Lisa removed her shoes while Matt set down his box of provisions on the dining table and crossed the room to a rather lopsided door set in one wall. He turned the brass handle and flung it open.
‘This is the bedroom,’ he announced. ‘You can put the packs in there, if you like.’
Reluctantly Lisa edged through the doorway behind him. The room had an unpretentious charm, although there was very little spare space in it. It was dominated by a large, carved four-poster bed, covered with a patchwork quilt in shades of crimson and dark green. On either side of the bed were mahogany nightstands, each one primly surmounted by a starched white cloth with lace trim and an old-fashioned glass kerosene lamp. Apart from the bed, there was no furniture in the room, except for a plain blanket chest and an alcove curtained in floral chintz, which evidently served as a makeshift wardrobe. Even so, Lisa would have found the room enchanting if it hadn’t been for a nagging worry at the back of her mind. What had Matt just said? ‘This is the bedroom’? Not ‘one of the bedrooms’ but ‘the bedroom’?
‘Where are you planning to sleep?’ she blurted anxiously.
There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘I usually sleep in here, but I can make do with the fold-out bed in the couch if that’s what you’d prefer.’
‘Yes. I would. Thank you,’ she said disjointedly. Dropping the two packs unceremoniously on the floor, she wiped her sweating palms on her jeans. Somehow the atmosphere in this romantic little bedroom seemed suddenly suffocating. ‘Can we go and see the rest of the house?’
‘There’s not much more to see,’ said Matt, leading the way out of the room and into the living area. ‘Only this lean-to section at the back.’
He ushered her into an enclosed porch, which ran the full width of the house. It was no more than four feet wide but to Lisa’s relief she saw that it contained a perfectly adequate bathroom and a tiny but charming kitchen with a gas cook top and refrigerator and fitted benches of honey-coloured Huon pine. Yet something seemed to be missing. She looked around her slowly and suddenly realized what it was.
‘No electricity?’ she asked.
‘No electricity,’ he confirmed.
‘What do you do at night-time?’
‘Light the kerosene lamps. I rather like the soft glow, and for entertainment, well, I just listen to the howling of the wind and the roar of the sea and watch the pictures in the fire. Of course, if you’re a TV addict, you may get painful withdrawal symptoms staying here for a week.’
She smiled at him. ‘I’m not.’
‘Good. So what do you think of the place?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said sincerely. ‘But so tiny!’
He gave a soft growl of laughter deep in the back of his throat.
‘Would you believe me if I told you that the man who built it a hundred and thirty years ago married and raised a family of eight children here?’
Lisa’s eyes widened.
‘Really? They must have been packed in like sardines.’
He took a step closer, making her feel crowded in that tiny space. Although he didn’t touch her, she could feel his eyes lingering on her as caressingly as if his warm fingers were tracing the contours of her face and neck.
‘I think they believed in togetherness in those days,’ he murmured. ‘It’s rather an inspiration, in a way, isn’t it? Think of all the loving and sharing and quarrelling that went on under this roof. They had so little, those pioneering families, but perhaps they had everything that really matters.’
At any other time, Lisa might have agreed with him, but at the moment she felt too breathless and trapped to think straight. Her senses were reeling from his closeness, from the warmth of his body, from the faint, masculine odour of him that reminded her of spice and soap and leather. She took another step backwards and felt the hard edge of the wooden counter bump into her spine.
‘Can’t we go for our walk now?’ she demanded.
She would have enjoyed that walk, if it hadn’t been for Matt’s disturbing presence. The cottage was set high on the ridge with a magnificent view over the bay. With her sketchbook and pencils in a canvas bag over her shoulder and a folding stool tucked under her arm, Lisa followed Matt down the rugged hillside and out to the empty foreshore. It was spectacularly beautiful and totally deserted. Waves crashed on the clean white sand, low sandstone cliffs sculpted by the action of the sea rose higher and higher until they gave way to thickets of dense, green trees. As they stepped over the last of the tangled grass leading to the foreshore, Matt suddenly jerked warningly on Lisa’s sleeve.
