For His Little Girl

Chapter Three

"Daddy, Daddy, DADDY!" Josie's voice rose a note higher on each word.

Give him his due, Pippa thought, Luke reacted magnificently, sweeping his daughter up into his arms and crying, "There's my special girl!" in a glad voice.

They surveyed each other, considering, sizing up. Pippa almost laughed at the uncanny mirror image of their attitudes. Their faces weren't alike but their movements, their way of holding their heads back at a slight angle that said "Oh, yeah?" were identical.

Luke deposited the child gently on the floor and turned to Pippa, arms open. As he pulled her close he muttered into her ear, "Bless you as an answer to a prayer."

Over his shoulder she saw Dominique, and things began to fall into place. Not everything, but enough to understand that Luke was "on the ran" again.

He released her. "Pippa, my love, this is Dominique-a friend. Dominique, this is Pippa, who I was just now telling you about."

All Pippa's antennae were on full alert and she saw everything, even the very small tightening of the other woman's mouth at "a friend."

Dominique stood with her robe slipping open just enough to show that she was naked underneath. She held out a beautifully manicured hand, surveying Pippa in a way that was obviously meant to be intimidating. She smiled back, refusing to be awed.

"Better put some clothes on," Luke said, an arm around Dominique's shoulders, urging her to the door. "And don't you have an appointment in an hour?"

"Three hours, actually," the model said glacially.

"Well, you don't want to be late, do you?" Luke switched his attention to Pippa and Josie. "Where are your bags?"

"At the airport hotel."

"You're not staying in any hotel," he said, outraged. "My family stays with me. I'll have the spare room ready in no time. You'll love it."

"Thank you. As long as I'm not putting you out-" this was to Dominique.

"Not at all," the other woman drawled, adding with meaning, "I wasn't sleeping in the spare room.''

"I'm sure you weren't," Pippa said, meeting her eyes evenly.

Luke had slipped away to talk to Bertha, who cleaned for him and had just arrived. Dominique lowered her voice, indicating the photograph. "Don't kid yourself, honey! That picture never appeared before today."

Pippa's lips twitched. "Really? He must have needed it very urgently-today."

"Oh, you're very funny! But I know a con whan I see one."

"I'm sure you do. It takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

Dominique flounced away, too wise to answer this.

It might have been a lot worse, Pippa realized. As it was, she'd had a welcome better than her brightest hopes, even if it was because she was saving his skin. That reference to "my family" had been for Dominique's benefit of course, but it had been just what Josie needed to hear.

Luke returned, smiling, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Let me look at you. Oh, Pippa, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"So I gathered," she teased.

"No, not just because of that. After all this time you're just-just my Pippa."

"Hey, what am I?" Josie demanded indignantly.

"You're my best girl," he said at once, and hugged her. "Now, first things first. Coffee, then the hotel."

"I'm hungry," Josie declared.

"Josie!" Pippa exclaimed. "Manners!"

"Of course she's hungry," Luke said. "Milk and strawberry salad."

"You can't put strawberries in a salad," Josie protested.

"You can, chez Luke."

Josie looked puzzled, and he explained, "Chez means at the home of. It's French. I use it when I want to impress people."

"You said milk," Josie reminded him in the accents of a starving orphan.

"Coming up!"

While he was finding the milk and pouring it for her, Bertha returned to say the room was ready. Pippa slipped away with her, while Luke got to work on the strawberry salad, collecting strawberries, raspberry vinegar, mint and lettuce.

"This is a concoction of Luke of the Ritz," he declared, lining up a selection of other fruits like a general inspecting his troop. "Sour cream," he added briskly. "That cupboard over there."

Josie moved fast and brought the cream, just right.

"Now some honey. That one."

She repeated the action, practically standing to attention when she'd delivered the honey.

"Who was Luke of the Ritz?" she asked. "You?"

"No, but I nearly was. Can you open that door next to the sink, please?" She did so, and he took out his electric blender.

"Why nearly?"

"Because your mommy thought people would die laughing. She was right, too." As he spoke he was washing the strawberries, then preparing to stem and halve them.

''I can do that,'' Josie said, taking a knife.

"Hey, no! That's too sharp for you." But he fell silent as he saw how efficiently she got to work. "Done it before, huh?"

