Hot Pursuit

by Anne Mather

  Sara made a helpless little sound. ‘Isn’t it the truth?’ she asked, and heard his sudden intake of breath.

  ‘No.’

  She frowned. ‘Are you worried about finishing your book?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Matt was sardonic. ‘I’m always worrying about stuff like that.’

  ‘You are?’ She stared at him and he scowled.

  ‘No, dammit,’ he muttered. Then, with a speculative glance up the stairs, he walked past her and opened his study door. ‘Let’s go in here. I prefer not to risk having my conversations overheard.’

  Sara followed his gaze. ‘But who—?’

  ‘Walls have ears,’ he remarked drily, switching on the lamp beside his desk and holding open the door. ‘Are you coming in?’

  Sara knew she ought to say no. She insisted to herself that had she known she was going to run into Matt she’d never have come down here. Borrowing a book was such a pathetic excuse, after all. Hadn’t she really been hoping to find the decanter of Scotch that was kept on the table just inside the library door? She wasn’t in the habit of using alcohol as a sedative, but she had wondered if it might improve her chances of getting to sleep.

  Now, faced with temptation, she crumbled. This might be the last opportunity she’d have to be alone with Matt, when all was said and done. With a nervous twitch of her braid, she didn’t hesitate before following him into the room.

  She’d never been in Matt’s study before, not with the door closed and the glow of lamplight to add to the illusion of enchantment. The only other occasion she’d ventured into his domain had been when she’d come to ask him if he wanted lunch, and she remembered only too well how that had turned out.

  And he’d been fully dressed then, she reminded herself tensely, turning her head away from the intimacy he represented. With his hair rumpled and the shadow of stubble on his jawline he made her think of all the things she’d forfeited when she’d married Max. And she was suddenly acutely aware of the seam of the sweat pants abrading the sensitive place between her legs.

  To distract herself, she looked about the room, noticing the sophisticated computer on his desk, the laser printer and the stacks of printed sheets, the modem that enabled him to send his finished manuscript over the phone lines. There was a leather office chair behind his desk and a matching easy chair in the corner, and shelves of reference videos and CDs to play on the comprehensive digital system that occupied a space beneath the window.

  It was a working environment, yet it possessed a warmth and charm that Sara hadn’t noticed on her first visit. Perhaps it had something to do with the huge potted fern that filled another corner, or the many pictures on the walls that reflected his love of this part of the country. Castles and the wilderness of Coquetdale, ruined peel towers and rugged coasts, the impressive bulk of Holy Island, with the magnificent arches of Lindisfarne Priory still standing after years of Viking attacks.

  ‘Isn’t that where St Cuthbert is supposed to have translated the gospels?’ she asked in a tight voice, desperate for something to say. She was instinctively aware that Matt was watching her and she sensed him shake his head.

  ‘That’s Lindisfarne Castle,’ he said tolerantly. ‘Nothing remains of the old monastery. But it’s said that they used the stones from its ruins to build the castle.’

  Sara managed a fleeting glance in his direction. ‘How interesting.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it,’ he agreed without conviction. ‘Is there anything else you want to know?’

  Sara’s shoulders sagged. It was obvious he knew exactly what she was doing; why she was finding it so hard to behave naturally. But what was she supposed to say, for heaven’s sake? She could hardly come right out and tell him how she was feeling. He wouldn’t want to know that.

  ‘Are there ghosts?’ she enquired at last, and Matt’s nostrils flared.

  ‘Where?’ he countered. ‘On Holy Island? Or in this room?’

  Sara had to look at him then. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ He wasn’t having that. ‘Personally, I don’t give a damn about ghosts, dead or alive. And I don’t believe you came down here just to indulge in a discussion about the supernatural.’ He impaled her with his dark gaze. ‘Did you?’

  Sara was defensive. ‘You know why I came—’

  ‘To get a book,’ interrupted Matt. ‘Yeah, you said. I just don’t happen to believe it, that’s all.’

