An Heir Made in the Marriage Bed

by Anne Mather

  When he had got back, she hadn’t waited before confronting him with what her father had said. She’d been terribly upset, of course, and in hindsight she should have been more willing to listen to Matt’s side of the argument. But her father had been dying, and she couldn’t bear to let Angus go on thinking that Matt was blaming him for what had happened.

  Matt had been taken aback by her accusations. His revelation that her father had been cutting corners for years, that, prior to the takeover, Carlyle Construction had been struggling because her father had been spending money he didn’t have, had stunned her. Matt had also claimed that Angus was simply trying to pre-empt the inevitable investigation into the accident that he knew would prove him guilty. But Angus had been unaware that, in an effort to save her father’s reputation, Matt had already briefed the board that NovCo would be accepting all liability for the fire.

  However, when she’d told her father what Matt had said, Angus Carlyle had burst into tears. She’d thought at first it was gratitude, but, with his eyes streaming, he’d claimed that, far from protecting him, Matt was deceiving her, too. Angus had friends in New York, he’d said, friends who’d already told him that his name was toxic in the oil-producing community. The authorities were already investigating Carlyle Construction’s involvement and it was only a matter of time before NovCo shifted the blame.

  His final plea had been that she was his daughter. Whatever differences they’d had in the past, their love for one another had never faltered. And Joanna had known she couldn’t deny the words of a man who was suffering with terminal cancer. Particularly as she’d always suspected how determined to protect the company’s interests Matt could be.

  There’d been a huge row with Matt telling her she had no idea what her father was capable of, and Joanna accusing him of using Angus as a way to save NovCo’s reputation. Then she’d stormed out of their apartment, declaring she never wanted to speak to him again.

  Learning, weeks later, that NovCo had, in fact, settled all claims against the company had been little compensation. As far as her father had been concerned, Matt had been trying to save his marriage, and had realised he’d made a terrible mistake by accusing him. Angus had even challenged her to ask Matt to explain why he’d hacked into her father’s emails, if it wasn’t to create a record of phony deals with risky suppliers he was supposed to have made.

  She’d phoned Matt but he’d denied it, of course, although he hadn’t been able to deny that he had had Angus’s financial dealings investigated. But when Joanna had asked him why, he’d refused to answer her. He’d told her to ask her father that question; to put the old man on the spot.

  However, Angus had had a relapse, and Joanna hadn’t been able to talk to him. And by the time he was in a temporary remission, Matt had been called back to New York.

  The weeks of their separation had turned into months. Her father’s death had left her devastated, and she couldn’t help blaming Matt for ruining the last weeks of his life. David Bellamy had been a hero, helping to organise the funeral for her and offering her her old job back. A situation she’d been glad to accept when she’d discovered her father had been practically destitute when he died.

  Turning from the mirror, she went into the bedroom and tried to distract herself by admiring the beauty of her surroundings. Pale walls, pale rugs, and a pale satin bedspread on the wide colonial bed. The colour in the bedroom was provided by exotically patterned cushions and curtains. Paintings of Indian masks and other spiritual objects on the walls were meant to remind the visitor of the area’s Native American heritage.

  The house was two-storey, stuccoed, with a red-tiled roof and grounds spread over a couple of acres at the end of a gated cul-de-sac. The whole area was criss-crossed by canals, where just occasionally you might glimpse a manatee. The drive leading up to Matt’s parents’ house ended beside a mission-style Spanish fountain. The steady splash of water on the mossy layers of stone was always present, creating a soothing retreat from the busy world outside.

  Joanna had been here before, visiting his parents on a couple of occasions. Though remembering Adrienne’s attitude towards her then, she hadn’t been sorry to avoid them in recent months.

  All the same, the suite Adrienne had reluctantly provided for her use was very appealing. It was all very civilised; very inviting. Nevertheless, Joanna knew that without Adrienne’s intrusion she’d have told Matt immediately what she wanted and hightailed it back to the hotel. That had been the plan, anyway. The only thing was, after learning how he still felt about her, she doubted he’d have been willing to grant her request.

