Out of the Night

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Travis and I—’

  ‘Well, you didn’t, did you?’ Matt asked reasonably. ‘I thought at first it must be because you were frightened he might find you inexperienced and that was why…but then when I saw him with Gracie and I learned that all three of you had been together in January, I realised that he must have been having second thoughts about your engagement then and that that was why he held back.’

  Emily felt as though she’d been turned to stone. She dared not—she simply must not ask Matt how he knew that she and Travis had not been lovers. She didn’t think she could bear to hear the answer.

  ‘I…I think I’ll go inside,’ she said carefully instead. ‘It’s been a very odd sort of day.’ She put her hand to her head, and wondered if she was actually awake or merely—please God—having a nightmare.

  ‘Yes, it’s not every day you lose one fiancé and gain another,’ Matt said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to what she was feeling.

  If he weren’t still justifiably very, very angry with her, there would have been no way he could have stopped himself from taking her into his arms and confessing how much he loved her, Matt acknowledged, watching her. It was one thing to tell himself that he was doing this for both their sakes, and that, if they were to have any chance of happiness together, she must accept as he had done that there was nothing shameful or wrong in their lovemaking, and that, while intellectually neither of them might be able to understand it, they had actually fallen in love at first sight; it was quite another to stand here and see the misery and pain darken her eyes.

  Steeling himself against that misery, Matt added, mock offendedly, ‘I thought you’d be pleased. I know how you feel about your self-respect. I knew how you’d feel walking in to discover that the man you love has broken his engagement to you and become engaged to your sister. You see, the same thing once happened to me.’

  He had her attention now. Her shocked gaze had fastened on his face, so he added almost carelessly, ‘Of course, it was a long time ago. I was a young fool. I believed that Jolie—that was her name—loved me. In fact, what she loved was the trust fund my parents had left me. It took the discovery of her in bed with someone else to make me recognise the truth,’ he added grimly. ‘I know all too well what the humiliation of losing someone you love is like, Emily. I’m sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing. I only wanted to help.’

  Emily didn’t know which hurt the most: the knowledge that he had loved and probably still did love someone else; or the awareness of just how special a man he actually was to have thought of her and acted so promptly to save her from being hurt.

  What he didn’t know was that he had far more power to hurt her than poor Travis was ever likely to have, and in ‘helping’ her he had actually caused her the most appalling problems. How on earth was she going to explain away to Gracie the abrupt ending of their engagement, especially now that Gracie knew that they had been lovers and knew by her own admission that she loved him? Her head was aching with the effort of trying to come to terms with shock after shock and all in the space of one short afternoon.

  ‘Look, it’s not the end of the world,’ Matt told her easily. ‘Engagements are always being broken.’

  ‘Not within two weeks of the wedding, and when the two people are supposed to be so madly in love with one another that they can’t keep their hands off one another,’ Emily snapped at him crossly. ‘And not when one of those two people is me. Gracie knows that I… She’s probably on the phone to Brazil right now telling Mum and Dad. Do you know, she actually wanted to book the church for us when she and Travis go home.’

  Matt was still holding her hand, stroking his thumb over her racing pulse, but now he stopped and frowned at her, saying gently, ‘But Emily, I meant your engagement to Travis.’

  Emily stared at him, her skin flooding with betraying colour. She was so caught up in the trauma of somehow or other convincing Gracie that she didn’t love Matt after all, that she had completely forgotten her bogus engagement to Travis.

  Suddenly it was all too much for her, and, despite the fact that she was twenty-six years old, a mature woman who never gave way to her emotions but kept them locked up very firmly, she stamped her foot and said pettishly, ‘Never mind my engagement to Travis. How on earth am I going to explain to Gracie that you and I aren’t getting married?’

  If he hadn’t seen the shimmer of tears in her eyes, Matt might almost have burst out laughing. His self-controlled, stubborn, darling Emily was suddenly showing him very clearly just what he had to look forward to when she and he produced a daughter.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he comforted her. ‘We’ll think of something. Oh, and by the way, while you were upstairs your uncle rang. He’s staying overnight with his friend and so he won’t be back until tomorrow.’

  In actual fact he had been the one to make the telephone call, explaining that Gracie and Travis had arrived, and playing on the older man’s dislike of too much exuberant, youthful company. He was surprising himself with his talent for deceit, he decided guiltily, drawing Emily’s attention to the budding peonies with an air of tranquillity that made her want to throw something at him. It was all very well for him. It wasn’t his sister who believed they were passionately in love and on the verge of getting married.

  * * *

  As far as Emily was concerned, the rest of the day and the evening that followed it were simply a continuation of the nightmare which had begun when she had walked into the kitchen and discovered that she was engaged to Matt.

  At nine o’clock, unable to stand it a moment longer, she announced with perfect truth that she had a headache and intended to go to bed. When Matt solicitously went upstairs with her, she snapped at him like a cornered cat, slamming her bedroom door in his face with a noise which did nothing to ease her pounding head.

