by Shales, Mia
Instantly Kate felt her body pull taut at Matthew's touch. His hand was warm and pleasant and the fingers that closed over hers imparted confidence and strength. Her fingers curled responsively through his. It was insane of her to come here she thought, she could never resist him.
They crossed the dining room and entered the large, perfectly equipped kitchen. “Everything is ready. All we have to do is cook the pasta and heat the sauce.”
They spent the ensuing quarter hour preparing supper and the scent of the bread and sauce made Kate acutely aware of how hungry she was.
“I usually buy pasta but today, in your honor, I made the pasta myself.”
“Are you serious? I'm overwhelmed. Is there something you can't do?”
“Not much,” he laughed and Kate again felt his warm masculine laugh warming her, blazing a path to her heart.
“Do you usually cook?”
“Not as often as I'd like. At Bellewoodplain there's Roget, a marvelous chef, who rules the kitchen with a mighty hand. If I ever dared step foot in the kitchen to cook he would stop talking to me. He's very touchy when it comes to his dominion over his small kingdom. When in London I eat out, and only on rare occasions do I find time to cook.”
I'd be curious to know whether those rare occasions, as he puts it, include spending the night with one of his lovers, Kate reflected.
“You are the first in five years to taste pasta made by my own hand.”
“What an honor.”
He laughed. “I can't wipe out my past, darling, but I can try to mend my ways in the future.”
Kate wondered just what he meant but decided it would be the better part of wisdom not to encourage this line of conversation.
“Do we eat here or in the dining room?” The dining room was lovely but struck her as far too large and magnificent for the mood and attire of the two.
“Neither here nor there. We'll eat in the small dining room.” He pointed toward a door Kate had not noticed until that moment. Matthew handed her a basket with warm, fresh bread and she followed him into the room. The room was dark, lit only by the ray of light from the hall. He put the pasta down on the table and Kate saw it was set for two.
“Would you bring the wine? It's on the table in the kitchen.”
Kate went to fetch the wine and when she returned, she gasped. On the sideboards were candlesticks filled with long candles whose flames spread a soft, dim light. Kate looked at Matthew and the surroundings disappeared. Her eyes locked with his and she felt a weakening in her knees. The depths of his eyes caressed her. She could not talk or breathe or think or do anything but gape at him. She took several steps towards him.
Matthew felt his heartbeat accelerating simultaneously with his exhilaration. He fought to quell the onrushing tide of passion washing over him. He had not imagined it would be so difficult to rein himself in. It was up to him to take control or there would be no meal. Within seconds she would be in his bed, pleading to receive his love. The thought made his body stiffen. She stood before him, her eyes never leaving his.
He was not sure she was aware of what she was doing. He stood immobile as her hand rose to his face. Her slender fingers brushed over his cheekbones, over his eyes, paused at the corners of his mouth and slid over his lips. He closed his eyes for a second. This was too potent. Another minute and he would not be responsible for his deeds.
“I've wanted to do this since the party,” she whispered almost soundlessly.
Matthew opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He gently removed her hand.
He said softly, “if you don't stop right now, my only defense against the charge of seducing an innocent maiden will be temporary insanity.”
“I'm close to thirty and not so innocent.” Kate protested and wanted to swallow her words. He would think she was begging for a favor. And truly, why should he think otherwise? Like all the other women, she had thrown herself at his feet. Shame on her.
“Shall we eat?” she asked coldly and Matthew noticed the chill in her voice.
Matthew pulled out a chair and she sat down. He sat opposite her and his face, in the flickering candlelight, caused her heart to constrict. The rules of the game were unfair. How could she suppress her desire to touch him, to feel his skin under her fingers, to press her lips against his?
“Tell me about the book you're writing. Tell me about Jane Austen,” Matthew entreated. “I've read everything she wrote, but never a book of criticism about her work.”
