by Liz Fielding
It could be a lot crazier.
But instead Matt persisted in talking about Gil and her father, for heaven’s sake!
And she’d doubted that he was a journalist?
‘Why do you want to know? Does this come under the heading of “Background Material”? It sounds a little personal to me.’ She definitely didn’t want to talk about Gil. ‘Tell me, Matt, what kind of article are you hoping to write?’
‘It comes under whatever heading you like, but it won’t be going into any magazine. You can count on it.’
‘Can I?’ she challenged him. ‘Can I count on you?’
He turned to glance at her and, despite the defiant way she held her head, the raw, aggressive tone in her voice, her eyes betrayed her. Her eyes held the kind of desperate need that would send a man who valued his independence running for cover. It was a look that told him she needed someone who would be there for her. Someone who would always put her first.
‘Whatever you hear, whatever anyone tells you, believe this…’ He held her gaze and listened to himself pledge his life away. ‘I will be there for you for as long as you need me.’ There was an endless moment in which the only sound was that of the waves lapping at the shore a few yards away from them. She was very still, as if she was absorbing the weight of his words, their meaning. Then, as if the tension was suddenly too much, she lifted her hand as if to brush away something she couldn’t see.
‘Don’t…’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t pretend.’
He sat up, propping his arms on his knees as he turned to her. ‘No pretence. Just a promise. I won’t leave your side until this thing at Delvering is over.’ It was true. He’d protect her from physical danger in any way he could. His methods might not win her undying gratitude. He had the feeling that at the end of this, he wasn’t going to be in anyone’s good books. He just hoped that when she realised, understood what he’d done, she’d know that counting on him would always be the right choice.
‘You think they’ll try again?’ she asked.
‘I think—’ he began, then shrugged. ‘I think you shouldn’t take any chances.’ He picked up a shell, tossed it towards the sea. And offered her an escape route. ‘Perhaps you’d be happier asking your brother-in-law for help?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No. Gil has other things on his mind. Kitty—his wife—is expecting another baby.’ Matt said nothing, and she wrapped her arms about her knees and rested her chin on them, staring out to sea. ‘He loves her so much.’
‘It must be hard for you.’
‘What can’t be cured must be endured.’ Then, startled, she turned her head to look at him.
‘I’m a good listener.’
‘It goes with the job, I imagine,’ she said slowly.
‘Forget the job. I’m not taking notes.’
‘You mean this is off the record?’ He said nothing, just crossed his heart with his finger and Nyssa sighed. ‘The first time I saw Gil I was seven years old. Dad invited him home for the weekend and he brought me a cuddly toy. A soft white rabbit with pink paws and floppy ears.’
‘Do you still keep it on your bed?’
‘Who said I ever did?’ She lay back on the sand, careless of her dress, her hair, staring up at the night sky. ‘You’re right,’ she said, when he didn’t answer. ‘Of course I put it on my bed. It stayed there until Gil’s first child, Harry, was born. Then I put it away. Wrapped it in tissue and put it at the back of the cupboard along with all my childish things.’ Along with her heart.
‘Burying things, feelings, can make them take on an importance out of all proportion, Nyssa.’
She glanced at him. ‘You want me to talk about it, Mr Psychologist? Is that it? Pour out my heart and soul?’
‘It might help.’
Nyssa stared up at the stars and wondered about that. The way she’d felt about Gil had always been locked inside her head. Even now, she was sure that saying the words out loud would reduce what had always seemed very special to nothing but a childish crush. Something rather silly. But she told him anyway.
How she’d followed Gil around that first day, like some adoring puppy, until her father had taken him down to the pub so that he could have some peace. How she’d told her mother she was going to marry him when she grew up.
Her mother had laughed and told her father, and he had laughed too.
‘Kids say that kind of stuff,’ Matt said.