‘Careful,’ he said.
Her heart lurched as she saw a fat, metallic-looking snake uncoil and glide away off the track just where she had been about to put her foot.
‘What was it?’ she asked unsteadily.
‘A copperhead. They’re very poisonous, although not as bad as tiger snakes. But don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’
I’ll look after you. The words both touched and infuriated her. She must stop being so pathetic, looking on Matt as if he was some kind of old-fashioned pioneer who would protect and shelter her in this alarming wilderness. She didn’t need his protection and she was perfectly capable of looking after herself! It was a comforting theory, but she found it hard to go on believing in it once Matt tried to teach her to fish. How was it that he ended up with several gleaming silvery fish within the first five minutes while Lisa couldn’t even feel when the wretched things were biting? In the end she simply gave up in disgust, set up her folding stool and sketchpad and began to draw. After a while she forgot about trying to score off Matt and became absorbed in her work. It was very pleasant to sit there with the sun beating down on her, listening to the crash of the waves and the cries of the sea birds as she tried to capture the scene around her on paper.
Matt was equally absorbed. From time to time she glanced up and saw him casting his rod into the sea with an intense, expectant look on his face. He seemed so involved in what he was doing that he had probably forgotten all about her, but once his gaze met hers and he smiled briefly before turning back to the foaming waves. A wordless harmony seemed to stretch between them like an invisible bond linking them together. At last, satisfied with his catch, Matt came across the powdery white sand towards her.
‘Would you like to have lunch here on the beach?’ he asked. ‘I could start a fire and we could fry the fish, if you like.’
Lisa stretched, squinted and put up one hand to massage her aching neck.
‘Yes, please,’ she agreed with pleasure. ‘That would be wonderful. I hadn’t realized it before, but I’m actually quite hungry. What time is it?’
Matt wasn’t wearing a watch, but he looked up at the sun.
‘About two o’clock,’ he said.
Her eyes widened in amazement. ‘Two o’clock! The time must have flown.’
It flew just as fast while Matt went about the preparations for their meal. Skilfully he built a small fire out of thin twigs and pieces of bark and lit it with a match from his backpack. Once the orange flames were licking and crackling into the air, he picked up the fish to clean them. Lisa wrinkled her nose and looked away while this messy task was being done. But once the fire was well alight and the fish were spluttering in a blackened old frying pan, her distaste vanished. In fact, the aroma was so delicious that she could hardly wait to eat.
‘Don’t sit there looking useless,’ Matt chided her. ‘There are plates and cutlery and a plastic container of salad in the bottom of my backpack. Make yourself useful and set the table, wench. Or should I say, set the groundsheet?’
She stuck out her tongue at his bossy tone, but a curious, bubbling feeling of happiness fizzed up inside her as she followed his instructions. I haven’t had this much fun in years, she thought. The fried fish was delicious in its simple sauce of browned butter, parsley and lemon and the salad of lettuce and tomato with French dressing was equally good. When Matt produced a bottle of Rhine Riesling
and two long-stemmed wineglasses, Lisa let out a contented noise like the purring of a cat.
‘This is sheer bliss,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I ever want to go back to civilization.’
His eyes glinted. ‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘I might hold you to that.’
She felt a mingled thrill of alarm and excitement at his words, at their hint that he could somehow hold her captive here and prevent her from going back to the real world of noise and traffic and the constant struggle to earn a living, the loneliness that sometimes crowded in on her. A shadow crossed her face and her gaze was wistful and distant as she accepted a glass of wine from Matt.
‘It’s a nice thought,’ she said in a brittle voice. ‘But sooner or later people have to face up to reality, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ he countered. ‘You make us sound like passive victims who are just carried along by the tide of events. I don’t see it that way. I think we make our own reality, our own choices about what we want our lives to be. If you want to spend the rest of your life painting on a beach like this, I see absolutely nothing to stop you.’
