She was leaving.
Matt woke from his lustful trance as she brushed past him, a new scent that was somehow both less and also more Philippa wafting to his nostrils and sending another kick to his gut. Her jaw was determined, her eyes fixed on the door, and he had to reach to grip her elbow to prevent her escape, hauling her to a stop that had her teetering momentarily on her skyscraper patent black heels. She wouldn’t look at him; averted her head and tried to tug her arm from his intractable fingers. He could see a slow tide of colour mounting her chest, rising to her neck, and he watched its passage, fascinated, until it bloomed in her cheeks.
‘Would you please let me go? I need to leave.’
‘Why? Why do you need to leave? The party’s barely started. Come, I’ll take you to see Eleanor.’
‘My jacket …’ She gestured helplessly with the garment. ‘I need to get the stain out.’
‘The staff can look after that. It’s no trouble.’ He tried to remove the jacket from her resisting fingers, but she clutched it more tightly to her chest.
‘No. Thank you. I can’t wear it. I’ll take it home.’
‘You don’t need to wear it. It’s not cold. I’d have thought you’d be sweltering in it anyway. Let me give it to the waitstaff, and come back to the party. There are people here who want to talk to you about the garden.’
He saw her take a deep, steadying breath, and held his own. He hadn’t invited her, would never have invited her, given his plans for Justin and Lucy that evening, but it was suddenly the most important thing in the world that she stay. How could he persuade her?
‘You don’t need a jacket,’ he said again, quietly this time, and let his fingers release the cloth to slide along her wrist. Her breath caught. ‘Your outfit is just as beautiful without it.’ His fingers caressed the elbow he’d gripped moments before. He could see a battle playing out in the creases on her brow, temptation warring with doubt, some internal argument she was having with herself. He dropped his lips to whisper against her ear. ‘It would be a shame to take that sensational dress home before it had even one dance.’ He felt the flesh below her ear quiver beneath his lips, and slid his arm around that curvaceous waist.
‘Come. Dance with me.’
***
It was all Matt could do to keep his hand at Philippa’s waist as they glided around the verandah-cum-dancefloor in time with the swinging rhythms of the jazz quartet. Her scent kept assaulting his senses; the upswept curls brushed under his chin and he felt his Adam’s apple lodged continually and uncomfortably in his throat. Philippa’s hips swayed enticingly with the music, and her initial tension had relaxed; she was following his lead easily, dreamily, much as she’d done when he’d led her to bed that night. Pressed against her hip, his cock stirred again. Down, boy. Perhaps dancing hadn’t been such a great idea after all. This was not the time and certainly not the place to display that kind of response. Find a distraction.
He caught Eleanor’s eye. She was standing in a group near the temporary bar but her companions weren’t holding her attention; she was watching with interest as he and Philippa danced, and looking far too pleased with herself. And there was Lucy, hovering in the doorway, her eyes scanning the crowd. Matt allowed his to do the same. One of his law partners sidled up to Lucy with a glass of champagne and a salacious leer, and Matt felt his irritation rise. Where the devil was Justin? He reluctantly started to lift his hand from where it cradled Philippa’s waist, then thought better of it. Justin might not be with Lucy, but he wasn’t with Philippa either. Best that Matt ensured things stayed that way. He pulled Philippa closer instead, cloaked his eyes and let her intoxicating nearness cloud his responsibilities.