  Sara held up her head. ‘Well, you’re flattering yourself if you think that I hoped I’d run into you,’ she retorted indignantly, and Matt sagged back against his desk and folded his arms across his broad chest.

  ‘Did I say I thought you’d hoped you’d run into me?’ he enquired, regarding her steadily. ‘Could be you were planning to run away again.’

  Sara caught her breath. ‘In my bare feet?’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Matt surveyed her bare toes with a critical eye and Sara had to resist the urge to curl them into the carpet. ‘Okay,’ he conceded, acknowledging her point. ‘So what are you doing, wandering about my house in the dead of night?’

  Sara sighed. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Yeah, you said that.’

  ‘Well—’ She gave a nervous little shrug of her shoulders. ‘I thought I might get myself a—a nightcap.’

  Matt’s brows ascended. ‘A nightcap? As in cocoa, Ovaltine, or what?’

  ‘As in whisky,’ admitted Sara reluctantly. ‘I noticed you have a decanter of Scotch in—in the library.’

  ‘Whisky?’ His tone was deliberately mocking now. ‘You were thinking of using whisky as a sedative? Why, Sara, have I corrupted you?’

  Sara looked annoyed. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ she said shortly. ‘There’s a great deal of difference between taking a drop at bedtime and swigging alcohol in the middle of the day!’

  Matt gave a snort. ‘I was not swigging alcohol,’ he exclaimed. ‘Hey, I was stressed, okay?’ He gave her a dark look. ‘And, before you jump down my throat again, I’m not blaming you. This is my problem. I’ll get over it.’

  Sara felt ashamed. ‘Is—is the book going badly?’ she ventured, desperate to avoid the growing intimacy between them, and Matt gave a dismissive shrug.

  ‘What’s that expression? It’s going as well as can be expected?’ Then, tucking his hands beneath his arms, he gave her a cynical smile before commenting, ‘Well, isn’t this cosy? I haven’t been to a pyjama party since I was in short trousers.’

  Sara hunched her shoulders. ‘I’m not wearing pyjamas.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’ His eyes were narrowed and intent. ‘You’re wearing my old sweat pants, which is a lot less easy to deal with.’ His gaze lowered to the tied waistline. ‘Humour me. Are you wearing anything underneath?’

  Sara was taken aback. ‘Are you?’ she countered before she could prevent herself, gesturing towards his jeans, and Matt uttered a colourful oath.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ he advised her harshly. ‘Not unless you want to find out.’

  Sara’s throat was dry. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she ventured, staring at him, and Matt closed his eyes to avoid her disturbing gaze.

  ‘Sara,’ he said heavily. ‘This is—not wise.’

  Sara sighed. ‘I know,’ she agreed huskily. ‘But—I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  Matt’s looked stunned. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do.’ Sara swallowed. ‘You knew I’d have to leave sooner or later. Now that—now that Rob knows I’m here, I think it’s the wisest thing to do.’

  ‘No!’ Matt’s denial was heartfelt. ‘For God’s sake, Sara, you know how I feel about you going back to that bastard!’ He straightened from the desk. ‘Dammit, I don’t want you to go.’

  Sara stepped backward. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. Afraid of herself, perhaps. Afraid of what she’d do if he touched her.

  ‘Matt—’

  ‘No, don’t say anything,’ he implored her unsteadily. ‘I don’t want to hear
you tell me again that you’re his wife—’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘But he doesn’t love you!’ exclaimed Matt angrily, coming towards her, and this time when she retreated from him she felt the panels of the door at her back. ‘He wouldn’t treat you as he does if he cared about you. You’re kidding yourself if you think he’s ever going to change.’

  Her breathing suspended. What was she doing? she asked herself wildly. Why didn’t she get out of there while she still could? However Matt felt about her, there was no doubt that she was the one who’d provoked him, and, while the knowledge excited her, it wasn’t something to be proud of.

  There was a hunger in the way he looked at her, a deep primitive hunger that shredded her nerves and melted her flesh. She wanted him, she thought incredulously. She really wanted him. She wanted to know what it was like to be loved by a man whose prime objective wasn’t to subjugate her to his needs.

