by Kris Pearson
He raised a watery hand. “Swam like a fish.”
“We lived in the water,” Hamish said. “Our father had several postings up in the Pacific Islands. It was a great life for kids.”
“I hated being sent back to New Zealand for school later on,” Matthew added.
“You took it harder than me. But it should have been easier for you—I was already here.”
“Four years older—that’s a vast gap at the ages we were. You had your own life by the time I arrived.”
Suddenly Kate saw him in a different light. Had he been lonely as a teenager? Surely his innate confidence and bantering charm would have got him through anything?
“Me being older was the best thing that could have happened to you,” Hamish said with certainty. “You lost yourself in those computers. Jumped the queue. Got so far ahead of everyone else, it set you up for life.”
Matthew grinned wryly at his brother. “It’s okay looking back from here,” he said. “Not so much fun at the time. Too much, too soon.” He turned to Kate. “I was good at tennis though. Grew tall very fast. Had long arms—very handy.”
“Spider-man,” Hamish added, and they all laughed.
“What about you, Diana?” Kate asked.
Diana closed her eyes and leaned back against the edge of the pool. “I’m a country girl—mad on horses. Pony Club gymkhanas...Hunt Club...would have loved to be a jockey actually, which horrified my mother.”
“But your brother had a friend who was irresistible,” Hamish suggested.
“I didn’t think you were all that great to start with,” she teased.
“I grew on you,” he said complacently.
“Like a rash,” she agreed. She gave him a fond kiss on his nearest cheek and pushed herself up out of the water. “That’s enough for me—I’m turning into a prune,” she said, inspecting her hands. Kate rose up as well, and the water poured down her legs in silvery streams. The air in the room was now bitingly cold. She shivered and folded her arms across her breasts.
Matthew surged up and reached for the big soft spa towels on a nearby shelf. He tossed one to Diana, but shook the other out and wrapped it around Kate, pinning her arms to her body as she stood in the water, suddenly far too close to his gleaming shoulders and chest.
“Can’t have our tropical flower catching cold,” he said, rubbing her back and arms through the towel. The hand against her back started making slower and slower circles.
Her breath caught in her throat. What if there was no towel? If his strong, long-fingered hand was sliding against her bare skin? She wrenched herself away, regretful and desperate, emotions once again in turmoil. Stepping from the pool, she struggled out of the towel so she could mop at her legs, and fled.
Too late, she realised her clothes and jewellery were still in the changing room. She’d collect them in the morning. The thought of running into him again in the darkened hallway was too much to contemplate.
She crouched behind her closed door, pulses racing, as she rubbed the towel more thoroughly down her legs. She’d given herself only the most perfunctory rub-down in the spa-room—just enough to save the floor from a trail of water.
She’d totally ignored Matthew, calling back a collective goodnight as she bolted away from them all...from him...of course from him. And his glorious shoulders. And his clever hands. And his compelling icy eyes.
She expelled her breath in a frustrated rush. What was she going to do?
She crossed the dense carpet to the en suite bathroom and peeled the swimsuit off. Her bed lay piled with all the new clothes he’d bought her. She turned back and gathered up the concealing robe, again running her fingers with pleasure along the pink silk trim. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. Oh, Katie, Katie, she muttered.
She stopped, regarding her huge-eyed face with desperation. What a giveaway! How could she ever hope to outwit him—she was a lamb ready for his slaughter. And wearing the soft cream covering he’d provided, too...what a cruel joke.
But not a bad looking victim, she decided, holding the robe open and turning her tall body to advantage in the flattering light. Legs that went on forever—it would be a pity to hide them with a long-skirted dress at the party. Maybe she could find something with a revealing split?
A slender waist. Hips that were womanly without being wide. Her years of swimming training had seen to that. Breasts that were a nice handful but no more—and high and perky because of it. Prominent collarbones, smooth shoulders, a long neck.
And heaps of hair. She pulled it free of the fastening and shook it around her in a luxuriant cloud. She’d cursed her tangled curls as a child, and found them a real nuisance under a bathing cap, but now she blessed the volume and bounce. Even on a bad day, she still had good hair. Black and shiny as plump Christmas cherries. Soft as thistledown. Thick as the summer floss on pampas grass.
She turned for a glimpse of her long back, and then dropped the robe lower. Simon had adored her butt—never missed an opportunity to give her a little pat on the way by. But Simon was gone.
She thought about him as she pulled the robe back over her body and sashed it. Simon was gone. Gone and somewhat forgotten, she was surprised to find.
She took pleasure hanging her unexpected clothes in the big wardrobe. The soft possum jerseys were jewel-bright and sinfully warm. Maybe she’d wear one with her new jeans in the morning.
Once the bed was clear, she stowed the cosy robe away, had the quickest of showers, and smoothed freesia-scented body lotion over as much skin as she could easily reach.
Sighing, she pulled the soft white nightdress on and slipped into bed.
Darkness and silence enveloped her. She dozed for an unknown time, and then came abruptly awake.
A noise. A rhythmic creaking. Diana’s soft laugh through the wall. An exclamation of pleasure. Silence. A grunt from Hamish and a tortured moan.