"I help in the kitchen at home. Mummy says don't touch sharp knives, but I can handle them, so I do, anyway."

"Guess you do," he murmured, watching the neat little fingers flying and recalling another child who'd done what he wanted rather than what his mother said. "And what does she say about that?"

"Well-" Josie stopped for a moment to consider "-she starts to say things like, 'Do as I tell you,' and 'Josie, did you hear me?' But then Jake puts his head around the door and says, 'Hey, Pip, I'm on early shift. Is it ready yet?' Or Harry gets upset because he's lost something important. Harry's always losing things that he says are important. Or Paul comes in covered in axle grease-Paul restores old cars-or Derek-"

"Whoa, hold on there! Who are all these guys?"

"They're our boarders, only they're friends, as well. They're all terribly fond of Mummy. I've done all the strawberries. What's next?"

"Lettuce. Give it a good wash."

While she washed he got out some china plates, then she arranged lettuce leaves while he pureed some of the strawberries.

"Now for the honey, mint and sour cream," he declared dramatically, just as he did on his show.

But it wasn't the camera fixing its gaze on him, or the audience crowding the benches, laughing at his well-rehearsed but so spontaneous-seeming flourishes. It was a cheeky little girl with laughing eyes, regarding him with her head on one side, exactly as another girl had done once before. It gave him a strange turn.

In fact, everything about today was strange. Only a few hours ago he'd awoken next to a beautiful model, the ultimate bachelor's dream. Suddenly he was a father. Okay, Okay, he'd been a father for years, but until this moment he hadn't felt like a father. Now he did. And it felt good. Every man should have a daughter, he reckoned, especially one with long, curly red hair, a cheeky grin and her mother's air of challenging everyone.

Once again Luke Danton had gotten lucky. The world's goodies had fallen into his lap, just the way they always did. And again, as always, he was grateful.

Luke's bathroom was modern luxury made to look like Victorian basic: white tiles on the walls, dark-red and brown decorative tiles on the floor, and glowing brass fixtures. The effect was sumptuous.

After splashing water on her face Pippa sat down while she dried herself, and took long breaths. She'd cleared the first hurdle. It had been tough, but she'd coped. She'd gotten over Luke long ago, but it was never going to be easy seeing him again, being physically close to him. Luke wasn't just a handsome face, or charm personified, although he was both those things. He was a body that she still remembered during her lonely nights and a vibrant presence and warm, laughing eyes.

He might have been dismayed to see her, and she'd braced herself for that. But nothing had prepared her for the welcome she'd received, even if she did know that Luke was being practical. Being hugged close to him was unnerving, but she would get over that. She had come here for Josie's sake, and that was all that mattered.

She took a few more deep breaths, and when she felt better she returned to the kitchen where Luke was dishing up. She was suitably impressed by the creation.

"One hundred and twenty calories, and four grams of fat," he explained. "I add that bit automatically now. People always seem to want to know."

"And it's delicious," Josie said blissfully. "Mummy, why don't we have strawberry salad?"

"Oh, sure," Pippa said wryly, "I can see Jake and Harry eating strawberry salad. If it doesn't have chips and fried bacon they doesn't want to know." She assumed an attitude. "'Hey, Pip, I've got a fourteen-hour shift. A man needs something to keep him going, know what I mean?'''

"Fourteen hours?" Luke echoed.

"Jake's just qualified as a doctor," Pippa explained. "Which means he lectures the rest of us about healthy eating and stuffs himself with stodge."

It was Josie who finished first, devouring Luke's helping as well as her own, then hopped up and down impatiently until they were ready to go to the hotel for the bags. For the short journey she sat in the back of Luke's Porsche, eyes popping at everything she saw. Luke and Pippa were together in the front.

"I still can't get my head around this," he said.

"You mean I shouldn't have come?" she asked quickly.

"No, I love surprises. And you were an answer to a prayer."

"Yes, I could see. What would you have done without me?"

"Lord knows," he said with a shudder. "But I didn't mean that. I meant you. You always did things without warning, like a firecracker. It's great to know you haven't changed."

"Well, perhaps I should have changed by now. I'm eleven years older, but I don't seem to be much wiser. You might have been living with that woman.''

He gave a reminiscent grin.

"No way. Know something? The only woman I ever lived with was you."