  She longed to feel Matt’s arms about her, Matt’s body pressed in intimate association with her own. She longed for him to kiss her; to show his need for her; to validate her feelings with his mouth.

  But all Matt did was place one hand on either side of her head and stand looking down at her with guarded eyes. Although she ached for him to touch her, he seemed quite content to look and not touch. His skin seemed very dark in the shadowy light behind him, the glow of the lamplight creating an aura of brightness around his powerful frame.

  There was a faint covering of dark hair on his chest that arrowed down to his navel. A film of perspiration at his nape caused his hair to cling to the side of his neck. She wanted to touch him so badly she was trembling. Did he have any idea what his prolonged scrutiny was doing to her?

  ‘Do you love him?’ he asked at last, when Sara was beginning to feel faint from the power of her emotions.

  ‘M—Max?’ she stammered, and Matt’s jaw compressed.

  ‘Do you?’ he demanded, and her mouth quivered.

  ‘You must know I don’t,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I sometimes wonder if I ever did.’

  ‘So you married him for his money, right?’ Matt was matter-of-fact. ‘And now you wish you hadn’t.’

  Sara was hurt. ‘Is that what you think? My God, you don’t have a very high opinion of me.’

  Matt’s eyes bored into hers. She had the feeling he could see into her very soul, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. What was he thinking? she wondered. What kind of a woman did he think she was?

  Then, just when she was sure he was going to push himself off the door and move away from her, he lifted his hand and cupped her throat. His thumb probed the curve of her jawline before rubbing roughly across her bottom lip. A plaintive sigh escaped her at the intimacy he was evoking. She felt herself leaning towards him and forced herself to draw back.

  ‘I think you’re a very brave woman,’ he told her, surprisingly, his hand moving down her throat and over the quivering rise and fall of her chest. ‘But you’re also a very foolish one,’ he added roughly. He paused. ‘And that makes me angry.’

  Sara took a breath. ‘You don’t understand—’

  ‘I don’t want to understand,’ he told her harshly, lowering his head and brushing his mouth against the soft curve of her neck. He parted his teeth and bit her in the hollow of her shoulder, very gently. ‘Or I might feel some compunction about doing this.’

  Sara lifted her shoulder helplessly to his mouth. But Matt was still supporting himself on his hands. And, although his mouth was doing devastating things to her emotional stability, he was deliberately keeping a safe distance between them.

  ‘Matt—’

  ‘Don’t tell me no,’ he groaned, his mouth trailing hotly up her throat to her cheek. The heat of his breathing moistened her skin, mesmerising her. And when his mouth slanted over hers she closed her eyes in sensual delight.

  ‘I wouldn’t stop you,’ she managed breathlessly against his lips, and his tongue slid possessively into her mouth.

  Her limbs went weak with longing. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t think straight. She wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the floor and let Matt do whatever he wanted with her. For the first time in her life she was totally at the mercy of her emotions. The idea of getting naked with him was just the start.

  She put out a trembling hand. ‘May I touch you?’ she whispered, and he sucked in his breath.

  ‘Can I stop you?’ he countered hoarsely, revealing his own weakness. And with a shiver of anticipation she allowed her fingers to stroke over the soft hair on his chest.

  He shuddered beneath her caress. When her hand strayed lower, over the flat planes of his stomach to the open waistband of his jeans, he jerked uncontrollably. The hair coarsened as it disappeared below the vee and, unable to stop herself, Sara slipped her hand inside his zip.

  He wasn’t wearing anything else, she discovered breathlessly. But he was hot and aroused, and when her fingers closed about him he uttered a low moan. ‘God, Sara,’ he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. And, as if he could no longer support himself, his arms gave way.

  His weight crushed her against the door. But she loved it. It was what she wanted, and there was a palpable delight in feeling his erection pressing into her mound. She desperately wanted to push down her pants and his, let the silken length of his hot flesh sink into hers. She was certainly ready for him. In the pit of her stomach a pulse was beating, and she could feel her own arousal pooling between her thighs.