“Ssshhh!” That from Diana. Sharp and commanding.
A chuckle from Hamish.
Silence again for several minutes. Had Kate been imagining it? No—the faint creaking resumed, faster this time.
The house was so isolated there were no other noises to drown out their lovemaking. No traffic. No soughing wind.
God, she didn’t need this. Not with the temptation of Matthew, the memories of Simon, the delicious awakenings stirring through her as she attempted to begin a new life.
Kate’s absolute aloneness hit her like a hammer. She clamped her arms around her ribs in an effort to quell the disturbing trembling that shook her from head to toes. Surging waves of misery washed the length of her body. Unbidden tears sprang from her eyes and she swiped at them furiously.
Terrified she’d lose control, and weep noisily enough to be heard by the lovers through the wall, she tossed back the bedclothes, sank her feet into the deep wool carpet, stood, and tip-toed out along the hallway on shaky legs.
She turned into the wide main gallery and headed for the living area, well away from the bedrooms. Sensors switched on low lights as she moved forward, making it easy to find her way. Here the floor was tiled and harder underfoot, but blessedly warm from the under-floor heating. She wished she’d stopped long enough to find her slippers, but it was too late now. She sank down into one of the chairs by the huge windows and let her tears roll, unheeded, as everything collided to reduce her to a ball of misery.
Her beloved mother was dead. Her father had found new happiness with another woman. Her boyfriend Simon was definitely in the past. And now, in this new place, she was even more alone. No local friends. No certainty of what lay ahead. It was suddenly all too much for her; she wept without restraint.
Matthew snapped alert as he detected the light level brightening outside his partly closed door. He rose silently from bed. Someone was creeping about, and there were secrets in his office he’d rather keep safely away from strangers’ eyes—especially the enticing green eyes of the gorgeous and mysteriou
s Miss Pleasance.
Robert Pleasance headed SouthernTel, a rival company. The lucrative telecommunications world was cutthroat beyond belief. The two men had often crossed swords.
Matthew had quizzed Kate energetically at the cafe, learning nothing about Rob more than establishing he and Kate were father and daughter. She’d acted puzzled, innocent, and dismissive she was the least bit important.
He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his jaw. Maybe this was the evidence he’d been waiting for. There was no reason to leave the bedrooms at night. Each had an en suite bathroom. He’d lay odds it was Kate moving about his house in secret, finally making her move.
He walked with caution, clad only in slippery black pyjama bottoms. Even in winter, he hated anything wrapped around his neck in bed. He drew level with the office door and peered in. Nothing. No small bobbing torch light. No Kate. So far, so good.
He approached the living area, all his senses alert. She was there somewhere—he’d been drawn through the house by her faint fragrance.
He felt as well as heard her distress. Tension charged the air with humming energy. And then he noticed a new shape on the far side of the big room. He found her crumpled into one of the chairs where they’d sat with Diana for the afternoon’s coffee. She’d thrown back her head, and tears shone on her face in the moonlight. Her long throat jumped convulsively every few seconds. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body, as though for comfort, but plainly she’d found none. She’d squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from escaping, but still they leaked out from under her sooty lashes, trickling like quicksilver down into her cascade of hair.
“Katie,” he growled, bending close.
She jumped, and clamped a hand across her mouth to muffle a scream.
“Don’t panic...don’t panic...only me,” he murmured, smoothing his fingers down her cheek, trying to find the reason for her distress. She turned and burrowed her face into his palm, grabbing it with both of hers and holding it there. He felt her damp eyelashes, her soft lips, the tremors which still shook her. He stroked over her glorious hair with his other hand as though she was a lovely exotic animal needing gentling down after frightening treatment.
After a few moments, she released him with a low breathy moan. “Oh God, sorry.”
“Whatever’s wrong?” he asked with huge concern, squatting down beside the chair.
“Diana and Hamish are making love,” she whimpered.
He gave a sudden bark of mirth. The answer had been utterly unexpected. “Still gets a bonk on his birthday, does he? Good old Diana.”
“No,” she whispered, embarrassed and shuddering. “That’s not what I meant. It’s me. It’s me... I suddenly felt so alone. I was madly busy until Mum finally died and—” she sniffed back her tears—“I had to keep going and get everything done. And it’s all just hit me, being away from home and hearing other people so happy...and everything.” She pushed her hair back with an impatient hand and raised her tragic wet eyes to his.
“Delayed reaction,” he said. “Stand up.”
He took her by the upper arms and pulled her against him, fitting his hipbone into the join of her thighs and pressing her head down onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her against his body. A long quiet sigh escaped from between her lips. He felt it flutter over his skin.
Kate continued to weep, but less convulsively now. It was just a hug. A lovely consoling human hug from someone who cared enough to ask what was wrong. She slid an arm around his waist, and settled her face more comfortably against his shoulder, absorbing his heat and strength as it soothed and healed her. “This is very kind of you,” she murmured with polite resignation. “I’ve been quite rude to you today—”
“I’ve been asking for it,” he muttered.
