by Penny Jordan
* * *
UPSTAIRS in her room, Nicola was frantically packing her things into her case, with no clear idea of exactly how she was going to get home, only a burning need to escape from the scene of her appalling humiliation just as quickly as she could.
She hadn’t dared look directly at Matt when Jonathon had made his dénouement, and afterwards she had felt too physically ill to do anything other than give in to her need for flight.
Now as she packed, she was still shaking, shivering, really, like a terrified animal. Why had she not realised that Jonathon might be at the conference? Why had she not known that he would recognise her—both of them?
That way she could have...
What? Refused to attend the conference? She shivered more intensely. She would rather a thousand times that Matt had recognised her himself, no matter how painful that would have been, rather than endure what had just happened, although it wasn’t so much the public humiliation that had panicked her.
It was what Matt must be thinking...knowing now who she actually was...remembering. And he must have remembered. She made a small, anguished sound she didn’t even hear, the sound of an animal caught in a trap.
Well, it was over now. There was no way she could continue working for Matt, no way he would want to have her working for him. Even if she hadn’t made a total fool of herself by rushing out of the dining-room like that, the very fact that she was who she was...
She had no idea what she was going to tell her parents. Her mouth twisted wryly. Probably the truth. She had no resources left to conjure up some suitably convincing fiction, and anyway, she was tired of living a lie...of having to pretend...of daily, almost hourly being terrified that Matt was going to look at her and remember.
She didn’t hear the pass-key turn in the lock, and her first intimation of Matt’s presence was when she turned her head and saw him standing in the door, sombrely watching her.
Immediately she tensed, unable to stop the wave of hot colour that burned over her skin.
‘Good, you’ve almost packed,’ she heard him saying evenly.
She went as white as she had been red, unable to control her reaction to the pain she was suffering.
She had known what would happen, of course...had known that he wouldn’t tolerate any kind of relationship between them now, either personal or professional—but still, to hear him saying it, to see the coldness in his eyes and to hear the remoteness in his voice made Nicola feel physically sick with an anguish she simply could not control.
She hadn’t expected that he would do this, that he would follow her up here to watch while she left...to make sure that she left, she reflected.
When he’d opened the door, she had been in the act of putting the last of her things into her case, and now, as she stood there shivering, he came towards her, closing the door behind him, saying curtly.
‘Is that everything?’
Numbly she nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying.
Somehow or other she managed to deposit what she was holding in the case on the bed, but when she tried to close it she was trembling so much, felt so weak that even that simple task was beyond her.
When Matt pushed her out of the way she flinched physically from him, sick with self-disgust and the horror of what had happened.
She heard him closing the case, snapping the locks tight. When he picked it up off the bed and turned towards her, she watched him numbly, still unable to look into his face.
She could see his hand, lean, hard, the nails cut short, a working hand...a man’s hand...his fingertips slightly rough. She gave a deep wrench—shudder. Once that hand...those hands had touched her...caressed her...known her more intimately than any other male hands ever had or ever would, and yet she had no memory of that intimacy, no awareness of it.
‘If you’re ready...’
Ready? She trembled wildly. Surely...
He was still holding her case and seemed determined to keep on doing so. Did he actually want to physically ensure that she left the hotel? Was that the purpose behind his presence here?
She still couldn’t speak. If she did... She took a deep, gulping breath of air and nodded her head, tensing as he strode past her and opened the door.
She wanted to object, to protest that he had no need to do this, no need to add this further humiliation to what she had already suffered; but she simply could not find the strength to do so.
In the lift she stood as far away from him as she possibly could, and yet still she was acutely aware of him—of his presence...his heat...his maleness...his power.
The hotel foyer was almost deserted. As he headed for the main exit, Matt stopped her, gesturing towards the reception desk as he said curtly.
‘Wait here.’
She had no option since he still had her case. As she watched him hand in her key and say something to the receptionist, she realised that she ought to ask the girl to get her a taxi, but then, perhaps there was a taxi rank somewhere outside. Most hotels did seem to have them these days.
In Bournemouth itself she could get a train—not directly home, perhaps, but to somewhere where she could change lines and then—
As she tried to clear her muddled thoughts to make some effort to pull herself free of the shocked trauma that still gripped her, Matt came back to her.
Even now his good manners didn’t fail him, she noticed miserably as he opened the door for her.
She looked tensely around, hoping to see some sign of a lurking taxi, but Matt was taking hold of her, urging her towards the car park, and it would have taken more physical energy than she possessed to resist him.
It was only when she realised that he was leading her towards his parked car that she stopped, but he seemed not to notice her shock because he walked past her and opened the door, calmly placing her case in the boot.
It was cool outside, and she shivered in her thin silk dress, her body now reacting physically to the shock she had suffered.
‘You’re cold,’ he told her quietly. ‘Get in the car.’
‘Get in the car...?’ Nicola stared at him, her face flooding with colour again. She knew how much he must want to be rid of her, but this was taking things to ridiculous extremes. Surely he didn’t think she might actually want to stay after what had happened? Surely he must realise that, no matter how badly she had behaved in the past, she was an adult now, not a child.