  She had to come up with a Plan B. Tomorrow afternoon, she’d intended to fly back to London. The trouble was, by giving in to his request to stay for dinner, she didn’t have time to devise an alternative plan.

  A faint draught of warm air drifted in through the open windows. Ivory sheers shifted sensuously, and Joanna moved the curtains aside to slide back the long French doors.

  Stepping out onto her own private balcony, she breathed in the exotic scents from the garden. Lilies, fuchsias, the heady scent of night jasmine. The humidity was great, as it always was at this time of the year. Early summer in England was not the most appealing time to come to Florida.

  Perhaps she should just cut her losses and leave.

  The arrival of a maid to tell her drinks were being served in the family room downstairs baulked that possibility. This was it, she thought. Fight or flight? Well, she’d never been a coward, and surely nothing Adrienne Novak said could hurt her now.

  As she walked along the landing to the curving marble staircase she saw no one. Below, the marble-tiled foyer was deserted, too. The family room was to her right, a comfortable space, with leather chairs and sofas. A drinks cabinet offered refreshment, and an elegant baby grand piano stood beside the windows at the other side of the room.

  When Joanna paused in the doorway, she could smell the flowers that filled the tiled hearth, and the not unpleasant aromas of alcohol and tobacco. But the room itself appeared to be unoccupied as well.

  Like the foyer, the lighting was mellow and subdued, and it wasn’t surprising that Joanna thought she was alone. But then a figure emerged from the shadows beside the fireplace. A tall figure, lean and saturnine, in a suit and shirt so dark a grey they appeared black.

  Matt.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JOANNA’S MOUTH DRIED. Surely, they were not dining alone.

  ‘Jo,’ Matt said, moving towards her, his low voice so familiar, so disturbing to her ears that she caught her breath. ‘You look refreshed. Did you rest for a while?’

  ‘Just for a few minutes,’ said Joanna, well aware that she hadn’t relaxed at all. His clean masculine scent drifted to her nostrils but she endeavoured to ignore it. ‘Where is—’ she almost said ‘your mother’, before amending it to ‘—everyone?’

  ‘They’re coming,’ said Matt smoothly. He surveyed her with dark expressive eyes. ‘You look very beautiful this evening, Jo.’

  ‘Thank you.’ But Joanna stiffened, touching the low neckline of the tunic with a nervous finger. She was tempted to check the hemline, too, to pull it further down if that was possible, but she restrained herself. ‘Um—how long has Sophie been here?’ she asked, desperate to keep their conversation from becoming personal. ‘Is she staying long?’

  ‘As long as my mother is prepared to have her,’ he replied drily. ‘Since the divorce, she spends a lot of time here.’

  Joanna nodded. Sophie and her ex-husband had divorced before Matt’s father had been taken ill. Joanna had wondered if the break-up of Sophie’s marriage had contributed to Oliver Novak’s stroke.

  ‘Well—it was nice to see her again,’ Joanna continued, when the silence became unbearable. She paused, and then, refusing to be diverted, ‘Did your mother show you my emails at last?’

 
Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘I assume that’s your way of asking if I now know why you’re here.’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘I would have preferred to speak to you in private. That was why I planned to stay at the hotel.’

  ‘There’s no hurry.’ Matt lifted his shoulders indifferently. ‘Let me get you a drink. That might help you to relax.’

  ‘I am relaxed.’ Though of course she wasn’t. Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘Why can’t we get right to the point?’

  Matt ignored her outburst, approaching the drinks cabinet and holding up a bottle of Chardonnay for her inspection. With some misgivings, she nodded, and as he poured he added smoothly, ‘You are still my wife, Jo. That gives me some privileges, I think.’

  He handed her a glass and she took it with great care, avoiding touching his fingers. Then, after swallowing a mouthful of wine, she tried again. ‘You know I didn’t want to come here.’

  Matt sighed. ‘Believe it or not, but I’d gathered that. Don’t you think we should take a little time to talk about this?’

