Savage Awakening

by Anne Mather

  ‘You haven’t moved on.’ Diane refused to listen to reason. She was hurt and, like a wounded animal, she lashed out. ‘If you hadn’t tried to be a hero, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’ve always known a good story was more important to you than I was.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Diane gave a scornful laugh. ‘You can’t blame me because I have needs only a real man can satisfy.’

  Matt stifled a groan. ‘I’m not blaming you, Diane—’

  ‘Damn right.’ She felt humiliated now and she’d evidently decided she had nothing left to lose. ‘Blame yourself. Blame whatever those bastards did to you. But don’t blame me for needing something you can’t give me anymore.’

  ‘Diane—’

  ‘No, you listen to me. You’re not the same man I fell in love with. You’ve changed, Matt. Really changed. Even your mother has noticed. You’re harder, crueller. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Oh, and by the way, you don’t need a woman. You’ve either forgotten—or lost interest in—what to do with one.’

  There wasn’t much more to say after that, and Matt had put down the phone with a mixture of humiliation and relief.

  Which was why he’d taken a bottle of Scotch to bed the night before. Why he had such a God-awful headache this morning. Although Diane’s accusation hadn’t been even close to the truth, the knowledge that people were judging him for the wrong reasons was mortifying. And, despite how he felt inside, the fact was he didn’t have a hope in hell of proving them wrong.

  He got up at last, had a long, hot shower and then, feeling marginally better, he dressed in casual khaki trousers and a button-down Oxford shirt. Breakfast was two cups of strong black coffee and two paracetamol tablets. He had no milk or he might have had some cornflakes. The lactose would definitely have put a better lining on his abused stomach.

  Whatever, he didn’t have a choice and it occurred to him that a trip to the supermarket in Westerbury might be exactly what he needed. Well, perhaps not exactly, but he did need to get out of the house, preferably before Fliss turned up. After the way he’d behaved on Saturday, he wouldn’t blame her if she’d decided she didn’t want to work for him, after all. But he didn’t think he could take any more humiliation right now.

  And there was no way he could explain his situation to her without humiliating himself. Even telling her that she inspired feelings in him that no one, not even Diane, had ever done would only sound hypocritical when it was combined with his present inadequacies. She deserved better than that, better than him, even if there was no denying that since meeting her he had found himself entertaining thoughts of how things could be if—

  But it was that significant if that created the biggest obstacle. Theirs was a tenuous relationship at best and no matter how sympathetic she seemed he doubted it would survive the kind of confession he had to make. She’d accepted his explanation of how he’d got his injuries with real compassion. She hadn’t even shown any revulsion when he’d told her about what General Hassan had tried to do. But, she didn’t need some pitiful excuse for a man messing up her life—even if he had to fight the almost irresistible temptation to incite her attraction to him.

  In the event, Fliss arrived before he could get away. Even though it was only a little after half past eight when he backed the Land Cruiser out of the garage, he returned to the house to collect his keys and wallet and found her waiting in the kitchen.

  It was a cooler day, with the threat of rain in the air, and Fliss’s hair was a tumbled mass of curls and ringlets. She was wearing jeans and a loose cotton sweater that only hinted at the lush beauty of her breasts. But the denims clung lovingly to every inch of her legs and Matt had to drag his eyes away from them.

  She’d evidently walked to work as usual, which would account for the fact that he hadn’t heard her approach. He didn’t know which of them was the most embarrassed by the sudden encounter, however.

  Fliss recovered first. ‘Are you going out?’ she asked a little stiffly, and Matt realised how bad this must look.

  ‘I was going to ring you,’ he said lamely, even though that idea had just occurred to him. He paused. ‘You’re early.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Fliss lifted a hand to tuck a silky strand of red-gold hair behind her ear and he badly wanted to touch her. ‘I—well, I didn’t know if you’d want me to continue working here, and if you didn’t I—’

  That dispelled his ambivalence and he scowled. ‘Why wouldn’t I want you to go on working here?’ he broke in harshly, even though he’d been having similar thoughts. ‘For God’s sake, you’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Diane might not agree with you.’