‘There’s no need for this,’ she told him huskily. ‘I can get a taxi. I realise you want me to leave—’
‘We’re both leaving,’ Matt interrupted her curtly. ‘Now please get in the car.’
They were both leaving? Nicola’s guilt increased tenfold. Confronted by Jonathon’s gibe, she had thought only of herself, her own reactions, now she was forced to realise that Jonathon had not only humiliated her, but that he had also humiliated Matt, although in a different way.
Matt wasn’t that casually-dressed, insouciant young man of eight years ago any more. Now he was a respected, astute businessman, whose credibility could suffer untold damage if it became public knowledge that he had attended such an important conference accompanied not so much by a responsible member of his staff, but by a woman with whom he was having some kind of brief sexual fling—which was what Jonathon had been intimating, and what Jonathon would continue to intimate, and enjoy doing so, she recognised as she shivered on the tarmac.
She wasn’t aware of Matt coming towards her until she heard him say warningly, ‘The car, Nicola,’ and realised from the look on his face that if she didn’t do so voluntarily she could quite easily find herself being placed bodily and forcibly in that vehicle.
Shakily she walked away from him and got into the car. If she had thought the drive out here an ordeal, then how on earth was she going to endure the return home?
The only thing she could do, she decided sickly when Matt got in beside her and started the engine, was to turn away from him and pretend she had gone.
That way, at least they would both be spared having to speak to one another. That she owed him an apology she knew, but she had no idea how to frame it, and besides, what good would mere words do? They couldn’t wipe out what had happened.
It showed how Matt felt about the incident that he had actually left the conference because of it. That realisation added to her guilt as she turned away from him and determinedly closed her eyes, barely aware of the soft click of the central locking system being activated as Matt set the car in motion.
No matter how urgently he wanted to talk to her, he couldn’t do so now...not here at the hotel...and certainly not while he was driving.
He glanced at his watch.
It was close to nine o’clock now... Which meant that it would be going on for midnight before they got back. He looked thoughtfully at Nicola’s still form. She was far too tense really to be asleep. As he studied the soft sweep of her hair, so softly silky and sleek, he smiled to himself, remembering the mass of tousled curls, the too bright clothes, the startling make-up... No wonder he hadn’t recognised her—at least, not visually.
His body might have done, though. It had certainly reacted to her with a startling intensity. And his emotions? He tensed a little, remembering how often he had thought about her when he was in America...how quickly he had tried to contact her once he got back. Only she had left then, and according to her former employers she had not left any forwarding address.
He thought he was beginning to understand why. He hadn’t missed the way she had been watching Jonathon, that night, when she’d thought herself unobserved, and he had had enough experience of teenage girls from his own sisters to recognise one in the throes of a bad crush. Initially that had been one of the reasons he had played up to her—because he felt sorry for her, and because he hadn’t particularly liked Jonathon Hendry even then.
Tense with misery, Nicola stared out of the car window, longing for the journey to be over. With any luck her parents would be in bed when she got back, which at least meant that she would not have to make any explanations to them until tomorrow. Tomorrow... She smiled painfully to herself, wishing she were a hundred years away from what was happening to her, and knowing that no matter how much time passed she would never forget the anguish of this evening.
CHAPTER TEN
‘NICOLA.’
As the familiar male voice penetrated her sleep, Nicola reluctantly opened her eyes, awareness flooding back to her as she recognised the interior of Matt’s car, and remembered what had happened.
The car was now stationary but, when she looked through the window, instead of the familiar outline of her parents’ home, all she could see in the darkness was the shape of an irregularly built, low-roofed cottage.
As she turned towards Matt, he forestalled her questions, saying firmly, ‘I think you and I need to talk, don’t you?’
To talk, at this time of the night? It was almost midnight, and anyway, what was there to talk about? It went without saying that Matt would expect her to hand in her resignation, and no amount of apologising on her part could wipe out what had happened, but before she could voice these thoughts Matt was opening his car door, apparently taking her agreement for granted as he walked round to her side of the car and opened the door, waiting for her to alight...or making sure she couldn’t escape, Nicola reflected shakily as she got out.
As Matt guided her towards the cottage he told her quietly, ‘I thought it would be more comfortable for us both if we talked here rather than at the hotel.’
Nicola wanted to protest that she wanted to go home, but he was already inserting his key in the lock and opening the door, reaching past her to switch on the lights.
The hallway was narrow and dark, stairs leading sharply to the upper floor, doors opening to the left and right of the passage. Matt opened the right-hand one, indicating that she was to go inside.
Weakly she did so, blinking a little in the electric light as she stepped into the cottage’s sitting-room.
It was simply but comfortably furnished, and more homely than she would have expected from rented premises, due in the main to the books scattered throughout the room.
‘I prefer reading to watching television,’ Matt informed her, startling her with the ease with which he had read her mind. ‘Sit down, while I make us both a hot drink.’
