the last of Daisy’s new batch of silk-screen printed scarves at the front of the stall. ‘You didn’t need to spend the whole night there looking after him. You don’t owe that guy a thing. And I bet he didn’t even thank you for it.’
Oh, yes, he did.
The heat suffused Daisy’s cheeks as she recalled how thoroughly Connor Brody had thanked her. She ducked behind the rack of cotton dresses and prayed Juno hadn’t noticed her reaction.
‘Why are you blushing?’
Daisy peeked over the top of the rack to see Juno watching her. Did the woman have radar or something? ‘I’m not blushing. I’m rearranging the dress sizes.’ She popped back behind the rack. ‘It never ceases to amaze me how out of order they get,’ she babbled, shoving a size fourteen in between two size eights.
‘Daze, did something happen I should know about?’ Juno asked quietly, appearing beside her. She placed her hand over the one Daisy had clutching the rack. ‘If he did something to you, you can talk to me—you know that, right?’
The concern in Juno’s eyes made Daisy’s blush get a whole lot worse as embarrassment was comprehensively replaced by guilt.
It had taken her less than twenty minutes of angst after bolting out of Connor Brody’s house that morning to get over her panic attack. She wasn’t even sure what she’d got so worked up about now. Okay, so she’d jumped him, but who wouldn’t in her situation? She’d been exhausted. She’d spent the whole night in close proximity to that beautiful body of his. She’d seen him at his most vulnerable plagued by those terrible nightmares and it had created a false sense of intimacy. So what? He hadn’t exactly objected when she’d demanded he make love to her. And she’d never be idiotic or delusional enough to fall in love with a man like Connor Brody. A man who was so totally the opposite of the nice, calm, settled, steady, average guy she needed.
All of which meant she could rest assured that what had happened in Connor Brody’s bed that morning hadn’t suddenly turned her into her mother. Because that had always been her mother’s mistake—not the pursuit of good sex, but the belief that good sex meant you must have found the man of your dreams. Daisy knew that good sex—even stupendous sex—had nothing whatsoever to do with love.
The relief she’d felt had been immense.
But the one thing Daisy hadn’t been able to get past—or to justify—was the scurrilous way she’d treated Connor Brody. Not just after they’d made love—but before she’d ever met him. Was it any wonder Juno thought something bad had happened at Brody’s house when Daisy had spent the last few weeks assassinating his character to anyone who would listen?
And on what evidence? None at all. She’d judged him and condemned him because he was rich and good-looking and, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, because she’d fancied him right from the first time she’d laid eyes on him and she’d resented it.
She’d broken into his home, all but accused him of killing a cat he’d actually been looking after and then—after trying to make amends during the night by nursing him through his fever—she’d ruined it all by seducing him first thing the following morning and then freaking out and running off.
Thinking about the way she’d brushed off his perfectly sweet attempts to calm her down made her cringe. He’d been a nice guy about the whole thing—had even offered to talk about it, and how many guys did that after a one-night stand? And what had she done? She’d told him to get lost. The poor guy probably thought she was a total basketcase and frankly who could blame him?
Daisy gave a deep sigh. At the very least she owed the man an apology. What was that old saying about pride going before a fall? She might as well have hurled herself off a cliff.
‘Daze, you’re really starting to worry me.’ Juno’s urgent voice pulled Daisy out of her musings. ‘Tell me what he did. If he’s hurt you, I’ll make him pay. I promise.’
Daisy gave a half-smile, amused despite everything at the thought of Juno, who was even shorter than she was, going toe to toe with Brody. She shook her head. ‘He didn’t hurt me, Ju. He’s a nice bloke.’
She paused. Maybe nice was too tame a word to describe Connor Brody, but it served its purpose here. ‘If anything, it’s the other way around—I hurt him.’
She knew she hadn’t done more than dent his pride a little, but that still made her feel bad.
Walking round the stall, Daisy pinged open the drawer on the antique cash register. She lifted out the rolls of change and began cracking them open.
‘How?’ Juno asked, picking up a five-pence roll and ripping off the paper wrapping.
Daisy blew out a breath. ‘I’ve been a complete cow to him. All those things I said to you and Mrs V and everyone else, all the assumptions I made. They all turned out to be a load of old cobblers.’ The tinkle of change hitting the cash drawer’s wooden base couldn’t disguise the shame in her voice.
‘What makes you think he’d care?’ Juno scoffed, but then she’d always been willing to think the worst of any good-looking guy. Daisy wondered when she’d started to adopt the same prejudices.
‘That’s not the point,’ Daisy said. ‘I care.’
‘All you really said was that he’s rich and arrogant. What’s so awful about that?’
‘He may be rich, but he’s not arrogant.’ As she said it Daisy recalled the way he’d kissed her senseless before she’d even woken up properly. ‘All right, maybe he is a little bit arrogant, but I expect he’s used to women falling at his feet.’ She certainly had.
‘So what? That doesn’t give him the right to take advantage—’
Daisy pressed her fingers to Juno’s lips. ‘He didn’t take advantage of me. What happened was entirely consensual.’ Just thinking about how consensual it had been was making her pulse skitter.
‘What exactly did happen?’ Juno’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because it’s beginning to sound as if more than rest and recuperation were involved. You’re not telling me you slept with him, are you?’
Daisy’s flush flared back to life at the accusatory look in Juno’s eyes. How on earth was she going to explain her behaviour to Juno when it had taken her so long to explain it to herself? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the rumble of a deep Irish accent had both their heads whipping round to the front of the stall.
‘Hello, ladies.’
Daisy’s heartbeat skipped a beat. He looked tall and devastating in the same worn T-shirt and jeans he’d stripped out of that morning—and amused. His lips twitched in that sensual smile she remembered a little too vividly from the moment she’d woken up in his bedroom.
‘While I hate to interrupt this fascinating bit of chit-chat—’ he gripped the top of the stall’s canopy and leaned over the brightly coloured scarves and blouses ‘—I’d like to have a word, Daisy.’ His forefinger skimmed her cheek. ‘In private.’
Daisy swallowed, feeling the burn where the calloused fingertip had touched.
‘Daisy’s busy. Buzz off.’
He dropped