She'd moved into the guest house with Luke. "Ma'' Dawson, upon whom his charm had a powerful effect, had found them a room just big enough for two, just down the corridor from the kitchen. She was a kindly soul but a dreadful cook, something that she blamed vaguely on "me rheumatics," without ever explaining the connection. Pippa took over the cooking for three evenings, in addition to the two Luke had already been doing, and Ma gave them a heavy discount on the rent.

Pippa loved the happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the house. It stood a couple of blocks away from a big teaching hospital, and most of the residents were medical students. They lived on the edge of poverty, kept incredible hours without collapsing, studied a lot, ate and drank a lot and laughed a lot.

There were magic nights sitting up until the early hours discussing "Life" with a capital L with Angus and Michael and Liz and Sarah and George and anyone else who dropped in. She added her mite to the talk, snuggled in the curve of Luke's arm, relishing the warmth of his lean body, half hearing half sensing the beat of his heart.

He would sit there contentedly with her, but he said little. He was too busy living life to talk about it, and he hated analyzing abstractions. In fact, he hated abstractions.

Life reached Luke through his senses, through the taste of food, the smell of ingredients, what he felt against his skin and in his loins. To him the world was physical, tangible, and where it wasn't, he shrugged.

When he was bored with these talks he would nibble softly on her ear. Then they would slip away together, and the rest of the night would be even more magic.

She seemed to be floating through life in a blissful haze of newly discovered pleasure, so that everything that happened was sensual and lovely. This was true even of things that weren't directly connected with Luke, but a hundred times more true about things that were. She couldn't be in the same room with him without growing excited and impatient. When he was cooking she watched his hands. They were artist's hands, powerful and muscular, yet sensitive, too, and the mere sight of them could thrill her body, which carried the memories of their intimate touch.

At work she wore the sedate, respectable uniform of a chambermaid, but it told a lie. Beneath it she wasn't respectable at all. It made her laugh sometimes to think how shocked people would be if they knew her head was filled with thoughts of Luke, who wanted her as uncontrollably as she wanted him-Luke, in bed with her, naked and aroused. In thought she dwelt on every inch of him: how long and slim his flanks were; how firm his behind; how unexpectedly strong his hands; how big and hard he was inside her; how badly she wanted him there.

Once, at home, the urgency grew more than she could stand, and as soon as he closed the oven door, she fastened her lips on his in the fiercest kiss she'd ever given him-avid, devouring, voracious, gloriously shameless, both giving and demanding. With one hand she cupped his head, while with the other, began undressing him. After the first shock he'd responded avidly, drawing her swiftly out of the kitchen and along the corridor to their room. They barely had time to shut the door before they were pulling off each other's clothes, almost competing to see who could strip whom the fastest. She could never remember who'd won, but they were both naked before they hit the bed.

She pulled him over her with strong, determined movements. She wasn't fooling. She wanted Luke on the most basic, primitive level and no nonsense about it. Romance and candlelight were lovely in their place, but right now she would go crazy if she couldn't feel him inside her, completing her, filling her to satiation point.

At last she had her way. He was there, thrusting vigorously in the way she loved. She drove back against him, drawing him deep into her, knowing this excited him to madness. She loved his strength, the fierce power in his loins, his tirelessness. To match it she offered her craving for him that could never be satisfied for long, her delight in pleasing him as much as he pleased her.

Later she tormented herself with questions. Had she spoiled things by being too forward, too eager, too always ready? Should she have held off, teased him, made him wonder about her? That might have been subtle and clever, but it would also have been a kind of deception that her passionately honest nature couldn't have managed. She was young and bursting with health. To enjoy sex with your lover seemed natural, like discovering the secret of life itself, or being given a Christmas present every day. And each day the present was a little different, a little better. But had her own gifts to him grown better? Or had he gradually become bored with her? She would always wonder. Or perhaps wondering was just a word for knowing the truth but not admitting it.

But there were other memories to set beside these, glorious nights when she'd lain naked in his arms while he worshipped her body by moonlight. And other nights when he acted like a clown, spicing passion with wit, making her laugh even while her body was in a fever. Once he'd said, "I'm trying to work out which part of you I like best. It's a tough decision because you have the most perfect breasts of any woman in the world."

