Passionate Protectors?: Hot Pursuit / The Bedroom Barter / A Passionate Protector

Chapter Four

SARA didn’t want to feel any sympathy for Matt Seton, but she couldn’t help it. She saw the look of anguish that crossed his lean tanned features at the child’s careless words. He obviously cared deeply about his daughter, and it hurt him to hear her describe the way she thought he thought about her. She sensed he was fostering all the remorse of a single father who was obliged to employ strangers to care for his child while he earned them both a living.

But she also glimpsed a thread of anger in the gaze he directed towards her, and she wondered if he thought she had engineered Rosie’s innocent invitation.

‘I—’ She strove to find an explanation for not accepting the position that wouldn’t offend the little girl. ‘It’s very kind of you, Rosie—’

‘But Miss Victor is heading off tomorrow,’ put in the child’s father harshly, before Sara could finish, and, despite the fact that she’d been about to say something similar, Sara felt her hackles rise at his callous dismissal. ‘Besides,’ he went on, rather maliciously, she thought, ‘I’m sure our visitor would find our way of life very dull.’

Rosie looked crestfallen now. ‘Would you?’ she asked, her dark eyes, so like her father’s, gazing up at Sara in mute appeal. Sara thought it would have taken a harder heart than hers to resist her, but once again Matt Seton saved her the trouble.

‘Of course she would,’ he essayed flatly. ‘Now—shall we get these animals out of here before they shed any more hair?’

Rosie’s lip jutted. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so,’ declared her father inflexibly, ushering the two retrievers into the hall. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Miss Victor?’

It was a perfunctory enquiry at best, and Sara expelled a breath before lifting her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked, deciding there was no point in pretending that she could go against his wishes, however enthusiastic Rosie might be.

Matt Seton paused in the doorway. ‘You’re a guest,’ he said simply. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see what my housekeeper has left for our evening meal.’

Sara took a couple of steps after him. ‘It’s early yet,’ she protested. Then, with inspiration, ‘Don’t these dogs need exercising or something? I—Rosie and I could take them for a walk.’

‘I don’t think so.’

His cold denial came only seconds before Rosie’s, ‘Oh, why not, Daddy? We often take the dogs out after I get home from school.’

‘We do,’ he said, emphasising the personal pronoun. ‘Besides—’ he gave Sara another impatient look ‘—Miss Victor doesn’t have any suitable footwear.’

‘I don’t need shoes on the beach,’ she exclaimed, the idea growing on her. She found the prospect of running along the shoreline, paddling in the cool waters of this northerly sea, more and more appealing. She couldn’t run away from her troubles. She knew that. But perhaps this was a way to escape from them for a while. ‘We wouldn’t go far. I promise.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He was adamant, and her spirits plummeted. But how could she blame him really? She hadn’t exactly behaved responsibly this far.

‘You could come with us, Daddy.’

Clearly Rosie wasn’t prepared to accept his refusal without an attempt to change his mind, and Sara sensed he was torn by the knowledge that he was on the point of disappointing her once again.

‘Rosie,’ he began, a little wearily, but she evidently sensed he was weakening.

‘Please, Daddy,’ she begged, clutching his hand. ‘You need the exercise, too. You’re always saying so. Come on. It’ll be fun.’

Matt looked as if that was the last word he’d have used to describe the proposed outing, and, judging by the look he cast in her direction, Sara guessed he blamed her entirely.

But this time he wasn’t prepared to risk another rift with his daughter. ‘Well,’ he began slowly, ‘perhaps for half an hour—’

He wasn’t allowed to finish. Rosie squealed with delight, throwing her arms around his hips and hugging him tightly. Matt’s hands were gentle on her shoulders, but over his daughter’s head his eyes told Sara a different story. However, she wasn’t prepared to deal with his resentment; not now. Glancing out of the window again, she saw that although the sun was still fighting with the clouds a stiff breeze was flattening the grass on the cliff top. She would wear her jacket, she thought, concentrating on the needs of the moment. There was no point in risking a chill, however bleak her future looked at present.

They left the house through the kitchen, but this time they turned away from the front of the house. Instead, they followed a grassy path through a walled plot where wallflowers grew in wild profusion and rambling roses covered a latticed trellis, their scent evocative on the afternoon air.

The dogs bounded ahead, their flowing tails wagging excitedly as they led the way across the cliffs to where a rocky path meandered down to the beach. They were obviously used to this walk, and although they occasionally turned back to ensure that their human companions were following they needed no encouragement.

