Dinner at Wyatt's

by Victoria Gordon

  By the time she had reached the restaurant, Justine’s temper had cooled and she was able to greet Peter, who had arrived only moments before her, with a welcoming, genuine smile.

  ‘You look ravishing,’ he said, and his eyes revealed it to be no lie. ‘I may have to change my mind and not go back to Melbourne at all.’

  ‘Oh, but what would Sue say?’ Justine laughed. She felt much better, although Wyatt’s inquisition still rankled beneath the surface, and she was certain this would be an enjoyable, no-hassle evening, despite Peter’s attentiveness.

  And it was! Upon being introduced to Sebastian, Peter insisted that they place themselves entirely in the Greek’s hands where the food was concerned, although he drew the line at nothing to drink but ouzo and insisted on a good wine.

  Both of them thoroughly enjoyed Possum’s first performance of the evening, which was a series of Greek and English folk songs that started off very gently and grew to rafter-shattering, riotous audience involvement towards the end.

  Then it was time for dancing, and Justine was more than ready for a bit of exercise after four courses of Sebastian’s chosen delicacies.

  ‘I don’t know how we’re going to cope,’ she told Peter. ‘He says there are four more courses to come, and I haven’t even got room for a cup of coffee.’

  He laughed. ‘We’ll just have to dance it off, I guess. Although I must say I agree with you. The tucker’s magnificent, but Sebastian must reckon we’re laying in for a siege or something.’

  Peter was, as Justine had quite expected, an excellent dancer. The music was fast and enjoyable, and within moments of being on the dance floor both she and her escort were fully into the spirit of things. They danced through several brackets before deciding it was time for a break, then returned to their table to find it was transformed from a table for two to one at which another couple were already in residence.

  Justine felt her heart sink as they looked up. Gloria Calder shot her a defiantly possessive smirk, but Wyatt merely smiled pleasantly as he rose to welcome them.

  ‘I was sure you wouldn’t mind us joining you,’ he said with a bow to Justine. ‘It seems like one of those times when great minds think alike.’

  Peter was genuinely glad to see Wyatt, but Justine had no illusions. She had seen through his welcoming smile, a smile that had done nothing to hide the black anger in his already dark eyes. Wyatt was furious! What she didn’t know, but expected to find out all too soon, was why.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Just what the hell arc you playing at, anyway?’

  Wyatt’s voice grated in Justine’s ear. He’d wasted no time in finding the opportunity to speak to her; she had had time for only a sip of her drink and a cigarette before he had suggested — in tones that brooked no argument — that they dance.

  Now he was holding her in a grip of steel, his fingers tight around hers and his arm around her waist holding her much too closely for comfort.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replied softly. ‘And I do wish you’d stop trying to crush in my ribs.’

  ‘You know damned well what I mean,’ he snarled, and his arm, if anything, closed more tightly around her. ‘Or hasn’t dear Peter bothered to tell you he’s spoken for?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything? Not that it’s any of your business in the first place,’ she whispered, having to struggle to get the words out and breathe at the same time.

  ‘Don’t you listen?’ he muttered. ‘I’m telling you that Peter is virtually engaged ... to be married ... to a girl in Melbourne.’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ Justine grunted. ‘But it has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought you the type to play about with somebody else’s man,’ he said, his voice still harsh in her ear.

  ‘And I wouldn’t have thought you the type to be running around interfering in things that are none of your business,’ she retorted, struggling vainly against the pressure of his arm. She could feel the strength of his body against her, the heat of his anger flowing between them like a boiling river.

  Damn the man anyway, Justine thought. She could end this by simply admitting she knew very well about Peter’s engagement and informing Wyatt that they were only friends in any event. But I won’t, she thought. Let him think what he pleases.

  ‘Anyone who works for me is my business,’ he growled in reply, ‘especially when they start messing about with my friends.’

  ‘I am not messing about, as you so crudely put it,’ she snapped.