‘Kids grow out of it.’ But she hadn’t. She’d even refused to be bridesmaid when he had married his first wife, Elizabeth, crying herself to sleep for weeks, even before she knew exactly what she was crying for. ‘After Gil married, we didn’t see him much. Then Dad…’ She took a breath. ‘Then Dad was killed and he came straight away.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Thirteen.’ She glared at him, daring to make the obvious point about losing her father at a difficult age and Gil being there. She knew all the psychobabble.
Matt simply said, ‘That must have been hard for you.’ He didn’t specify which pain had been the more difficult to bear.
‘Yes,’ she said huskily, swallowing back tears that had suddenly welled up from nowhere, taking her by surprise. She didn’t cry. She didn’t! ‘And then, a year later, Gil’s wife left him.’
Out of the darkness, Matt’s hand grasped hers. ‘Too young,’ he said, understanding without her having to explain.
‘But not too young to know what I wanted. Not too young to hope that he might stick around long enough for me to grow up. Except that when I was eighteen he met my new stepfather’s daughter, Kitty Lambert. An actress, for heaven’s sake!’ she exploded. Glamorous, beautiful, and he’d fallen for her like a ton of bricks. Not that she’d blamed him for that—who wouldn’t fall for Kitty? And once more Nyssa had cried her pillow into a soggy lump and consoled herself with the certainty that it wouldn’t last. ‘It shouldn’t have lasted.’ Actresses were fickle, changeable creatures, weren’t they? She’d given it three months, tops. ‘But it did.’
After three months there had been the wedding, then Harry, sweet adorable Harry, had been born. And Kitty wasn’t like Elizabeth. No matter how hard she tried, Nyssa couldn’t hate her; she knew Kitty loved Gil, would die for him as he would die for her.
Matt didn’t condemn her. Nor did he laugh. And he was right about being a good listener. He heard a lot more than she was telling him. ‘There’s been no one for you? No one at all?’ he asked, after a pause that seemed to stretch for ever. ‘Not even as a grandstanding gesture with some utterly unsuitable man in an attempt to get him to notice you? To say… You could have had this?’
She turned then, to look at him, confront the slight frown that puckered his brow. ‘I was wrong about you, Matt,’ she said, shivering a little as she sat up. He took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, leaving his arm about her so that it was the most natural thing in the world to lean against him. ‘You understand all too well.’
‘No one?’ he persisted, refusing to be distracted.
To answer him truthfully would be to expose herself entirely. But then, she’d told him everything else. All the secrets of her heart. And in the quiet dark of the beach it seemed that there was nothing she couldn’t tell him, no secret she wouldn’t trust him with. ‘No one. The other night at Delvering was the closest I’ve ever…’ The longing grabbed at her and she turned to look up at him, willing him to kiss her, take her. Now, she thought. Do it now!
But he didn’t move. Didn’t even look at her. ‘That was a natural reaction to danger, Nyssa. It meant nothing.’
Nothing? Nothing to him, maybe. ‘No,’ she said carelessly. ‘Of course it didn’t.’ She tossed off the jacket, turned and knelt in front of him, forcing him to look at her. ‘But I’m not in any danger now, Matt.’ Damn her voice for trembling, giving her away. She would do this, lay this ghost that Matt had dredged up, and he would help her. She reached out, touched his cheek with her fingertips
, trailed them provocatively across his mouth.
Matt was ready to explode. Nothing! He’d heard himself say that and still didn’t know how he’d made himself say the word. If she’d known more, known to touch him… She wanted him to make the decision, wanted him to take the responsibility and push her, take her all the way, and it would be so easy.
He’d been strong once, resisted temptation, the desire that swarmed through his blood like a virus. Twice was too much to expect…
He stopped the traitorous, tempting thought. He’d resist twice, three times, as many times as it took for her to come to him, to want him for himself, not as some second-best lover whose only purpose would be to overwrite a desire that could never be fulfilled. Sweating with the effort, he forced himself to contemplate the horrors of making love on sand.
He could put down his jacket…
‘Are you sure?’ he asked roughly, while he could still speak, still think. He wanted her, more than anything in the world he wanted her, but not like this. He grabbed at her wrist to stop the insidious persuasion of her fingers against his skin. ‘Do you really want me, Nyssa? Do you really trust me? Or is it just that your hormones have finally had a taste of the action and are demanding some serious attention?’