As he spoke he was tracing a finger over the swell of her right breast, lingering over the nipple, teasing it until the excitement stormed along her nerves and it was all she could do to say, "You'd know, would you? About all the others?"

"Mmm-" he seemed to consider this "-maybe not all the others."

"But a good few?" she asked, torn between joking and jealousy.

"Enough to know that you're the best. Now hush, I'm concentrating."

She laughed and fell silent, enjoying herself as he treated the other breast to similar caresses until both nipples were proudly peaked. By now they were familiar with each other's bodies, and knew the touches that best pleased. He knew how she loved to be kissed all over, very, very slowly, deferring the ultimate moment of pleasure so that it would be all the more exquisite. She was excited by the thrill it gave him when she ran her fingers lightly over his chest, and down to where he was leaping up to her.

Although she enjoyed his admiration it soon brought her to such a pitch of excitement that she grew impatient and tried to incite him with her own caresses. But he suddenly went into clowning mode, and prevented her firmly and with dignity.

"Madam, please stop that," he said solemnly. "I've been reading a book about foreplay, and I want to practice."

"Was it useful-this book?" she asked, falling in with his game.

"Extremely," he informed her, poker-faced. "Now observe this next bit carefully, because afterward I'm going to ask you questions. And, hush! How can I create a romantic mood if you're giggling?"

He was lazily drifting his fingers along the insides of her thighs, reaching the top, lingering for a shattering moment, before drifting away again. She gasped and dug her fingers into his shoulders as her arousal grew more intense.

"Did the book explain-the significance of that gesture?" she murmured in his ear.

"It's supposed to put you in the mood."

"But if I told you I was already in the mood?"

He became prim. "Then I would say you were a very forward young woman, and I'd be shocked. And the book didn't warn me that you'd do that."

"I'm sorry!"

"I forgive you, but I've lost the place now. I'll check the index."

"You let go of me and you're dead."

"You're not being helpful at all," he complained. "I'm trying to learn the nuances. A man is supposed to be subtle, not just go at it like a bull at a gate. The manual promised that this would make you appreciate me more."

"I could hardly appreciate you more than I already do," she said, fingering the part of him she appreciated most at that moment and trying to guide it toward her. "Luke," she pleaded, "couldn't you skip the subtleties and just charge the gate?''

"Woman, where is your heart of romance?"

"Let's be romantic another time. Tonight I'm feeling very, very basic."

"In that case," he said, settling swiftly between her thighs, "let's charge the gate together."

And they did, taking it fast and furious, so that they ended up breathless and full of glory.

"I think," Pippa said between gasps, "that we demolished the gate that time."

Which made them both laugh so hard that they lost their sense of decorum for the second time that night and clasped each other in a state of fierce delight in which subtlety played no part. Even so, there was still tenderness. Luke entered her in the way she loved the most, slowly but strongly, pro-longing the moment to the full so that she felt the hardness of him filling her up, completing her. And when she met his eyes she found a smile there. Not the laughter of before, when he'd been clowning, but a glow that told her they were at one. She smiled back, full of a joy that went beyond physical pleasure, and knowing that there was only him in all the world.

Pippa always remembered that night, because at some point sex became lovemaking. At least, that's what happened for her. How or when it changed, or why it happened just then, was a mystery. But what had been a joyous game with a prize every time, became deeper, more poignant. The prize was still there, as sweet as ever, but suddenly there was a price to be paid. This wasn't just the man who brought her sexual delight. He was the man who laid his head against her breast and fell asleep, as though he trusted her totally, so that she melted with tenderness and a mysterious pleasurable ache.

They had never spoken of love. It was all part of being in a modern relationship, with no strings. You each lived your own life and passed on. But suddenly love was there, awkward, inconvenient, getting in the way of your plans, and unwanted, since he was a man who wouldn't be tied down, and love equaled strings. Right?

But he was asleep now, so she could whisper, "Sorry, darling. I went back on the deal. I wish I could tell you, but you'd be scared stiff. Never mind. My problem, not yours. It's all a laugh, isn't it? Oh Luke, Luke!"

Among other things Pippa adored Luke for his sweet temper. The only time she could recall seeing him disgruntled was when she was dressing to go out one Saturday, without inviting him, or even telling him where she was going.

