‘Wait! Wait!’ Pippa gasped urgently and struggled against his hold.
‘I don’t want to wait,’ he growled and for a moment gripped more tightly before he suddenly thrust her away, shoving both hands through his hair then snatching up his shirt. Pippa’s urgent hand stayed his.
‘Don’t go! I don’t want you to go. But … protection?’
Matt swore between his teeth and reached instead for his trousers and the condom in one pocket. This time it was his fingers fumbling with impatience and need.
‘You’re going to tear it. Let me,’ and Pippa gently tugged the foil packet from him and dropped to her knees before him, the condom in its wrapper on the floor beside her. Matt’s hand took her chin and raised it carefully so he could search her face. His eyes were wanting, and doubting.
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘No, I don’t. But I really, really want to.’
Pippa took his exquisite, tensile length in one hand and put her mouth to his bare hipbone. As she nipped his hip with her teeth, her fingers grasped his cock and coaxed him back into the silky steel of moments before. Swiftly she extracted the condom, then with agonising indolence rolled it, inch by tender, teasing inch, over his erection. When she was satisfied it was in place, she ran the rousing rasp of her tongue along the underside of his shaft. Matt’s hips jerked in reflex and she rewarded his honest response with her mouth, sucking gently then with increasing pressure on his tip, occasionally flicking his frenulum with her tongue. She read the intensity of his pleasure in his suddenly locked limbs and the abrupt cessation of his breathing. His hands, fisted against the torment, suddenly unclenched and slid either side of her face to cup the back of her head, drawing her closer, urging her to take him deeper as he gave himself up to sensation. Pippa felt rather than saw him relax; understood from the easing of the tension in the thighs she gripped that he’d let go of whatever demons had been plaguing him and accepted his need for her. His hands in her hair were gentle, his fingers caressing, his thrusting restrained, respectful of her own comfort. She lapped at his silky length, enjoying the power of pleasuring him, and protested a little when he carefully pulled away.
‘Enough.’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘I like it too much. I want to come inside your body, not inside your mouth.’
He helped her to her feet then gathered her up into his arms and carried her to her bed. The earlier impatience was gone, though neither of them had had satisfaction. Pippa still trembled with wanting, and Matt’s erection still pressed against her stomach, nudging impetuously when her fingers wandered tantalisingly across surprisingly taut abs and into the hollows above his loins. He captured her hand lazily and stretched it above her head, exposing her own curves to his gaze, and Pippa caught her breath at the possessiveness she saw there. His eyes were fixed on the nipple closest to his mouth, and she suffered a torment of waiting for his lips to follow. Instead, he just looked, and with a delicious tingling her breast puckered and peaked in invitation until he at last lowered his head and suckled with a dragging insistence that had her hips rising in supplication. As Matt continued his oral assault on her nipple, his hand slid between her thighs and Pippa parted them with a moan he echoed as he discovered her wet welcome.
‘Please.’ She bucked under his touch. ‘Please, Matt. Please.’
He kissed her then, sweetly, searchingly, almost tentatively, as he covered her body with his delicious weight. Then his lips hardened and his thrusting tongue mirrored the driving, urgent thrusting of his body. There was no more time for teasing, and Pippa answered each powerful move with equal passion, rising and falling beneath him, following his lead, learning him. Loving him.
The epiphany came as she sobbed his name in ecstasy, and she was glad to bury her face in his neck as he climaxed after her, glad to suffocate her urge to tell of her love against the salty shoulder that still shuddered above her. By the time Matt eased himself apart from her she had her face, if not her feelings, under control. Was able to smile calmly and agree, yes, it had been wonderful. Pretended to drift off to sleep so she could avoid those clever eyes trained to see more than his subjects were prepared to admit. She forced herself to breathe steadily for the ten minutes he remained in her bed, and didn’t answer when he murmured a half-farewell before he left. She waited until she heard the low thrum of his car fade up the street. Then she let the tears come.
