that safe?’
Izzy, still stinging from his reproach, glanced over. ‘Fine. She’s teething—everything goes in her mouth.’
Roman straightened up, leaned back against a counter and stood watching while Izzy moved around the room until, in the act of pulling a lid off a jar, she was unable to bear his silent scrutiny another second. She stopped and expelled a sigh through clenched teeth.
Straightening her slender shoulders, she put down the jar and turned to face him. ‘So, all right, it’s not a joke or about scoring points. What is it about?’
Her eyes were incredible, the deepest, purest blue he had ever seen.
She arched a delicate brow. ‘Well?’
‘This is about damage limitation.’ And controlling his desire to touch her. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s about you admitting you can’t do it all yourself. It’s about me being allowed to take my share of the responsibilities. You don’t like this house? Fine. I … we can find something you do like.’
‘I like where I live.’ He just kept missing the point.
‘That cottage, there’s not enough room to swing a cat there.’
‘My cottage!’ she exclaimed. ‘You have never seen my cottage. You don’t even know where I live!’
‘I may not have had an invite but be real, Isabel. Of course I know where you live, and I’m assuming your house is not dissimilar in size to your neighbour’s, who kindly did ask me in after I admired her dahlias.’
‘You … you … how dare you? You wouldn’t know a dahlia from a daisy.’
‘Now there you go again, making snap judgements based on what?’
‘I don’t care if you have green fingers.’ Actually his fingers were brown and long and sensitive. Hand pressed to her fluttering stomach, Izzy dragged her gaze upwards and finished angrily, ‘I won’t tolerate being spied on and manipulated.’
His languid air vanished. ‘And I will not tolerate my child living in a house paid for by Michael Fitzgerald.’ Michael Fitzgerald was the least of Roman’s concerns. There was no man in Isabel’s life right now, but how long would that situation continue? How long before some man wanted to move in and bring up his daughter?
Izzy was taken aback by the underlying venom in his tone. ‘What have you got against Michael?’
‘Nothing. I barely know the man,’ Roman cut back, looking impatient. ‘Other than the fact he has an excellent reputation as a horse breeder.’
‘For the record, I rent the cottage, not Michael. He offered to help financially, but I refused.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I can pay my own way.’ She bent and scooped up the baby.
‘Did Michael ask who the father was?’ If the roles had been reversed he would have tracked down the man responsible and … But he was the reckless bastard responsible and it was his job to protect his own daughter.
Izzy shook her head. ‘No.’ She suspected that Michelle had a lot to do with this restraint.
‘But he knows now.’
‘Obviously Michelle told him.’
Izzy brought her lashes down in a protective sweep. Michael’s response, she realised in retrospect, had initiated their first father and daughter dispute. She had found herself placed in the strange position of defending Roman.
He had eventually cooled down and had even apologised after Michelle had supplied a large dose of common sense, but the subject was still a sensitive one.
‘But don’t worry, it doesn’t have to go any farther. They won’t tell anyone else.’ She gave a sudden laugh, her glance moving from Lily to Roman. ‘They won’t have to if anyone sees you together.’
‘People are going to know, Isabel.’
She swallowed. ‘I suppose so.’
He studied her face and felt his anger grow without knowing why. ‘You look delighted by the prospect.’
‘Are you telling me you are? That you don’t care about people talking and speculating?’ She curled up inside at the idea of being the butt of gossip again.
‘I do not care about what people say about me.’
Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. ‘I get the message, but could you lower it a bit? The testosterone levels are giving me a headache … and before you come over all huffy,’ she said wagging her finger at him, ‘remember you don’t care what people think about you.’
His taut expression faded to one of reluctant amused admiration. ‘Huffy? Is that even a word?’
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