  ‘And what else do you call sneaking off to meet somebody you’ve barely met?’

  ‘Sneaking? Are you right out of your tiny little mind?’ Justine demanded, now growing honestly angry. How could he possibly accuse her so blatantly? She managed then to shove herself far enough away that she could peer up at him, unable to believe what she had heard. ‘Since when is it being sneaky to meet somebody in a public restaurant?’ she demanded.

  ‘It’s pretty obvious, I’d say,’ he replied. ‘Or have you got some logical reason for your secret lover not picking you up at home, openly and above board?’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Justine cried. ‘Don’t tell me you took that remark seriously?’

  ‘Not until I walked in here and saw the evidence with my own eyes,’ he said. ‘Not that it matters to you, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Justine agreed. She was suddenly very sick of arguing with this man, and already part of her mind was concerned with her awareness of his physical presence, the hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of him. Instead of fighting his grip, she relaxed into it, letting herself flow against him to the music.

  If only, she thought, Wyatt would have the good sense to just drop the argument, to simply dance with her, hold her; but after a moment of silence she once again heard that hateful growl in her ear.

  ‘I suppose you were planning to spend the night with him as well?’

  ‘Oh! Oh, shut up!’ she snapped, this time so loudly that it drew them several interested stares from those dancing closest to them.

  ‘That’s not much of an answer,’ he commented, blithely ignoring everyone but Justine.

  ‘Well, it’s all the answer you’re likely to get,’ she said. ‘How dare you go about asking questions like that?’

  ‘I can dare any damned thing I want to; you should know that,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, just go right ahead and do it then,’ she retorted.

  ‘Maybe I should just ask Peter.’ And there was steel in his voice. He’d do it; Justine knew he would.

  ‘Be ... my ... guest!’ she replied, drawing out the three words into a contemptuous statement.

  ‘Hah!’ There was a strange glint of satisfaction in his voice. ‘You don’t think I would, do you?’

  ‘Frankly I couldn’t care less,’ Justine muttered in reply.

  ‘You could, you know. It would be at least slightly embarrassing for you, to say the least.’

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ she replied. ‘Shall we go and find out? I’m getting quite fed up with being mauled out here on the dance floor.’

  ‘Nobody’s mauling you,’ he said. ‘I just like to dance close, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, may I suggest you try it with Gloria? I’m sure she would appreciate the effort.’

  ‘And you don’t?’ Wyatt’s fingers suddenly ran up the length of her spine in a flickering, sensual motion that sent shivers through Justine’s body. Then he dipped his head to run his lips across the softness of her neck.

  ‘No,’ she lied, ‘I don’t.’ But her body betrayed her, as Wyatt had very well known it would. Her nipples were erect against the warmth of his chest and her legs were like rubber, barely able to hold her upright against him.

  ‘Please take me back to the table now,’ she pleaded.

  He chuckled mischievously. ‘And if I don’t? What are you going to do — throw a tantrum?’

  ‘I might very well kick you where it’ll do the
most good,’ Justine threatened. It was an idle threat, but how could he know that?

  ‘Try it and I’ll take you over my knee and paddle your pretty little rump for you,’ he whispered in a voice that said his was no such idle threat.

  The music ended there, but Wyatt made no move to return to the table. He looked in that direction, but upon seeing that Peter had taken Gloria on to the dance floor, he simply ignored Justine’s demand.

  ‘Perhaps after this one,’ he said as the soft strains of a slow, sensuous waltz began, and before she could reply Justine was swept back into his arms and away across the floor.

  No words now; Wyatt was simply dancing, using his body to create in her the most kaleidoscopic emotions. She couldn’t help but be carried along by the music, the smoothness of his skilled performance and the sheer rapture of his embrace. His right hand played a time of its own along the softness at the base of her spine, his legs moved sensuously against hers in the turns, his lips played with the lobe of her ear and his breath was a gentle breeze in her hair.

