by Anne Mather
‘I’m handling things in my own way Pen.’ Megan’s softly mobile mouth thinned with anxiety.
‘Cobblers!’ Penny thwacked the wooden spoon on the side of the stainless steel pan that contained the pasta, emotion straining her temper. ‘I know you. I don’t want to hear excuses. I’ve been hearing excuses for the last six months as to why you can’t do something! Hard as it is for you to hear, sweetheart, your ex-husband’s quite happy with What’s-her-face, damn him, while you’re still walking around like an extra on Return of the Living Dead! I’m not trying to be mean to you, Meg, but you’ve got to realise what you’re doing to yourself. Don’t write off everything as useless or pointless. Just give things a chance.’
Megan glanced down at the postcard in her hand, staring at the large bold print through eyes that were suddenly stinging with tears. How the hell was she supposed to make such a momentous decision when it was all she could do to decide what to have for breakfast each morning? Pain of one kind or another had dogged her for so long it was hard to see her way clearly. Even harder was finding the energy to take action. She’d racked her brains to find something, some way she could help the healing process, but instead felt as if she was running into brick walls ten feet high.
Well…Perhaps this would be different? Perhaps the mysterious ‘KH’ and his painting class really did have the answer to all her woes? Yeah. And world peace would suddenly descend on the planet tomorrow—some time around lunch. She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes with the too-long sleeve of her knitted burgundy sweater. Stop clutching at straws Megan…It’s a waste of energy you don’t have.
Crossing the black and white tiled floor to the stainless steel pedal bin on the other side of Penny’s immaculate modern kitchen, she put her foot down hard on the pedal. She was about to drop the postcard inside, and almost jumped out of her skin when Penny snatched it from her fingers and tucked it safely into the vee of her powder-blue designer shirt.
‘No, you don’t! It’s my postcard. I pinched it from Mrs Kureshi’s and I’ll decide when or if I want to get rid of it!’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’ Biting back a helpless grin, Megan watched her elegantly tall friend stalk mutinously back to the cooker. To some, she might look like an aloof catwalk model, in her designer label clothes and her handmade Italian shoes, but to Megan she was the salt of the earth. And they didn’t come much saltier than Penny Hallet when the mood was upon her.
‘And if you won’t ring the blasted number, Megan Brand—then I will!’ said the blonde, returning to her stirring of the now bubbling pasta with a vengeance…
Taking her finger off the bell, Megan was immediately consumed by an overpowering urge to turn and run. Not that she could physically run anywhere these days, after what had happened, but still the desire was there. She just prayed this ‘KH’, whoever he was—Penny had more or less convinced her the initials belonged to a male—was not some crank. At least her friend had the address and telephone number should anything go amiss.
Her heart fluttered a little as she heard the distinct tread of footsteps behind the big black door with the gilded knocker, and she knew with a deepening sense of dread that it was too late to flee anywhere. Instead she took a step back, glancing up the smart little street in a quiet corner of Notting Hill, with its well-tended window-boxes, as if to reassure herself. She told herself the mysterious ‘KH’ couldn’t be a crank because only people with money could afford to live in this area these days. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a wealthy crank, did it?
A frown was creasing her brow as the door swung open, and her unprepared glance collided with the most piercing hazel eyes flecked with gold that she’d ever seen in her life. Astonishingly intense, indisputably sexual, they were the kind of eyes that made a woman sharply, even forcibly aware of the essential basic differences between a man and a woman.
Like a laser beam that could sear through solid metal, that hot glance went straight to the core of Megan’s femininity, shocking her with the power of its intimacy. Such a toe-curling glance simply left her with nowhere to go. Which wasn’t a bad summation when her feet felt as if they were stuck to the concrete she was standing on.
Her ‘Hello there’ was slightly breathless—the rapid acceleration of her heartbeat had made her feel suddenly giddy.
‘I’m Megan Brand. I believe we have an appointment? If you’re “KH” that is? You didn’t put your full name on the postcard.’
To her consternation, he merely smiled enigmatically, placed his hands on either side of lean, tight hips, then stepped back into the shadowy recess to let her enter. ‘Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.’
The unexpectedly husky timbre of his voice was like being sensually massaged all over with warm scented oil. Megan tingled with unexpected pleasure. It wasn’t just the suggestion of sex in his voice either. The man’s appearance rocked her to her toes as well. He was lean, dark and downright dangerous-looking. With his tousled chestnut hair, unshaven chiselled jaw and long angular cheekbones to die for, just looking at him seemed to flout all the rules of convention—because Megan’s reaction to him was anything but impersonal. Everything about the man seemed to suggest dimensions of possibility and excitement that a woman could only dream about.
Anxiety locked her throat. ‘I’m sorry I’m late but I had a little trouble finding you.’ Liar. You mean you had a little trouble plucking up the courage to come.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re here now and that’s all that matters.’
‘You are the person who’s doing the art tuition?’ she checked, because just now she barely trusted herself to get anything right.
‘Call me Kyle.’ He raked a hand through his already mussed hair, a brief flash of amusement lurking in the mesmerising golden depths of his eyes. ‘Now the introductions are over, why don’t you come inside?’