Kate felt relieved. This was a topic she could talk about easily and though aware he was trying to put her at ease, she was happy to comply. Indeed, after a short while she thawed under his congeniality. They ate the pasta with a sauce that melted in their mouths and slowly finished the superlative wine. Matthew recounted tales of his Trinity College days and Kate, despite his protests, promised to look up his picture in the yearbook of the graduating class of ten years ago. He described the thoroughbreds he raised at Bellewoodplain and when he sensed her enthusiasm he insisted on putting a suitable horse at her disposal over the weekend.
“But I can't ride,” she laughed, “It's not fair to punish the poor horse on account of me.”
“I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to carry such a beautiful woman on his back.”
They laughed and then something happened that caused the smile on Kate's lips to fade and the glints in Matthew's eyes to blaze. For one long moment they stared at each other and Kate knew the lighthearted hours were over.
“Shall we have coffee in the living room?”
“Do you need help?”
“Just your company, that's all I need.”
Kate helped him clear up the table and he prepared two cups of Italian espresso. He placed them with two empty brandy glasses and a bottle of French cognac on a tray and they walked to the living room. Matthew lit a solitary lamp that cast a dim light in one corner of the room and quiet, romantic music filled the air. Kate straightened up and took a sip of coffee. Matthew sat beside her on the sofa and poured some cognac into the glasses.
“I don't think you should drink any more. You won't be fit to drive.”
“Let's dance,” he said, ignoring her remark.
“What?” she replied, surprised.
“You owe me a dance. I won't stand for another rejection.”
He extended his hand and she instinctively complied, rising to her feet. A remnant of logic glimmered in her brain. She was responding like a robot to every wish of his. She wanted to open her mouth in protest, to demand he take her home at once, but Matthew's arm encompassed her waist and drew her closer. Through the thin blouse she felt the warmth of his hand on her back. He began to move and her body cooperated. They danced in perfect unison, their bodies touching, not touching, by turns. He did not draw her too closely to him, but purposely gave her some space. His free hand brought hers up to his neck, which she encircled with outspread fingers. She drifted through a dulcet fog, unaware of everything but the touch of his body under her hands. They danced silently for long minutes, and Kate, ignoring the voice of reason, lay her head on his shoulder. She wanted to stay in his arms forever. She wanted him to tighten his hold and never let her go. As if reading her thoughts, he relieved the sweet torture, ranging his body against hers, hugging her tightly, his hands releasing the ribbon, burrowing into her hair, stroking her back. His body was hard against hers and she pressed her thighs against his as though goading her body to be enveloped by his. He murmured and Kate felt thunder and lightening setting off sparks at each and every sensitive spot in her body. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and her hips moved against his. Both were in a delirium of ecstatic lust and sensuality. She felt his hand pulling gently on her hair, forcing her head back so her eyes, clouded with passion, met his. She responded and looked into gold-specked eyes glowing with heat. Her lips parted and she drew them slowly to his mouth. He stood motionless as her lips grazed his. Their touch was fleeting, light as a feather.
He wanted to distance himse
lf from her. To warn her that if she continued in this way he would take her there and then without a thought for all his promises. But then her lips were on his once more and he was lost. The pressure of her mouth increased and Matthew felt the dam holding back the surging stream of his passion collapse. He sighed and his lips moved against hers. He felt her entire body soften, surrendering to his touch, and deepened his kiss, his tongue parting her lips, penetrating, and meeting hers. Kate's fingers dug into his hair and he raised his hand to hold her face and stroke it. His mouth never left hers as he dragged her down after him on to the sofa. He lay her on her back in one swift motion and his lips left hers only to kiss her neck. Her body arched toward him and he felt the pressure of her flat stomach against his. His hand raised the edge of her blouse and he felt her breasts through the lacy material of her brassiere. She groaned.
Matthew had been with many women in his life but this unidentifiable mix of electrifying eroticism mingled with such sweetness, soft as satin, was new to him. He lifted her blouse and Kate saw his dark head bend over and she stretched her neck backwards as his mouth found the object of its desire. Sucking, nursing, his mouth played sensually with her body. His teeth bit lightly at the sheer lace of her bra. When Kate felt she was about to burst, he returned to the honey of her lips.
