Catch

by Kenyon, Toni

  Taking a look at his mother perched on the window seat in his living room, not a single hair out of place, turned out in the latest Dior fashion for the season, he had a surge of gratitude at the thought of fleeing into the arms of Tamsen.

  "I'm sorry, Mother, but I've got a dinner engagement and I'm due there in just under an hour." He was reduced to lying and that disturbed him. "I don't have time to talk about Angie, and to be perfectly frank I don't think it’s any of your business. As far as I'm concerned I've had a lucky escape and that's the end of it."

  "Well, Matthew, that's where I think you're wrong. You've never made a single responsible decision in your life without help from your father and me."

  "That's bollocks and you know it!" Her words stung his skin. "You wasted your time coming over. I don't need you to run my life. You should be in Sydney with your charity cronies, where you're needed." He stood up to leave; the conversation was on a fast track to nowhere.

  "Don't think you can just walk away without discussing this with me, young man." His mother's tone was terse and he had a familiar feeling in his gut. The one he used to get as a child, when he knew he'd let his mother down.

  It took all his strength and will to head for the shower. "I told you, I'm going out for dinner, and I suggest you don't wait up because it'll be late when I get back."

  "And what am I going to do for dinner?"

  "Mother, you got yourself all the way here from Sydney without an invitation. I'm sure you can organize yourself a little dinner."

  With that he bolted for his bedroom, out of earshot, so he could pretend she wasn't there.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Standing under the stinging hot water of the shower, feeling insignificant and unloved, barely aware of the pounding water, Matt tried to remind himself he was a thirty-year-old man not a sixteen-year-old boy. What his mother thought about the way he wanted to live his life was his mother's problem, not his. Yet Marguerite's cold, harsh words sucked the warmth and heat of the entire universe from his body and left him again longing to escape from his own home.

  Marguerite couldn't keep her sticky fingers out of his life. Whatever possessed him to think taking a job with a firm back in New Zealand would put enough space between him and his family? Clearly the Tasman Sea wasn't a large enough body of water to keep his meddling mother out. He'd also had a naïve belief that being in another country would mean his father's influence would go unnoticed and he could make his own way in the world. But even after death, the old boy network still ground into action. It appalled him sometimes, the way business worked.

  Toweling off, Matt located his most worn and comfortable jeans in the dresser. Gratitude that he could go and spend the evening with someone who seemed not to care about who he was, or where he came from, or what he did for a living gave him some comfort.

  Then it hit him, with the thunderous power of a punch, something his mother said about the decisions he’d made in his life. He never even wanted to be a bloody lawyer. He'd simply been told, as far back as he could remember, that he would be one. "We need a lawyer in the family, Matthew. You're intelligent, a straight A student, so that's what you'll be."

  With only one leg in his jeans, Matt had to sit down, overtaken by a sudden rush of nausea. Had he ever really worked out what he wanted for his life?

  Tamsen found herself dithering in the kitchen, half out of her mind with worry. Whatever had possessed her to invite Matt over for dinner? For a start, the larder remained bare, no matter how many times she looked in it. It was official, there was next to nothing in the house to eat. Next she pulled the freezer door open, destroying her vain hope that the quarter loaf of multigrain bread and freezer-burned fish fingers, both of which had been a permanent fixture for as long as she could remember, had miraculously done a 21st century impression of the loaves and fishes and turned themselves into a gourmet meal.

  "No such luck, eh, Azriel." Tamsen picked up the purring black ball of fluff, who affectionately nuzzled her under the chin. She adored the feeling of his purr, his vibration rattling through her throat.

  Azriel's love was what Tamsen called "cupboard love" because he wanted feeding, but nevertheless she enjoyed the furry adoration. Cat food was one of the few things they did have a ready supply of - neither she nor Gina were prepared to risk the wrath of the affectionate stray who'd adopted them shortly after they moved in.

