Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (9 page)

“Four years older—that’s a vast gap at the
ages we were. You had your own life by the time I arrived.”

Suddenly Kate saw him in a different light.
Had he been lonely as a teenager? Surely his innate confidence and
bantering charm would have got him through anything?

“Me being older was the best thing that could
have happened to you,” Hamish said with certainty. “You lost
yourself in those computers. Jumped the queue. Got so far ahead of
everyone else, it set you up for life.”

Matthew grinned wryly at his brother. “It’s
okay looking back from here,” he said. “Not so much fun at the
time. Too much, too soon.” He turned to Kate. “I was good at tennis
though. Grew tall very fast. Had long arms—very handy.”

“Spider-man,” Hamish added, and they all
laughed.

“What about you, Diana?” Kate asked.

Diana closed her eyes and leaned back against
the edge of the pool. “I’m a country girl—mad on horses. Pony Club
gymkhanas...Hunt Club...would have loved to be a jockey actually,
which horrified my mother.”

“But your brother had a friend who was
irresistible,” Hamish suggested.

“I didn’t think you were all that great to
start with,” she teased.

“I grew on you,” he said complacently.

“Like a rash,” she agreed. She gave him a
fond kiss on his nearest cheek and pushed herself up out of the
water. “That’s enough for me—I’m turning into a prune,” she said,
inspecting her hands. Kate rose up as well, and the water poured
down her legs in silvery streams. The air in the room was now
bitingly cold. She shivered and folded her arms across her
breasts.

Matthew surged up and reached for the big
soft spa towels on a nearby shelf. He tossed one to Diana, but
shook the other out and wrapped it around Kate, pinning her arms to
her body as she stood in the water, suddenly far too close to his
gleaming shoulders and chest.

“Can’t have our tropical flower catching
cold,” he said, rubbing her back and arms through the towel. The
hand against her back started making slower and slower circles.

Her breath caught in her throat. What if
there was no towel? If his strong, long-fingered hand was sliding
against her bare skin? She wrenched herself away, regretful and
desperate, emotions once again in turmoil. Stepping from the pool,
she struggled out of the towel so she could mop at her legs, and
fled.

Too late, she realised her clothes and
jewellery were still in the changing room. She’d collect them in
the morning. The thought of running into him again in the darkened
hallway was too much to contemplate.

She crouched behind her closed door, pulses
racing, as she rubbed the towel more thoroughly down her legs.
She’d given herself only the most perfunctory rub-down in the
spa-room—just enough to save the floor from a trail of water.

She’d totally ignored Matthew, calling back a
collective goodnight as she bolted away from them all...from
him...of course from him. And his glorious shoulders. And his
clever hands. And his compelling icy eyes.

She expelled her breath in a frustrated rush.
What
was she going to do?

She crossed the dense carpet to the en suite
bathroom and peeled the swimsuit off. Her bed lay piled with all
the new clothes he’d bought her. She turned back and gathered up
the concealing robe, again running her fingers with pleasure along
the pink silk trim. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and
caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror.
Oh, Katie,
Katie
, she muttered.

She stopped, regarding her huge-eyed face
with desperation. What a giveaway! How could she ever hope to
outwit him—she was a lamb ready for his slaughter. And wearing the
soft cream covering he’d provided, too...what a cruel joke.

But not a bad looking victim, she decided,
holding the robe open and turning her tall body to advantage in the
flattering light. Legs that went on forever—it would be a pity to
hide them with a long-skirted dress at the party. Maybe she could
find something with a revealing split?

A slender waist. Hips that were womanly
without being wide. Her years of swimming training had seen to
that. Breasts that were a nice handful but no more—and high and
perky because of it. Prominent collarbones, smooth shoulders, a
long neck.

And heaps of hair. She pulled it free of the
fastening and shook it around her in a luxuriant cloud. She’d
cursed her tangled curls as a child, and found them a real nuisance
under a bathing cap, but now she blessed the volume and bounce.
Even on a bad day, she still had good hair. Black and shiny as
plump Christmas cherries. Soft as thistledown. Thick as the summer
floss on pampas grass.