  All evening he had been attentive and lover-like, so that her nerves were stretched to breaking point with the effort of controlling her own responsiveness to him. Even now, outside her door, if he had taken hold of her and kissed her as he had done in the garden earlier, she knew she would have betrayed to him exactly how she felt about him.

  She didn’t know how much more she could endure; it had been one thing to control her love for him when she could maintain a physical distance between them, but now, with him so determined to play the amorous and adoring fiancé, he seemed to touch her at every opportunity, and more—he seemed to actively create such opportunities when they had no right to exist.

  Her skin actually felt hot and tender with a feverish craving for the intimacy of his touch. Her body ached with tension and desire—even her brain was clouded with emotion and need. She fumbled in her handbag for some headache tablets and took two before going to bed. Somehow tomorrow she must find a way to persuade Gracie to cut short her visit. Either that or she would have to tell her the truth.

  She sat bolt upright in bed and winced as her head pounded. Of course—that was what she should have done right from the start. She gnawed at her bottom lip. First thing in the morning she would explain everything to Gracie and then she would ask her, as her sister, to keep what she had told her to herself, and leave, and then once she and Travis had gone…well, then she could tell Matt that she was grateful to him but that there was no need for him to pretend to be her fiancé any longer, and that she intended to write to Gracie and tell her that their engagement was off.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she settled back in her bed and closed her eyes. Yes…that was what she would do. First thing in the morning.

  Only when she woke up, it wasn’t morning. It was still night and her bedroom door was open and Matt was standing inside it, whispering urgently, ‘Emily, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’She sat up and stared sleepily at him, her mind clouded with sleep. ‘I—’

  ‘You cried out, just as I was passing your door,’ Matt lied to her. He was inside her room now, closing the door, shutting them in together in a warm, dark tomb of intimacy that mad
e her stomach muscles quiver.

  ‘I suppose it’s Travis and Gracie,’ she heard Matt saying gently. ‘I suppose I should have expected this. Poor Emily…I know just how it feels.’

  Who had given him permission to sit on her bed? He was, she recognised, on his way to his bedroom from the bathroom because he was wearing a bathrobe and, she suspected, very little else. She could smell the fresh male scent of his soap and see the dampness of his hair.

  ‘Come on. Have a good cry if you want to,’ he offered comfortingly, and, before she could say a word, he had practically lifted her out of bed and tucked her along his side, so that she was nestled against him and his arms were around her.

  ‘Mm…this is nice,’ he commented appreciatively, touching the pretty lace that edged the bodice of her nightdress. ‘This is the colour you should have for your wedding dress—sort of ivory. It suits you.’

  Maybe it did, but surely that was no reason for his index finger to suddenly start tracing the delicate edging of the lace where it dipped over her breasts?

  ‘Yes, it’s very nice,’ he murmured, and suddenly Emily had the conviction that he was not referring to the lace any more.

  This really was dangerous. She must tell him to go. She tried to do so, but her vocal cords seemed to be paralysed. So did her hands, because they made no attempt whatsoever to remove Matt’s when they gently pushed down the straps of her nightdress, so that the bodice fell away from her, completely revealing her breasts.

  She did manage to find her voice then, protesting huskily, ‘Matt.’

  But he ignored her, saying softly, ‘It’s so much more comfortable like this, isn’t it, Emily? Don’t worry. I know you love Travis, and I completely respect your feelings; after all, it isn’t as though it’s the first time we’ve slept together, is it?’

  Slept together. Matt intended sleeping here, with her. She couldn’t let him do that, but, instead of telling him as much, Emily discovered that she was weakly and wantonly allowing him to gently tuck her beneath the covers, and to join her there—and without the towelling robe he had been wearing when he came into her room.

  ‘Mm…this is nice, isn’t it?’ he murmured as he drew her slowly against him.

  Nice wasn’t the description she would have chosen, Emily thought dizzily. Wonderful, dangerous, mind-bogglingly desirable, yes—but nice?

  ‘Mm…there’s something just right about the way you feel in my arms Emily, do you know that? You’re still too far away, though.’

  Too far away! Any closer and she’d be… She swallowed nervously as Matt ignored her rigid tension and closed the small space between them by wriggling close to her.

  ‘Mm…yes, you do feel good.’

  Good. On the contrary, she felt far from good. ‘Matt,’ she protested a second time.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, and, if that small movement somehow meant that every inch of his skin where it met hers dragged ever so gently and erotically against her in a way that made her tremble with arousal and need, she prayed that only she was aware of it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Emily, don’t ask me to make love to you. I can’t, not knowing that you love another man.’

  Emily was lost for words. Don’t ask him? A fierce thrill of anger ran through her. How dared he assume? She had had no intention of doing any such thing. Ask him to make love to her, indeed. She took a deep breath and then another and then discovered that the gentle friction of her naked breasts against his chest had stimulated them to such an extent that they actually seemed to be quite wantonly pushing against the solid wall of muscle, as though deliberately trying to incite a response from him.

  Apprehension weakened her anger. She tried discreetly to pull away from him, and when she couldn’t move said breathlessly, ‘Matt, it would help if you didn’t hold me quite so closely. I know you only want to help but—’

  She tried to wriggle free and froze as she discovered the effect that movement had on her rebellious body. ‘Matt,’ she demanded.