***
Matt let himself into his apartment as the first streaks of amber battled to disperse the early morning grey. He’d left Philippa sleeping again, looking much the same as she had the last time he’d left her bed. As it turned out, Philippa making love stone-cold sober was much the same as Philippa making love dizzy with champagne. She was warm, responsive, generous, inventive … His cock hardened as he recalled how inventive.
Matt, however, didn’t feel the same at all. He could justify his first seduction of her. He’d been proving a point, proving she couldn’t be trusted. Ensuring that in repeating history, he would deliver a different outcome. Keeping her from Justin.
He was on shaky ground on that last point, he knew. Not only because, as it transpired, she hadn’t been sleeping with Justin at all but because, if he was honest with himself, his motives had been less about sibling protection and more about sibling rivalry. From the moment he’d clapped eyes on Philippa he’d wanted her with a passion he was barely able to fathom. He’d fed himself a line about preserving Justin’s and Lucy’s relationship to feel better about his pursuit of her. Looking back, his theatrical adoption of his father’s head-of-the-household self-righteousness seemed faintly ridiculous, his own morals certainly no better than he’d imagined Philippa’s to be. He’d persuaded himself she was chasing Justin, was in love with Justin, and had screwed her anyway.
But last night had had nothing to do with Justin. Matt hadn’t doubted for a moment Justin’s denial of any intimacy with Philippa. Justin had always been open, all but shameless about his various conquests, even those he’d regretted. Matt had known before he left the party, before his car turned down her street, before he’d stood on her verandah listening, sensing she was awake and waiting for him. He’d known there was no longer any excuse for making love with Philippa.
He’d done it anyway. And it hadn’t been the clinical, expert, polished but perfunctory exposition of moves designed to arouse and satisfy in the minimally polite time required. He’d brought tenderness to her bed, and affection; a dedication to discovering what pleased her. He cared for her—hell, more than cared for her—and he’d had to force himself to leave as soon as he thought she might be asleep, or risk staying. Risk falling into her again. Risk holding her for what was left of the night, and perhaps in the light of morning revealing the feelings that made him all too vulnerable.
Risk turning into his father, so blinded by passion for a woman that he’d forgive her any betrayal.
You’re not your father, and Philippa’s not Eleanor. It doesn’t have to be that way. If you’re careful, if you’re vigilant, you could make this work.
Careful vigilance was Matt Mason’s maxim. He’d staked his professional life on it. It would serve his personal life just as well.
Chapter 10
‘Matt. What a surprise.’ Eleanor didn’t look surprised.
Matt waved the papers he clutched in his hand before depositing them on the kitchen bench. ‘I have the new insurance documents for the childcare centre for you to sign.’
‘I thought we were meeting tomorrow at your office to sort through those?’
‘I can’t now. Something else has come up so I thought I’d bring them over.’
‘You could have emailed them.’
He shrugged, and knowing from her raised eyebrow he’d put a little too much insouciance into the gesture to be convincing, went on the offensive instead. ‘Careful, Eleanor, or I’ll think you don’t want me visiting.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if I thought it was me you were here
to visit.’ Eleanor’s tone was dry. The game was up. ‘She’s out the back.’
Still, he tried to salvage it. ‘Who’s out the back?’
‘You know who I’m talking about. Is it real, Matt? I don’t want you leading her on if this is some kind of twisted attempt to get back at me for what you think I did to your father.’
‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it. So what is it to do with?’
‘It’s really none of your business, Eleanor.’
‘And yet here you are again in my house. Third time this week. You’ve been home more times in the last month than you have the past couple of years.’
‘Who’s bloody counting?’ His muttered imprecation acted like a balm on her asperity and Eleanor’s face softened as she gazed at her eldest son’s conflicted expression.
‘Oh, darling. It is real, isn’t it. I’m glad.’