***
There was no inch of Pippa’s skin that didn’t melt in response to Matt’s touch. She felt his distraction; thought for a moment he would leave her, and was swept loose-kneed with relief when instead he pulled her tighter and slid one capable, questing hand lightly across the bare skin above the curve of her butt before inching it lingeringly up the subtle peaks and valleys of her spine. She wasn’t sure if she’d made a mistake; couldn’t tell if her decision to stay was the right one. All she knew was that tonight, he was hers. She’d seen it in the surprise in his eyes when he first recognised her, had felt it in the hard thrust of his erection as he gathered her close to dance. Her light-headedness owed nothing to alcohol, everything to desire. Tonight, he was hers. She drifted in his arms, knew she was sending blatant signals of wantonness, didn’t care. She wanted to recapture the feeling of his lips pressing into hers, his hips pressing into hers. She had no conscious memory of their lovemaking, but by god, her skin remembered, and shimmered beneath his touch. Her muscles remembered, and loosened in preparation. The heat pooled between her legs and at this moment, she thought she really wouldn’t care if he led her from the prettily lit verandah and into the dark invitation of the garden. The shadowed bench below the sheltering fig, perhaps, or the floral-draped pavilion …
She pressed her lips against the hard lump at the base of his throat and felt it move, heard his breath catch, felt him falter a little in their dance. ‘Cut that out,’ he growled, ‘or you’ll get more than you bargained for.’
‘I’m counting on it,’ she murmured and slid the hands she’d held at the back of his neck across the breadth of his shoulders, making promises with her fingers.
‘Have you been drinking again?’ He pushed her away briefly to accuse her with narrowed eyes, before tugging her back to his chest after her whispered denial. She rewarded him with a subtle rotation of her hip against his thigh that left him gasping. ‘Christ, who are you, and what have you done with Philippa Lloyd?’
She laughed sultrily. ‘It’s your own fault. You unleashed a genie the other night, and now she won’t go back in the bottle.’
‘You don’t even remember the other night.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I need a reprise.’
His breath was hot at her temple; she could practically hear his mind working the possibilities. He started moving them gently from the verandah, still dancing, still discreet; not towards the garden, as she’d imagined, but inside the house, towards the darkened library. They were only steps away when somebody called Matt’s name. The curse he muttered in response was filled with impatience and desperation, and for a delicious moment Pippa thought he was going to ignore the call. But this was his family home, his mother’s party. His hands dropped, trailing regret, from her body and he turned, briefly shielding her from curious eyes before pulling her back into the light.
‘Philippa Lloyd, this is Justice Max Standish.’
Pippa smiled brightly but barely heard the introduction, frustration warring with courtesy. Matt was chatting urbanely with his guest, every inch the suave host, and if it wasn’t for the subtle rise of his jacket at bottom-button level, there’d be no hint he’d been moments from ravishing her. Or so she hoped.
Away from the proximity of his musky warmth, her breathing slowed, her pulse cooling a little. She caught a glimpse of Eleanor in the lounge, and her cheeks suddenly flushed with shame. What the hell had she been thinking? What had she been doing? It was one thing to decide she wanted to make love to him; quite another to make a public spectacle of her desire for him in front of his family.
Pippa muttered an excuse about finding them drinks and left Matt and his guest, aware that Matt’s gaze followed her into the bright lights of the adjoining room as she hurried from his thrall.
***
By the time Matt was able to dislodge himself from his esteemed guest, Philippa had disappeared. The party was in full swing, and the press of bejewelled, besuited bodies meant that even with the advantage of his height, Matt was unable to find her in the crush. He was damned if he’d ask; if she’d left, there was nothing he could do about it now and if she hadn’t … well, if she hadn’t, the night was still young. Plenty of time to pick up where they’d left off. It was just as well, really, that they’d been interrupted: he
was due any minute to start the speeches.
As if on cue, Marissa appeared by his side, looking unusually dignified in a sober grey-green gown whose formality was offset by the red sequinned Dorothy pumps peeping cheekily out beneath it.
‘Which witch did you steal those from, Missy?’ He grinned at her pout. ‘And what’s with the grown-up dress?’
‘Well, you told everybody else semi-formal so I couldn’t very well wear my jeans, could I? Anyway, don’t you like it?’
Matt cast his eyes assessingly over his youngest sister. ‘You scrub up pretty well for a Legal Aid brat. Enjoying the party?’
Marissa sighed theatrically. ‘We can’t all spend the night drinking and dancing, Matthew. There’s work to be done. Speaking of which: are you ready for the formal proceedings? I’ll start herding everybody down to the pavilion, shall I?’