‘This is lovely, isn’t it, Daddy?’ exclaimed Rosie, who had thrown off her school blazer and was jumping up and down beside the adults. ‘Aren’t you glad you came now?’

Matt’s mouth compressed for a moment, before the smile he reserved for his daughter appeared again. ‘I guess,’ he said drily. Then, with a disturbing look at Sara’s feet, ‘Are you sure you want to go down here without shoes?’

Sara had been wondering the same thing, but his sardonic words hardened her resolve. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, going ahead as if she was used to negotiating rocky paths in her bare feet every day. She started down with a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘No problem.’

In fact, her feet felt as if they’d encountered every sharp stone on the path by the time she reached the bottom. It was only by a supreme effort of will that she stopped herself from crying out at times. Still, the soft sand was balm to her bruised soles, and she strode off towards the water with real enthusiasm.

After a few moments Rosie joined her, and then, after assuring herself that Sara was all right, she raced off in pursuit of the dogs. With a feeling of inevitability Sara realised she was going to have to be content with Matt Seton’s company, and she was hardly surprised when he said drily, ‘Not as easy as it looked, was it?’

‘I’m not as fragile as you seem to think,’ she retorted, catching her breath when she inadvertently trod into a pool of cold water. Then, forcing her mind away from her own problems, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I never realised there were still untouched beaches like this in England.’ She looked about her. ‘It’s amazing!’

‘Oh, Robinson Crusoe has nothing on us,’ remarked Matt, matching her mood. ‘Despite the isolation, it’s a good place to live.’

‘I can believe it.’ She sighed, and then caught her breath again as an errant wave drenched her ankles. ‘What made you choose it?’

‘Its remoteness from London?’ he suggested. And then, as if aware that his answer had raised more questions, he went on, ‘No, I am from this area originally. I guess that’s why it appeals to me.’

‘But you used to live in London?’

Her audacity surprised her, and she was quite prepared for him to remain silent. But then he said, ‘For my sins. When I left university it was the place to be.’ He paused. ‘How about you, Miss Victor? Are you a runaway from London, too?’

‘You don’t run away from places,’ she retorted recklessly, and was instantly aware that she’d aroused his interest.

‘No, you don’t,’ he agreed. ‘Which begs the question, who are you running away from?’ He waited a beat. ‘Who—or what?’

That was too close for comfort, and, taking advantage of the fact that he was still wearing his shoes, she trod further into the water. It was cold, and her skin feathered instinctively, but anything was better than fencing words with a man who was proving far too perceptive for her peace of mind.

To her relief, Rosie provided a distraction. Seeing that Sara was in the water, albeit only up to her ankles, she came running back to join them, peeling off her own shoes and socks with obvious intent.

‘No, Rosie.’ Her father grabbed the little girl before she could scamper into the water. ‘It’s too cold yet,’ he insisted, ignoring her protests. ‘Miss Victor was just coming out—weren’t you, Miss Victor?’

Sara didn’t have a lot of choice. Besides, the water was proving much cooler than she’d anticipated. ‘That’s right,’ she said, avoiding his eyes in favour of the child’s. She stepped out onto the damp sand and smiled at Rosie. ‘Look, I’ve got goosebumps.’

Rosie struggled to get over her disappointment. ‘Have you?’ she asked doubtfully, and Sara squatted down beside her to help her put her shoes on again.

‘Everywhere,’ she assured the little girl, indicating her wrists and bare legs, and knew the instant when Matt Seton joined his daughter in assessing her appearance.

She was immediately conscious of the fact that the hem of her skirt had fallen back to mid-thigh, exposing her knees and several inches of flesh above them. Matt’s eyes seemed to touch her skin and, although she knew it was crazy, she felt that appraisal deep within her bones.

Heat, strong and totally inappropriate, flooded her chilled limbs, and she couldn’t wait to get to her feet and put some distance between them. She wasn’t attracted to this man, she told herself fiercely. She couldn’t be. Not in her present situation. After the way Max had treated her, she’d always believed she’d never want to get involved with any man ever again, and for all she knew Matt Seton might be just like him. After all, he looked bigger and stronger, and therefore more dangerous.

When she tried to get to her feet again, however, her legs gave way under her. Her bruised hip screamed with pain when she tried to straighten it, and she sank down onto her knees in total humiliation.

But, the damp sand had barely had time to coat her skin before hands fastened about her upper arms and helped her up again. Favouring her uninjured leg, she managed to support her weight with an effort, and even managed a light tone as she said, ‘Sorry about that. I must have lost my balance.’