‘Right.’ Megan fingered a button on her jacket, pressed her brown leather tote bag reassuringly to her chest and forced a shaky smile.
‘Some time today would be good,’ Kyle drawled lazily, holding the door wider.
Her face suffused with heat. She willed herself to make a move. As soon as she did her senses were assailed by the strongly hypnotic scents of sandalwood and patchouli incense. She was instantly transported. The aroma wove its mystery around her, adding to the illusion of somehow stepping into another world. A world of intriguing unknowables, none more intriguing then the man who was currently leading her casually through the portals of the smart terraced house, his long leather-clad legs striding ahead with a compellingly masculine grace that sent a little shiver of exquisite anticipation darting up her spine.
After the contrasting dimness of the hallway, Kyle’s living room was an unexpected surprise of light and colour, with patio doors opened wide onto a long deeply verdant garden that, once glimpsed, had Megan longing to explore it. He couldn’t be all bad if he loved gardens, she thought wistfully. One day—when she got herself together again, when and if she got her share of the house value from Nick—she’d have a place of her own with a garden, even if it was only the size of a postage stamp.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ Unbuttoning her cream linen jacket with fingers that shook a little, she lowered herself carefully down onto a large couch draped with an eye-catching terracotta and yellow Moroccan-style throw. The muscle in her thigh was throbbing like a sore tooth with the effort of trying to accommodate her physical discomfort, and she felt awkward and ungainly in front of this disturbing dark Adonis, ill equipped to field her vulnerability the way she needed to. Kyle, meanwhile, had dragged a huge yellow beanbag across the floor, dropping down into it opposite Megan with ease. He positioned himself just bare inches from her sandalled feet, causing her heart to take a slow elevator ride to her stomach when she realised he had no intention of widening the distance between them any time soon.
‘So.’ The piercing hazel gaze examined her features closely, hovering for a d
isconcerting length of time on her mouth before returning at leisure to her startled brown eyes. ‘What sort of a day have you had so far?’
The question, so casually asked, put her in a spin.
‘What sort of a day have I had?’
‘It wasn’t meant to be a difficult question.’ Humour surfaced, making his eyes glint more like gold than ever.
In need of rescuing, Megan let her gaze gravitate longingly to the lush beautiful garden that beckoned through the patio doors. ‘Well, I’ve been to work, come home, prepared some tea and got ready to come to my appointment. I don’t know what else to tell you.’
‘How was your day at work? Did you enjoy it? Did it give you satisfaction?’
‘It’s just a job.’ Flustered, Megan tried hard to concentrate. ‘I don’t know what you want, what you expect me to—’
‘What I want or expect is neither here nor there.’ Kyle honed in on her discomfort with the relentless precision of a crack marksman lining up his target. ‘What I need from you is for you to be honest with yourself. I’m not expecting you to furnish me with answers you think I might be looking for. So I’ll ask you again, Megan. What sort of day have you had?’
Megan squirmed. There was obviously going to be no easy way out of her little interview with Kyle. No quick exit route. He had her trapped as surely as if she were a paper butterfly beneath a net. He wanted honest. Okay, she’d give it her best shot. Work was a blur. All she’d done for most of the day was stare at a computer screen. Most of the time she’d been on auto-pilot. To her shame, her best shot failed to deliver.
‘Nothing special,’ she finally replied, because any other answer simply defeated her.
‘Really?’ His eyes narrowed, a frown creasing the smooth bronzed skin between his brows. ‘Goethe said, “Nothing is worth more than this day”. Do you really believe there was nothing special about it?’
Put like that, he made her statement sound ignorant and crass. Megan wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
‘I didn’t mean that the way—the way it sounded. Look, I don’t really know why I’m here. I didn’t know what to expect.’
‘First of all, you need to relax. This isn’t some examination you have to pass or fail. You came voluntarily. You can leave voluntarily. After we’ve talked a little you can decide whether or not you think it’s for you.’ To her absolute surprise, he reached forward and with deft fingers slipped her sandals easily from her feet, then placed them side by side on the cool oak floor.
Megan swallowed hard, her skin burning from his unexpected touch. ‘And is taking off my shoes compulsory? Or is that voluntary, too?’
A sexy chuckle escaped him that had all Megan’s senses zinging like popcorn in response. Heat seared her spine, dripping like slow, heavy molasses into her limbs.
‘Bare feet make you more vulnerable—more open to talking about what’s real.’
‘What’s real?’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper. What was happening to her? Just a few minutes in this man’s company and emotions were stirring inside her that she’d barely known she had.
‘The reason you’re here. Why did you ring my number and make an appointment, Megan?’
‘I didn’t—’ She flushed guiltily, thinking how Penny had had to coerce her into coming at all. ‘I mean, my friend saw your ad and thought it was something that might interest me. She persuaded me to make the call.’
‘So it was your friend’s idea? You didn’t want to come yourself?’ His sensual lips quirked in a mocking little smile and a dart of heat exploded in the pit of Megan’s stomach like a rocket going off.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Okay. Let’s put aside the fact that you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not, and see if we can touch upon something that’s real and honest. Can you tell me about your interest in art?’