‘Good idea. Why don’t you get the bandleader to make an announcement while I rustle up the rest of the family. I can see Eleanor and Georgia. Don’t tell me Justin still hasn’t arrived?’
Marissa waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. ‘He was there a while ago, quaffing the canapés straight from the oven and chatting up a waitress. He said he was trying to find Lucy but I haven’t seen her since she brushed off that creep from your office. Why’d you invite that jerk, anyway?’
Matt muttered half an answer and turned toward the kitchen, his earlier disquiet now irritation tinged with unease. Had his plan worked? Had Justin found Lucy? More importantly, had Philippa found Justin? But perhaps it wasn’t more important; perhaps it no longer mattered. He was in no doubt that thirty minutes ago it was he, Matt, she was absorbed in. Surely not even Philippa would switch her attentions to his brother quite so abruptly. Recalling the febrile glitter of desire that had lit her eyes, the unexpected and sensual aggression of her touch, he exhaled on a sigh. Philippa Lloyd was all contradiction. One minute he thought he knew exactly who she was; the next she surprised and shocked him. Truly, he didn’t know her at all.
What he did know was he no longer wanted to keep her away from Justin for Lucy’s sake. He wanted her for herself.
***
The raised voices finally gave away Justin’s whereabouts: Matt recognised his brother’s tone, half-angry, half-pleading, and was surprised to hear the normally soft-spoken Lucy yelling in response. He followed the tirade toward the family room and was brought up short when a third voice entered the fray. Philippa! What the hell was going on? In three long strides he was there, and nearly collected Lucy as she barrelled out of the doorway, shaking off his restraining hand and ignoring his pleas for her to wait. Instead she stormed down the hall and he heard the front door slam moments later. He turned slowly to regard his brother and Philippa.
It was a setting ripe for seduction. The room was lit only by the suffused glow of a single Tiffany floor lamp, its elegant shape scalloping shadows along Philippa’s grimly set jaw. Justin was propped against the wall beside her, the throat of his shirt open and one hand absent-mindedly rubbing his jaw. A smear of deep red lipstick gashed the corner of his mouth. As if she’d followed Matt’s focus to the telltale mark, Philippa murmured to Justin and he grunted, pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the smear away. Matt let the spark he felt at his brother’s casual action fan into a hot, low burn. They didn’t even have the hide to look guilty, damn them.
‘You’re a damned fool, Justin,’ he bit out at last. ‘And you,’ turning his hot gaze on Philippa, ‘are an incorrigible slut.’
Philippa’s shocked cry rang out above Justin’s protest. ‘How dare you! Your double standards are unbelievable! Don’t pretend you didn’t want me.’
‘I wanted you when I thought you had some semblance of subtlety, some microcosm of discrimination. I’m not remotely interested in you when you’re running backwards and forward between my brother and me, showering your dubious favours on whichever of us happens to be in the room with you at the time. My god, if I’d known you were so desperate for sex, I’d have dispensed with the dancing an hour ago and found a convenient corridor to take you in. Justin, I’ll leave her to you, since it seems you’ve already started. The speeches are on in five minutes, so make it snappy, won’t you.’
‘For the very last time, I’m not. Not. Interested in Justin.’ Pippa’s words were low and tersely controlled but for all of that, full of rage.
Matt snorted. ‘Just cleaning his teeth with your tongue, I suppose?’
‘I have not. Kissed. Justin. Not tonight. Not ever.’
‘Then how did your lipstick find its way all over his face?’
Justin swore and pushed himself away from the wall, planting himself in front of his brother. ‘It wasn’t Pippa’s lipstick, Matt. It was Lucy’s. You owe Philippa an apology. A big one. Lucy and I were fighting. Pippa was only trying to help.’
‘You and Lucy were fighting?’ Matt ignored the other information. One thing at a time. ‘What about? What happened?’
Justin looked shamefaced. ‘I was trying to persuade her to date me again. I was trying to remind her how good we are together. I kissed her and she didn’t want to be kissed, but I didn’t realise she meant it until she hit me. Pippa only arrived a moment or two before you did. She was trying to calm things down but Lucy wasn’t ready to be calmed. You owe Pippa an apology.’