  His hands sought her buttocks, finding her soft cleft and hauling her against him. All sanity was suspended. The rights and wrongs of what she was doing didn’t apply.

  Lifting her arms, she wound them round his neck. Her fingers slid into his hair, scraped possessively across his scalp. Her mouth opened wide beneath the hungry penetration of his invasion. She shared his tongue’s sensual dance, returning his kiss with all the heat and urgency of her generous nature.

  It wasn’t enough. Even when his hand pushed her shirt out of the way and he caressed the swollen fullness of her breasts she wanted more. Then he took one throbbing nipple between his teeth and suckled eagerly, and she knew what she had to do.

  Dragging a hand from his shoulder, she fumbled at the waistband of the baggy pants. She felt a quiver of satisfaction when they slipped obediently down to her ankles. She kicked them off, going up on her tiptoes to try and assuage the ache between her legs. She rubbed herself against him, loving the intimacy it evoked, and Matt knew immediately what she’d done.

  ‘Sara,’ he said thickly, and she shivered pleasurably when his hand found its way between her legs and found the throbbing nub within its folds of flesh. ‘God, Sara, you are beautiful.’ His breath shivered from his lungs. ‘I want—’

  He broke off then, and without saying another word he pushed himself away from her. Her moan of protest had barely left her lips before he took her hand and pulled her across the room.

  She had no idea what he was going to do. But she was very much afraid he was going to sit her down and tell her this couldn’t go on. That, however much he might desire her physically, he was not prepared to perjure his soul for her sake.

  Yet his hand was gripping hers tightly. And when he paused to peel her tee shirt over her head her fears were overtaken by pure excitement. Would he have done that if he was going to send her away? she wondered unsteadily. And why didn’t she feel any shame at her nakedness with him?

  When he pushed her down into the armchair she gazed up at him uncomprehendingly. The leather was cool against her bottom, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes were wide, enquiring, anxious even now that she might have mistaken his intentions.

  But Matt’s gaze was dark and passionate, and when he pressed her back against the velvet cushion behind her and knelt between her parted knees, her breath caught helplessly in her throat.

  Then his mouth was on hers, his bare chest crushing her swollen breasts. Her nipples pressed, hard and pointed, against his hair-roughened skin. Her
fingers sought the front of his trousers, eager to please him as he was pleasing her.

  Matt brushed her hands aside, however, and, drawing back, cradled her breasts in his hands. His thumbs abraded the sensitive nipples, arousing another moan of pleasure from her.

  Then, bending his head, he suckled from first one, then the other, causing her to quiver with sheer delight. She shifted restlessly beneath him, striving towards a fulfilment that had always been beyond her. Even now she doubted her capacity to please either of them. Max had always said she was a sexless bitch.

  When Matt parted her legs and began depositing soft sensual kisses along her inner thigh, she groaned in protest. She hadn’t known she had so many erogenous zones, but it seemed as if everywhere Matt touched her body turned to flame. Her skin felt thin, sensitised. Every nerve leapt eagerly towards his touch.

  Then he reached the apex of her legs, but he didn’t stop. ‘You’re wet,’ he said, with obvious satisfaction, and when his tongue probed the damp curls that hid her womanhood she caught her breath. She was helpless to stop what was happening and she gasped as she lost all control.

  Her climax was shattering. She’d never had such an experience, and when Matt pulled her into his arms she was crying uncontrollably.

  ‘Hey, baby,’ he whispered, his hand cradling her head, comforting her. ‘It’s okay. I’m still here.’

  Sara gulped. ‘But you—you didn’t—’

  ‘Not this time,’ he agreed gently. ‘This was for you. Only you. Was it good?’

  Sara groaned. ‘You know it was,’ she said, holding his face between her hands and drawing back to look at him. ‘But why? Why didn’t you—?’

  ‘It’s not what you want right now,’ he said, getting to his feet and leaving her feeling strangely bereft. ‘You’d better get dressed,’ he added, picking up her clothes from the floor and dropping them in her lap. ‘It will be light soon.’