“I want you so much,” she moaned, “I want you desperately.”
“I'm yours, my love,” he murmured, “yours forever.”
The chime of the bell cut through the mellow dimness. She stared at Matthew, watching the passion change to annoyance.
“Who the hell can that be?” he said.
Kate felt heavy with weakness. She sat up and straightened her blouse.
“I'll see who it is.” But before he moved to the door, Lola appeared in the entrance. Matthew looked as astonished as Kate who turned her startled gaze from Lola to him.
He was surprised but also angry. Very angry. Darkness, promising little good, hooded his eyes. Kate was afraid he would choke Lola.
“How did you get in?” His voice was imperious and cutting.
“With the key you yourself gave me, darling.” She waved the key before him and laughed cattily. “You aren't hiding our relationship from your new girlfriend?”
He took another step in her direction and Kate looked on fearfully as he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to hand over the key. He'll break her bones, she thought.
“I never gave you a key to my apartment and you know that very well. Whatever was between us is over and done with, and we have no relationship at all.”
“We have,” yelled Lola in a rage, “we very definitely have a relationship, even if you're not ready to admit it.” She turned abruptly to Kate. “Has he told you I'm carrying his child?” She swayed lightly on her feet and Kate suddenly observed she was dressed in a glamorous evening dress.
“You're drunk and drugged,” Matthew said derisively. “I'll order a cab for you.”
The model's features contorted with rage. “Don't you dare,” she screeched, “nobody, but nobody throws Lola out. Order a cab for your plaything, not for me.” She turned her attention to Kate. “Get out, you silly girl. The Marquis and I have things to discuss.”
“Kate is not going anywhere,” he said and Kate noticed his tone was calmer, “you shouldn't have come here. You're just hurting yourself. Be a good girl and let me call a cab.”
“You heartless bastard." Lola lifted her hand to slap his face as he moved back. Her hand missed its target and Lola pitched forward, crashed into a couch and slid to the floor on her knees. She grabbed the armrest, trying to steady herself.
Kate began to pity her. The situation was most embarrassing, degrading for a woman of Lola's fame and beauty.
“I don't feel very well, I think I'm going to puke,” Lola whimpered.
Matthew looked at Kate and she quickly said, “I'll help her. Where's the bathroom?”
Lola managed to get to the toilet before throwing up. Kate stood by her side, uncertain how best to calm her. When Lola straightened up, Kate helped her to the sink to wash out her mouth and freshen up. She was pale with heavy makeup streaking her face like a sad clown rather than a supermodel. Kate handed her a wet towel to wipe her face.
Was she really bearing his child? Kate wondered. He seemed indifferent to her announcement. It was clear he didn't believe a word she said, but what if she was telling the truth? He couldn't be that hard-hearted. Kate remembered the passion that burned between them not so long ago, the warmth and the magic that radiated from him to her. Had there been such a tempest of emotions and sentiments between Lola and Matthew? If what had existed between them resembled, even so slightly, the feelings she and Matthew aroused in each other, it was no wonder Lola wasn't ready to give him up so easily.
Time and again Kate was confronted with the contradictory sides of Matthew Camedon and could not decide if he was good or evil, sensitive and caring or cold and heartless.
Matthew came into the bathroom. He glanced at Lola and asked Kate, “is she alright?”
“She'll be fine. She needs an aspirin and a good sleep.”
“I need you,” Lola moaned, the words thick on her tongue.
“You should take her home,” Kate suggested, looking at him.
He pushed his fingers through his hair in the already familiar gesture. There were only two seats in the sports car and he did not want to leave Kate alone. He was afraid she would leave before he returned. On the other hand he could'nt permit Lola, in her condition, to go home unescorted.
“I'll take her home only if you promise to be here when I return.”