‘Is it true she hasn’t kissed you?’
Justin shoved his hands in his pockets in that characteristic Mason gesture of chagrin. ‘It’s true. Not for lack of trying on my part, I might add. She’s a very attractive woman, as you’ve clearly discovered for yourself.’
‘Do you mind? I’m right here,’ Philippa interjected, sarcasm loading her voice. ‘But do feel free to continue the conversation as soon as I’m out the door.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Matt growled, swinging his body to block her exit. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You need to talk. Apparently people are waiting on you to make a speech. But I have nothing else to say to you. You’d both better get yourselves back to your party. I’m sure your delightful presence has been missed.’ With an adroit movement that caught Matt wrong-footed, Philippa ducked under his arm and hurried down the corridor, slowing only to speak briefly to Georgia, who had appeared at its end, before vanishing into the cloakroom. Matt made to follow Philippa, but Georgia was on a mission.
‘Matt, Justin, for heaven’s sake, hurry up. Everybody’s waiting. Marissa’s been telling knock-knock jokes for ten minutes trying to keep them entertained. Where’s Lucy?’
‘Gone,’ Matt muttered savagely as he strode down the hallway towards her, Justin close behind.
‘That’s a shame. Not feeling well? Seems to be an epidemic of that tonight. Perhaps you two should have been doctors instead of lawyers, then your lady friends might have hung around a little longer.’
Justin responded on both their behalves with a stinging rejoinder, but Matt paid no attention. His tasks now were to make a charming speech for his mother, a toast to her friends and an announcement about the latest commitment of the Mason Foundation in honour of Eleanor’s special birthday.
He’d think about Philippa, and his apparently disastrous error of judgement, later.
Chapter 9
Pippa had been in bed—though definitely not sleeping—an hour when the firm tread sounded on the timber verandah outside her bedroom window. Her heart raced like the clackers, but it wasn’t from fear. She’d hoped he’d come, despite her anger, despite her humiliation, despite her harsh words. She’d wanted him to come, wanted with an urgency she could barely contain to take up where they’d left off on the dance floor.
She’d carefully removed most of her make-up, had brushed her hair so the frothy curls lay silky across her shoulders, and had swapped the electric blue jersey for the closest she could find to a sexy negligee—a shorty nighty in baby pink. The cute penguin print was regrettable, but it was better than nothing. And she hadn’t been quite prepared yet to wear nothin
g.
Now she lay in her bed, quietly, waiting for his knock. But the footsteps had paused outside her window, and she only imagined she could hear him breathing there because the sole sound was the sighing of the old house. Scarcely breathing herself, Pippa edged out of the bed and to the shuttered window to peek through the glass, only to jump with fright when his voice rumbled close to her ear through the wall.
‘Let me in, Philippa. Don’t make me wait.’ The words were arrogant, but she caught the note of desperation in them and without consciously moving, found herself at the front door and then in his arms. The time she’d spent dithering over her unsexy nightwear proved for naught; neither of them paid it any heed as it flew over her head and into a corner. Matt had backed her against the wall, his lips fiercely plundering hers before dragging them down, down along her jaw and across her clavicle, his hands gripping her buttocks and lifting her so his mouth was suddenly level with her breast and his tongue laving and tugging at its peak until Pippa cried out in equal parts pleasure and need.
‘I have tried … so hard … not to want you.’ Matt’s rasp was tortured as he allowed her to slide back down against the wall. Pippa’s hands fumbled with the button of his trousers and he brushed them away and wrenched apart the offending obstacle while she turned her attention to the buttons on his shirt. These, too, he dispatched when her fingers weren’t fast enough for them both, and a heartbeat later her knickers joined his pants on the floor. And then there was nothing but skin, nothing but touch, nothing but taste and a heaving, panting, groaning, gasping silence. When Matt’s fingers slipped between Pippa’s legs and found her slick with her need, he hoisted one of her supple legs to his waist, pressed her thigh to his hip and nudged at her entrance with his erection.
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