She couldn’t help feeling the irresistible force of his personality as he spoke. It was as if he radiated an energy a thousand times greater than other people’s, as if he could make anything happen by the sheer force of his will. The thought alarmed and exhilarated her.
‘You’re an extraordinary person,’ she said.
He clinked his glass against hers and then raised it in an ironic salute, his blue eyes scrutinizing her.
‘No more extraordinary than you,’ he replied, half to himself. ‘I wonder what you really are, Lisa Hayward, and what you really want? I have a feeling that there’s some mystery about you. Some secret that I’m going to have to discover.’
CHAPTER SIX
LISA dropped her gaze and took a hasty gulp of the white wine. It was as icy as a mountain stream, but it seemed to send a flood of fire coursing through her veins.
‘There’s no mystery about me,’ she said hastily. ‘No secrets. I’m perfectly ordinary.’
‘Oh, hardly that,’ replied Matt. ‘I’d say you were utterly extraordinary.’
Her vanity made her fall straight into his trap.
‘In what way?’ she asked.
He smiled in the same quiet, triumphant way as when he had hooked those gleaming fish and brought them fighting and struggling into his grasp.
‘You’re extraordinarily infuriating. And extraordinarily attractive. And, unless I’m much mistaken, extraordinarily sensual.’
Lisa forgot all about the fact that she had intended to string Matt along and make him fall in love with her. This should have been a perfect chance for some highly charged flirtation, but instead of coming back with a provocative remark, she simply stared at him with a tormented expression.
‘Don’t say that,’ she begged.
‘Why not? It’s the truth. You can’t be unaware of how much you fascinate and infuriate me, Lisa. Something very powerful is going on between us and I’m sure you know it just as well as I do.’
She turned away from him, staring out at the turbulent sea.
‘That’s not true! There’s nothing special between us, nothing special at all. You’re just Tim’s uncle and I’m—’ her voice cracked, but she went on anyway ‘—and I’m nothing but an unimportant and very temporary guest.’
‘Unimportant? Temporary?’ he demanded in a harsh voice. ‘I thought you were supposed to be marrying my nephew.’
‘Then how can there be anything between us?’ she cried, struggling to her feet with a jerky movement that upset her glass of wine. ‘Look, Matt, leave me alone! Oh, I’ll have to go back to Melbourne. I can’t bear any more of this.’
‘Just as you like,’ he agreed indifferently.
Then he drained his own glass, packed the bag and fastidiously shook out the groundsheet. The spilt wine ran down it in runnels, its smell powerfully intoxicating. How like me to do that! thought Lisa bitterly. How like me to be awkward and emotional and careless of the consequences. I can’t even drink a glass of wine without knocking it over!
‘What are you thinking?’ demanded Matt, gazing at her through narrowed eyes.
‘Nothing important. Just that I’ll always be the sort of person who blunders along, causing disaster, and you’ll always be the sort of person who stands there with a little, disdainful smile, tidying up and staying aloof from it all. It must be nice never to make a mistake, never to get involved, never to do the wrong thing.’
Matt gave a harsh laugh.
‘How little you know me,’ he said.
Then with a swift angry movement he began cramming the stained groundsheet into the bag. Without a word he picked up his fishing rod and the rest of the fish and began striding up the track that led to the cottage. Lisa had to scurry to gather up her belongings and run after him, which annoyed her. She wasn’t even sure why he was so hostile to her, but somehow this hurtful, angry silence was easier to bear than the dangerous attraction that kept flaring up between them. When they reached the cottage, they separated by common accord and Lisa set up her easel and sat down to soothe her jangled nerves by painting. Matt vanished into the back yard and chopped wood. When she went to make herself coffee, she looked out the kitchen window and saw him stripped to the waist, swinging the axe so that it bit deep into a massive log. After an hour his tanned, rippling back muscles were glistening with sweat and there was a large pile of neatly stacked firewood at the edge of the yard. Only when the sun set did he come inside to shower and change his clothes. Lisa was half dreading the long evening in each other’s company without any distraction or hope of rescue, but she need not have worried. Matt’s antagonism seemed to be firmly under control and, although he gazed at her once or twice with a strange, grim expression, he was perfectly pleasant to her. Once the fire was crackling in the hearth and the kerosene lamps were lit, they spent the rest of the evening playing Scrabble, as politely as if they were total strangers.
