by Kris Pearson
The swift kiss he’d branded her with still sizzled on her lips when she thought of him. But she mustn’t think of him like that ever again. It was over. However much her heart felt wrung dry, however much her throat ached with unshed tears, Matthew didn’t trust her. Didn’t want her any more. Couldn’t even be polite.
She arrived back in Auckland in time for a solitary dinner—chilli prawns, fried rice, and stir-fried greens from her local takeaway. Not a patch on his Queenstown meal. She had no-one to flirt with, no-one to gaze across the table at as she pushed the food around with her chopsticks.
He didn’t trust her. Maybe he’d never trust a woman properly again. What a waste of a life. She gave in to her misery, and tears slid slowly down her cheeks as she thought about resuming her job search. She’d use the time before starting a new job to do some work on the townhouse she’d inherited from her mother. Plainly she wouldn’t be moving south to work for Lottie, so she’d update it to her own taste.
Her mother had collected blue and white china. Kate laid down her chopsticks and began to plan. She decided to pack away the pretty ornaments, and paint over the rose-strewn wallpaper in the dining and sitting rooms. A neutral shade as a base to display paintings on. The Queenstown house had intensified her interest in artwork.
She’d search out a rich tribal patterned rug to liven up the plain carpet. Something like Diana had on her hardwood floors. A total change. Sooner or later the past would recede.
But Matthew was constantly on her mind. Next day, after hurrying to the nearest paint store, she worked the roller up and down over the roses and recalled their first meeting at the air terminal, and the ride to see Lottie in hospital. The Italian lunch, the clothes buying spree, the dinner and subsequent spa. His body. God, his body...
His sinful mouth. His taste. His silky skin. His scent.
She finished the first coat over the walls by mid afternoon, made coffee and took it to the outdoor table to enjoy the unexpected winter sunshine. The steam spiralled up, carrying the drink’s rich fragrance. Kate dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes, blotting out the reality of drab winter in sub-tropical Auckland and exchanging it for sparkling Queenstown.
She remembered every moment of ecstasy in the spa, in front of the glowing fire, and in his bed. She’d never imagined she’d abandon herself so absolutely to a man. She’d lowered her defences and given him her total trust—and where had that got her? Back home. Alone. Hurting deeply.
After the extreme rapture Matthew had created for her, the pain he’d inflicted was agonising. She vowed never to leave herself so open to rejection again.
Two days later, she returned with a handsome rug and spread it on the floor. She set a bunch of golden chrysanthemums in a tall copper vase, and gazed around with satisfaction. Redecorating the sitting room had been a success—she’d tackle the main bedroom next and try to create some sophisticated ambience. Two coats of low sheen paint... she’d be finished in another couple of days. Three silver-grey walls with deep charcoal on the fourth behind the bed. (Not to remind her in the least of Matthew, she told herself, but because she’d seen the scheme in a décor magazine on the flight home from Queenstown.) The pale curtains and carpet would be fine as they were.
She bundled up her mother’s flounced bedspread to donate to the church shop, deciding to replace it with the geometric grey and cream bed linen she’d seen in the Bed’n’Bath boutique. Her mother’s peachy scheme was soon just a memory. If only she could wipe Matthew from her life so easily...
The next afternoon she bought the linen and visited several galleries, searching for the perfect painting to complete the charcoal wall. She couldn’t afford anything in Lottie’s league, but maybe a dramatic and sombre nude would look good in the room?
She wondered where in the world the countryside/woman painting would be hung. Her final morning’s work in Queenstown had given her a deeper understanding of what a truly international figure Lottie was. It would have been a wonderful job.
But...
By early Friday, Matthew was still waiting with barely controlled patience for the results of Sy Karlson’s investigation. Surely Sy must be back from his break in Fiji by now? He was desperate for ammunition to blast Kate out of his mind. His concentration had been shot to pieces. She wandered through his thoughts uninvited, hour after hour.
But she was Rob Pleasance’s daughter. He had found her in his study more than once. And the second time, when she’d thought him safely asleep, he’d seen with his own eyes she’d been searching for documents. Her excuse about the sketches had been feeble.
The evening before that, she’d not wanted him to see her e-mail. Asked him to get the glasses of juice to give her privacy. Sent the message off the screen the instant he’d returned. When he’d retrieved it, he could certainly see why. But he was still in the dark about the mysterious merger.
She was poison—no other interpretation was possible.
He sighed as he shuffled some papers together and snapped his briefcase shut. Auckland later today for a board meeting. It would be even harder to keep her from invading his mind there, knowing she was only a few minutes’ taxi ride away.
The early morning flight took off full. Most of the passengers were business people. Holidaymakers didn’t travel at crack of dawn as a rule. Matthew found himself seated next to an older woman who didn’t appear to be a frequent flyer. She peered about nervously, and gave her full attention to the safety demonstration. When the flight attendant came by offering magazines, the woman accepted two. She opened the first, and tilted it to the light.
The hairs on Matthew’s neck rose, and a sputtering buzz filled his brain. The other magazine lay on her lap. A nubile blonde smiled in triumph over a screaming red headline: ‘Terry to marry her tycoon.’ Behind her lurked Rob Pleasance.