For a moment she stared at him, scarcely able to believe that he’d rejected her again. Then she leapt to her feet, showering him with sand. ‘Damn you, Matt Crosby!’
He should be relieved. He wasn’t. He felt hollow, but he kept pushing her. ‘I thought so. It was just an experiment for you, and any man would do for that.’
‘If any man would have done…’ She caught the words. ‘I thought you were different. I thought you actually cared.’
He cared, far too much to do what she wanted. But she didn’t wait for him to explain. Instead she swung around and ran down to the edge of the sea where the water washed in white ripples about her ankles.
Cold water. Good choice. If she’d stormed back up to the house he’d have stripped off and flung himself into the sea. The only alternative was putting some distance between them.
He would have preferred distance, distance would have been easier, but he’d appointed himself her protector and he couldn’t leave her alone on the beach. It seemed deserted, but the low cliff was full of shadows and the illusion of safety was just that. An illusion. The house was full of people, not just guests, but musicians, caterers—who would notice a few more men in white jackets? Back in the garden he’d joked about how easy it would be to spirit her away. It wasn’t, he discovered, that funny.
He got to his feet, shook off the sand—he’d been right about that at least, he thought. The beach was no place to erase girlish dreams of sexual bliss with the object of her infatuation. It would require careful planning, the perfect atmosphere; it would have to be a champagne and roses affair, a night at the Ritz… The Paris Ritz.
Which ruled him out—he couldn’t afford it!
He would have to console himself with the certainty that a quick deflowering was not the answer for Nyssa. She would hate herself afterwards. And him.
She’d probably hate him anyway when she found out who he was. At least this way she’d know he hadn’t taken advantage of her in a weak moment. Maybe, a long time in the future, when she’d calmed down, she would remember that and think of him kindly for it.
He pulled off his shoes and socks and headed for the surf. ‘Damn it, it’s cold,’ he said, as the water swirled around his ankles.
She shrugged. ‘Isn’t that the answer to an overheated libido? Cold water?’
‘Only a temporary one. Unless you fancy hypothermia?’
‘Isn’t there some kind of compromise?’ When he didn’t answer, she offered him a slightly rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. You’re right, of course. I just wanted you to take the responsibility.’
‘That’s honest. Cruel,’ he added, with a wry grin of his own, ‘but honest. Actually, I don’t have a problem with honesty. Honesty I can take to bed with a clear conscience,’ he suggested, mock hopefully, practically gagging on the words.
She finally relaxed, shook her head. ‘No. You’re right. Forget it.’ And she turned her face to the sea. ‘Much more sensible to leave it at supper and a night on the sofa-bed—’ she glanced up at him ‘—if you still want to stay? Maybe in the morning—’
‘In the morning?’ he leapt in, continuing to make a joke of it.
She didn’t laugh. ‘In the morning,’ she continued seriously, ‘we can discuss this in-depth article you want to write. You wanted to join the Save the Gaumont group, learn about the way we work firsthand? Isn’t that what you said? Are you still interested?’
‘I’m still interested,’ he said evenly. A lot more than interested. Matt looked down into her disturbing blue eyes and called himself every kind of a fool. ‘And if I tag along I’ll be able to keep an eye out for those thugs who jumped you.’
The moonlight washed out the subtle contours of her face, but he thought she looked relieved. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘It’ll make a good story.’
‘Yes,’ she said, with a slight catch at her breath. ‘Of course it will.’ Then, polite, cool, oddly formal, ‘You’d know them again?’
‘Yes, I’d know them.’
She nodded. ‘It’s a deal, then.’
‘It’s a deal.’ And he held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation she took it, held it lightly. Her fingers were cool but her touch ran like a torch up his arm… ‘Can we go back to the party now?’ he said quickly, releasing her. ‘My feet are freezing.’
‘Anything a dance would fix?’
