by Penny Jordan
‘Do we have to have dinner?’ Harriet asked him warily.
‘It’s a damned sight safer option that staying here and finishing what we just started,’ Matt answered her brutally. ‘And let me warn you that right now, the way I’m feeling, it would be damnably easy to stand in for Ben and play out your little fantasy for you, if that’s the way your mind is working.’
‘No, it is not!’ Harriet denied immediately, but her face was burning. Inside her a voice was urging her to give in to her real feelings and take what he was offering without questioning the reasons for his offer, no matter what the consequences!
For a moment she was almost tempted to tell him that the only man who ever featured in her sexual fantasies was him, but somehow she managed to stop herself.
‘I’ll call that taxi,’ Matt said flatly.
As he walked away from her he was cursing himself under his breath. If he didn’t get some space between them, and soon, he would be taking her up to the penthouse with him—if he could last out that far—and the kind of sex they would be sharing would be hot and immediate and dangerously soul-baring.
At least if he sent her straight to the hotel he would be able to calm himself down. A cold shower might be a good idea as well, he derided himself, as he felt the almost painful ache of his straining erection.
What the hell was happening to him? The thought of having sex here in the office would normally have been more of a turn-off for him than a turn on!
* * *
He had booked a room, Matt had said, but this wasn’t a mere ‘room,’ it was a palatial suite! Round-eyed, Harriet looked at the table the waiter had just wheeled in and left: mouthwatering-looking canapés, strawberries dipped in chocolate, champagne on ice—a truly romantic offering! Had someone told them they were about to celebrate their ‘engagement’?
Just thinking about it sent a surge of stomach churning mixed emotions racing through her. Her heart twisting, and on edge, Harriet walked through the bedroom. The business clothes she had in her case were hardly going to suit the occasion, were they? She hadn’t packed her black dress, and—
Abruptly she came to a halt as she stared at the huge bed, and the glossy designer carrier bag on it.
There was a card pinned to the bag with her name on it in Matt’s handwriting. Uncertainly she took it off and read it: Hope I’ve got the right size.
Frowning, Harriet withdrew the tissue-wrapped package from the carrier bag and opened it, her heart somersaulting with a mixture of disbelief, angry pride and a sharp pang of pure female delight, which she tried to subdue as she saw the dress she had admired earlier in the day.
What on earth—? How on earth—? It had to be mere chance, didn’t it, that Matt had bought her this particular dress? His action had to have been motivated by his desire not to be shown up by her, didn’t it?
That knowledge alone should have had her wrapping the dress up immediately and refusing to even look at it, never mind thinking about wearing it! And perhaps if it had been any other dress but this one she would have done just that. But as she shook it free of the tissue Harriet caught her breath. It was so perfect for her, and the right size as well. In other circumstances she would have loved wearing such a dress for her lover. Her lover… For Matt.
Emotion choked her.
She wasn’t going to wear it, of course. She couldn’t! Not the dress or the little strappy shoes that went with it either.
And yet she was holding it up in front of her, and her heart gave a sharp pang as she recognised that she had been right. The dress was perfect for her.
And perfect for the occasion.
She had never owned a dress like this. Matt had never seen her wearing anything that declared so emphatically that this was a dress a woman wore for herself and for a man… Her man.
Wearing such a dress would be almost a declaration. An invitation. At least it would be for her.
And that would certainly be one way of proving to Matt that he was totally wrong about her feelings for Ben, a small inner voice told her recklessly. There was still a sharp sensual ache deep inside her body, and suddenly it became much fiercer, an ache that included longing and excitement as well as arousal.
She gave a small, reckless toss of her head.
Tonight she and Matt would be celebrating their engagement, and if she chose to take the situation he had created a step further, if she chose to take the fantasy a step further, and celebrate it in the most natural way of all for a woman in love to celebrate that love, then why shouldn’t she do so? She was an adult, and answerable only to herself.
And, as today had shown, Matt wasn’t immune to her—even if it was only sexual desire that aroused him.
Why shouldn’t she claim this night as her own? Why shouldn’t she claim Matt as her own, even if it was only for a few hours?
The audacity of her own thoughts shocked and excited her, feeding the everlasting flame of her love. Was it really such a dreadful thing for her to want to be with him in the most intimate way possible, the way nature had ordained for a woman to be with the man she loved? And she did so love Matt!
Harriet drew in a deep sigh and touched the delicate fabric tentatively. She didn’t have much time to make up her mind. Matt would be here soon. She looked at the chilling champagne. Her heart was racing, her blood seething through her veins as though it was already filled with champagne bubbles. Perhaps if she were to have one glass—just to calm her nerves a little! It was only champagne after all! Quickly before she could change her mind she reached for one of the bottles and opened it neatly.
Pouring herself a glass, she took it into the bathroom with her, appreciatively admiring the extensive and very expensive range of toiletries. The hotel management were certainly thorough; there was even a sealed pack of condoms tucked discreetly into a basket of other personal requisites.
Half an hour later, she was just finishing her second glass of champagne and studying her reflection in the bedroom mirror, when the suite door opened and Matt strode in.
