She came with an intensity that shocked her, her body trembling as wave upon wave of pure sensation rocked her with the force of a tsunami.
She clasped his muscled back, her fingers digging into his bronzed skin. She doubted he was aware of anything, though. He was arched up, his eyes closed, nostrils slightly flared as he found his own powerful release, swearing aloud as he orgasmed inside her. She could feel his fluid rush into her body, and for a few seconds she thought of the baby they had created when they had made love that first time without any protection.
The love she felt for him was so strong, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to pull him close to her but then, almost immediately, she acknowledged the foolishness of her feelings because she, of all the people in the world, should know him for the man that he was. She had dispatched enough farewell bouquets of flowers on his behalf! Heck, she had the local Knightsbridge florist he used on speed dial!
She’d just never really worked out how how deep his cynicism ran. Now she knew.
They curved towards one another and he smiled, hand on her stomach.
‘I never thought I’d enjoy saying this to a woman, but let’s make plans.’
‘Okay.’ She paused. They were a couple and this was as good as it got with him. There had to be a certain businesslike approach to the situation or else it would run away with her and she didn’t want that. ‘But first, there’s something we should get straight between us.’
‘What’s that?’
‘This has to be a...monogamous relationship. If we’re a couple, then no fooling around.’
Matt propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her with interest. ‘I thought that monogamy was reserved for faithfully married couples,’ he murmured. ‘Love, cherish, honour, et cetera, et cetera...’
‘But we’re missing those qualities, aren’t we?’ Violet quipped, lowering her eyes to shield the hurt she was certain he would be able to glimpse, even though it was dark in the bedroom and he would have needed bionic vision to read what she was thinking.
‘I’m a one-woman man, Violet,’ he gently reprimanded her.
‘Even though we’re not a faithfully married couple?’
‘You could always rectify that.’
Temptation loomed. What was the big difference between living together and being married? Violet knew that it should have been a case of, in for a penny, in for a pound, but somehow marriage felt like a huge step. She would be accepting, without hope of retraction, a situation that she knew was barely acceptable. She would be signing away her future because a little of this man was better than nothing at all. Except what if, one day, she began to think otherwise? Then what? She couldn’t think of the hassle and hopelessness of divorce without her blood running cold.
At least, living together, she could cling to the illusion that there was a way out if things became truly unbearable.
‘It’s more sensible for us to see how things work out between us.’ She dug her heels in and stared at the bronzed, flat planes of his chest. She felt him shrug, then he lay back and stared up at the ceiling.
‘Sensible,’ he murmured under his breath. ‘It’s what I’ve always admired about you. When everyone’s losing their heads...’
That stung. Was that still what he thought of her deep down? That she was his practical, sensible secretary who could be relied upon to steer a steady ship when the rest of the world seemed to be going mad? Hadn’t he got past that by now? If he hadn’t, then it really was for the best that they weren’t about to tie any knots any time soon, because the joys of a common-sense wife would wear very thin very fast.
But without a ring on her finger...without the status of wife...would his loyalty be something she could ever take for granted?
Violet realised that if she gave house room to all those niggling doubts at the back of her mind, then she would never be free of them, and if she were to stick to her word and really give this relationship a chance, at least to see whether she could actually take the crumbs and forfeit the loaf of bread, then she would have to forge past misgivings.
She rested her hand on his stomach. ‘The sensible thing, right now, would be to discuss what happens next. I mean, the nuts and bolts of it. My dad seems to be coming round to the idea of returning here to live. I think he’s energised by the thought of having a grandchild. Anyway, he’s talking about using the music school he started in Melbourne as a template for doing something similar over here. Not in London. I think he’s learned to appreciate a slower lane, living out there.’
‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood for talking about sensible things just at the moment,’ Matt drawled, flattening his hand over hers and then directing it to where his libido was, once more, making itself felt. ‘Let’s make up for lost time and throw sensible to the winds...just for tonight.’
Everything, over the next two months, seemed to move at a very slow pace. Matt would not let her do anything he felt might be a set back to her health, even though she had long since been given the all-clear by the obstetrician she had been assigned by the private hospital he’d insisted on. Having rapidly decided that a move out of London was essential, and having discussed in record time where that somewhere might be—ideally allowing a commute into London without sacrificing the country lifestyle they both agreed would be a good choice for a family—it was frustrating that house viewings were confined to when Matt was free, because he flatly refused to let Violet get wrapped up in the stress of house hunting on her own.
She could look at brochures, he told her as they idly lay in bed one Sunday morning, flicking through houses online. Looking at brochures would be good for her blood pressure. She reminded him that her blood pressure was fine, but lying there naked, her leg loosely over his, she had never been happier.
This felt like what being a couple was all about. Time was moving on and, if the whole subject of marriage had gone onto the back burner, then it was because they were both enjoying what they had. So why complicate matters by rocking the boat?