Very probably. It was conceivable that dancing with Nyssa Blake would reduce even Jack Frost to a warm puddle. ‘Actually, I was thinking of something more along the lines of a large Scotch,’ he said.
For some reason that made Nyssa smile. ‘No problem,’ she said, turning to hook her arm through his. ‘A large Scotch and something to eat. Then we’ll have that dance. You haven’t forgotten you asked me for a dance?’
‘In a moment of weakness.’
‘It won’t be that bad.’
It would be that bad. It would be torture. Sweet torture, but torture nonetheless. He wondered if she realised that and was paying him back a little for his earlier rejection of her.
If so, the next week or two were going to be difficult. Interesting, but difficult.
Matt woke to the sound of a cup being placed on the table beside him, and he opened his eyes just sufficiently to let in the light.
Nyssa was bent over, looking at him in a way that suggested she’d said something and expected a response. For the moment, though, he was content to enjoy the sight of her long tanned legs, revealed in all their glory by the thigh-skimming T-shirt she’d worn to bed.
Her hair was still rumpled, her eyes sleepily sexy, and, thinking him still asleep, she reached out and gently stroked the edge of his ear with the tip of one finger. In another time, another life, he’d have responded to his instincts and tumbled her down beside him on the sofa.
‘Matt?’
Her voice, uncertain, just a bit nervous, put his libido on hold, and he groaned as if only just stirring. ‘What?’ And he opened his eyes.
‘I said, wake up, sleepyhead. Fine watch dog you are.’
He didn’t move. ‘You said one dance. I’m not used to this kind of fast living.’
Nyssa laughed, relaxed. ‘Yesterday was nothing. Today it’s Harry’s turn, so you’d better get this coffee down you while I take a shower.’ As she said the word she plainly remembered making him a promise about a shower, and she backed away, blushing with confusion. ‘I…um…won’t be long.’
He lifted his head so as not to miss a single moment of her retreat into the bedroom. ‘Do we have to stay?’
She had legs to die for and the neatest backside that would fit so perfectly into his palms as he pulled her close… His body remembered how she’d melted against his in time to the music, her arm
s entwined about his neck. She’d needed someone to hold her, help her forget that Gil Paton was dancing with his pregnant wife a few feet away. He’d been handy, that was all. To imagine more was to invite heartbreak. But it had taken hours for his body to climb down, forgive him. Sleep had been hard won, and his head ached with the hours of tension.
‘Couldn’t we creep out the back way while everyone’s still thinking about breakfast?’
‘Wimp,’ she said, but not unkindly, as she stopped and turned to face him, clinging to the doorframe, half hiding behind it. ‘James and Gil will already be down on the beach, building the barbecue. And they’re both older than you.’
‘Oh, well, never let it be said that I can’t pull my weight in the sandcastle-building department. You’ve got two minutes in that shower.’
She didn’t move, just smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘Last night. Everything.’ Then she was gone and a moment later he heard the water running. He forced himself to reach out for the coffee, and drink it very slowly.
‘Matt.’ He turned as Gil Paton joined him at the barbecue.
‘Gil,’ he responded laconically, concentrating on turning over the spiced chicken wings he’d been charged with keeping an eye on.
‘I was hoping to catch you on your own.’
‘You’ve got me. What’s your problem?’
‘Nyssa.’ He said it as if it had been the burden of a lifetime. ‘What really happened at Delvering?’
‘Happened? A few thugs broke up the meeting. Nothing to get into a sweat over.’
‘I wanted to stay, but she’s so damned stubborn.’ Gil shrugged. ‘I thought she seemed a bit jittery last night, though. It isn’t like her and I wondered if there was more to it.’
Matt thought that Gil Paton could have put a stop to Nyssa’s hero-worship a long time ago by behaving a little less heroically, caring a little less obviously, by being prepared to sacrifice her good opinion of him.
‘You needn’t worry about Nyssa, Gil. She’s not a child any more.’
Paton stiffened imperceptibly. ‘I know that. But I’ve known her a long time—’