Every muscle in his body seemed to be tensed and she could see the pulse in his throat, throbbing violently as he leaned across the table towards her with his mouth set in a grim line. Suddenly she knew without a shadow of doubt what this conversation was about. A breathless, almost suffocating sense of panic overwhelmed her as she tried to fight the relentless tug of her attraction to him.
‘It could be a problem,’ she admitted hoarsely. ‘I don’t know what I’d do.’
Shakily she rose to her feet, intending to move away, to put distance between them, but Matt thwarted her by rising also and blocking her way. She looked at him, but that was a mistake. The naked, hungry desire in his eyes only made her heart beat more wildly than ever. Mesmerised, she leaned towards him, aching, yearning, wanting him. Her fingers closed convulsively on his sleeve. For one defiant moment she tried to tell herself that she was only doing this to lead him on, to have her revenge for his outrageous behaviour. But when he suddenly cupped her face in his hands and pressed a long brutal devouring kiss on her lips, she knew she was wrong. Her whole body was on fire, throbbing with hunger for him. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t kissing him because she wanted to punish him, she was doing it because she craved him, needed him, loved him, however badly he had treated her.
She arched her back so that her breasts rubbed against his chest. When his right hand sought and stroked her nipple, she let out a faint moan and pressed herself closer against him, shuddering with pleasure under his touch. And all the while his skilful maddening hands moved over her shoulders and breasts and spine in a rhythm of caresses that was driving her frantic. Slowly, appreciatively he unbuttoned her shirt, revealing the lavish contours of her body. Hypnotised, she moved like a dancer in his arms and buried her head in his shoulder as he slipped the garment off and threw it on the ground. She felt his lips brush against the bare skin of her neck and caught her breath. While she was still standing rigid and tense with yearning, his fingers skilfully unfastened her bra. That, too, was tossed to the floor, and then his hands cupped her warm, heaving breasts.
‘You are so beautiful, Lisa,’ he murmured into the scented cloud of her hair. ‘I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.’
With a swift movement he swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. She opened her mouth to protest and found it stopped by another of those long, devouring kisses that sent tingles of excitement sparking through her body. Through half-closed eyelids she saw their shadows loom up on the far wall in the lamplight, then Matt thrust her into the downy softness of the pillows. There was no longer any pretence of indifference in either of them. As his lean, hard, masculine strength crushed her into the bed and she felt the heat of his body against her skin, she uttered another soft moan of arousal and her eyes closed completely. Her lips felt warm and moist and swollen as she surrendered utterly to his kisses. Winding her legs around him and thrusting her fingers into his thick, silky hair, she drew him tighter against her, glorying in the tough, warm, virile pressure of his weight upon her.
‘Oh, Matt,’ she breathed with a convulsive shudder as his fingers crept down and began stroking her intimately. ‘Oh, Matt…yes. Yes!’
He reared up for a moment, kneeling astride her, with his breath coming in fast, erratic gulps as he unbuttoned his shirt and hauled it over his head. Her eyes flew open and she gazed at him in wonder, unable to imagine anything more magnificent than that superb, masculine body. Honed by years of hard, physical labour, the muscles in his massive shoulders and chest bunched like steel cables under the skin as he moved. Then he flung the shirt aside and looked down at her. His expression was so intense, so searing, so shamelessly possessive that Lisa felt her whole body quiver. Something deep inside her seemed to melt and flutter and throb under that relentless masculine scrutiny. She was conscious of a primitive, urgent longing to be seized and entered fiercely, taken again and again until she was totally his. All her independence, her schemes for revenge, her resistance were like a shield made of tissue paper. It crumpled uselessly, leaving her utterly defenceless.
