A Heat of the Moment Thing Read online

  “Shuffle in,” he said.

  Shit. I edged closer. Our thighs touched. I tried not to think about it.

  “No, closer.”

  Closer? Any closer and we’d be in each other’s clothes.

  I tried not to think about that, either. But with my girlie bits now wedged against his arse, it was hard to think about anything else.

  “That’s it. Now, put your arms around me.”

  My last defence crumbled. I gave in and hugged him close, suffused with heat and desire and bad-girl-itis.

  He gave me a thumbs-up and we were off.

  I moulded my body to his, trying to move in synch with him, and by the time we were out of London I felt like a pro. Then we hit the M25, freely flowing without the weekday traffic, and Matt opened throttle. The wind whipped at my hair and clawed at my clothes as we slip-streamed between cars, and I laughed out loud, intoxicated by the heady combo of speed, danger and lust.

  Through Leatherhead, we wove our way down ever-narrowing B-, C- and probably D-roads, finally swinging into what looked to be a wooded farmer’s track. Half a mile further and we emerged into an oasis of activity in the peaceful countryside.

  For a moment I said nothing, taking it all in.

  To our right lay a cluster of old farm buildings, converted and renovated for the Centre’s purposes. Directly ahead, facing the carpark, was reception. But it was the grassed area to our left that really grabbed my attention. Several activities were visible, all of them hosting groups of eager kids—a climbing wall, a tyre obstacle course, some blind-man’s buff rope activity, and a scary-looking high-wire thing up in the trees.

  I took off my helmet and stared. “Do people really attempt that?”

  “You can have a go yourself if you like.”

  I gulped. At that height? Without a safety net?

  He saw my expression and grinned. “Don’t worry, nobody’s going to force you.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “We haven’t had any deaths yet. A couple of broken legs . . .”

  My eyes widened.

  “Just kidding.” He winked. “Clients are more likely to return if they leave in one piece the first time.”

  Another appalled glance at the high-wires, and I let Matt lead me up the steps of a modest brick building into reception.

  The woman behind the counter beamed at him. “Morning, Sunshine. You’re popular today. Two messages and an invitation.” She handed them to him, then smiled at me. “And you’ve got company.”

  “Yes,” he said, giving her not even a hint of who I might be. “I’m showing Becky around.”

  She eyed me surreptitiously, clearly trying to categorise me. Business associate or personal friend? She opted for respectful professionalism and turned back to Matt. “They need an RSVP to the invitation today if possible.”

  Matt nodded, glancing over the messages. “Okay, tell them yes. I’ll get back to you later about the other messages.” Then, to me, “Come on, let’s check out what the kids are up to.”

  Back outside, we wandered from activity to activity, listening in as the tutors instructed their groups, watching as the teens tackled the challenges.

  We stopped at an obstacle course where everyone was working in pairs.

  “This is a trust exercise,” said Matt.

  The pair nearest us inched their way up a wooden slope and down the steps on the other side. It looked fairly straightforward—until I noticed one person was blindfolded.

  “The blindfolded person has to trust their partner,” said Matt, “or they won’t be able to finish the challenge.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  He shrugged. “Their loss. They feel left out when everyone else is buzzing about it afterwards. That’s incentive enough at this age.”

  The tutor walked over.

  “These guys are doing well,” said Matt.

  He nodded. “They attempted it yesterday as well, but they’re all far better at the trust thing today.” He turned to me. “Want to have a go? I’ve got a spare blindfold.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow at me.

  Why not? Today seemed to be all about new experiences. So I let Matt blindfold me.

  I yelped. “I can’t see a thing.”

  He chuckled, checked the knot was secure. “That’s the whole point.”

  His hands left my head, and I felt very alone in my dark little world. Alone, but not truly alone. I sensed him near. Where, exactly? An ever-so-faint breeze drifted past. My pulse raced. My stomach tightened. He was close, very close. I reached out a tentative hand, and found him. Or, at least, his jeans. His nicely filled . . .

  Shite.

  Matt drew in a sharp breath.

  I whipped my hand back, but it was too late. The damage was done. I’d just groped Matt. Big time. In broad daylight. And we both knew it.

  Matt cleared his throat. Another guy—please, not the tutor—chuckled. My face burned so hot that, any second, the blindfold would surely burn.

  “Oops,” I said. Which didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Matt’s voice was full of humour. “It’ll keep.”

  “I’ll leave you guys to it,” said the tutor, and we all knew he meant three was a crowd. Which it absolutely wasn’t. Hell, no. Three was good. Three was a safety net.

  “Please stay,” I wanted to beg, because God only knew how I was going to play it cool with this charismatic wild card who’d just blindfolded me and seemed about to lead me badly astray if I didn’t watch myself.

  But the tutor left and I said nothing to stop him. Then cursed myself for being the weakest-willed woman in the world.

  Matt took my hand, his thumb drawing circles on my fingers. I couldn’t think past his touch.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “How are you doing so far?”

  Aside from drowning in lust? Just dandy.

  “Take three steps forward.”

  I wiggled my fingers to stop his thumb’s caress. It was too distracting. “Like this?”

  “Yep, good. Now, in front of you are three tyres, one after the other. We need to walk through those.” He talked me through the mechanics and I followed his instructions to the letter.

  “I feel like I’m about to fall flat on my face.”

  “You’re doing brilliantly.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must be like for anyone who’s blind.”

  “Yeah. But people are amazingly good at adapting.”

  Just as I sensed a slight chill, Matt said, “We’re walking through some trees now. You might brush against some—”

  I shrieked and threw up a hand, warding off—oh. A leaf. I giggled at my idiocy.