  ‘F—forget Diane,’ Matt amended the instinctive swear-word. He found he was breathing hard in spite of himself. ‘Do you want the job or don’t you? That’s all I need to know.’

  Fliss held up her head. ‘But you’re going out, aren’t you? And it’s early, as you said. Sometimes you’re not even out of bed at this time.’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. ‘Are you sure you weren’t trying to avoid me?’

  Matt sighed. ‘All right. Maybe I was.’ His lips twisted. ‘I’m a coward, so sue me.’

  ‘You’re not a coward,’ said Fliss fiercely. And then, as if realising she was being too presumptive, she added, ‘Anyway, you’re just avoiding the issue. Why were you really going out?’

  Matt blew out a breath. ‘If you must know, I thought you might not want to come back,’ he admitted. ‘After what happened on Saturday—’

  ‘Forget Saturday,’ she said, her soft lips tightening purposefully. ‘I have. It was a mistake. On both our parts.’ She glanced about her. ‘Now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to get on.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘DID I tell you I was talking to Matthew Quinn in the pub the other night?’

  George Taylor spoke almost diffidently and Fliss guessed it was because he knew damn well he hadn’t said anything about it to her. But then, nor had Matt, she conceded, feeling a ridiculous sense of betrayal. Though why would he? Since the morning a couple of weeks ago when he’d asked her to stay on as his housekeeper, he’d hardly spoken to her.

  Now Fliss looked up from the accounts she was doing at the kitchen table and arched an enquiring brow. ‘No,’ she said, keeping her tone as casual as possible. ‘I didn’t know you were on friendly terms with him.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t,’ said her father drily, pulling out the chair opposite and subsiding into it. ‘But Harry Gilchrist was there and he sort of involved me in their conversation.’ He paused, waiting for Fliss to say something and when she didn’t he went on, ‘He seems a decent sort when you get to know him.’

  ‘He is.’ Fliss returned to her bookkeeping. ‘Does this mean you don’t object to my working for him now?’

  ‘Well, I don’t like you doing the sort of work you do for anybody,’ retorted her father shortly. ‘But I suppose, now I’ve got to know him, I’m not as opposed to it as I was.’

  ‘Good.’ Fliss nodded to the books in front of her. ‘Because I have to tell you that without me having that job we’d be struggling to make ends meet.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ George Taylor didn’t like to be reminded of their financial circumstances. ‘Anyway, in a couple of years, when Amy goes to the comprehensive in Westerbury, you’ll be able to resume your physiotherapy training.’

  ‘Will I?’ Fliss wasn’t as confident of resuming her training as he was. It was five years since she’d been forced to give it up. Things changed, qualifications changed, and there were bound to be dozens of newly qualified, younger applicants for every vacancy. Changing the subject, she said, ‘So—what were you talking to him about?’

  ‘Who? Matthew Quinn?’ Fliss gave him a narrow look and he shrugged defensively. ‘We were talking about writing, actually,’ he said. ‘Did you know he’s thinking of writing a series of ar
ticles for a Sunday newspaper detailing his experiences in Abuqara and giving an insider’s view of the reasons for the rebellion? It sounds fascinating stuff.’ He paused. ‘I’ve told him that if there’s anything I can do—research and so on—he has only to ask.’

  ‘I see.’ Fliss’s eyes dipped again. ‘So you’ve decided he’s not deranged, after all?’

  ‘I never said he was deranged, Felicity.’ Her father sounded positively offended now. ‘I said there’d been rumours that he’d been traumatised by his months in captivity, that’s all. And who wouldn’t be? From what he was telling me, it was no picnic.’

  ‘No.’ Fliss knew that. The scars on Matt’s back were a silent testimony to his suffering, and there was no point in baiting her father with things she didn’t really believe.

  All the same, she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that Matt should have confided in her father, of all people. It was as if he’d cut her off from any involvement in his life and, after the closeness they’d shared, it was painful. But then, she’d left him in no doubt that she didn’t want that kind of relationship with him, so why was she feeling so let down?