Seeing the harsh glint of triumph and resolve in his stormy features, she felt her whole body throb with a moist, burning need for him. And he sensed it. She knew that. She saw it in his savage, gloating smile, in the way he suddenly pinioned her wrists and flung himself down on her, deliberately grinding his pelvis against hers so that she had no doubt at all what he wanted. Their kisses were no longer gentle, but stormy, passionate, turbulent. They rolled wildly together, clutching at each other with frenzied fingers and gasping for air in brief, reluctant truces. She had never known that such intense, physical passion could be possible, never guessed that she could feel such an inferno of unsatisfied longing. Their clothes seemed like a senseless barrier to the total union that she craved more urgently with each escalating heartbeat. Yet when his hands went roughly to the waistband of her jeans and he tore open the zip, she was shocked at last into resistance.
‘No!’ she gasped, sitting up and shuddering.
He ignored her. His body was gleaming with sweat, his muscles were tensed and a pulse was hammering frantically in his throat. With a sudden, savage intensity he wrenched off her jeans and caught his breath. His eyes glazed with an angry, yearning look of anticipation and she saw his tongue moisten his lower lip.
‘No!’ she cried again, her voice sharp with alarm.
He shook his head, as if she was talking a foreign language.
‘But you want this,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘Damn you, Lisa, you want this as badly as I do!’
‘N-no,’ she stuttered, shrinking from him, retreating against the wall. ‘No, I don’t.’
His only response was to thrust his hand into the most intimate part of her. She gave a small, muffled cry that was half protest and half pleasure, then he raised his glistening fingers contemptuously at her.
‘You may lie, but your body doesn’t!’ he said. ‘I don’t know what the hell this is about, but if you’ve got a shred of honesty, at least admit this. You want me, Lisa!’
She flinched at the anger in his voice and, drawing up her knees, scrambled awkwardly under the covers. Then she let out a long, shuddering sigh, tried twice to speak and failed.
‘Lisa,’ he growled, gripping her by the shoulders and holding her so close that their foreheads were touching, their breath mingled. ‘You’re not frightened of me, are you?’
She shook her head, biting her lower lip to keep back the baffling threat of tears. Not of him, no. Of herself, maybe. Her feelings. The enormity of what they had been on the verge of doing. Her throat was so tight, she could hardly force the words out.
‘No,’ she muttered at last.
‘Then tell me the truth. Do you want me or not?’
The truth, she thought bitterly. The truth was so complicated she doubted if they would ever unravel it. Andrea. Tim. Her own wildly unstable feelings about Matt. Her yearning for love, commitment, not just sex.
‘Yes, I want you,’ she flared. ‘Of course I want you. But I can’t go through with it, Matt. I can’t bear to make love with you.’
He held her tightly. So tightly that he must have been aware of the way her whole body was shaking as if she had a fever, must have been aware of that dreadful, brief, whimpering sound that she made deep in the back of her throat when he kissed the top of her head.
‘Why not?’ he demanded.
She took a long, shuddering breath and pushed him resolutely away.
‘Because I’ll lose any self-respect I ever had if we make love now, Matt.’
The silence seemed to lengthen agonizingly between them. Lisa crouched motionless as if she were carved out of stone, unable to drag her eyes away from Matt’s face. Yet she could not interpret what she saw there. Outrage? Shock? Anger? Perhaps even a wry glimmer of approval? At last he gave a harsh sigh and a sudden tremor went through his limbs as if he was a weight-lifter setting down an intolerably heavy burden. Stony-faced and expressionless, he climbed off t
he bed and stood gazing down at her.
‘Get dressed and pack your things,’ he said curtly. ‘We’re going home.’
‘Now?’ she asked. ‘But it’s after midnight. The road—’
‘Yes, now,’ he rapped out, clenching his fist so tightly around the bedpost that she thought he would snap it right through. ‘Be ready when I come back.’
He did not say where he was going, but released his grip on the bedpost and strode blindly out of the room, pausing only to pick up his shirt as he left. She heard a clatter in the other room as if he had dropped one of his boots, followed by a muffled swearing. Then the front door slammed so loudly that the bedroom walls reverberated. As if she was in a trance, Lisa got out of bed and began assembling her clothes. She felt shaken, disoriented, unable to take in what had happened between them. It was as if she had just emerged from a traffic accident, still retaining the trembling power of movement, but unable yet to speak or feel. And in some crazy way Matt’s pronouncement that they would have to leave made sense to her. Perhaps when they were away from this dangerous place with its orange firelight and whispering trees and huge, star-studded sky and roaring ocean, they would come to their senses. This whole insane episode might weaken and evaporate like a bad dream.
