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A little of Daisy’s anger and indignation drained away, to be replaced by something that felt uncomfortably like shame.
‘She had the kittens ten days back,’ he continued, the hoarse tone barely more than a whisper. ‘The cleaner’s been looking after them. They seem to be doing okay.’
‘I see,’ she said quietly.
Daisy stood, resigned to eating the slice of humble pie she’d so cleverly served herself by climbing over his garden wall in the middle of the night.
Still, she took a few seconds to collect herself, brushing invisible fluff off Cal’s jeans and then folding down the waistband so they’d stay up without her having to cling onto them. Humble pie had always been hard for her to swallow. Having delayed as long as possible, she cleared her throat and made eye contact.
He was studying her, his expression inscrutable. She might have guessed he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
‘I’m awfully sorry, Mr…?’
‘Brody, Connor Brody,’ he said, a penetrating look in those crystal eyes. Her pulse skidded.
‘Mr Brody,’ she murmured, her cheeks flaming. ‘What I did was unforgivable. I hope there are no hard feelings.’
She held out her hand, but instead of taking it he glanced at it, then to her astonishment his lips curved in a lazy grin. The slow, sensuous smile softened the harsh lines of his face, making him look even more gorgeous—and even more arrogant—if that were possible.
Daisy held back a sigh as her heart rate kicked into overdrive.
How typical. When Daisy Dean made an idiot of herself, it couldn’t be in front of an ordinary mortal. It had to be in front of someone who looked like a flipping movie star.
‘So are your cat burgling days behind you, now?’ he said at last, the roughened voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. He tilted his head to take in every inch of her attire, right down to Juno’s Doc Martens. ‘That’d be a shame, as the outfit suits you.’
She dropped her hand. Make that a movie star with a warped sense of humour.
‘Enjoy it while you can,’ she said dryly, trying hard to see the humour in the situation—which was clearly at her expense. She knew perfectly well she looked a complete fright.
‘And what would your name be?’ he asked.
‘Daisy Dean.’
‘It’s been a pleasure, Daisy Dean,’ he said, still smirking as if she were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow to get the cats, if that’s okay?’ she said stiffly, clinging to her last scrap of dignity.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said. The hacking cough that followed wiped the smirk off his face, but only for a moment. ‘I’ve a question, though, before you go.’
‘What is it?’ she asked warily, the teasing glint in his eyes irritating her.
Honestly, some men would flirt with a stone.
He didn’t say anything straight away. Instead, his gaze roamed down to her chest and took its own sweet time making its way back to her face. ‘Did you lose the bra on your way over the wall?’
Colour flared in her cheeks and her backbone snapped straight. That did it. ‘I’m glad you find this so hilarious, Mr Brody.’
‘You have no idea, Daisy,’ he said, coughing out a laugh, his pure aquamarine eyes sparkling with mischief.
‘I’m off,’ she said through clenched teeth, not even trying to keep the frost out of her voice.
She might have been wrong about the cat, but she hadn’t been wrong about him. He was an arrogant, overbearing, insufferable, full-of-himself—
A hissed expletive interrupted her cataloguing of his many character flaws.
She turned, watching in astonishment as he stumbled and then collapsed. The thud of his knees hitting the laminated floor made her wince.
She crouched beside him, her resentment fading fast as she took in his pallid complexion and the tremors racking his body. ‘Mr Brody, are you okay?’
