but it was unfurnished. She'd do a more thorough search later when she was on her own, but she'd made a start. She smiled and held back a squeal of excitement. At last she had a job. Her very own job and no one could interfere. Daisy Dunlop was back—and taking no prisoners.
*
A pretty young girl, who appeared to have raided her older sister's wardrobe and makeup bag, sidled closer to Solomon. She'd arrived with a lad who looked far too old to be her boyfriend. The girl fluttered her false eyelashes and leaned toward Solomon, no doubt hoping to flash a cleavage she was yet to develop. Solomon turned his head and growled at her partner, who was creeping toward the passenger door with an expression of fierce concentration on his face. The lad started to back off and Solomon stared at him until he was a couple of feet away. He came to a stop and tugged up his baggy jeans. The two of them must think Solomon was born yesterday. Even if the girl was old enough to warrant his attention, he hadn't fallen for a decoy since he was wet behind the ears. You only needed to be bollocked once by a superior officer for taking your eye off the ball to never get caught out again.
“Is this your car, mister, or are you that woman's chauffeur?”
Solomon turned a glacial stare at the long-haired lout who'd asked the question. “Do I look like a bleedin' chauffeur to you?”
The young girl, who was now leaning her bottom against the back driver's side window, giggled. “I think you'd look sick in a chauffeur's uniform.”
Solomon let his lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “I think I'd be sick in a chauffeur's uniform, darlin'.”
“Did you steal it?” long-haired lout asked.
The bleedin' cheek of them. “I did not.”
“Are you a real life James Bond?” The young girl ran her finger down the sleeve of Solomon's leather jacket.
Solomon moved out of reach. “If I was a secret agent, would I be driving an Aston Martin around here?”
“What's wrong with here?” The girl's accomplice folded his arms and glared at Solomon. “Nothing wrong with living here.”
“Never said there was, but I'd hardly blend in if I was undercover, now, would I?”
“Go undercover a lot, do you?”
“More often than you might imagine.” Solomon wished he could go undercover right now. He glanced over his shoulder. Daisy was nowhere to be seen.
The young girl slid along the car until she was plastered against Solomon's side. She grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, you're so built. Want to take me for a ride?”
Her accomplice snarled. With hands clenched into fists by his side, he took a couple of strides toward Solomon.
Bleedin' hell. He wasn't looking for an underage woman or a fight with a boy who'd barely started to shave. A few more teenagers joined the crowd. If he wasn't careful, he could kick off a riot.
A door slammed. Solomon shifted away from the girl and turned his attention to Daisy, who was striding down the path with a hip-swinging gait that no doubt lifted the testosterone levels in the lads surrounding his car. He glanced at the young girl who'd been so intent on capturing his attention. She stood, arms folded across her chest, glaring at Daisy. Apparently oblivious to the leers from the male contingent of the group, Daisy eased her way through the growing crowd and approached Solomon. She pulled the car keys from her handbag before planting a quick kiss on his lips. “Ready to go, darling?”
The young girl shifted her glare to Solomon. “You never said she was your missus.”
Daisy placed her hand on Solomon's left butt cheek and gave a squeeze. “Did you not tell her? Bad boy. I might have to spank you later.”
Solomon stepped back and stared at Daisy. What the bleedin' hell was going on? If she was any other woman, he'd think he was in for an afternoon that promised more than lunch, but Daisy didn't cheat on Paul. Added to that, Solomon knew no matter the situation, he'd be the last man on earth she'd choose to get naked and sweaty with.
She winked and reached for the door handle. “Shall I drive?”
Before he could say no, she'd slid in behind the wheel and he had no choice but to walk around and get into the passenger side of the car.
The engine purred to life and the crowd stepped back as Daisy pressed the accelerator and drove away from the curb.
Solomon pulled on his seatbelt and then shifted to look at Daisy. “What was that all about?”
“I thought it better she thinks you’re a cad rather than not interested. Young girls have such fragile egos.”
“Are you sure it wasn't just an excuse to kiss me and grab my arse?”
Daisy shook her head. “I see your ego is still as big as ever.”
She turned the car onto the main road and floored the accelerator, leaving Solomon praying for salvation.
Chapter Four
Daisy scooped up the last spoonful of chocolate mousse, refusing to consider how many calories she'd consumed in the last hour. Solomon watched her every move over the top of a cup of skinny decaf latte. The man didn't know how to enjoy food. She'd bet her life he'd never experienced the almost orgasmic joy of feeling a soft, sweet, chocolate dessert slide down your throat, leaving a delicious aftertaste on your tongue to be savored before you dipped into the bowl for another mouthful.