"The first Saturday we've both had off for ages and you vanish," he grumbled. "And you're dressing up, as if it's somewhere special." He looked suspiciously at the clinging jersey dress in a brilliant cerise, that only she could have carried off. "It's not like you to keep secrets."

"It's only a little secret."

"So what's the big deal about telling me?" He scowled suddenly. "Who is he?"

"His name's Frank, and he's my uncle, and I'm going to his wedding."

"Great!" he sulked. "I'm not good enough to meet your family!"

"Don't be silly, darling. I just thought it would bore you. A wedding, solid family gathering, men in formal suits, women in hats. I know that sort of thing gives you nightmares.''

"I'd rather put up with it than not see you all day."

"Luke, are you sure? You know what'll happen if we go together-"

"People will simper and ask when you're going to make an honest man of me. Don't worry, we'll tell them you're keeping me as a pet. Will your father and Clarice be there?"

"No, they moved away a few months ago."

"So, let's be on our way." He kissed her. "If you think I'm letting you go anywhere, looking so pretty, without me, you're crazy."

From somewhere he produced a suit, borrowed his friend's old car and they were soon on their way. Her heart was singing with joy. She hadn't invited him, determined not to repeat the mistake that had frightened him off other girlfriends. But he was coming, anyway, because he was jealous. He was actually jealous! It was too good to be true.

They reached Frank's house just before noon and found him calm and well prepared. He owned a small corner shop that was modestly prosperous. Gravity had settled on him early in life, and he looked ten years older than his actual age, which was thirty.

Pippa gave him an exuberant hug, and he kissed her with quiet affection. When the introductions were over she demanded, "Why aren't you pacing the floor with nerves, like a normal bridegroom?''

"What is there to be nervous about?" he asked, mildly surprised. "Elly's organized everything down to the last detail. She's wonderful at that."

"Is that the best he can say about the woman he's marrying?" Luke muttered in her ear.

"Frank doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve," she muttered back. But aloud she couldn't resist saying, "Honestly, Frank, it's not decent to be so cool and composed. You might at least be gnawing your fingers about whether Elly will show up at the church, or fretting that you aren't good enough for her."

He looked bewildered for a moment, then smiled and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You will have your little joke," he said tolerantly. "I'm so glad you're here, my dear."

Elly was a plump, comfortable widow, a couple of years his senior. Pippa had met her before and liked her, thinking how perfectly she suited him.

They reminded her of a couple of dormice, not exciting, but cosy and content together.

Near the end of the reception Elly took Pippa aside and said, archly, "Such a very handsome young man! When will we hear wedding bells for you?"

"You won't," Pippa said. To her relief Luke was on the other side of the room swapping funny stories with the best man.

"But anyone can see you two are crazy about each other," Elly protested.

Pippa discovered that she didn't have her heart under such perfect control as she'd hoped, otherwise the suggestion that Luke was crazy about her wouldn't have made it leap like that. But she assumed a worldly-wise air.

"I'm eighteen. I've got a lot of road to travel before I'm ready to settle down."

"You mean he hasn't asked you?"

"I mean that every little fling doesn't have to end in marriage these days. Neither Luke or I care about doing the conventional thing. Elly, honestly, I'm really happy for you and Frank. I think you're perfect together. But things are different for my generation."

To which Elly simply replied, "Hmm!" with a look of disconcerting shrewdness in her baby-blue eyes.

Frank and Luke talked for a conscientious ten minutes, but both were relieved when it was over. Frank was kind and well-meaning, but he was also pompous and narrow-minded, and before she left he said firmly to Pippa, "That young man isn't at all suitable for you, my dear. I'm afraid I'd have to call him rackety."

"He's twenty-three," Pippa said incensed. "Weren't you rackety when you were his age?"

He was shocked. "Certainly not!"

"Well, you should have been! Everyone should be rackety at twenty-three. He's got years and years to be responsible."

"You sound as though you're quoting him," Frank said, scoring a bull's-eye and momentarily throwing her off balance. "Don't give him your heart, Pippa. He'll only break it."

She tried to sound nonchalant. "Maybe I'll break his."

"I hope so. But I'm afraid the world doesn't work that way."

"Oh, Frank, don't be so stuffy! I'm having a wonderful time with Luke. Who cares about tomorrow?" She flitted away before he could say any more. She couldn't cope with Frank's disconcerting insights.