Her heart rocked on its axis and a rush of love surged through her. He had changed his casual clothes for the formality of a dark suit and a shirt and tie, and Harriet feasted her hungry gaze on him for as long as she dared.
When he saw her, Matt came to an abrupt halt.
‘The dress was the right size, then?’ he demanded almost brusquely.
‘It fits perfectly,’ Harriet answered softly. ‘But you really shouldn’t have bought it for me.’
‘Think of it as a bonus,’ he answered tensely. ‘You deserve one after solving the Jardines problem for me.’
He didn’t sound like a man who had just had a problem solved, Harriet decided, her own mood altering to match his when she saw the way he was frowning and felt the coldness emanating from him.
‘I opened the champagne,’ she said. ‘Do you want a glass?’
His frown seemed to deepen.
‘You were the one who said we had to behave as though we were genuinely celebrating our engagement,’ Harriet reminded him, sensing his disapproval.
‘In public,’ Matt said harshly, immediately flicking back his cuff to look pointedly at his watch. ‘Our table is booked for eight and it’s almost that now.’
His hostility was flattening the bubbles of her own earlier excitement threatening to steamroller over the sharp thrill of delicious and wanton anticipation the champagne had nurtured. And not just the champagne, if she were honest. The intimacy they had shared earlier had left her sensually intoxicated and eager to continue from where they had left off, leading her into a dangerous world of fantasy. But Matt, it was plain, had totally dissociated himself from what had happened. She couldn’t let go of her own dreams so easily, though. Her love was a fierce power, overwhelming her normal caution.
A small spurt of rebellious recklessness kicked dangerously to life inside her.
Lowering her lashes, she tried to hide what she was feeling, unaware of just how unintentionally seductive she
looked as she reminded him, ‘We’re celebrating our engagement. Surely we’re allowed to be a little bit late? After all, it’s obvious from the champagne the hotel has left that they expect us to have our own private celebration…’
Matt witnessed her unexpected transformation from virgin into seductive vamp with a feeling in his gut that made him want to take hold of her and—
‘How many glasses of that stuff did you say you’ve had?’ he demanded, striding over and removing the bottle from the ice bucket.
‘Only two,’ Harriet told him defensively. ‘Plus the one I poured for you!’
‘Three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach?’
There was a look in his eyes that was irritated and then for a brief moment filled with something else—a hot, hungry maleness which he quickly leashed.
‘I ate some of the canapés and chocolate strawberries,’ Harriet assured him virtuously. ‘You should try one, Matt, they’re delicious,’ she encouraged, picking one up and offering it to him.
When he shook his head, she held the chocolate-coated fruit to her own lips, licking the chocolate coating off with happy and uncalculated sensuality.
Matt closed his eyes.
He had deliberately delayed getting here, knowing that in his present vulnerable emotional and physical state he just could not trust himself to be alone with her. The last thing he was equipped to cope with was this. A Harriet transformed into the most unbelievably irresistible virgin turned vamp, and having an effect on him that made him want to strip that damnably erotic dress she was wearing from her body, pour what was left of her glass of champagne over her skin and lick it from her whilst it cascaded over her breasts and pooled in the hollow her belly before. And as for those strawberries…
He looked into her face and saw the soft, illuminated look in her eyes, the half-shy, half-bold way she was looking back at him. He took a step towards her. If she thought he was going to let her get away with looking at him like that, tormenting him like that… Any minute now she was going to end up on the bed, and he was—
Grimly he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like a diver who’d just come up for air. She didn’t know what she was doing—and she certainly didn’t know how he felt, he reminded himself.
Refusing to look at her, he removed the ring box from his pocket.
‘Look, get this damned thing on, and then we’re going down to dinner. And you are not having any more champagne.’
Harriet tilted her chin.
‘We are getting engaged. You have to put the ring on for me,’ she told him, waggling her ring finger.
Three glasses of champagne and she was like this? He felt like a hormonal teenager, recognising for the very first time what the male hunting instinct was all about, Matt recognised grimly.
He was sorely tempted to tell her that if he went near her now he wouldn’t be putting the ring on her finger, but taking the dress she was wearing off her body.
* * *
If Matt came over to her now, she was going to put her arms around his neck and kiss his mouth as she had been longing to do for what seemed like forever, Harriet decided dizzily, far more intoxicated by his presence than she would have been by any amount of champagne. And then she was going to tell him that there was no way she was going to get engaged to him unless he took her to bed first. And then if that didn’t work she was going to—
Her gaze swivelled to the suite door as it suddenly rattled and two waiters came in, plainly not expecting to find them there.
‘It’s all right—you can take the trolley,’ Matt said. ‘We were just leaving…’
‘But please leave the champagne…’ Harriet called out, as Matt took hold of her arm and practically dragged her into the corridor.
Before they reached the lift he pushed the ring onto her finger, and all she could do as he bustled her inside it to join the other silent passengers was give him a reproachful glower.
‘Have you ever made love in a lift?’ she asked him conversationally, once it had stopped and they had got out.