  Tamsen pulled a packet out of the pantry and Azriel weaved precariously between her feet as she covered the small distance to his bowl.

  "Well, at least you're not going to starve, are you, boy?" She tipped the revolting goop into his bowl. "If only Matt was this easy to feed." She gave him his ritual stroke as he settled to eat, his back arching to meet her hand.

  Maybe Matt was this easy to feed - she could order something in. Besides, it wasn't her culinary talents that interested him.

  Tamsen turned her attention to the bathroom, checking for at least the fifth time that it had been scrubbed clean. A suitable number of candles were in place to provoke the right mood, and the aromatherapy burner sat ready and armed with water and essential oils. Tamsen had settled on rose and patchoulli. She’d dripped a couple of drops of each into the water on top of the burner, and even without the flame the water was warm enough for the oils to begin their magical work of permeating the room.

  Feeling like a temptress laying an elaborate trap, Tamsen stood at her wardrobe debating what to wear, a nasty sensation of déjà vu surrounding her.

  "This is ridiculous," she said to Azriel who sat cleaning himself on the bed.

  It was time to just be herself. If Matt didn't like the real Tamsen, best she find out early. Decision made, Tamsen wrestled her pale-green Indian silk dress from the wardrobe - the one her mother insisted made her look like some Taiwanese harlot - and slipped it on. To hell with the world, she thought as a sense of ease came over her. She dabbed musk oil on her pulse points and hung her favorite piece of jade at her throat, the smooth stone heavy, cool and comforting.

  Azriel stopped washing himself, took one look at her and smiled the way cats do.

  "Well, I'm glad you approve, Azriel."

  He resumed washing himself, oblivious now to anything except taking care of his own needs. Tamsen studied him through the mirror on her dressing table; she could learn a lot from that cat. She turned her mind to applying a light dusting of makeup - just enough to not look pale, but not so much she ended up looking like the creature from the black lagoon when she got in warm water. Oh, the trials of being a woman.

  "Be grateful you're a male, Azzie. I think I'll come back as a man-cat next time."

  He settled down, cocooned in amongst crumpled, dirty clothing at the end of her bed, sleeping off dinner. What a life, she thought.

  Matt knocked at the door of apartment 4C, a bottle of wine in his hand - his compromise, having resisted the urge to stop at the pub to medicate his emotions. He'd almost had to push Marguerite aside to get out the door. The gall of the woman. Thinking he'd cancel his plans just because she'd arrived unannounced.

  He'd fumed most of the way over, a sense of injustice creating havoc in his guts. Anxiety and conflict had always cut a direct path to his digestive system. He was tormented by far too many unhappy memories of raging cases of diarrhea, or hours spent puking for no apparent reason. It had taken him years to work out the root cause of his illness was unresolved conflict - and now, he thought ruefully, it lay in wait for him at home. He shuddered.

  Tamsen opened the door and his mother worries vanished. "You look stunning."

  "You think so?" Her skin colored as a blush stole across her even features. "I was worried you might think I looked like a harlot."

  "I don't have problems with harlots."

  He couldn't help grinning. He'd made the right decision to leave Mother home alone. Tamsen was the most captivating creature. He'd never seen a dress like the one she wore; it gave her an exotic aura, appealing to him on levels he hadn't even known existe
d.

  "Well, that's okay then. You'd better come in." She stepped aside, allowing him to enter her apartment.

  "I thought you'd never ask." He could scarcely wait to see what other hidden treasures lay beyond the threshold.

  "Wine, that's thoughtful of you."

  He handed her the bottle and leaned forward, pressing a light kiss on her luscious lips. The touch was gentle and intimate, her lips soft and relaxed. He felt as if they'd known each other for years, not mere days.

  "You’d better show me where the kitchen is so I can get the cork out of that bottle, get you drunk, then have my wicked way with you."

  "Isn't it polite to eat first?"

  "Maybe we could eat after, when we've worked up an appetite?"