  All the same, when she arrived at the house the following morning, Fliss was unhappily aware that she was still nursing her grievance. But, dammit, it wasn’t her fault that he’d chosen to ruin a perfectly good working relationship by attempting to seduce her, was it?

  There was a strange car parked at the side of the house, and although Fliss was in the habit of letting herself into the kitchen, she felt compelled to knock this morning. It could be Diane, she thought uneasily, and the last thing she wanted was to walk in on a steamy clinch and embarrass them all.

  Well, she doubted she’d embarrass Matt, she decided bitterly. He wouldn’t care about her feelings any more than he apparently cared about Diane’s.

  Matt himself opened the door and Fliss, who’d seen little of him in the past two weeks, was instantly struck by his gaunt appearance. She’d tried not to pay attention to him, to get on with the work she was being paid for. But now she was forced to acknowledge that he had that jaded weariness about him again that she’d noticed when she’d first got to know him.

  However he still moved with that lithe, predatory grace that never failed to cause such an unwelcome awareness in the pit of her stomach, and when he stepped aside to let her in she ensured that her bare arm didn’t brush any part of his lean frame.

  His dark eyes narrowed, impaling her with a cool, dangerous gaze, letting her know he had noticed, and she found it difficult to say, ‘Good morning,’ as she moved into the room.

  Matt closed the door and then leaned back on it for a moment, watching her. ‘Why didn’t you just come in?’ he asked, his harsh voice scraping sensuously over her nerves, and she strove for a casual tone.

  ‘I thought you must have company,’ she said, setting her backpack on the table. She glanced about her, noting there were two empty coffee mugs on the drainer, and stiffened. ‘Is Diane here?’

  ‘No.’ Matt’s tone was chilly. ‘I don’t expect to be seeing Diane again.’

  ‘Oh!’ Fliss moistened her lips. Did that account for his haggard appearance? ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you?’ His thin lips twisted. ‘Yeah, well, don’t lose any sleep over it. I haven’t.’

  ‘You look as if you have,’ Fliss exclaimed impulsively, and then wished she hadn’t when his expression darkened.

  ‘Thanks.’ He was sardonic. ‘I can always rely on you to tell it like it is.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…’ Fliss felt as if she was digging a pit for herself, but she couldn’t let him think she didn’t care. ‘It’s just—well, you look tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I—perhaps you should get yourself a gardener, after all,’ she continued doggedly. She knew he spent most afternoons working in the garden now. ‘You’ve probably overdone it again.’

  Matt gave a disbelieving shake of his head. ‘How pleasant it must be to live in your world, where every ailment can be explained away in physical terms. I’m looking tired, ergo I’ve been overdoing it. I’ve got a headache, so I should stop banging my head against this brick wall.’

  Fliss felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ she said stiffly. ‘I realise some things can’t be explained away so easily. And whatever you say, I’m sure Diane—’

  ‘For God’s sake, will you stop harping on about Diane?’ he snapped savagely, and she drew back in surprise.

  This was a side of him she’d never seen before and, as if realising he’d alarmed her, Matt came away from the door. Putting a hand on the table at either side of her, he imprisoned her within his arms. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he implored her roughly. ‘I’d never hurt you, surely you know that?’ His eyes dropped to her mouth and she quivered in spite of herself. ‘And don’t ever think Diane has any bearing on the way I’m feeling now, because she doesn’t.’

  ‘And I can vouch for that,’ remarked a dry voice behind them, and Fliss, who had been wondering if Matt was going to kiss her again and speculating about what she would do if he did, started violently.

  Matt reacted considerably less urgently, pushing himself away from the table—and Fliss—with weary resignation. Then, as Fliss glanced somewhat apprehensively over her shoulder to see a much older woman watching them, he said flatly, ‘This is my mother, Fliss. I don’t believe you’ve met.’

  ‘As if that was in question,’ observed Mrs Quinn crisply, coming further into the room. She was a tall, elderly woman, with iron-grey hair, dressed in an elegant silk suit. ‘How do you do—Felicity, is it? I understand you’ve worked wonders in this house.’