  It was heaven and hell combined. Justine knew he was deliberately toying with her but every nerve in her body cried out for him never to stop, to simply let the music go on for ever so that she could stay in his arms.

  Never in her life had she danced with anyone to whom her body was so perfectly timed, with whom she seemed to just exactly fit. It was as if she were dancing on air, without any contact with the floor or those who swirled anonymously about them.

  Her hand strayed upward from his shoulder so that her fingers could twine in the hair at the back of his neck. Her nostrils were filled with the heathery, outdoors scent of his aftershave, and wherever their bodies touched she was instantly aware of the texture of him.

  But all too soon it was over, and this time he held forth no arguments, but wordlessly guided her from the dance floor to arrive at the table in unison with Peter and Gloria.

  Justine could feel the other woman’s eyes on her, like those of a snake about to strike. Only snakes don’t smile, and Gloria was definitely smiling, a lean, feline grin that was so close to being a snarl Justine almost flinched away from it.

  They were hardly seated before Sebastian arrived ahead of a waitress so loaded with food trays that Justine thought she might sink beneath the burden. To her great surprise, Justine found she was ravenous, while Wyatt certainly didn’t let his harsh words affect his appetite.

  All four of them tucked into the servings with minimal conversation, only Justine aware of the undercurrents that flashed back and forth between herself and Wyatt.

  She just knew he was going to say something to Peter that would be, at least, embarrassing. And then, suddenly, she knew equally well he wouldn’t! Wyatt would never demean himself in such a way; he was merely toying with her and had very nearly succeeded.

  Nonetheless, she felt a great surge of relief when the meal finally ended and Peter declared his need to make an end of the evening in the interests of tomorrow’s workload. Even more of a relief was that he waited until Wyatt and Gloria were on the dance floor, which allowed Justine to offer him a lift back to his hotel without enduring Wyatt’s hard-eyed attention as she did so.

  ‘Why not stay and enjoy yourself?’ he urged in reply, and Justine nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. Enjoy herself? With Wyatt deliberately baiting her at every turn and Gloria looking daggers? Not likely!

  And even less likely when she discovered a moment later that Wyatt had arbitrarily assumed responsibility for the bill, effectively making them his guests for the evening. Peter took that in his stride, waving an elaborate gesture of thanks to the still-dancing couple as he and Justine made their way towards the entrance.

  It was no satisfaction to have Gloria wave a casual goodbye while Wyatt merely nodded sagely, never taking his dark eyes from Justine.

  He might as well have shouted across the room at them. His eyes ordered her to remember that earlier dance floor conversation, defying her to disobey him, challenging her to forget if she could the touch of his hands and the arrogance of his commands.

  Justine dropped Peter at his hotel and politely refused his half-hearted offer of a nightcap. He didn’t object, having clearly expected her to refuse.

  ‘What are the chances of being invited to your apprentices’ dinner tomorrow night?’ he asked quite unexpectedly. ‘It’s an idea I’d like to see implemented in our own chain, but Wyatt said I couldn’t look in unless you gave your permission.’

  ‘He didn’t!’ Justine couldn’t help herself; the words just popped out in her total amazement at Wyatt saying such a thing.

  ‘My very word he did. And he was firm about it, too,’ was the reply. ‘I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’d caution you not to confuse personal feelings with Wyatt’s professional feelings about you. After you left us at dinner the other night he had nothing but praise for you, and he wasn’t kidding.’

  He paused, then continued with a wry grin, ‘Mind you, he didn’t look real pleased with you tonight. Or maybe it was me he was shirty with; I couldn’t be quite sure.’

  ‘A little of both,’ said Justine with a chuckle, then laughed lightly as she went on, ‘He thinks we’re having an affair, you see, and since you’re sort of engaged and he knows it, he’s apparently decided that we’ve offended his sensibilities.’