  Laughing, she took his hand. "I could go for that. We're going to have to order in 'cos I gave up on the cooking idea."

  She led him into the kitchen. Sudden visions of her naked on his kitchen bench invaded his mind, a corresponding recollection and interest registering in his trousers. "Hmm, nice kitchen. Shall we christen this one too?"

  "Can you talk about anything except sex?"

  He needed to behave himself - he could be such a jerk. "Yes. If I want to."

  "Why don't you try?" She rummaged in a drawer and found a bottle opener.

  "Have I discussed with you the advantages of investing in unit trusts?"

  "Forget it, talk more smut."

  It was his turn to laugh. "I can't talk investment strategies then?"

  "No, it's deathly dull and boring." She handed him the corkscrew and he made short work of the opening, the cork coming out with a resounding pop.

  "Don't you love that sound?" He looked round for glasses. "Come on, out with the best crystal then."

  "A nothing-but-the-best man? I have to wonder what you're doing with me then." She held his gaze, passing him a flute as unconventional as her. It was made of stained glass, with small green, yellow and red triangles made to look like tiny leadlight windows.

  Disentangling himself from her gaze, Matt poured the wine. "You, beautiful lady, happen to be the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

  "Such a flatterer."

  "Well, don't tell me you weren't hunting for compliments."

  "I won't." She gestured toward the terrace. "You want to sit inside or outside?"

  "You decide."

  "You're the guest, so it's your decision."

  "Outside." He threw her a devilish look. "So does that mean I get to decide where we do what all night?"

  "You plan to go all night, do you?"

  "Stop it." He was giddy at the thought of wallowing in her body all night. "You know what I mean."

  "It depends." She sat herself down on the wicker two-seater facing the beach, patting the red-and-white-striped cushion next to her.

  Being defiant, he leaned up against the glass panel that saved him from plummeting four floors to the ground. "On what?"

  "On how well you behave yourself."

  "Oh, I see." He took a slow sip of the wine, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. She reminded him of a porcelain doll, her legs tucked up under her, bare feet poking out from under the ornately embroidered material of her dress. "And what happens if I'm naughty?"

  Mirroring his movements, she took a sip of her wine, eyeing him over the rim. It intrigued him, the way she played this version of Simon Says with him. "Maybe I'd have to spank you." She said.

  His pulse raced. All manner of depraved thoughts played in his head. "I don't believe you'd do that."

  "Well, behave - " she patted the seat next to her again " - and you won't have to worry about it, will you?"

  He decided to park himself next to her. "Now I don't want you thinking I'm a pushover, all right?"

  "I know you're a pushover. Her eyes never left his. "But don't worry about it."

  They packed the last of the takeout curry boxes in the rubbish. Tamsen was stuffed and she hadn't laughed so much in a long time; Matt was funny, intelligent, articulate, caring and sensitive. How the man who'd carefully lectured her on the benefits of owning a worm farm could be the same man Gina swore and cursed about was hard to see.

  She was giddy with wine, but her careful attempts at engineering a retreat to the oasis that was her bathroom were failing.

  "Hey, you." Matt's hands were streaked in curry sauce. "Lead me to yonder bathroom - I recall that this morning you promised me a sensual soak."

  "Girly manipulation's lost on you. I've been trying to get you there for the last twenty minutes, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "All you had to do was ask."

  "Where's the romance in that?"

  "Ah." He smiled. "The lady wants romance. I can do romance. I can do anything you want me to do."

  Her insides went to jelly. She took his hand and led him down the short hallway to the bathroom. The room was small, the sunken bath dominating, with a shower and vanity on the opposite wall.

  "This is gorgeous."

  She was pleased he appreciated the room - it was one of her favorites and she was happy to share it with him.

  "Smells great too. Have you been burning oils?"

  A man who enjoyed scent; she was in heaven. "No, but I will be soon. You deal to your vindaloo leftovers and I'll prepare myself and the candles."