  ‘What is there to talk about?’ asked Joanna tightly. ‘I want a divorce. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘What a pity.’ Matt spoke neutrally. ‘And here was I, hoping you might stay for a couple of days.’

  Joanna stared at him. ‘You are joking!’

  ‘No.’ Matt was annoyingly composed.

  Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to stay here when—when your mother obviously hates my guts!’

  Matt shrugged. ‘And is that the only reason you’re declining my invitation?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Joanna was frustrated. ‘I just don’t think there’s any point in dragging this out.’

  Matt was silent for a moment, and then he added tersely, ‘You know, I could do without your animosity. These past few weeks, recovering from that blasted bug, have been hell on earth, believe me.’

  ‘I’m sure they have, Matt, but—’

  ‘But you’re not interested.’ Matt’s tone had roughened with emotion, and, closing the short distance between them, his hands gripped the tops of her bare arms and he drew her towards him. ‘This isn’t over, Jo,’ he said. ‘Not nearly.’ And before she could do more than draw a startled breath, he bent his head and kissed her mouth.

  ‘Matt!’

  The word was muffled and her glass was in serious danger of spilling its contents over the Indian rug. She endeavoured to take a step back, but he was too strong for her. His tongue brushed her lips, and when she resisted his efforts to enter her mouth, he growled his frustration.

  ‘I still want you,’ he said, staring down at her, and, God help her, Joanna felt her knees go weak.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, hearing the huskiness in her voice, but unable to do anything about it. ‘This is not why I made this trip.’

  ‘I know.’ Matt released her abruptly and turned away, and she staggered a little as she tried to save her wine. ‘I just don’t believe our marriage is over.’

  Joanna caught her breath. She was annoyingly aware that she’d bitten her tongue in her efforts to calm herself. ‘We’ve lived apart for almost a year, Matt.’

  ‘What does that prove?’ Matt snorted. ‘We’ve been living on different continents, sure, but the connection between us never relied on distance, did it?’

  ‘Matt, please. This is getting us nowhere.’

  Forced to look away, she touched the tip of her tongue with an exploring finger, feeling for the blood she was sure she could taste. She was totally unaware of how provocative her action was until she saw Matt watching her, following her probing finger with his eyes.

  Oh, Lord!

  Pulling her hand away from her mouth, she noticed, belatedly, that he didn’t have a glass. And, in an effort to change the subject, she said shortly, ‘Aren’t you joining me?’

  ‘Alcohol and drugs don’t mix,’ he replied flatly. ‘Now, do you want to tell me why you want a divorce?’

  Taking another swallow of wine, she added tensely, ‘Let’s not do this, Matt.’

  Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that divorces in this country are ten a penny.’ He paused. ‘Provided they are uncontested.’

  ‘I do know that, yes.’

  ‘So, you expect me to roll over, right? Isn’t that what you said in your emails?’ His eyes swept insolently over her, and she was supremely conscious of the flimsy fabric of the tunic and her bare legs beneath. ‘I have to say, you don’t waste words.’

  Joanna sighed, guessing Adrienne had shown him one of the later messages she’d sent when impatience had made her less tactful than before. ‘I don’t believe I said I expected you to roll over,’ she responded defensively. ‘I thought you were deliberately ignoring me.’

  ‘As you would.’ Matt was sardonic. ‘But you’re my wife, Joanna, and if I have my way, you will remain so.’

  ‘You can’t make me,’ she said, and then could have bitten her tongue—metaphorically this time—at the childishness of her words.

  She attempted to take another gulp of her wine and was dismayed to find the glass was empty. She took a steadying breath. She was allowing him to get the upper hand, and she’d only had one glass.

  Matt hesitated, and just when she was afraid he was going to touch her again, he lifted his hands in a defeated gesture and crossed the room to seat himself at the piano.

  With his fingers running idly over the keys, he said, ‘Tell me, why didn’t you touch any of the funds I deposited to your bank account in London?’ He paused. ‘You didn’t have to go back to work at Bellamy’s gallery.’

