A Very Secret Affair

CHAPTER THREE

CLARE paced nervously around her flat. Every now and then she would stop and rearrange the pillows on her oversized sofa, unaware that such an action might have Freudian overtones. She kept going to the back window and looking out into the lane, one moment hoping that he would hurry and the next wishing he’d never turn up.

She spun away from the window for the umpteenth time and resumed her pacing. God, what a fool I am! A blithering idiot to think I can play at games like this. The man’s dangerous. Here I am, hating him for his arrogance, his presumption, plotting to take him down a peg or two, yet, underneath, trembling with anticipation and excitement.

A sharp rap on her door sent her into a spin.

He’d come…

With her heart hammering inside her lungs she fairly raced to the door. Just in time did she pull herself up, steady her breathing, drum up a mechanical smile. She opened the door. ‘Did you have any trouble finding the place?’ came her cool enquiry.

‘Not at all.’ He stepped inside without waiting to be asked, immediately removing his jacket then plucking aside the bow-tie. ‘That’s better.’ He continued to undo the buttons at his neck as his eyes roved around the flat. ‘Hmm…nice place,’ he murmured, throwing her a smile then depositing his things on the nearest chair.

‘I like it,’ she said tightly. She closed the door and turned to flick an uneasy glance around her recently refurbished flat.

Only a couple of lamps threw light into the living area and suddenly, she was reminded of what Sam had said about it the week before. ‘Wow, sis, that’s some room! Ve-ry sexy.’ While Clare had laughed about such a description at the time, now, she started seeing her choice of furnishings with new eyes.

The white shag-pile rug was overly thick and felt luxurious beneath bare feet. The focal point of the room, a wide four-cushioned sofa, was lushly covered in velvet the colour of red wine. Two overstuffed armchairs were also velvet, one black, the other a burgundy and white stripe. Sensuous fabrics. Rich, flamboyant colours.

Only one painting hung on the stark white walls. It showed a man and a woman reclining on a rug under a tree, a picnic basket nearby. Clare had always found the scene relaxing, yet now, as Matt walked over to look at it, she had a totally different view. Suddenly it seemed that the couple’s eyes were half-closed because of the drugged aftermath of making love and not due to a full lunch. She pictured them lying on that rug, oblivious to the groups of people in the background, oblivious to everything except each other.

‘Rather an erotic painting, isn’t it?’ Matt commented as he turned slowly round to fix her with a thankfully bland look.

‘I’ve never thought so,’ she managed with an airy nonchalance.

Till now, she added privately, her eyes travelling down his handsome face, past a strong, tanned neck, into the swirl of dark hairs springing up from his chest.

She’d made it down to his waist before dragging her eyes away and walking on wobbly knees to the walnut corner cabinet. With her back towards him she was able to suck in a few calming breaths and pull herself together before turning round. ‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked politely.

‘Got any port?’ He flopped down on the sofa and rubbed his forehead with a long, elegant finger.

Clare brought out a bottle of Samuel port as well as two fine crystal glasses. They tinkled as she set them down on the marble side-table nearest Matt, and it took all her control not to spill the liquid as she filled both glasses. Her enforced composure was such little protection against the sexual aura vibrating from this man. Resisting his attraction was like skating on thin ice, she fancied. One slip and she’d go under.

Those knowing blue eyes bored steadily into her while she hovered with the drinks and she was half expecting him to do something obvious like stroke her fingers when she handed him his glass. If he did, she feared she would spill the whole kit and caboodle into his lap.

He didn’t.

Her own drink in hand, Clare proceeded to sit down on the other end of the sofa, straightening her dress over her knees. Once settled, and at a reasonable distance from her adversary, she felt better. A little stiff maybe, but at least able to lean back, sip her port, and hold his gaze without wavering.

He smiled lazily at her. ‘Thank God tonight’s over.’

‘Surely you must be used to that sort of function by now?’ she said drily. ‘You should be able to go through the motions on automatic pilot.’

‘Tonight was a little different.’ He sipped his drink and eyed her closely. ‘Bangaratta has, to say the least, surprised me.’

‘Really? I would have thought it was exactly as you’d imagined, balloons and all!’

He laughed. ‘Funny you should say that. It was the first thing that struck me. The balloons!’

‘I would have thought it was Flora in her red and pink dress.’

He shot her a startled glance but made no comment. Then he said the most amazing thing.