She was luxuriating in all sorts of taboo thoughts about love, happy-ever-afters, and other never-to-be-tabled scenarios, when she heard the buzz of her mobile.
It was a little after six in the evening. Outside, night had fallen and there was a glacial chill to the air that was a reminder that winter was lurking just round the corner. Inside the apartment, Violet was already in her comfy clothes. Bedroom slippers, jogging bottoms and a loose tee shirt, over which she was wearing a hand-me-down cardigan from her father who, as he had grown older, had adopted a curiously traditional sartorial style.
Slouching around was exactly what she would be doing for the next three days because Matt was in New York. As he had been the previous month, although only for two nights. He’d explained the deal to her, but her brain had been fuzzy, and he had burst out laughing when she’d yawned halfway through the details about an app that could do clever things involving personal finance. Not as amusing as the games industry, Matt had said, but anything to keep body and soul together—which was rich, coming from a billionaire.
It took her a few seconds to register the female voice down the end of the line and, even when she did, her first reaction was puzzlement more than anything else.
‘Glo?’ She parroted the name and then, just for added confirmation, ‘Glo Bale from the flower shop?’
‘The very same.’ Glo laughed.
She was a middle-aged woman with a bubbly personality and an infectious laugh. She and Violet had exchanged many a coded conversation in the past about Matt’s predilection for goodbye bouquets without once overstepping the line. It was a telephone relationship that had always been comfortable and amicable.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, my darling,’ Glo said breathlessly, ‘but I’ve been trying to get through to your lovely boss...’
Ex-boss, Violet thought absently. Clearly, Glo was not in the loop and
she wondered what the other woman would think.
‘He’s away at the moment. New York.’
‘Probably busy in meetings,’ Glo said. ‘But here’s the thing. He left a message for me to prepare one of his bouquets. Said he’d get back to me to confirm details, but I haven’t heard, and the flowers are going to begin heading for the big botanical garden in the sky if he doesn’t get his skates on and fill me in on the details.’
‘A—a bouquet?’ Violet stammered.
‘Over-the-top one, if I’m honest, my darling.’
‘Over-the-top...’ She cleared her throat. Her stomach was doing weird things, freewheeling, making her feel giddy and sick. ‘Thanks for calling, Glo. I’ll... I’ll tell him to get in touch with you... Thanks.’
She hung up and stared sightlessly at her mobile.
Flowers? A bouquet? Over-the-top?
Who was he saying goodbye to?
CHAPTER TEN
Missed your calls. Sorry. Been busy.
SIX WORDS. BUT the minute Matt read them on his mobile he knew that something was seriously wrong. He just couldn’t figure out what that something might be, because up until then life had been going swimmingly, for want of a better word.
He had one more day left. New York was less than its usual invigorating self and he couldn’t focus. What was that text message supposed to mean?
The meeting room on the fifty-ninth floor of a skyscraper that had topped the charts for creativity felt stifling. There were dozens of people milling around, almost as though there was no deal to be done, and they had all the time in the world to talk about nothing in particular while guzzling limitless glasses of champagne.
When Matt looked around him, he couldn’t see an end to the deal that, yet again, would amass millions in the years to come. The only thing he could see were those cool, impersonal words on his mobile, a response to the unanswered phone calls and text messages.
Been busy. Doing what?
Yes, she was back on her feet. Her blood pressure had stabilised. The sickness had gone. Of course, he thought distractedly, she was busy because she was no longer confined to his apartment. She was probably running herself ragged looking at paint colours, furniture or kitchen gadgets! Understandable, because she was not the sort of woman who could sit still.
And yet...
He crooked a finger and the start-up’s CEO jumped to attention like a puppet whose strings had been pulled.
He would have to go to Violet. There was no question about it. It took him under a minute to communicate his intentions to his startled sidekick.
‘But the signatures still have to hit the paper,’ Bob said, frowning. ‘Then there’s the usual celebrations...’
‘Time for you to step up to the plate,’ Matt said, looking at his watch and mentally working out how long it would take for him to get to the UK. Private jet or commercial? ‘Don’t forget the size of the bonus coming your way in a month’s time. You can close this deal as efficiently as the next man. Just make sure you keep some of this lot in order and don’t let the celebrations run away with you. I expect you back in the UK by the end of the week.’
Commercial, he thought. No time to fuel up and get things in position. He could be back at his apartment in under ten hours and then he would see for himself just what was going on...
Violet stuffed her mobile under the cushion on the sofa. It had been pinging with messages from Matt. He had tried calling five times. Tough. She wasn’t going to answer. She would when her brain stopped whizzing round her head like a helicopter rotor. Just as soon as she started thinking in a straight line. But right now, all she could do was picture an over-the-top bunch of flowers being delivered to some poor, dispatched woman who probably didn’t have a clue that her charming billionaire escort was actually sleeping with another woman. Another woman who just happened to be pregnant with his child.