Kate was taken aback. She had no intention of leaving. She was not an impulsive child but a grown woman with a developed sense of self. If she decided to trust him, to give herself to him, she was resolved not to retreat. She was also determined to insist on some explanations. The tie between Lola and Matthew might be none of her business but she had a right to know how he was so sure she wasn't pregnant. The whole picture would change if Lola was bearing his child.
“I never dreamed of leaving without telling you,” she said and saw the warmth melt the chill in his eyes.
“Come on, I'm taking you home,” he said to Lola without a trace of affection. He turned to Kate, “I'll be back in an hour.”
After the door closed behind them Kate went to the living room but on the way she changed her mind. He wouldn't mind if she made a quick tour of the apartment. There were eight rooms. Besides the living room and the two dining rooms she had already seen, there were two guest rooms, a media room, a library and a master bedroom. At the doorway to Matthew's room Kate stopped, hesitating at this invasion of his privacy. But she couldn't turn on her heel and leave, and as though pulled by an invisible rope, walked inside. Straight into the lion's den. There was an enormous bed with a striking bedspread. Opposite was an immense fireplace which clearly was not often used. Large armchairs stood near overflowing bookshelves and vases filled with fresh flowers lay on dressers. On the wall above the fireplace was a painting whose warm colors, red and gold, flowed into the room and lent an air of mystery and magic. Kate looked at the bed. She felt an overwhelming urge to lie down and feel the smooth material of the bedspread under her skin. Just for a minute, she thought, just for one sweet minute.
Matthew walked into the hushed apartment. The light in the living room was still on but there was no sign of Kate. His body tensed.
She promised she wouldn't go. She promised to wait.
He had been detained far longer than planned. He had to stop the car every ten minutes so Lola could vomit or breathe some fresh air. She was in bad shape and he couldn't leave her on the steps of her apartment building. He was forced to carry her in his arms to her bedroom and lay her down on the bed. When he wanted to leave she clutched his neck and refused to release him. He breathed with relief when he closed the door behind him.
The affair between them had lasted a month and a half and was over three months ago. Since then n
ot a night had passed without a telephone call from Lola, usually in the early hours of the morning, begging him to meet her again. Every time she drank too much she would, in her inebriated state, declare she was pregnant from him. The first time she had come out with that announcement he had insisted, over her vehement objections, that she be examined by his own physician. The laboratory results clearly indicated she was not pregnant. This did not stop her from hounding him. This time she had crossed the line and he knew he was capable of choking her if he found out Kate had left. Where the devil was she? The library and smaller bedroom were empty. He deserved it if she hadn't kept her promise, he thought. He was paying for all the times he had, with no compunction, left a heartbroken woman.
And then he saw the faint light in the bedroom and the searing sweetness spread through his loins. The thought of Kate waiting for him, desiring him, in his bed, was a vision that had a devastating effect. He entered the room in a few hurried steps and approached the bed. He smiled to himself. She was not awaiting him nude and expectant as he had hoped but curled up on the big bed, her knee at her chest and one hand under her head. She was still fully clothed, only her shoes stood side by side near the bed. Her hair was spread out on the light-colored spread and he ran his hands over the smooth silk while sitting down beside her. He felt a rush of elation, boundless joy filled his heart. It was the feeling he had when riding Dawn, spurring his thoroughbred horse on through the fields and gardens surrounding Bellewoodplain, or the charge that stirred his blood when skiing over the lofty snow-clad mountains of France and Switzerland. He was astounded at the emotions she aroused. Although he was convinced nobody would believe him, these sensations were new to him, as they would be for any eighteen year old.
His heart missed a beat at the thought that he was falling in love with Kate.
He never felt anything like this before for any other woman, not after an hour, not after a week, a month or a year.
Kate mumbled in her sleep and he rose from the bed. He went into the bathroom and quickly washed up. Afterwards he stripped and after a slight hesitation he wore the bottom of a pajama set. He usually slept in the nude but he was not sure how she would react when she awoke by his side in the morning and saw him without a stitch on. Promises be damned, he wanted to wake up in his bed with his arms around her. What possessed him to believe he could behave like a gentleman with her? It was beyond him.