  ‘Just lie still and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  Better? Did he really not know what he was doing to her? Of all the stupid, insensitive, thoughtless creatures. Emily seethed bitterly, knowing that the only way she was ever going to feel any better was if she stopped breathing.

  She was desperate enough to even try doing that, holding her breath until she couldn’t hold it any longer, and then letting it leak slowly out of her lungs, but somehow or other during the short space of time she had been holding it Matt had closed the tiny distance he had managed to create between them. He had also somehow or other managed to fall asleep, as well, she realised indignantly as she listened to his even, undisturbed breathing and fought against the sensual messages sent to her brain by her rebellious body.

  She appreciated that Matt was acting out of the kindest of motives, she acknowledged frustratedly, but really she would far rather he had simply just walked on past her door. Either that or that he would wake up and…

  And what? Make love to her? She shuddered as she acknowledged the impossibility of what she was thinking. The trouble was that, while her brain and her heart had no difficulty at all in accepting that while she might love him, Matt most certainly did not love her, her body seemed to have erected an impenetrable barrier against this knowledge and defied all her attempts to convince it that its wanton desire for Matt no longer seemed to be reciprocated.

  How ironic that was.

  All that panic when Matt had first arrived here, all the problems which had now arisen from her defensive lies about being engaged, all her self-contempt and soul-searching anguish on believing that Matt wanted to establish a relationship with her which was based merely on sex—and now here she was lying naked at his side, aching for him to wake up and make love to her, while he…

  She heaved a deep sigh and forced herself to turn round so that she was lying with her back to him; she even managed to lift and remove his heavy arm from around her waist. After all, if he could sleep then so, surely, could she.

  Only every time she managed to establish a small distance between them, Matt would either move in his sleep so that he was lying just as close to her as he had originally been, or, even worse, when she rebelliously decided to move away from him altogether, his arm came out and curled around her waist, drawing her back against him. And there was something blissfully pleasurable about sleeping within the curve of his body, absorbing its heat, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, she acknowledged drowsily.

  Only when he was sure that she was actually asleep did Matt dare to open his eyes, ruefully wondering if his plan wasn’t far more likely to backfire on him than coax Emily into admitting that she loved him.

  * * *

  It was much later than usual when Emily woke up. She could tell that by the angle of the sun glinting through her window. She had slept much more deeply than usual, much more relaxingly. She stretched her body luxuriously and then froze.

  ‘Mmm, I wondered when you were going to wake up, sleepyhead,’ Matt murmured softly in her ear. He started nuzzling her throat, teasing the soft flesh behind her ear, making her come sharply awake.

  ‘Matt,’ she protested, and then froze a second time as her bedroom door opened and Gracie came in carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee on it.

  ‘So,’ she teased, putting them down beside the bed. ‘It’s just as well Uncle John didn’t come home last night, isn’t it, you naughty things?’

  Emily knew she had gone bright pink from head to foot. The amusement dancing in Gracie’s eyes made it obvious that her sister thought they had spent the night making love. She remembered how last night she had planned to take Gracie on one side this morning and confess to her what she had done, to beg her for her help, to tell her that Matt meant nothing to her.

  ‘Travis and I will be going out in half an hour or so. We won’t be back until dinnertime. Is there anything we can get for you while we’re in Oxford, Emmy?’

  Emily wanted to
beg her to stay—she needed to unburden herself to her, but Gracie was already heading for the door and she could scarcely leap out of bed in her unclad state and run after her. And how was she going to convince Gracie that Matt meant nothing to her, that she did not want this engagement, that she felt nothing for him, when her sister had seen her in bed with him with her own two eyes?

  Her expression betrayed far more than she knew as she watched the door close behind her sister, but Matt refused to allow himself to weaken.

  There was only one thing for it now, Emily decided tiredly. She would have to tell Matt the truth—or at least some of it, she decided cautiously. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him. That would have to remain her secret. No, but she could tell him that she had lied about Travis, and why.

  She took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘Matt, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  She focused on him and saw that he was looking gravely back at her. The overnight growth of his beard had darkened his jaw, and she ached to reach out and touch it…to reach out and touch him.

  She was shaking inside, terrified by what she had to do, but she had to bring an end to this farcical engagement before things went any further. Soon Uncle John would be back—this might be her only real chance to talk properly to Matt.

  She took another deep breath, and discovered that Matt had taken hold of one of her hands under the bedclothes, and that he was holding it almost comfortingly, as though he knew what she was going through and was trying to help her.

  That feeling, ridiculous and unfounded though it was, gave her the courage to say breathlessly, ‘Matt, I lied to you. I have never been engaged to Travis, nor to anyone else.’

  She waited anxiously for him to betray the anger she knew he must be feeling, the explanations he was sure to demand, but instead, astoundingly, his grip on her own hand tightened slightly and he said simply, ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘You know!’

  Suddenly she was the one who was angry. She pulled away from him and tried to sit up, realising only when the bedclothes slid off her body revealing her breasts just how inappropriate such an action was.