She turned for a glimpse of her long back,
and then dropped the robe lower. Simon had adored her butt—never
missed an opportunity to give her a little pat on the way by. But
Simon was gone.

She thought about him as she pulled the robe
back over her body and sashed it. Simon was gone. Gone and somewhat
forgotten, she was surprised to find.

She took pleasure hanging her unexpected
clothes in the big wardrobe. The soft possum jerseys were
jewel-bright and sinfully warm. Maybe she’d wear one with her new
jeans in the morning.

Once the bed was clear, she stowed the cosy
robe away, had the quickest of showers, and smoothed
freesia-scented body lotion over as much skin as she could easily
reach.

Sighing, she pulled the soft white nightdress
on and slipped into bed.

Darkness and silence enveloped her. She dozed
for an unknown time, and then came abruptly awake.

A noise. A rhythmic creaking. Diana’s soft
laugh through the wall. An exclamation of pleasure. Silence. A
grunt from Hamish and a tortured moan.

“Ssshhh!” That from Diana. Sharp and
commanding.

A chuckle from Hamish.

Silence again for several minutes. Had Kate
been imagining it? No—the faint creaking resumed, faster this
time.

The house was so isolated there were no other
noises to drown out their lovemaking. No traffic. No soughing
wind.

God, she didn’t need this. Not with the
temptation of Matthew, the memories of Simon, the delicious
awakenings stirring through her as she attempted to begin a new
life.

Kate’s absolute aloneness hit her like a
hammer. She clamped her arms around her ribs in an effort to quell
the disturbing trembling that shook her from head to toes. Surging
waves of misery washed the length of her body. Unbidden tears
sprang from her eyes and she swiped at them furiously.

Terrified she’d lose control, and weep
noisily enough to be heard by the lovers through the wall, she
tossed back the bedclothes, sank her feet into the deep wool
carpet, stood, and tip-toed out along the hallway on shaky
legs.

She turned into the wide main gallery and
headed for the living area, well away from the bedrooms. Sensors
switched on low lights as she moved forward, making it easy to find
her way. Here the floor was tiled and harder underfoot, but
blessedly warm from the under-floor heating. She wished she’d
stopped long enough to find her slippers, but it was too late now.
She sank down into one of the chairs by the huge windows and let
her tears roll, unheeded, as everything collided to reduce her to a
ball of misery.

Her beloved mother was dead. Her father had
found new happiness with another woman. Her boyfriend Simon was
definitely in the past. And now, in this new place, she was even
more alone. No local friends. No certainty of what lay ahead. It
was suddenly all too much for her; she wept without restraint.

Matthew snapped alert as he detected the
light level brightening outside his partly closed door. He rose
silently from bed. Someone was creeping about, and there were
secrets in his office he’d rather keep safely away from strangers’
eyes—especially the enticing green eyes of the gorgeous and
mysterious Miss Pleasance.

Robert Pleasance headed SouthernTel, a rival
company. The lucrative telecommunications world was cutthroat
beyond belief. The two men had often crossed swords.

Matthew had quizzed Kate energetically at the
cafe, learning nothing about Rob more than establishing he and Kate
were father and daughter. She’d acted puzzled, innocent, and
dismissive she was the least bit important.

He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his jaw.
Maybe this was the evidence he’d been waiting for. There was no
reason to leave the bedrooms at night. Each had an en suite
bathroom. He’d lay odds it was Kate moving about his house in
secret, finally making her move.

He walked with caution, clad only in slippery
black pyjama bottoms. Even in winter, he hated anything wrapped
around his neck in bed. He drew level with the office door and
peered in. Nothing. No small bobbing torch light. No Kate. So far,
so good.

He approached the living area, all his senses
alert. She was there somewhere—he’d been drawn through the house by
her faint fragrance.