‘Oh, heavens, I hope so,’ she whispered fervently as she stumbled into the living room, picked up her discarded shirt and buried her face in its scented folds. ‘How can I face him again otherwise?’
Yet when Matt returned half an hour later, it was like meeting a stranger. There was no longer any tension or rage or urgency in his manner. Instead, he wore a cool, ironical smile and moved around the cottage as casually as if it was nine o’clock in the morning and he was simply putting things in order after a rather uneventful fishing trip. Feeling deeply embarrassed and self-conscious, Lisa at last shuffled into the living room and set the two backpacks on the floor. Without raising her eyes, she spoke.
‘I’ve packed up all the—’ To her chagrin, her voice squeaked, so that she had to clear her throat and try again. ‘I’ve packed up all the food that was in the kitchen.’
‘Good,’ said Matt pleasantly. ‘I hope you got the fresh fish I caught today. Tim’s very fond of fish.’
Incredulously Lisa’s eyes flew up to meet his, but he was already turning away from her. Was that all he intended to say to her? Were they going to have some conspiracy of silence, to pretend that the whole thing had never happened? Well, in theory that might be the best thing, but how could he do it? How could he simply close the door on an emotional drama like that and pretend it had never happened? And then the bitter thought came to her. Well, he managed it with Andrea, didn’t he?
All the way to the farm, she sat in a hurt and apprehensive silence, while Matt guided the vehicle tranquilly down the dark, treacherous roads. Occasionally they saw the red, glowing eyes of possums in the trees overhead and once she heard the barking growl of a Tasmanian devil out on the hunting trail. The loneliness and strangeness of this unfamiliar world no longer seemed fascinating, but oppressive and frightening. It was just as hostile and unwelcoming as the man who sat so close and yet so far from her, his grim features eerily lit by moonlight, barred with the shadows of passing branches. It was a relief when at last they turned on to a metalled road and saw a friendly yellow light on the porch of a distant farmhouse. Softly, perhaps unconsciously, Matt began to whistle under his breath. An aria from Carmen. Lisa winced and closed her eyes.
The next morning at breakfast Matt made no reference to anything that had passed between them. He was the perfect host, hospitable, pleasant, but unmistakably formal.
‘I’m going to move some stock from the top paddock today, Tim,’ he announced. ‘I thought you might be interested in helping me.’
Tim hunched his shoulders and a sulky expression flitted across his face. Lisa knew that if she didn’t intervene, he would dream up some far-fetched story that would plunge her into another lot of trouble.
‘Actually, Tim and I have other plans,’ she cut in. ‘I was planning to give him a painting lesson today, unless you have some objections, Matt?’
‘Why should I have any objections?’ asked Matt, meeting her eyes but looking through her as if she wasn’t really there.
‘Good. Well, if you’ve no objections, we thought we might use the old cottage over the hill as a studio. It is Tim’s property, after all, but we thought we ought to ask you since you’re used to being in charge around here.’
There was an unmistakable note of malice in Lisa’s voice as she said this, but Matt didn’t give her the satisfaction of rising to the bait. Apart from a faint frown, he gave no sign of having absorbed a word she had said.
‘Do as you please,’ he said indifferently and with a cool nod to both of them, he left the room.
‘Why did you say that about the painting lessons?’ grumbled Tim the moment his uncle had left the room. ‘He’s going to realize what I’m doing if you don’t watch out.’
‘Oh, stop complaining,’ snapped Lisa. ‘You’ve had your week to work on your painting uninterrupted and now you’ve got official permission to use the cottage as a studio into the bargain. What more do you want?’
‘The Buller Prize,’ replied Tim, pressing his hands together in prayer and raising his eyes soulfully.
‘Then we’d better get to work. How’s the painting coming along, anyway?’