‘There’s nothing to be bloody glad about. I can’t work, can’t concentrate. Came close to losing the Henshaw business through a stupid error. You won’t be glad when the trust fund P&L shows a drop in earnings for the quarter.’
Eleanor didn’t risk touching him, but moved a little closer. Matt could feel her sympathy emanating in waves, and stiffened. He didn’t want her sympathy. He just wanted to see Philippa. ‘She’s out the back?’
‘Yes. Matt, wait. You know I don’t give a damn about the trust fund P&L. But you’re miserable, and that does concern me. And it’s unnecessary, darling. I’m quite sure Philippa feels the same way about you as you feel about her. Her eyes follow your every move when you’re here, and while I’d never accuse her of slacking off, she has a distinct tendency to daydreaming after you’re gone. So tell her, Matt. Tell her how you feel. What are you waiting for?’
‘I don’t trust how I feel!’
All the anguish and confusion Matt had pent up for weeks exploded in his outburst. He’d been the world’s greatest fool, telling himself he could control the rush of passion he felt for Philippa every time he saw her, could restrict and discipline and manage his need of her into tightly regimented, time-limited compartments of intimacy and non-intimacy. He was fighting that passion, and the longer he fought, the harder it was to remember why he was fighting in the first place, or how he was supposed to separate his private and public feelings for her. He wasn’t prepared, yet, to give up the battle. But he knew it was hurting them both, knew how Philippa’s confused, false façade of nonchalance every time he left her was costing her a little more with every encounter. If he was half smart, half decent, he wouldn’t see her again. But he didn’t know how to stop.
Eleanor regarded him pensively for the long moments it took Matt to get his breathing back under control. ‘I wish I could help you, Matt. I don’t understand why, but since you came home from your Uncle Jack’s funeral you’ve been like a man who’s lost his compass—’
‘You know why,’ Matt bit out, ‘and you refuse to talk about it. So let’s not talk about it.’
‘I think we’re going to have to. There are things I can never tell you, because I made a promise, but I can see the anger eating you up a little more every day. And Matt, I’ve only ever wanted to protect you—’
‘And that’s a lie. Did you even think of your family, of your husband, your children, when you were screwing Uncle Jack? I actually understand it. I do. Dad was always so serious and solemn, a workaholic; I can see why you preferred spending time with Jack. We all did. Jesus, he was my hero while I was growing up. Whenever I thought of how I wanted to be—bold and clever and immersed in life—Jack was my role model.’
‘Your father was all of those things, too, Matt, just in a different way.’
‘Then why the fucking hell did you betray him with Jack?’
Eleanor stiffened at his profanity. ‘I won’t be spoken to like that, Matt, not by you or anyone. When you’re calmer, we can talk about this again. Perhaps now you’d like to go and find Philippa.’
‘No, I wouldn’t like to go and find Philippa. You were right, I care for her, but I sure as hell don’t trust her. If the paragon of womanhood that is Eleanor Mason can’t be trusted, I’m damned sure the very flawed Philippa Lloyd can’t be trusted. To hell with her. To hell with you, too.’
‘Matt …’
But he was already gone.
***
Pippa heard Matt’s car roar up the street, and eased herself back against the verandah wall. She’d heard raised voices and had worried for Eleanor, had recognised Matt’s voice as she got closer and had felt the familiar kick to the heart. And then she’d reached the verandah, close enough to make out the words, close enough to hear Matt tell his mother she, Philippa, couldn’t be trusted.
It hurt more than it should. Pippa had been telling herself for weeks that Matt’s attentions couldn’t be taken seriously, had tried furiously to simply enjoy the delirious pleasure he brought her most nights and to forgive the way he virtually ignored her in the daylight hours. He’d never made any promises, neither of them had, and she knew he would never see her as somebody he would want permanently in his life. God, he’d told her that much from the beginning.