How long had it been going on? Weeks? Months? Had he now decided, since they were getting along very well, that it was time to call off his outside affair? Had his conscience been kick-started because the baby was well on its way, no longer something that was going to happen, but something that was imminent?
She was tortured by questions and in no fit state to talk to him on the telephone.
Typically, he wouldn’t give up. Of course, she couldn’t bury her head in the sand like an ostrich for ever, but just for the moment, she needed time to think.
She wished she had a mum around. Or at least a good friend, someone she had shared the ups and downs of her life with, who could give her a pep talk, make her a cup of tea and tell her that everything was going to be okay.
No such luck.
A good night’s sleep, if she could get it, would have to do the trick. He was due back the following evening, and by then she would have to have found a way through the pain, the whirring head, the clammy hands and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She hit the sack early and fell into a restless sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking. She would have to call quits on whatever relationship they had been trying to cultivate. She’d thought they’d been making progress but she’d obviously been mistaken because behind her back he’d been seeing someone. She reminded herself that she’d originally banked on going it alone. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. She would just have to power on—and wasn’t it great that at least she wasn’t financially dependent on him? Not that he would ever fail to contribute his fair share and beyond.
She thought she’d never fall asleep, but she must have nodded off because she didn’t hear the sound of the front door opening. She only realised that Matt had returned when a sliver of light penetrated the darkness, and she groggily surfaced in stages to see his shadowy outline framed by the door.
He was so still that he could have been a statue. Heart thumping, Violet propped herself up on her elbows, then clumsily turned to switch on the light by the bed.
Not for one second did she think that the unexpected appearance was anyone but Matt. Certainly, she could not have mistaken his dauntingly impressive frame for anyone else.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded without preamble, stepping forward.
‘Huh?’
‘You haven’t been answering my calls.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Violet’s brain finally cranked into gear, but her heart was still beating like a drum and her mouth was dry. ‘Shouldn’t you be sealing the deal on the opposite side of the world?’
‘How could I do that when I was worried sick about you?’
‘Oh, please...’ She was beginning to think straight and the swirling, muddy waters of all the emotions with which she had gone to bed were right back with her, firing her with fury, disappointment and unhappiness.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘As if you don’t know, Matt,’ Violet muttered under her breath.
‘I don’t know.’
The silence stretched to a breaking point between them. She had planned to handle this situation in a very different way. For a start, she had decided that anything but an adult approach wasn’t going to do. She had pretty much determined that she wouldn’t mention the goodbye flowers at all. She would simply tell him that they had experimented with the concept of living together and she felt that she would not be able to continue it.
She toyed with the idea of telling him that she had feelings for him. That would certainly do the trick when it came to getting him to catapult himself off the starting block at great speed. But then she realised that she would have to live with him feeling sorry for her for ever, even if she moved on to find someone else.
Poor Violet... I warned her not to get emotionally involved but she just couldn’t help herself...
‘The flowers,’ she said quietly, and he frowned in puzzlement.
‘I need something to drink, Violet. Water. Then we can con
tinue this conversation.’
He spun round on his heels and no sooner had he left the bedroom than she awkwardly heaved herself out of the bed, slung on her dressing gown, belting it securely round her tummy, and followed him into the kitchen.
She didn’t want a conversation in bed. She didn’t want him sitting on the edge looking at her or, worse, climbing into bed with her to continue their talk. She was realistic enough to know that a bed plus Matt Falconer was a lethal combination when it came to her defence system.
She padded out to find him gulping down a glass of water, his back to her.
‘The flowers, Matt,’ she repeated, and he turned round and looked at her, simultaneously dumping the empty glass on the counter. ‘And don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. Glo called.’
‘Glo? Glo who?’
Of course he wouldn’t recognise the name, Violet thought bitterly. He’d always left the nuts and bolts of saying goodbye to her to sort out, while he merrily galloped towards another empty affair.
‘Glo from the flower shop in Knightsbridge. You know the one. She called to say that you’d started an order for your usual but had failed to complete it so she didn’t know what you wanted to do with the flowers. If you tell me who the poor girl is, then I can call her back and arrange for them to be sent to her.’
Violet barely needed to see the expression on his face because the absolute stillness of his body was enough to give the game away. He knew what she was talking about and he wasn’t going to try to pretend otherwise.
‘The flowers,’ he said. ‘It never occurred to me that the woman would call you.’
‘Why would that be? I’ve been dealing with her for...for years. Together, we’ve been taking care of all those broken hearts you’ve left behind, sending flowers as though a bunch of blooms can patch them up and make them good.’
‘There’s no need for drama, Violet.’
‘This is not what I signed up for.’
His Secretary's Nine-Month Notice (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 15