‘Not too badly, as a matter of fact. I’ve been working about eighteen hours a day on it while you were away, but I can’t quite capture the quality of the light the way I want it. And the right shoulder looks distorted somehow. I wish you’d have a look at it for me.’
Lisa found a welcome break from her own problems in helping Tim with his work. His talent dazzled her. The moment she saw the canvas, she felt an almost reverent certainty that the finished painting was going to be a masterpiece. Tim had always shown promise, but this wasn’t just promise, it was mature artistic achievement. And now that he had a genuine goal to work towards, he seemed ready to give up the juvenile time wasting, which had irritated her so much in the past. There were still technical points he needed to learn, but he was prepared to work like a demon to acquire them. And his absorption was so profound that he would quite happily go without meals or sleep or any kind of relaxation in order to get his masterpiece finished. In the past Lisa had had to bully him to keep going with his projects, but now she had to bully him to make him stop. Otherwise he would have burnt himself out with sheer nervous energy. Well, at least it had the advantage that Tim was far too consumed by his own concerns to ask her what had happened on her week away with Matt. And it was doubtful whether he even noticed the coolness between his uncle and his friend. It was left to Lisa to raise the subject in a roundabout fashion two days after her return from Fortescue Bay.
‘Tim, do you think I ought to go back to Melbourne?’ she blurted out.
He stared at her in consternation and a blob of green acrylic paint dripped off his brush and on to the knee of his jeans.
‘Don’t be stupid, I need you here. Who’s going to help me with my brushwork if you leave? Besides, you promised you’d stay until after Christmas! Why on earth do you want to go?’
She flushed uncomfortably and dropped her eyes.
‘Well, I don’t think Matt likes me much,’ she said. ‘I feel awkward about staying.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ asked Tim. ‘He doesn’t like me much, either, but I’m still here, aren’t I?’ A sudden inspiration seized him. ‘Anyway, I’m the legal owner of this property, not Matt! And I’m asking you to stay, so for heaven’s sake shut up and let me get on with my work.’
Lisa grinned and gave in. The truth was that she didn’t want to leave, in spite of the strange ache in her chest whenever she crossed Matt’s path by accident. Common sense told her she would be wiser to make a complete break, but deep down she didn’t want to be sensible. It was easier to use Tim’s needs as her excuse for doing what she wanted to d
o, anyway. It might be madness, but at least she could have these last few days in Matt’s company before she said goodbye to him forever.
Tim had been half afraid at the beginning that Matt would burst in on them at the cottage, but as two weeks passed and then a third, he began to relax. Lisa tried several times to persuade him to tell his uncle the truth, but he always stubbornly refused.
‘I’ll tell him once the painting is finished and submitted to the judging committee,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want any flak from him or my mother until that’s safely over.’
‘But you’ve failed all your university exams, Tim,’ said Lisa. ‘You can’t hide that from them forever. Isn’t it better to come clean, tell Matt you hate economics and you want to study art? Give him the chance to discuss the matter with you? You never know, he might be reasonable about it.’
‘Like hell he will! No, Lisa, I’m not going to be pushed around by you on this. Anyway, it won’t be long now until Christmas is over, the painting is finished and we can both go back to Melbourne. And if I get the scholarship, I can just jet off to Paris, can’t I?’
‘Without explaining anything to Matt?’ demanded Lisa in an outraged voice. ‘I think that’s really unspeakable! He’s done his best to be a good trustee for you.’
‘Whose side are you on? I thought you didn’t even like him! Hell, Lisa, look what you’ve made me do! I’ve got the line of that shoulder completely wrong again.’
Several minutes of grumbling and fussing around with turpentine and rags didn’t make things any better. Tim sucked on the end of his paintbrush and squinted at her thoughtfully.
‘Couldn’t you just strip off and hop up on the bed for me? I need to see the angle to get it right.’
Lisa squirmed.
‘I don’t want to do that any more,’ she said.
He stared at her in astonishment.
‘Why on earth not? You always did before. Lisa, you’re not worried that I’m going to grope you or something, are you? Because, look, no offence, but I find you incredibly unattractive.’
Mistress For Hire (Harlequin Presents) Page 12