He asked the question as if he had his doubts, which made her feel even more defensive. She wasn’t trying to deceive him about anything, but she reflected that there were probably a lot of women who would profess interest in the subject if it gained them Brownie points with the hunk sitting at her feet. At least her interest was genuine.
‘It’s my love.’ Her back straightened automatically. ‘Ten years ago I had a place at the Slade College of Art. I fully intended to make art my future. Unfortunately…things didn’t quite work out the way I imagined they would.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Kyle’s voice was a husky, low-pitched timbre, drugging her senses like the most intoxicating wine. It was almost too hard to reply.
‘What happened?’ Her tongue came out and moistened her lips. Intensely aware of that mesmerising golden gaze never wavering from her sight, Megan clenched every muscle in her body in a bid to concentrate. ‘I’d been at college six months when I—I met someone. He wasn’t a student. Nick was working at an American bank in town. He was ten years older than me, confident…very sure of himself. Anyway…’ She shrugged as if it were an old record hardly worth the playing. ‘We got married. He thought my staying on at college was a complete waste of time. “What can you do with a Fine Art degree?” he said. “It’s hardly useful.”’
For a moment, Megan’s dark eyes flashed with pain, then, lifting her chin a little to continue, she said clearly, ‘Anyway, I gave up my place and found a job in a bank…just like Nick. It was like sealing myself into a coffin. I had no desire or interest in climbing a career ladder. I’ve been stuck there ever since.’
‘What a waste.’ Kyle drew up his knees and locked his arms around them. ‘What’s keeping you stuck, Megan?’
During the long silence that followed, Megan found herself the sole focus of his intensely disturbing golden gaze. Don’t look at me like that…she wanted to say. I don’t deserve for you to look at me like that…She had the uncanny sensation that the man had the power to penetrate the secrets of her soul, and the feelings that swamped her as a result had her choking back emotion to stay in control. Self-consciously, she speared her fingers through the soft ebony strands of her hair, her face burning beneath his gaze.
‘Me, I suppose. My fears.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of not being good enough to do anything else.’
‘You know what’s a good acronym for the word fear?’
Megan shook her head.
‘False Evidence Appearing Real. Doesn’t mean you’re not good enough to do anything else just because you imagine it. It’s an illusion, not a fact. What other avenues have you explored to support your belief that you might not be good at anything else? You say you love art. Are you any good at it? What can you do? Paint? Draw? Design?’
Her head spun with his quickfire questions, but even though she felt like a worm wriggling on the end of a pin, she sensed he was trying to get to the root of something. ‘I can draw…and paint…a little.’
‘A little?’ His smile wasn’t unkind. ‘I can see you have real trouble in promoting yourself, don’t you?’
Megan said nothing.
‘It must have hurt like hell to give up your college place, to relinquish your dream.’ His deep voice was measured, as if he was waiting for her to fill in the gaps.
Megan took a breath, then released it slowly. ‘It did,’ she admitted, dark eyes round. ‘Nick thought being a student was just playing at life, an excuse to get out of going to work. He said I needed to get into the “real” world.’
‘And now?’
‘Now?’
‘What’s his exalted opinion now?’ Clearly Kyle didn’t pull his punches.
‘I don’t suppose he thinks any different. Nick’s pretty set in his ways like that. Anyway, we aren’t married any more. He left me for one of my closest friends. Shows what a good judge of character I am.’ Megan’s voice was disparaging.
When Claire had betrayed her with Nick she had really thought the pain would kill her. How could she have known even worse was to come after that?
Wriggling her bare toes against the alm
ost sensuous wooden flooring, she glanced awkwardly at Kyle, waiting for some sort of signal to indicate what was going to happen next.
‘Do you paint?’ she asked him in a rush, then thought what a stupid question to ask someone who was offering his services in art tuition.
‘I do.’ He stretched his long leather-clad legs out in front of him, the sensual material creaking a little with the sudden movement, perfectly at ease with himself and with her. ‘Like you, it’s my love.’
‘Are you good?’ She blushed as she asked the question, but was immediately reassured when he grinned widely.
His smile lit up his whole face. Tiny lines creased the bronzed skin beside his eyes, making them sparkle with an indescribable sheen that had her whole body tightening in acute awareness. Everything about the man in front of her was so alive and so vital, so absolutely vibrant. Next to him Megan felt like a candle that had been carelessly extinguished.
‘I get by. That is, I earn my living at it.’ Kyle skirted the subject with his usual dexterity. It wouldn’t help the heart-stopping beauty in front of him to know that he’d achieved a certain level of fame in the art world, and he certainly wasn’t into blowing his own trumpet.
At best it could be intimidating to someone with such obviously low self-esteem, and at worst—well, it could put her off ever setting foot in his house again. And he really didn’t want that to happen—not when he knew he could help her. This new venture had put him on an entirely different path from the crazy sybaritic one he’d been travelling until recently. One he was sure would bring him a level of satisfaction that had so far eluded him.
‘I’m very fortunate in that respect. But you’re not here to talk about me.’