His conversation had been nothing more than banal small talk. He'd finally settled on a custody-sharing deal with his ex, Lisa. Their little girl, Molly, was now spending two weeks with each of them. He’d even sorted out a full-time nanny that they both used when needed, all at his expense. Lisa had been to rehab and was taking some classes at the local college. Apparently she wanted to be a hairdresser. G
od help her clients. The woman was feral, with or without a drug habit. There was only one topic he'd avoided.
“How's Belinda?”
He turned his head and caught the attention of the waitress. The young brunette sauntered over and flashed a lovely set of pearly whites at him. The man was a bimbo magnet.
“Is everything alright, sir?”
Daisy had no doubt if it wasn't, the woman would be more than happy to fix it.
Solomon responded with a panty-wetting smile. “Perfect. Could we be having the bill, please?”
The waitress sauntered back across the room. He watched her every step. She sure knew how to work those hips.
The man had no class. Was it really necessary for him to ogle every attractive female that crossed his path? Not that Daisy cared what he did. Except he was supposed to be dating Belinda, and she deserved better. Was that why Belinda had disappeared to the South of France? Maybe her story that she arranged to meet her parents at their apartment in St Tropez for a short holiday was just an excuse. If he hoped to continue seeing Belinda when she got back, the man needed to stop being led around by his penis. Daisy dropped her spoon into her empty dessert bowl with a clatter. “She'll do herself some damage if she doesn't learn to walk properly.”
He turned his attention to Daisy. “What?”
“The waitress. My physiotherapist told me the sexy hip wiggle does long-term damage.”
“And yet you still use it to distract the male of the species.”
She snorted. “I wonder why? It's not like men notice—much.”
“What can I say? We're poor beasts, driven by a shameless need to procreate.”
“You mean you like to screw around. Talking about screwing around, how's Belinda?”
Solomon frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You've told me about everything in your life, including the progress of Rosebud’s house training. The only thing you've avoided talking about is Belinda.”
“Is there something she's said to you?”
“About what?”
He shrugged before shifting his focus to the waitress, who had arrived with the bill. He paid with his credit card and then shoved his chair away from the table. “Why do we not take a walk along the river before I drive you back to your car?”
“I thought I was driving?”
“You had three glasses of white wine, Princess.”
“You were drinking, too.”
He smiled. “Water.”
She stared at his half-empty wine glass. He'd bought the drinks at the bar, rather than ordering a bottle. She picked his glass up and sniffed. Water.
“You did that on purpose.”
“I was less scared under enemy fire than I am with you behind the wheel of my car.”
“Why? You're not exactly in danger when I'm driving. Have I crashed?”
“Not since you reversed my SUV into a lamp post. Unless you've crashed some other vehicle I'm not yet aware about.”
“You just can't stand to let a woman take control, can you?”
“I've no objection to a woman being in control in the right circumstances.” He winked. As if Daisy couldn't have guessed, his mind had headed straight for the gutter.
“You're an obnoxious git. I'm glad I decided to stop working with you.”
“I think you'll find I was the one who stopped you working for me, Princess.” He offered his arm. “Come on. A walk will give you a chance to sober up before you'll be needing to drive yourself home.”
Daisy snatched her bag from the back of her chair and stomped toward the riverside exit. She should never have come to lunch with him. She had work to do this afternoon, and thanks to him it would be a couple of hours at least before she was fit to drive.
*
Solomon followed Daisy out the door. She'd finally brought up the subject he'd avoided, but now she was probably too angry to tell him why Belinda had decided to stop seeing him. Plying her with wine was stupid, but his nerves were still jangling. He couldn't survive another second in the passenger seat while she drove his prize possession like she was on the track at Le Mans. If it came to a choice between saving his Aston Martin and saving his relationship with Belinda, the car won. And he wondered if therein lay the problem.
He jogged to catch up to Daisy, who was stomping along the riverside path with enough ferocity to send the ducks and swans flapping into the water.
“Daisy. Wait up.”
Hands on hips, she turned, her green eyes blazing with rage. She stalked back toward him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “For the first time in weeks, I've finally got a case, and a deadline, and thanks to you this afternoon is a write-off.”
He stepped back but she followed, her blood-red manicured nail attempting to drill a hole between his ribs.