  Fliss licked her dry lips. ‘Um—Fliss will do,’ she murmured, glancing awkwardly at Matt’s set face. ‘And I—er—I’ve just done my job, that’s all.’

  ‘Rather more than that, from what I hear,’ declared the other woman smoothly. She, too, glanced at her son. ‘Isn’t that right, Matt?’

  ‘If you say so.’ He was remote.

  ‘I do say so.’ His mother seemed unmoved by his obvious withdrawal. ‘You two evidently know one another very well.’ She paused. ‘Is there something I should know?’

  ‘No!’

  Matt’s denial was violent, and Fliss felt something inside her curl up and die. Whatever might have happened if his mother hadn’t interrupted them clearly meant nothing to him.

  ‘That’s not what Diane says,’ Mrs Quinn murmured softly, and once again her son lost his cool.

  ‘I don’t give a—a damn what Diane says,’ he snarled, and Fliss knew he was moderating his language for his mother’s benefit. ‘What do I have to do to make you both understand that I couldn’t care less about Diane?’

  ‘Now that I can believe,’ remarked his mother mildly. ‘But you used to. And the poor girl can’t understand what she’s done for you to treat her so shabbily. Especially if you’re living here alone.’

  ‘Can’t she?’

  Matt’s tone was mocking now, but Mrs Quinn was not prepared to back down. ‘No,’ she replied pleasantly. ‘She seems to think there’s something going on between you and…’ Her eyes flickered briefly in Fliss’s direction. ‘Well, between you and this young lady, actually.’ Her dark brows arched in enquiry. ‘Is she wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Matt’s response was immediate, and Fliss wished the floor would just open up and swallow her. He’d had no hesitation in dismissing his relationship with her. Whatever was going on between them, it was not something he was prepared to own up to.

  She shifted awkwardly, desperately wishing she was not a part of this conversation. But when Matt looked at her, instead of at his mother, what she saw in his gaze confused her even more.

  Hot and passionate, his eyes ate her up. It was an almost palpable invasion that turned her legs to water. Banked fires burned behind his gaze, yet she had the sense he was still determined not to give in to them. But he wanted her; she co
uld see it. What power was controlling him that was so much darker than his natural will?

  She was mesmerised for several mindless seconds, and then his mother spoke again, destroying the tenuous bond between them. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if there is no one else, I don’t understand your attitude. When you were captured, when you were a prisoner in Abuqara—’

  ‘Diane was screwing her boss’s brains out,’ Matt finished for her harshly. He started towards the door as if he’d had enough of her interrogation. ‘Ask her about it. See if she denies it. But you know what? She did us both a favour.’ His lips parted in a grim smile. ‘I’m no good for any woman, and that includes Fliss.’

  He strode out of the room then, without looking at either of them again, and Fliss turned abruptly towards the sink. She felt sick, and empty, and she snatched up the two dirty coffee mugs and started washing up. But her eyes were burning, and she had to blink several times to clear them.

  The room was silent behind her and, guessing Mrs Quinn had followed her son, she glanced over her shoulder. But to her surprise, and dismay, she found the woman still standing where she’d been before, dark eyes, so unnervingly like Matt’s, regarding Fliss with an intent appraisal.

  ‘Oh!’

  Fliss couldn’t prevent the shocked exclamation and Mrs Quinn held up an apologetic hand. ‘I’m sorry. Did I startle you?’

  Twice, thought Fliss tensely, swinging round again before Matt’s mother could see her tear-wet eyes. But she should have known better than to think she could fool a close relative of his.

  ‘You’re upset,’ Mrs Quinn said gently. ‘I’m afraid my son has that effect on people. Or rather he has since he got back from North Africa.’

  ‘I’ve got something in my eye, that’s all,’ said Fliss, not prepared to confide in her. Then, when the woman still didn’t go away, ‘Can I get you something? Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend with me,’ insisted the older woman sympathetically. ‘Matt can be utterly charming when he puts his mind to it. And, obviously, he’s taken quite a fancy to you. But you must understand, there’s no future in it.’