As they lay in each other's arms that night, Luke kissed her and said, "I'm afraid Frank and I bring out the worst in each other."

"I know. He said you were rackety. I told him he should have been rackety at your age."

Luke shouted with laughter. "I wish I could have seen his face. It's not his way, any more than pipe and slippers are mine."

"Who wants pipe and slippers?" she murmured, beginning to nibble him. "There are other things

"Mmm?" He lay back and stretched luxuriously one arm behind his head, one leg carelessly raised giving her the slow, significant smile she loved. "Why don't you tell me about these other things?"

"Aren't you going to give me any help?"

"Nope. I'm just going to lie here and let you have your wicked way with me." He yawned provocatively. "I may even fall asleep."

"Over my dead body! Or yours!"

He grinned. "Woman, are you going to seduce me, or are you going to sit there and yak all night?''

"I'm going to seduce you," she whispered. "But first I'm going to enjoy just looking at you."

She drew back and feasted her eyes on him. Luke's shoulders weren't broad or heavy with muscles, and his strength was of the whipcord variety, so apart from his height he wasn't physically splendid: not if you were only looking. But Pippa wasn't only looking. She was remembering, too, and her memories were delicious.

"You're a shameless woman," he murmured.

"I know," she said as she trailed her hand over his smooth chest. "It's more fun that way. Don't you think?"

"If you put it like that," he said, speaking with difficulty, "then yes."

She chuckled and began to kiss him, his mouth first, then his neck, little tickling kisses that drew a growl from his throat. His hands began to go into action, but she stopped them.

"I'm supposed to be seducing you, remember?"

"Well, you've seduced me now," he said, grinning. "Let's get on to the next bit."

"Wait," she said, fending him off. "Learn to be patient."

"To hell with that. If it's worth waiting for, I want it now.'' He began touching her with little tickling movements that sent sensation flowing over her skin. He was a devil who knew she couldn't hold out when she did that.

"What about that book?" she demanded, feeling herself drowning in sensation. "Foreplay, and all that."

"I've gone on to the next chapter," he said cheekily.

"Well I-haven't." Putting out all her strength she tossed him onto his back. He was surprised enough to let her win, and lay watching her out of glinting eyes that held a warning. He would enjoy her teasing, but he was far from tame. His proud, upstanding member proclaimed that.

She lightly touched the part of him she wanted most, thinking blissfully ahead but heightening the pleasure by deferring it. By now she knew how steely was Luke's control. He was ready, but he could stay ready for a long time. It was a kind of mutual teasing that they had perfected, and it thrilled her to know that she could excite him that much. Her fingers moved again, caressing and enjoying, loving the feel of him in her hand.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured.

"I know. That's how I like it best."

"Now, Pippa."

"Not…quite…now. Hey!" For he had returned the compliment, tossing her onto her back and coming over her swiftly.

"I said now," he told her firmly against her mouth. "Unless you want to dispute the point."

"Mmm. What point was that?"

Thought was becoming impossible as she felt him part her thighs. Then he was there between them, finding her, sliding into her. She was almost sobbing with pleasure, wrapping her legs and arms about him with fierce intent. Of all the delights in the world there was only this that really mattered, having your man inside you, feeling the heat of him, smelling his warm, spicy skin, giving yourself to him a thousandfold and taking from him all he had to give. When her moment of release came, she made a sound like a cry of triumph.

As they lay blissfully together afterward, Pippa suddenly exploded with uncontrollable laughter.

"What? What?" he asked, already beginning to laugh with her.

"What we just did-" she choked.

"You've never found it funny before."

"No, not us-Frank and Elly-"

He buried his face against her, and making muffled sounds while his shoulders shook. "Don't," he begged at last. "I can't laugh any more. It hurts. Anyway, perhaps they won't bother."

"Oh, they will. They want lots of children, and Frank believes that everything should be done properly. I suppose we shouldn't laugh. It isn't kind."

"We're not doing them any harm," he gasped. "And he's such a-oh, Lord, perhaps I should have loaned him my book."

"Then he could make a list-and-and tick it-as he-"

And they were off again, clinging to each other in an agony of mirth. The world was theirs, and from their lofty perch of bliss they could afford a little pity for middle-aged people who thought they knew what life was about.