He felt as well as heard her distress.
Tension charged the air with humming energy. And then he noticed a
new shape on the far side of the big room. He found her crumpled
into one of the chairs where they’d sat with Diana for the
afternoon’s coffee. She’d thrown back her head, and tears shone on
her face in the moonlight. Her long throat jumped convulsively
every few seconds. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body,
as though for comfort, but plainly she’d found none. She’d squeezed
her eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from escaping, but still
they leaked out from under her sooty lashes, trickling like
quicksilver down into her cascade of hair.

“Katie,” he growled, bending close.

She jumped, and clamped a hand across her
mouth to muffle a scream.

“Don’t panic...don’t panic...only me,” he
murmured, smoothing his fingers down her cheek, trying to find the
reason for her distress. She turned and burrowed her face into his
palm, grabbing it with both of hers and holding it there. He felt
her damp eyelashes, her soft lips, the tremors which still shook
her. He stroked over her glorious hair with his other hand as
though she was a lovely exotic animal needing gentling down after
frightening treatment.

After a few moments, she released him with a
low breathy moan. “Oh God, sorry.”

“Whatever’s wrong?” he asked with huge
concern, squatting down beside the chair.

“Diana and Hamish are making love,” she
whimpered.

He gave a sudden bark of mirth. The answer
had been utterly unexpected. “Still gets a bonk on his birthday,
does he? Good old Diana.”

“No,” she whispered, embarrassed and
shuddering. “That’s not what I meant. It’s me. It’s me... I
suddenly felt so alone. I was madly busy until Mum finally died
and—” she sniffed back her tears—“I had to keep going and get
everything
done
. And it’s all just hit me, being away from
home and hearing other people so happy...and everything.” She
pushed her hair back with an impatient hand and raised her tragic
wet eyes to his.

“Delayed reaction,” he said. “Stand up.”

He took her by the upper arms and pulled her
against him, fitting his hipbone into the join of her thighs and
pressing her head down onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around
her and rocked her against his body. A long quiet sigh escaped from
between her lips. He felt it flutter over his skin.

Kate continued to weep, but less convulsively
now. It was just a hug. A lovely consoling human hug from someone
who cared enough to ask what was wrong. She slid an arm around his
waist, and settled her face more comfortably against his shoulder,
absorbing his heat and strength as it soothed and healed her. “This
is very kind of you,” she murmured with polite resignation. “I’ve
been quite rude to you today—”

“I’ve been asking for it,” he muttered.

“Yes, you have, actually,” she said with more
spirit, making a small effort to pull away, and finding herself
very firmly confined. She relaxed against him again, wondering how
long before she could escape without seeming impolite... and
wanting desperately to stay just where she was. What could she say
to make the hug last a little longer? “May I see your tattoo?” she
tried.

“No.”

“Why not? I saw some of it in the spa
room.”

“I thought those shorts covered it.”

“Yes, but when you were teasing me, your
trousers slid down a bit...”

She felt him nod. “Ah.”

“So why not—seeing I’ve already seen it?”

“It’s not for public consumption.”

“Is it obscene?”

“Not in the least. But it’s a personal thing.
Only for me.”

She moved her hand around his waist, rubbing
over his velvety skin. “Am I touching it?”

Matthew closed his eyes and gave silent
thanks he’d not settled her against his groin. God—the sensation of
her breasts against his skin... Her nightgown was thin and soft.
Barely there. She may as well have been naked. “Yes. Some of it.
Feeling better now?”

Kate nodded as she pulled away from him. Her
hand trailed over his hip, pushing the loose pyjamas just a little
lower.

“Scheming woman,” he said with mock severity,
realising exactly what she was up to. And then some little devil
made him cup a hand over his groin to hold the pyjamas close, and
he undid the waistband for her. She slid the soft black fabric
aside, pushing it down his flank a few inches, her breath catching
as she uncovered whorls and curves and bands of pattern in the
moonlight.

“Matthew....” she breathed. “It’s
amazing....” She tried to push the fabric further, but he stopped
her with his other hand.

“That’s distracted you quite enough,” he said
huskily, turning aside to conceal himself again, and re-fastening
the waistband.