  He pulled her to him, being careful not to trail vindaloo over her dress. His presence was sure and demanding, it so turned her on. Looking up into his deep brown eyes, she realized the light made it difficult to see where his pupil and iris met – they were just pools of darkness. She was overwhelmed by his beauty and the thought that she would soon have the pleasure of exploring every little nook and cranny of him at her leisure.

  "Might not be the only things burning by the end of the night if I have anything to do with it." He kissed her with a force and passion that left her breathless with desire.

  A shiver ran down her spine as she lit the candles. He was glorious. She poured a dab of scented bubble bath into the rapidly filling tub, then positioned herself on the top of the toilet lid, intent on watching Matt. He was surveying the water, a distant look on his face. Maybe he was having some small out-of-body experience, scent could do that for you. She couldn't fail to remember her grandmother whenever she smelled mint; it brought back happy memories of preparing sauce for Sunday lamb lunches. A quiet moment of being somewhere else, with someone else, locked in an aroma.

  When he at last snapped out of it she asked him, "Where were you?" She idly swung her legs backwards and forwards, her bare feet catching on the heated tiles underfoot.

  "Right here."

  "No, you weren't."

  He looked puzzled, then cocked his head and looked up at her as if peering over a pair of imaginary glasses. "I was sitting in the bath as a child and my mother was banging on the door, trying to get me out, but she couldn't. Doesn't really make much sense."

  He straightened up. "I don't particularly want to talk about my mother anyway. I've got better things to do."

  "You have?"

  He turned the taps off. "I have. I'm about to strip you naked and have my wicked way with you."

  "Is that right?" She pulled her legs up under herself and sat perched atop the toilet like a pixie on a toadstool. "I'm afraid I've got news for you. You're going to stand over there and strip."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "You heard. Start ripping it off. I haven't got all night."

  "I was good. This is a vile and evil punishment I don't deserve."

  "True, but you'll do it anyway."

  "I will, will I?"

  "Oh yes."

  "And why's that?" His voice was menacing, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was happy playing her game.

  "Because of your reward."

  "Reward?"

  "I'll make it worth your while." She dropped her chin on her knees and hugged her legs, pressing her advantage home. "So get on with it."

  He was a vision with his clothes on, but sh
e looked forward to viewing him at leisure with them off.

  "You're serious, aren't you?"

  She nodded.

  "I want you to know that I'm an amateur and I don't do this."

  "There's a first time for everything. Now hurry up. Or do I have to go and get a whip?"

  His features froze in shock for half a second; then he looked at her, took in her grin and relaxed. "You had me going there for a minute."

  "I'll have you going for longer than a minute."

  "I need you to come over here and help me. The hands-on approach."

  "You're having those mummy fantasies again, aren't you?"

  "Don't." He grimaced and she couldn't help giggling. "Get that tidy ass of yours over here and be my hands. I can undress myself any old time - I want you to do it."

  "I suppose that could be fun, and since you asked so very, very nicely..."

  Having uncurled herself from the toilet, she padded over to him. "You've got to take off your own shoes and socks. I don't do the shoe thing."

  "I don't have to worry about finding you bonding with my boots, huh?"

  "Gross. Hurry up and get them off - you've wasted enough time tonight."

  He slipped his shoes and socks off, throwing them to one side. "So I could still be up for punishment then?"

  "Very brave now that I'm off my pedestal and over here, aren't you?"

  He reached out, pulling her to him by the shoulders, their faces millimeters from each other. "I am, so be very afraid."

  With that he kissed her hard, his tongue snaking into her mouth, searching and demanding. She felt on fire; her entire body responded to him, her heart pounded. She wanted to slap him, run from him - his treatment cruel and savage - but she also wanted more.

  She felt herself get wet and slick, just from a kiss. She craved him, desired him like she'd never desired before; it was overwhelming and frightening.