‘You’re still in your dress, I’ve noticed.’

Her mouth dropped open. My God! Had he expected her to slip into ‘something more comfortable’? A black lace négligé perhaps? And why, damn it, did she find such an outrageous expectation so exciting?

He laughed and quaffed back half of the port. ‘I dare say that sounded terrible.’ He placed the glass back on the table. ‘All I meant was that I can never wait to get out of these penguin suits. Don’t women like to discard their finery as well?’

‘Oh…’ She just had to look down, terrified that her expression would give her away. ‘Well, I haven’t really had time and I’m not that uncomfortable.’

‘You look uncomfortable.’

Her heard jerked up. ‘Well, I’m not!’ she retorted. There was a certain safety in anger.

Again he laughed. ‘You do have a short fuse, Clare. Don’t worry, you have nothing to fear from me. And don’t deny what you’ve been thinking.’

That shook her. Surely he couldn’t see right inside her mind.

‘Bill told me what you said,’ he added.

‘Did he now?’

Matt grinned and picked up his port again. ‘He thought it only fair to warn me.’

‘And was I right?’ The provocative words fairly tumbled from her mouth. ‘Was this invitation for a drink together just a cover for an expected sexual rendezvous?’

The laughter died from his eyes, replaced by a puzzled frown. ‘Do you want a truthful answer to that or not?’

‘You said you admired honesty. In yourself, or only in others?’

‘Both, I hope.’ The blue eyes hardened as they swept over her. ‘I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll answer your question honestly if you answer mine first.’

A charge of adrenalin shot through Clare at the uncompromising ruthlessness in his eyes. He was looking at her in a way that chilled her soul, but at the same time aroused her body, and try as she might, all she wanted was more and more…

‘Not the fairest of bargains, perhaps,’ she countered, heart pounding, ‘but I’m game.’

‘Good. Then tell me… Is it me personally you dislike? Or all actors?’

‘That’s easily answered.’ She sipped her drink, her grey eyes challenging him over the rim of her glass. ‘Both.’

There was the minutest raising of an eyebrow. ‘And might I request an explanation?’

‘Aah…’ Her smile was sardonic. ‘That was not part of the bargain. Now you have to answer my question.’

‘What was it again?’ He poured himself a second port. ‘I’ve forgotten the exact wording.’

‘Liar!’ she accused, thoroughly enjoying the battle of words. ‘You, Matt Sheffield, would never forget words. Or lines. You’re just trying to embarrass me by making me say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘That it was sex you were expecting, not merely a drink.’

He fell irritatingly silent, savouring his port and giving her another of those disturbing looks.

‘Well?’ she prompted. ‘Is that what you were expecting?’

‘And I’m to be honest?’

‘Of course.’ A tingle shot up Clare’s spine as she waited for his answer.

His gaze was unnervingly frank. ‘I had no lecherous intentions when I asked to meet you for a drink. All I wanted was to get away and relax with someone who both interested and intrigued me. I thought I might find out why you seemed to like me one moment then despise me the next.’ He leant back, crossing his ankles. ‘Actually…I’m not in the habit of sleeping with a woman on such short acquaintance.’

His bluntness truly took the wind out of Clare’s sails, making her feel horribly cheap, as though she had been the one to suggest sex.

‘Of course,’ he resumed, a mocking sound in his voice, ‘I’m prepared to make an exception, in the circumstances.’

The breath zoomed back into her lungs, propelled by sheer anger. Or was it fright? She was getting out of her depth here. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘I mean…’ he began swirling the drink in his glass ‘…that some women bring up the subject uppermost in their minds. If you’re desperate to go to bed, I’m rather tempted to oblige.’

‘Oh!’ She jumped up, and several drops of port sloshed over the glass onto her beautiful rug. ‘How dare you? Who do you think you are, saying such things? Brother, you’ve got a nerve. You asked to meet me for a drink, not the other way around.’

‘You accepted,’ he said quite calmly, ‘believing it was for more than a drink.’

‘Only because I wanted to show you that living in the backwoods didn’t make a woman a pushover! I wanted to get up your hopes so that I could spit in your face!’

As soon as the ghastly words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She closed her eyes tight and a trembling sigh shook her body. ‘Oh, God,’ she rasped. ‘God…’

He must have stood up, for he took the drink out of her hand. ‘Have you got anything to sponge down this rug with?’ he said, completely ignoring her outburst.