He made an undignified grab for it, causing the woman to jump.
“Sorry—just spotted someone I know on the cover.” He snapped the pages over until he found the story.
So that was the merger? A marriage—not a business deal at all. He skimmed through the article, voracious for facts.
Top businessman Rob Pleasance, blah blah blah, had proposed to well-known socialite Terry De la Hunt, blah blah blah, and the couple would marry on picturesque Waiheke Island in September. He had considerately waited until his former wife, Jennifer, had passed away from cancer before proposing to his new love. His only child from the former marriage, swimming champion Kate Pleasance, had given her blessing to the new union. The bride’s dress would be designed by Trelise Walker. Terry’s six-year old son Damien would be a pageboy. And so on, ad infinitum.
The merger was a marriage.
He read through it again with growing dismay, appalled he’d jumped so easily to the wrong conclusion. Kate had mentioned letting people know she’d be unable to attend a celebration of some kind. The engagement bash, apparently.
And that some people would be stunned. The ambitious Terry was about half the age of her prospective groom—more his daughter’s age than his own. His ex wife was very recently dead. Yes, people might indeed be surprised.
Acid burned Matthew’s gut as he thought of the way he’d treated Kate. His furious words, his cold-shoulder treatment. His rudeness at the party. His cavalier manner on the dance floor—holding her against her will, and then so violently demonstrating his fierce lust for her body even as he threw unkind words in her face.
What had Sy Karlsen discovered about her? Anything more to back up his own suspicions? Or would Sy’s report show Kate was pretty much what she claimed to be?
Damn the cell phone suppression on the plane! He had to get his hands on the facts today. If he’d been as wrong as now seemed possible, he needed to make one hell of an apology—and fast.
But was there the least chance he could patch things up between them? Recapture the blissful state they’d achieved in the snowbound house?
He’d never been so attracted to a woman. Despite al
l his suspicions, head over heels in half an hour. Inventing excuses for her to stay. Buying her clothes whether she wanted them or not. Foisting his choices on her as though she was a doll to be dressed to his wishes.
Within minutes of meeting her, Kate had his body and brain in turmoil.
He’d been in both paradise and purgatory when he held her sobbing in his arms while Diana and Hamish made love. Only a miracle had stopped him from ripping his pyjamas down and showing her a hell of a lot more than a slice of his tattoo.
He’d grabbed her and kissed her in the cinema like a love-struck sixteen year old, and had no idea how he’d summoned up the strength of will to stop at one kiss. It had taken all his steely determination to try and lose himself in the movie as a distraction from the beautiful desirable woman pressed close against him, smelling so good, tasting so luscious.
Joining Lottie in the studio and sketching Kate had been a real turn-on. The charcoal had re-created her for his private pleasure, sliding smoothly over the paper just as his hands itched to wander over her lustrous skin. He’d consigned the drawings to the back of the SUV, and taken them to a picture framer before he bought the prawns for that evening’s meal. They must be almost ready by now. Mounted in black. Framed in sleek chrome. A tribute to her desirable body.
He was glad he hadn’t told her. Now they might be the only way he’d see her again.
He squeezed his eyes shut and fought for equilibrium. His world had just lurched off its axis. He’d made a total fool of himself and probably alienated her forever. It would take a miracle to get her back.
The instant they opened the plane’s doors in Auckland, he thumbed through his phone for Sy Karlsen’s listing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kate chose a conservative ivory blouse and her best black business suit. She’d decided not to take her car into the central city so it would be easier to hand deliver her CV to three of the city’s top employment agencies. She hoped for an interview with one of their consultants. (Or should she phone ahead? Her heart wasn’t really in this!)
Then she’d have lunch with her old friend and workmate, Shelley, and ask how her successor was coping...just in case there was an opening there again.
And after that she’d get the bus back to the gallery in Newmarket and hope they still had the painting which had most appealed the previous day. It wasn’t by a big-name artist, but the talent was obvious, and who knew what the future held for them?
It was a naked angel—a hard-muscled man lazing on something that might be heavenly clouds. A huge feathered wing cast enough shadow to make him almost decent. The rest of the body was definitively beautifully male. She’d need a taxi to bring him home.
Later that afternoon Kate paid the driver and eased out of the cab with the long painting. Steering the angel safely around the corner in the front entrance would be difficult. She dug the garage remote from her bag and zapped the door. It shuddered upward, and she sidled past the car and through to her bedroom. She stood the angel on end against the big chest of drawers. Her mother’s basic tool-kit was stored in the wardrobe, and she lifted it out in readiness. Then she kicked off her shoes and headed toward the kitchen.
And froze.
How long had he been sitting there?
From the kitchen counter she had an unobstructed view through the dining room and out to the sheltered timber deck. A graceful wisteria vine twined around the supports and framed the view in spring and summer. Now it was winter-bare, and the tall dark haired man was clearly visible in profile. He sat on one of the chairs at the outdoor table, unmoving. Kate crept a few steps closer to see him better.