  ‘I wanted to.’ Joanna found herself approaching the drinks cabinet and lifting the bottle of Chardonnay. ‘I don’t need your money, Matt,’ she assured him, filling her glass. ‘I told you that when—when—’

  ‘When you stormed out of our apartment in London?’ Matt suggested mildly, the strains of an old George Michael song emerging from the keys. ‘I know what you said, Jo. Your words are imprinted on my soul.’

  Joanna shivered in spite of the warmth of the evening. ‘Do you have a soul, Matt?’ she queried, trying to be flippant, and then gasped in dismay when he slammed the lid of the piano and got to his feet.

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ he snapped, covering the space between them so quickly that Joanna, who had been drifting unknowingly towards the music, suddenly found him only inches away. ‘I am not the devil incarnate, Jo, no matter what lies your father told you.’

  ‘Don’t bring Daddy into this.’

  ‘Why not? He’s the real villain here, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Joanna defensively. ‘You can’t blame a dead man for your mistakes.’

  ‘My mistakes?’ Matt was angry. ‘You are such a cliché, do you know that? You keep bringing up trivial things that have no bearing on this conversation. In an effort to try and justify what Angus did.’

  ‘He didn’t do anything wrong!’

  ‘Oh, I know that’s what you think. I heard the eulogies at his funeral.’ Matt was bitter. ‘I was there at the funeral, Jo. You didn’t know that, did you? I was tactful enough to guess you wouldn’t want to see me. But I saw you, Joanna, with Bellamy.’

  ‘David’s a good friend,’ Joanna protested, but Matt ignored her words.

  Joanna had always denied that the gallery owner had any feelings for her, but it was Bellamy she’d turned to when Angus Carlyle had died; Bellamy who’d re-employed her and probably found her somewhere else to live.

  She’d moved out of their London apartment, probably afraid he might turn up and demand his rights as her husband. As if he’d ever done anything but protect her interests.

  Anger gave way to frustration, and, to Joanna’s alarm, his hand came to cup her face. His thumb brushed the high colour ne
sting on her cheekbones and then found the startled contours of her mouth.

  He’d barely touched her, but Joanna felt as if he were branding her. Almost without her volition, her lips parted, and she tasted him on her tongue. The heat spreading from his fingers seared her throat and breasts, breasts that were suddenly swollen and taut with need.

  There was a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, too, as nervous tension gripped her abdomen. She felt her muscles tighten, her breath grow shallow, as an unwilling awareness of her vulnerability where this man was concerned weakened her knees.

  She was gripping her glass with slippery fingers, and realised she was losing control.

  Matt was staring at her, and awareness flared like a flame between them, burning them with its fire. She didn’t honestly know what might have happened next if someone hadn’t interrupted them; if another voice hadn’t chosen that moment to coldly break the spell.

  ‘For God’s sake, Matt! What is going on?’

  * * *

  Adrienne’s voice was shrill and accusatory, and Joanna despised herself for allowing such a situation to develop. Whatever defence she’d had before would be as nothing now. His mother was bound to think she’d had an ulterior motive for coming here.

  Matt, however, seemed indifferent to his mother’s arrival. Although he drew back from Joanna, his response revealed his impatience at her words. ‘Keep out of it, Ma,’ he said, his hand lingering in the small of Joanna’s back. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

  Adrienne looked wounded. ‘Matt!’ she protested, and, although her son still looked grim, he got control of himself.

  Apparently intending to placate her, he released Joanna and said curtly, ‘Do you want a drink?’

  His mother was evidently in two minds, but she chose the least provoking option. ‘Wine, please,’ she said, her gaze flickering over Joanna’s glass. ‘I’ll have red, if you don’t mind.’

  Joanna was drinking white, but she was so relieved that Matt had moved away from her that she didn’t make any comment. In any case, it was just another attempt to annoy her, and she wouldn’t give Adrienne the satisfaction of retaliation.