“I've stolen an hour or two of your life. Besides, you'd not even have a case if I hadn't given your number to Liam Sparks.”
“You've stolen half a day and more if I can't drive. And while we're on the subject, why exactly did you give Liam my number?”
He grabbed her hand to stop her causing him any more damage. “I'd a favor to ask, and I wanted to be in your good books.”
“If this is how you get into a girl's good books, it's no wonder Belinda buggered off to St Tropez with her family.”
Solomon was sure his heart had plummeted to his stomach. “She did what?”
Daisy snatched her hand back and then grinned. “Bloody hell. Don't tell me the great lover, Solomon Liffey, has finally lost a woman.”
He refused to believe Belinda had given up on him completely. She'd hardly be answering calls if she wasn't in the country. And maybe her comment that they shouldn't see any more of each other for a while wasn't rejection, just a way to break things off while she played doting daughter on the banks of the Med. They'd only been together a few weeks, and she'd not want to introduce him as her lover until their relationship was more solid. “Not lost. Misplaced.”
“Have you been dumped?”
“I'd not call it that. She felt in need of a break.”
Daisy chuckled. “Ouch.”
“What does that mean?”
She spun around and sauntered along the path, swinging her handbag. “Isn't it lovely here? Very romantic.”
Solomon set off at a trot to catch up to her. “I don't do romance.”
“No wonder Belinda ran off.”
“I don't do romance with you.” He scrubbed a hand over his dark army-regulation style hair. “Belinda's different.”
She glanced at him. “Different how? Do you love her?”
“No,” Solomon growled.
She slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come on, tell Auntie Daisy all about it.”
“I'm telling you nothing. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.”
“You're not a gentleman. So what happened between you and Belinda?”
“Nothing.”
“So you couldn't do the business? After all the build-up, you were a failure between the sheets? How disappointing. Although, from what I saw when you were flashing it about in my kitchen, you don't have a lot to work with. You might need to find some other ways to excite the ladies if your little willy isn't up to the task.”
Solomon glared at Daisy. He'd bedded Belinda a time or two and she'd seemed more than content. “I'm not listening to your bullshite about what I do or don't have in my trousers.” He frowned. Girls talked about things. Maybe she wasn't just being deliberately provocative. “You've not been talking to Belinda, have you? Did she say something?”
Daisy giggled. “Nope, but you should have seen the look on your face.”
Solomon came to a stop and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Daisy. Do you or do you not know why Belinda took off to France?”
Daisy shrugged. “She told me it was arranged months ago. Why? What did you do to her?”
He let her go. “Nothing–that I know of.”
“Were you taking her for granted? Missing d
ates? Forgetting to make her feel special?”
He frowned. He'd done nothing of the sort. Despite all the responsibilities he was juggling, he'd put Belinda first. If anything she'd been the tardy one. “I treated her like a queen.”
Daisy slipped her arm thought his and steered him farther along the path. “I could talk to her and find out what's going on, but it'll cost you.”
He frowned at her. “You're not driving the bleedin' Aston Martin.”
She laughed. “Don't worry. I don't want to drive the car.”
“You don't want to drive it ever, or just for the afternoon?”
“For as long as I decide I don't want to drive it. Do you have a peaked cap?”
“Why would I be in need of a cap?”
Daisy poked him in the chest. “Because I want you to drive the car. You can be my chauffeur, Liffey.”
She turned and walked back toward the pub, leaving Solomon to catch up. “Where is it that I'm driving you? Not back to that house, is it?”
“Nope. Not the house. Do you like museums?”
They skirted the pub and crossed the car park toward the car. “Not so much as you'd notice. Why?”
She tugged a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Solomon. He turned it over and glanced at her. “Why are you giving me an annual pass to the Coliseum museum?”
“Because that's where you're driving me.”
“Gloucestershire? You're not serious.”
“Deadly serious. I told you, I've got work to do.”
“In a museum?”
Solomon unlocked the car. Daisy sauntered around to the passenger side and smiled at him. “In a museum. Now let's get going. Look lively, Liffey.”
Chapter Five
Daisy couldn't fault Solomon's driving. He had a delicate touch that kept the car purring like a contented lover. Was he as good in bed as he claimed to be, and if he was why had Belinda left him in the lurch? They had certainly been burning up the sheets when she had caught them in a compromising position a few weeks ago. With a grimace, she pushed the image of Solomon in action from her mind and then cleared her throat.