Definitely Matthew.
Drawing breath was almost impossible.
Why was he still there? He’d have heard the garage door opening and closing, and known she’d returned.
Kate shuffled backward, groping for the end of the counter, and sagging against it. Her hands trembled and her heart beat frantically. Presumably he’d knocked, and not finding her at home, had opened the side gate and decided to wait her out. She’d been gone since mid morning. How long had he been there? It was four-thirty now—hours might have crept by.
She made coffee. One coffee.
Stood there sipping as he sat unmoving. Was he waiting for her to go out and beg his forgiveness? When she’d done nothing except try to find the sketches of her own body? She finished the drink, slowly regaining her courage, and turning dark thoughts over in her mind.
Matthew pushed back the chair and rose. Kate trembled all over again and grabbed the counter for support.
She waited for him to knock.
He never did.
She had no idea how long she stood there, tense and trembling, wondering what he’d say and what she’d reply.
Finally she realised he’d gone. He’d come to see her, and she’d ignored him as though he didn’t exist.
She yelled his name and raced along the hallway, wrenching the front door open, leaving it swinging wide. Down the steps, shoeless. Over the rough paving of the long cobbled driveway, heedless of her pantyhose being snagged and shredded, and the ladders whizzing up her legs. She dragged her skirt up so she could run faster, sprinting along toward the now distant man walking away from her, cell phone to ear.
She finally swerved to a halt in front of him, eyes wide, hair wild, breasts heaving.
“Forget the cab for now,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket and meeting her accusing gaze.
“You didn’t knock,” she panted. “You were right there and you didn’t knock.”
“You didn’t ask me in,” he replied quietly. “It was your call, Katie. I messed it up. You knew I was there. You knew I’d come all this way to you. I waited as long as I could bear to.”
As he could bear to? He couldn’t possibly have felt as wretched as she had, could he? Tiny sparks of hope ignited in her brain like fireflies. She tugged her skirt down, grimaced at the ladders, then returned her eyes to his. “You should have knocked.”
“Should I? I assumed you wanted nothing more to do with me when you didn’t come out. I wouldn’t blame you.”
She tried to speak again. Her throat had the biggest lump, and she almost couldn’t force her voice past it. “Come back and have coffee at least,” she begged.
His lips twitched. “Will you make two this time?”
Oh God, how cruel that must have looked.
She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just needed something to calm my nerves...give me time... I didn’t know you could see me.”
He sighed, reached a hand toward her, then pulled it back again as though he had no right to touch her. “I can’t see anything else. I haven’t seen anything except you since the day you left.”
Kate gazed into his glistening eyes, heart thumping madly.
“Good,” she said. “Me either.”
Matthew reached across again, this time to touch her hair.
“Must be a mess,” Kate said, shrugging.
“Beautiful mess.” He smoothed his knuckles down the side of her face, stroking softly, barely believing she hadn’t slapped him away. “Need to talk about things,” he muttered. “Need to tell you why I was such a bloody fool.”
Kate tipped her head on one side and regarded him as though he was a laboratory specimen. Then she glanced down at her feet. “It better be good,” she said. “Not such a beautiful mess down there.”
Matthew looked too, squatted, and cursed softly. Her pantyhose were in rags. A couple of her pretty little toes oozed blood. He held out a hand. “Show me.”
Kate leaned on his shoulder for balance and gingerly placed her foot on his upturned palm.
He cursed again. “You shouldn’t have run after me without shoes.”
“Wasn’t thinking. I wanted to see why you were here.”
He bent his head with relief, and then kissed the side of her knee. “I’ll give you a piggy-back home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can walk.”
<
br /> “Not being ridiculous. You’re bleeding, and you know perfectly well I can carry you.” He glanced up, pleased to see she’d bitten her lip, and was maybe remembering how he’d carried her across the spa room impaled on his cock before he set her down on the cabinet and fucked her so urgently. Her quick sprint along the street had brought colour to her face, but he also detected a hint of bashful recollection, thank God. “We need to sort things out, Katie. Let me carry you. I’ll probably find it easier to talk if I don’t have to look you in the eye.”
She snorted at that. “I won’t know if you’re telling me the truth.”
“Yes you will. I’ve never lied to you and I’m not starting now.”
“You’ve got some pretty warped ideas about the truth, then.”
He ignored her jibe because the chance to make things right between them was too important to jeopardise. He stood and turned, squatting enough to encourage her to climb on his back, and knowing he deserved her scorn after the way he’d treated her.
“How are you going to carry your briefcase now?” she asked after he’d straightened up.
He heard the trace of humour in her voice and put her down again. “Can you carry it if I carry you?”
She sent him half a grin. “Probably. But I’ll hardly be decent,” she added, hitching her skirt way up her thighs again.
Matthew’s eyes followed, and he groaned out loud before handing her the briefcase and turning his back on her. He wanted those legs wrapped around his waist right now. And later in bed. Wanted to push his face up between them and drive her insane with his tongue. Wanted her so badly he didn’t know how to start telling her. “Hop on,” he said in a strangled voice.