It was that remote, rather exaggerated courtesy that made it possible for Lisa to endure the rest of the week. Whatever hidden currents were running between them, Matt seemed just as determined as she was not to explore those murky depths. Occasionally the idea of trying to have her revenge flashed into Lisa’s mind again, but she dismissed it. After all, she might be reckless, but she wasn’t outright suicidal! Maybe one of these days she would have the courage to lead Matt on and pay him back for humiliating her, but not yet. Not until she was safely at the farm in the company of other people. But each day as they went out on their excursions, painting, fishing, bushwalking, and each night as they sat in the firelight talking and playing games, a feeling of restless tension began to build and build inside her, like the hushed expectancy when a tropical storm is brewing. On the last night before they were due to leave, matters came to a head. They were sitting at the table with port and coffee at their elbows playing a game of Monopoly in the soft golden glow from the kerosene lamp. Matt, as always, played with a mixture of shrewdness and daring that exasperated Lisa. At last, when he had stripped her of almost everything she possessed, she flung up her hands with an exaggerated groan and dropped the dice.
‘All right, that’s it,’ she said humorously. ‘I’ll admit defeat. I don’t care about money, anyway.’
Matt sipped his port, swirled it on his tongue and then swallowed.
‘And yet you’re going to marry Tim to get it,’ he said unpleasantly.
Suddenly the atmosphere, which had been friendly and bantering earlier in the evening, had a nasty, dangerous edge to it.
‘What of it?’ retorted Lisa.
‘What of it? Well, you admit you don’t love him and you’re only doing it out of greed. That’s fairly despicable, isn’t it? Doesn’t it ever give you a twinge of conscience?’
Lisa’s eyes flashed angrily. How dare he lecture her about what was despicable and what wasn’t? What about his own behaviour with Andrea?
‘Oh, so y
ou’re the soul of honour yourself, are you?’ she jeered. ‘I don’t see that it’s any business of yours what I do with Tim! But no, as a matter of fact I don’t feel any twinge of conscience about it.’
She tossed down a gulp of port and choked on its fiery sweetness. For a moment it scarcely seemed to matter that she had no genuine intention of marrying Tim anyway. What did matter was that she was under attack from Matt Lansdon, and for some ridiculous reason his contempt cut her to the bone.
‘As far as I can see, Tim is getting a perfectly reasonable bargain,’ she continued in a rapid, angry voice. ‘I’m very fond of him, we get along well together, I don’t intend to hurt him in any way. So why shouldn’t I marry him?’
‘But you don’t love him, do you?’ insisted Matt. ‘I’m willing to bet you don’t even find him very physically exciting, do you? Do you?’
Lisa’s head jerked up as if he had slapped her face. For a moment the image of Tim swam before her eyes and she felt the mixture of affection and irritation that her feckless young flatmate had always aroused in her. Of course she didn’t find him physically exciting! The mere thought was ridiculous. But she did care about him. These unspoken thoughts showed in her face, and she detected a glint of scornful triumph in Matt’s eyes.
‘Well, even if I don’t find him physically exciting, what of it?’ she challenged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it matters,’ he snarled. ‘There are moments in anybody’s life when it seems to be the only thing that does matter.’ He didn’t touch her, but his glance was so heated that she shrank back as if she had been scorched. ‘If that sort of violent attraction doesn’t exist within a marriage, you can be damn sure that sooner or later it will happen outside it. At times like that, unless people have a really solid relationship founded on love, they can easily lose their heads. They do crazy, destructive things that hurt their innocent partners. You admit that you don’t love Tim, that you’re not even sexually attracted to him. So what will you do if you meet some other man who does attract you?’
Mistress For Hire (Harlequin Presents) Page 11