  Peter’s laugh was infectious, but he sobered after a moment to caution Justine yet again. ‘All this does is prove my theory,’ he said. ‘There is something between you, whether you want to admit it or not. So be warned; Wyatt is nobody you want to play games with. He plays rough and he plays to win. You’d only get hurt, and I wouldn’t want to see that.’

  ‘All there is between us is what’s commonly called a personality clash,’ Justine said. ‘So don’t start playing at being a matchmaker; I’ve got troubles enough.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,’ Peter replied with a smirk that shouted out the fact that he was lying through his teeth. Then he leaned over to kiss Justine lightly on the cheek and an instant later was out of the car and leaning inside for a final word. ‘You drive carefully on the way home and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,’ he said, and was gone before she could caution him again about his obvious intentions.

  It made her more than usually thoughtful as she began the long drive home. Peter was obviously going to continue some little private game of his own, just to stir his old friend up a little. But me, I’ll be the meat in the sandwich, Justine thought. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to look forward to.

  She could lie to Peter about her feelings about Wyatt Burns. She could certainly lie to Wyatt — and would have to! But she knew it was the sheerest folly to start lying to herself.

  And Justine knew only too well that her feelings for Wyatt were no passing fancy, no youthful puppy-love. Never had she met anyone who could so easily take over her emotions, creating depths of feeling she didn’t really want to know about.

  Wyatt could hurt her. Worse, he very likely would. And short of running away, giving up the job she loved, there was little she could do about it. Indeed, she realised that she couldn’t run away, not if it meant leaving Wyatt’s and its dark-eyed owner.

  But dared she stay? The risk of being hurt was frightening and only too real.

  She was well into the southern suburbs and no closer to any solutions to her inner conflicts, when her car suddenly gave a lurch, a hiccough, and died. No warning, no ominous rattles or strange noises from the wilderness beneath the bonnet — it simply died!

  Justine managed to get herself together quickly enough to stamp on the clutch and steer the vehicle off the main travel lanes. She even remembered to turn off the lights and radio in case it was something as simple as her battery giving up. But when she had coasted to a relatively safe stop she found any attempt to re-start the car was futile.

  ‘Oh, damn!’ she cried aloud After the emotionalism of her evening’s sparring with Wyatt, this was just the final stra
w. To be stranded on a main road, in evening wear and with midnight only minutes away, could only be classed as a legitimate disaster.

  It took all her will power to sit back, light a cigarette and force herself to try and relax while plotting some solution to the problem. She was a member of the automobile club, but what good could that do without a telephone from which to call for help? She had plenty of money, but no real idea of where might be the closest open service station, or phone booth, or anything useful.

  Hitch-hike? No, she decided ... or at least only as the last possible resort. But to walk anywhere on this stretch of highway would be equally foolish.

  Her knowledge of motor mechanics was only just sufficient to tell her that even opening the bonnet would be a waste of time without expert advice thereafter, but somehow it seemed an appropriate gesture, so she did it.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked herself, trying to ignore the more sinister aspects of the situation. All that would be needed to make things even worse would be a confrontation with a carload of passing louts; Justine tried to force that thought from her mind as she surveyed the passing traffic and wondered if she dared try to flag down some help.

  Suddenly the night seemed darker, each approaching set of headlights like the eyes of some predatory animal. She fled back to sit in the small car, physically hiding despite a certain knowledge that she couldn’t possibly just sit there until daylight.

  A couple of times, motorists slowed to inspect her wounded vehicle, but nobody stopped of their own accord and Justine couldn’t quite build up the nerve to step out and flag anyone down. She had almost reached that point, however, when the decision was made for her.

  This car did stop, cruising in to park directly ahead of her. And fright quickly gave way to shivering relief when she saw the blue light on the roof and the uniformed patrolman who stepped out to approach her.

  He was brusque but helpful, and, most important, he stayed with her until the motoring club service vehicle arrived. There, things steadily went from bad to worse.