“Yes, you have, actually,” she said with more spirit, making a small effort to pull away, and finding herself very firmly confined. She relaxed against him again, wondering how long before she could escape without seeming impolite... and wanting desperately to stay just where she was. What could she say to make the hug last a little longer? “May I see your tattoo?” she tried.
“No.”
“Why not? I saw some of it in the spa room.”
“I thought those shorts covered it.”
“Yes, but when you were teasing me, your trousers slid down a bit...”
She felt him nod. “Ah.”
“So why not—seeing I’ve already seen it?”
“It’s not for public consumption.”
“Is it obscene?”
“Not in the least. But it’s a personal thing. Only for me.”
She moved her hand around his waist, rubbing over his velvety skin. “Am I touching it?”
Matthew closed his eyes and gave silent thanks he’d not settled her against his groin. God—the sensation of her breasts against his skin... Her nightgown was thin and soft. Barely there. She may as well have been naked. “Yes. Some of it. Feeling better now?”
Kate nodded as she pulled away from him. Her hand trailed over his hip, pushing the loose pyjamas just a little lower.
“Scheming woman,” he said with mock severity, realising exactly what she was up to. And then some little devil made him cup a hand over his groin to hold the pyjamas close, and he undid the waistband for her. She slid the soft black fabric aside, pushing it down his flank a few inches, her breath catching as she uncovered whorls and curves and bands of pattern in the moonlight.
“Matthew....” she breathed. “It’s amazing....” She tried to push the fabric further, but he stopped her with his other hand.
“That’s distracted you quite enough,” he said huskily, turning aside to conceal himself again, and re-fastening the waistband.
“How far does it go?”
“As far as I wanted it to.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Since I was sixteen. That was the start of it.” He motioned her to sit down again, and took the chair beside her. She’d recovered her composure, but a little more time away from Hamish and Diana might be wise. “Dad was posted to Samoa for several years. They have the most amazing tattoos there—especially the chiefs and high born men. This is nothing...” He stayed silent for a few seconds, remembering. “They start far enough up to show above their lava-lavas and go right down to their knees. It’s the mark of a brave man if he can endure the process. It’s primitive.”
“And you endured it?”
Matthew shook his head. “Whole different deal, Katie. I designed what I wanted and had it done while I was at school in Auckland. A piece at a time as my pocket money allowed. In a safe commercial parlour. Starting where my father would never see it.”
“Surely they weren’t allowed to tattoo schoolboys?”
“Borrowed Hamish’s I.D. We looked enough alike in the photos. Each time I went home for the holidays, I wore a bigger swimsuit to hide the evidence.” He gave a small snort of amusement. “Dad probably thought I was turning into a prude.”
“And what did your friends think?”
“The boys at home were impressed. The teachers at school were horrified. But it was too late by then. As I told you, it’s for me—not for the rest of the world.”
“Everyone’s doing it now,” Kate said. “Not me yet, but I wondered about a little butterfly or something.”
“A ‘butt’-erfly,” he suggested.
“Yes, maybe,” she said, getting the joke and laughing softly.
They sat on in companionable silence for a while, Kate no longer sobbing, and now obviously curious about how far the tattoo extended; Matthew wondering if Hamish and Diana had concluded their celebrations.
He glanced at his watch, angling the face of it to the moon. “Almost one o’clock, Katie. We need some sleep so we can look after Lottie tomorrow. You’re better now? I’ll walk you back—okay?”
He held out his hand, against his better judgment, and she rose like a graceful ghost and took it. It seemed a
very small consolation after their earlier full-body embrace.
He was no closer to discovering why she was really in Queenstown. Her distress had certainly appeared genuine, and there’d been so sign of any house searching. But had she been simply testing the water? Experimenting to see how far she could explore without being detected?
They returned, unspeaking, to their rooms. When no other movements were apparent, the floor-lights gently dimmed and switched off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Without her wristwatch, Kate had no idea of the time. She peeked through the heavy curtains and found the sun up, the frost down. The world was white. Everything sparkled and shone.
Fearing that she’d overslept (marvellously, deeply, dreamlessly for once) she drew on the robe, found her slippers, and retrieved her clothes and jewellery from the changing room. Matthew’s gold chain glimmered at her, reminding her of the serpentine curves of his amazing tattoo.
It was past eight-thirty, she discovered to her surprise. They were due to collect Lottie around ten. She’d better hurry.
She walked down the long main gallery to the kitchen, and found coffee brewed but no other sign of habitation. She filled a mug, and took it across to where big glass doors had been folded open to the air.
It was totally still, crisp, and cloudless again. Matthew threaded his way through the big clumps of frosty tussock grass some distance from the house. She smiled shyly as he drew nearer. “Good morning.”
“So Sleeping Beauty awakes?”
She sighed. “I slept really well. It’s so quiet here.”
“Mostly,” he said with a grin.
Kate lowered her gaze, remembering the noises in the night. “Have they gone?” she asked with trepidation.
“Dogs to feed. Speaking of food, what will you eat? I brought breakfast to your room earlier but you were dead to the world.”
Had he watched her sleeping? She supposed so, from his Sleeping Beauty comment. Her skin prickled at the thought. She’d feel more comfortable once Lottie was home and deflecting his attention.