Again she wanted to protest that she didn’t want a drink; she felt as though she was caught up in some sort of strange waking dream, in which she herself had no control of events, and could only participate under the direction of someone else.
It was an odd, weakening sensation, and must surely have had something to do with the trauma she had experienced, but even recognising that fact did not seem to enable her to do anything about it and, even while her stunned brain formed the thought that there was nothing to stop her from getting up and walking out of the cottage, Matt reappeared carrying two mugs of coffee. She was sitting in one of the deep leather chairs either side of the fireplace and, when Matt came towards her, she flinched back from him automatically, cringing as he put down the cup of coffee—not from him, but from herself and from all that she had caused to happen.
It seemed that he stood watching her for a long time before asking quietly, ‘You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Nicki?’
She wasn’t sure if it was the quietness of his voice, or the use or the small, personal diminutive of her name that caused her throat to lock, so that she could only shake her head in response to his question.
‘I’m sorry about what happened this evening, and I’m sorry too that I didn’t recognise you before.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘Perhaps if I’d paid more attention to my senses I might have done.’
While Nicola was still staring at him, wondering why on earth he was being so calm, so nice to her, when in reality he must be furiously angry with her and bitterly contemptuous of her into the bargain, he held out his hands to her and very gently took hold of her own.
Too bemused to resist, she allowed him to draw her to her feet, and lead her over to the settee.
‘I think we’ll be able to talk far more comfortably here, don’t you?’ he asked her steadily.
His smile disappeared as he told her.
‘Hendry’s comment was offensive in the extreme, and I’m not surprised that you were so upset but—’
‘But it wouldn’t have happened if I’d been honest with you and told you from the start who I was,’ Nicola interrupted him shakily. ‘Yes, I do know that. I...’ She could feel tears burning her eyes, and shook her head impatiently, trying to disperse them. Breaking down in tears now was the last thing she wanted to do, but she hadn’t been prepared for Matt being so kind, so understanding, so...so nice.
‘Well, maybe—but in the circumstances I think I can understand why you didn’t. Is that why you’ve held me so firmly at bay, Nicki...because of that night?’
The conversation wasn’t following the course she had expected at all. She gave him a grave, hunted look before saying despairingly, ‘Do you blame me? After—after that night with you...when I got to work and Jonathon said—when he—’ Her lips were trembling so much that she had to stop speaking.
‘What exactly did Jonathon say?’ Matt pressed her, his voice suddenly hard.
She couldn’t go on, and yet she had to. She owed Matt that much, at least.
‘He—he made it plain that since I’d...since I’d obviously spent the night with you, I’d be quite happy to—to do the same thing with him. He also made it quite plain just how he—how all men regarded someone like me who went to bed with a man without really knowing him...who went in for one-night stands,’ she told him sickly, unable to look directly at him now, but determined to spare herself nothing.
‘I—I couldn’t cope with it...with the gossip and innuendo, with Jonathon’s comments about—about me. I handed in my notice and came home determined to make sure that no man would ever, ever again have any reason to believe that I was—that I was the sort of
girl who went in for casual sex,’ she went on bleakly.
‘But unfortunately that kind of thing can’t just be put behind you so easily. I—I was afraid that—’
She stopped, unable to go on, until Matt said gently, ‘I think I understand what you’re trying to say, Nicki, but you must have eventually realised, the first time you did make love, that there had never been anything physical between you and me, and that all I was doing by letting you think there had was trying to shock you into acknowledging how dangerous that kind of behaviour could be. It was obvious to me that night we met just how innocent and naïve you were, and it was equally obvious that all that determined flirting wasn’t for my benefit, but for Jonathon’s. I had three teenage sisters. I knew how teenage girls behave. For some reason you reminded me of them, and I couldn’t help thinking how I’d feel if some man took advantage of them in the way that—
‘When you fell asleep in the car without giving me your address, I decided the best thing I could do was to take you home with me and let you sleep it off. I promised myself that when you woke up in the morning you were going to get the biggest big-brother lecture you’d ever heard, but then I overslept and I had that damned plane to catch—’ He broke off abruptly, suddenly aware of how pale she had become, how tense and disbelieving.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her urgently. ‘Nicki, what is it?’
He had to repeat the question several times before she seemed to hear it, her voice strained and low-pitched as she demanded huskily, ‘What do you mean, there hadn’t been anything physical between us?’
Now it was his turn to tense.
‘Exactly what I said,’ he told her after a brief pause. ‘You and I were never lovers. Nicki, you were just a child, a drunken child at that. You surely don’t think that I would have...?’ He shook his head.
‘And even if there was no one else before me, you and Gordon...’
He stopped when he saw her face.
‘How could I?’ she demanded passionately. ‘How could I, after what I’d done...when for all I knew...? How could I ever explain? I would have had to have lied.’ She gave a deep shudder. ‘I was living a lie as it was...pretending to be something I wasn’t. I didn’t dare allow myself to become involved, to fall in love...to have to pretend.’