Matt stared at her. Vintage champagne on an empty stomach was obviously a new experience for her.
‘No, I haven’t,’ he told her tersely.
‘Have you ever wished you had, though?’ Harriet persisted.
‘Not as much as I wish you had stopped at one glass of champagne,’ Matt said through gritted teeth, and he almost marched her into the hotel’s exclusive restaurant area.
Harriet produced another pout, and then became distracted as she caught sight of herself in the bank of mirrors that decorated the corridor.
‘This dress is just so lovely,’ she sighed. ‘It makes me feel like a different person.’
‘It’s certainly making you behave like one,’ Matt allowed drily. If he was honest, Matt knew that if circumstances had been different her unexpected transformation would have had him not just tenderly amused and protective, but more than ready to play the erotic game she had so innocently started.
The sight of Harriet with her inhibitions and her defences removed was proving to be a very dangerous and powerful aphrodisiac so far as he was concerned.
‘We’ve just become engaged,’ Harriet reminded him reprovingly. ‘I’m supposed to be in love with you, remember?’ She flashed her ring at him. ‘And I just want you to know, Mr Cole,’ she said breathily, mimicking Marilyn Monroe, ‘that you are the sexiest man alive and I’d much rather be upstairs alone in the suite with you than down here in the restaurant.’
‘Really? Rather than being with Ben?’
‘Who’s Ben?’ Harriet asked him sweetly.
* * *
‘I take it you won’t be drinking any wine with your meal?’ Matt asked Harriet drily as they studied their menus.
‘No…I think I’d better stick with the champagne,’ Harriet answered innocently, looking up enquiringly when she heard him make a muffled sound.
* * *
‘Why don’t you have another coffee?’
‘I’ve already had three cups,’ Harriet reminded Matt solemnly as the waiter lifted the coffee pot.
The restaurant was almost empty, and the bubbles of excitement singing in her veins had become a giddy fluttering of butterflies in her stomach as she contemplated what lay ahead.
In fact she was a little surprised that she hadn’t had any second thoughts—or abandoned her reckless decision before she could put it into practice.
The truth was, though, that if anything her determination to return to the suite and somehow, by hook or by crook, ensure that tonight Matt became her lover had grown stronger during the evening rather than weaker.
The effects of the champagne she had drunk earlier might have worn off, but the effects of her love for Matt and the intimacy they had shared had not!
‘I think they’re waiting for us to leave,’ she told Matt, ruefully indicating the hovering waiters.
‘Yes. If you’re sure you don’t want any more coffee I’ll take you up to the suite,’ Matt accepted curtly.
As he escorted her out of the room Harriet turned towards him and whispered mischievously, ‘Thank you for my beautiful ring, darling,’ and then reached up and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth.
The minute he had seen her safely inside the suite he was going to leave her there alone, Matt decided grimly. She hadn’t had any alcohol to drink over dinner, and surely the effects of that damned champagne should have worn off by now, but she had spent the entire evening openly flirting with him. As the lift doors opened and they stepped together into its empty intimacy he decided that he didn’t know which he wanted to do the most—strangle her, or…
When he saw that she was looking at him with liquid-eyed expectant hopefulness, he took a deep breath and told himself that he must be imagining things. He made sure he stood well away from her.
The lift took them to their floor and he waited for her to step out. Harriet turned to him and told him reproachfully, ‘You might at least have kissed me, Matt. Every woman ha
s a right to be kissed in a lift once in her life—especially when she has just got engaged…’
Removing the suite key from his pocket, Matt unlocked the door and held it open.
Happily Harriet stepped inside, and turned to smile at him.
‘Sleep well,’ Matt told her dismissively. ‘I’ll give you a call in the morning.’
Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘You’re leaving me here on my own?’
Matt could hear the disbelief in her voice. ‘I might as well go back to the penthouse.’
‘Matt!’ she protested, unable to conceal her distress. But it was too late—he was already closing the door.
This couldn’t be happening to her! He couldn’t have left her! But he had.
Harriet blinked hard, swallowing the taste of her disappointment.
So much for her plans!
* * *
Matt reached the lift and pressed the bell.
He had done the right thing. He knew that. If he had stayed he could count on one hand the seconds before he would have had Harriet in his arms, showing her just what effect her behaviour towards him over dinner had had on him, and how dangerous it was to flirt with a man as much as she had flirted with him. Especially when that man was already so damned hungry for her that—
The lift arrived and the doors opened.
Matt got in and pressed the button.
Have you ever made love in a lift? What the hell kind of question was that? He closed his eyes and then opened then again as the lift reached the car park floor.
Disconsolately Harriet removed her precious dress and wandered into the bathroom. The whirlpool bath caught her attention and she heaved a small sigh.
She might as well enjoy some sinful self-indulgence, even if it was not the kind she had longed for.
Turning on the taps, she ran a bath and removed the rest of her clothes.
* * *
Matt reached into his pocket for his car keys, frowning as he realised that he had only both suite keys.
Now, why on earth had he done that? Or did he really need to ask himself?