Only her stupid heart wouldn’t listen, still scoured his every gesture, every word, every touch for traces of tenderness and affection, desperate for evidence it hadn’t been given to a man who had no use for it. It didn’t matter how often she told herself she was a twenty-first century woman, free to indulge in sex without commitment or love. Because for her, it was love. Every time he came to her bed, worshipped her body, murmured or groaned or cried her name, he chipped away a little more of her heart. And every time he came to his mother’s house and treated her like a casual acquaintance, he crushed the chip beneath his feet.
She’d known he didn’t love her. From the very beginning he’d made it pretty plain he didn’t even like her, although she thought over the ensuing weeks that might have changed. He’d never let on in front of his mother that they were lovers, had made pleasant if desultory conversation with her when Eleanor insisted she join them for coffee, had expressed surprise at some of her opinions about world events as if she’d impressed him with both her knowledge and her analysis, had joked with her about her split personality: the proper professional who commemorated marriages and the girl who messed about in the mud.
She thought he’d started to like her, a little. Had hoped he was starting to care, a little. But he didn’t like her. He’d told his mother she was ‘very flawed’, for god’s sake. He didn’t trust her, though she’d done nothing other than keep his brother’s trust. He did like to screw her, was happy to turn up late at her house every night, and she’d been happy to let him. But the irresistible, insatiable lover disappeared every dawn and was replaced by the implacable stranger, leaving her to count down the hours until the lover knocked again at her door.
She was a sucker for punishment. Actually, she was just a sucker.
‘Philippa! I didn’t know you were there. Come in out of the heat and have a drink. I’ve made some tea …’
Pippa smiled bravely as Eleanor rattled on. She had two choices, as she saw it. She could continue letting Matt Mason treat her like some ten-bob whore, or she could start demanding a little more respect, from herself as well as from him, and stop seeing him.
The choice shouldn’t be so difficult.
***
Pippa’s hard-won determination to send Matt Mason packing lasted right up until she heard the car pull up outside her house, earlier than usual. Then the flood of anticipation and longing drenched her all over again, and she hastily let down her hair and mussed it with trembling fingers. But the tread on the stairs was lighter, more carefree, and the playground rhythm rapped on the door didn’t signal seduction.
Justin.
He was grinning widely as she flung open the door, and her sarcastic, ‘Have you never heard of phoning ahead?’ had less bite than she’d intended. She hadn’t seen him since Eleanor’s party, and guiltily rea
lised she hadn’t thought of him and Lucy, or of the argument she’d tried to mediate that night. More evidence, if she needed it, that she was out of her mind over Justin’s older brother.
Justin kissed her smackingly on each cheek and strode straight down the hallway to her kitchen as if he owned the place. By the time Pippa had arrived behind him, he was already helping himself to a glass of her wine, and her hand snaked out and arrested his before he completely filled the glass. ‘Whoa, buddy, it’s not going to be one of those nights. You’ve got two minutes to tell me why you’re here, twenty-eight more minutes for us to discuss whatever it is if it’s worthy of discussion, and then you’re out of here so I can go to bed.’
‘Expecting company?’ Justin leered lasciviously at her and it took Pippa a panicked moment to realise he was joking.
‘I’m not sure why you think that idea is so ridiculous. But I’ll park my indignation while you tell me what you want. You’re down to ninety seconds.’
‘I’ve got something I want to show you. Also, I think I’m in love, and I need you to tell me how to play things so I don’t muck it up again.’
‘Has Lucy agreed to start dating again?’
‘Not me, she hasn’t. This isn’t about Lucy. I’ve met the most fabulously sexy solicitor. Really amazing. She’s clerking for Justice Ellison and she—’
‘Justin, stop. No! What are you doing? You love Lucy. You love Lucy. Or have the last few months just been a big, fat lie?’
He had the grace to look shamefaced momentarily, before she saw the stubborn Mason jaw harden. ‘They weren’t a lie. I did love Lucy. I do. But I’m damned if I’m going to waste my life waiting for her to come back to me. I’m sick of being treated like a slug that’s crawled out from under a rock.’
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