Her eyes flew open to find him standing in front of her, a tightly cold expression on his face. An agonised groan of dismay escaped her lips when she finally saw the state of her rug and she dashed for the sink. Snatching up a wet sponge, she flew back to the damage, got down on her knees and rubbed away at the offending stains. ‘Oh, God!’ she sobbed again, but not because of the rug.

‘I think I’d best be going,’ Matt said with a weary sigh.

‘No…’ She staggered to her feet and threw him a beseeching look. ‘Please… I have to explain…’

‘You don’t have to. It’s quite obvious that you overheard me talking to Bill earlier this evening and decided to teach me some sort of lesson. I must admit, though, that it was unfair of you to condemn me for being an actor this evening. Your performance has been exceptional. Just the right amount of coolness, then the flashes of interest. I even detected a hint of desire. Damned how you managed that! I take my hat off to you.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’ She felt and sounded desperate. ‘I…I did overhear you and I was angry. I thought you were belittling us. But later I…it wasn’t…wasn’t all acting.’

‘No?’ He was sceptical, with good reason. He took a step forward, his hands reaching out to close firmly over her upper arms. Even through the collar of her dress, her skin leapt at his touch. ‘Then tell me what it was, then.’

Oh, lord, this was awful. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest and her stomach was turning over and over. All she could do was shake her head dumbly.

‘What in hell does that mean? You certainly weren’t lost for words earlier.’

‘Nothing… Nothing…’ She tried to pull away from his disturbing touch but his fingers tightened, preventing her from breaking free.

‘Tell me!’ he ground out. ‘And stop pulling away from me. You want me to touch you almost as much as I want to touch you, God damn you!’

She stared at him and what she saw, frightened her. She shook her head from side to side, eyes falling to the floor.

‘You just won’t admit it, will you?’ One hand left her arm. It reached up to force her chin upwards so that she had to look at him. ‘Is it because I’m actor? Do you think we’re all liars? Egomaniacs? Incapable of true feelings? That’s not true, Clare. I have feelings. I can be hurt. And you’ve hurt me tonight.’

‘Matt…please…I didn’t mean to…’

‘No?’ Anger turned those blue eyes to slate. ‘I’m no fool, Clare. You had your mind made up before you even met me, well before you overheard that conversation. You wanted to hate me. I was a condemned man in your eyes. You sat there like that iceberg waiting for the Titanic, a mass of destruction lying beneath the surface. Well, I hit you, but you’re the one who’s going down, honey. I’m a bloody good swimmer.’

‘But I don’t hate you,’ she blurted out. ‘Not really. You…you reminded me of someone. Someone who hurt me once, very much.’

His sigh was deep, the tension in his bruising fingers draining away. ‘Aah…so that’s it…ah, yes, I see.’

‘No…no, you don’t see. You couldn’t possibly see.’ How could he ever see that she was terrified of these feelings exploding up through her body?

He reached down to pull the twisted sponge from her clenched fingers, throwing it away. And then his arms were winding around her and he was kissing her, slowly and surely, kissing her with an expertise not even the most sophisticated woman could resist.

Clare did not even try to resist. She couldn’t. Her mouth flowered open beneath his, her immediate submission sending a groaning shudder through Matt’s body. His hands wound up into her hair and he was pulling her head back, keeping her mouth open, thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper into its eager, compliant depths. With each thrust a hot dart of fire shot through Clare, racing up into her head where the blood began pounding in her temples like a jungle drumbeat.

A tortured moan struggled from her throat.

Immediately he drew back, a dazed questioning look in his eyes. Clearly, he had mistaken the sound for one of distress and Clare realised foggily that he was giving her the chance to stop. Don’t think, her aroused senses screamed at her. Don’t think! And for God’s sake, don’t stop!

Swiftly she pulled his mouth back down on to hers, winding her arms around his neck then pressing her throbbing breasts into his chest. Her own tongue slipped past his lips with a passion that would later astound her.

Somehow Matt’s shirt was discarded and they made it over to the sofa. He sank down first, pulling her on top of him, their mouths still melded together. His hands left her hair to rove hotly over her back and the wild waves cascaded in a curtain over their faces. Clare’s head began to spin from lack of breath and reluctantly, she pulled back to gasp briefly for air.

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