  “Sorry.” I shuddered. “It felt like a creepy crawlie.”

  “I should’ve told you where we were sooner. Tree root,” he warned.

  I stumbled on it anyway. “Blindness sucks. I couldn’t do it. Not for real.”

  Matt gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “You could if you had to.”

  He paused. “But I know what you mean. Take away my legs . . .” He exhaled. “That would kill me.”

  I tried not to think about his legs. “People adapt, remember?”

  His voice grew harsh. “Yeah, but not always in a good way.” It didn’t feel like casual conversation anymore.

  We emerged into sunlight and warmth, but Matt remained silent and the air between us felt heavy. What—or who—was he thinking about? Life in a wheelchair? Somebody he knew? A kid he’d worked with?

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Okay . . .

  “Sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “Another time, maybe.”

  Which implied he wanted us to spend more time together. A little zing of pleasure vibrated through me. Then, close on its heels, guilt that I felt pleased. I shouldn’t want to spend more time with him. I couldn’t afford to want that. Matt put too much of me in jeopardy. My career. My heart. My self-worth.

  “Right, Ms People Adapt,”
he said, back to his normal bantering tone, “enough of that. We now have a tiny little gap to squeeze through so you’d better come close.” He tugged my hand.

  I approached cautiously, my free hand feeling in front of me at a very careful chest height to prevent another mortifying moment. I stopped when I touched him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The gap’s really, really small.” He pulled me tight against him.

  We edged sideways towards the gap.

  “That should do it,” he said.

  This gap had better be worth it. With my cheek against his chest and my boobs squashed against his midriff, this was yet another brilliant example of how not to avoid Matt.

  My palms felt clammy. My breath came in ragged bursts. My body was on fire.

  “How are we doing?” I asked.

  “Almost there. Breathe in.” He held me so close I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

  What I could tell was that he was as turned on as me.

  Our hips ground together. I didn’t dare breathe. Any more of this and I’d be a whimpering orgasmic mess.

  We crab-walked a little longer, every step taking me closer to the edge of sanity. His strength, his body, his smell, his touch . . . It was all too much. I bit down on my lip, hard.

  Finally we stopped.

  “Gotta love those gaps,” he said, sliding his hands up my quivering body, over my shoulders, on to my face. He slipped the blindfold off, and even that felt like a caress.

  I opened my eyes and stepped out of his embrace. Missed his body heat, told myself I didn’t. Looked around and saw we’d in fact covered far less ground than it had seemed. There were the trees, but . . .

  I frowned. “Where’s that gap we had to squeeze through?”

  Matt grinned.

  “What? You’re telling me there was no gap?”

  He shrugged.

  I gave his arm a slap. Laughed in spite of myself. “You conniving—”

  “Hey, you copped a feel. I owed you.”

  * * *

  “Well?” said Matt. “Are you going to try the high-wires?”

  I looked up at them and shuddered. “Am I hell.”

  “I’m scared of heights and I’ve done it. What’s your excuse?”

  “A freakish desire to live?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll personally guarantee your safety. I’ll escort you up there myself.”

  I eyed him sceptically. “What, and look after me like you did at the non-existent gap?”

  He chuckled. “I kept you safe.”

  Actually, he’d led me onto hazardous ground—not that I was about to tell him that.

  “I think I’ll pass this time. Thanks all the same.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Yep.”

  “See,” he said, linking arms with me as we headed back to reception, “it’s all about self-belief and trust around here. Stick with me and you’ll be scaling those high-wires before you know it.”

  I laughed, mostly because I couldn’t think of a suitable response. He so knew how to sweet-talk a girl.

  Why was it again I’d decided not to get involved with this man?

  “I’ll just check in here,” he said, “and then we’ll head back. Want to stop off for a pub lunch on the way back?”

  “Sure.” May as well bask in his attention a little longer.

  We re-entered reception, but this time the receptionist didn’t greet us with smiles. With not so much as a glance my way, she said, “Steph,” and handed Matt another message.

  His lips compressed in a thin line. His jaw tightened. His arm abandoned mine. In less than a second he’d shed his relaxed-charming-guy skin altogether and became a whole different, cold, business-like beast. I shivered.

  He shared a look with her—what were they not saying?—then turned abruptly to me. “Change of plans. I’ll drop you home. Something’s come up.”

  I blinked. Took the bucket-of-cold-water effect of his words on the chin.

  Well. That would teach me for having such a good time that I expected it to continue.

  “Sorry,” he added, and it was such a blatant afterthought that my own jaw clenched as tight as his.

  “Don’t be.” Even as I said it, he was dialling on his mobile phone.

  I zipped up my jacket, about-turned and marched outside. Who was Steph? And what could be so important about her that it turned Matt into a stranger?

  I stood by his bike and resisted tapping my foot while I waited. See? This was what happened when you went against your every instinct and followed your bloody heart. This was insulting, should never have happened, and was entirely my own fault.

  I shoved on my helmet and yanked at the straps. When Matt joined me I couldn’t look at him. I was furious, and couldn’t decide whether to direct it at him, this Steph woman, or myself. So I sat wordlessly at his back, resenting having to hold him but doing it because I’d resent falling off more.

  I tried to ignore the warmth where our bodies touched, tried not to feel turned on by his proximity. Failed on both counts.

  By the time we reached Leatherhead I was desperate to escape the torture. I tapped his shoulder and waited for him to look back at me.

  “Drop me here. I’ll take the train.”

  He shook his head.

  “I mean it,” I yelled. Yelling felt good, even if the wind carried most of it away.

  “Forget it. I’m taking you home, okay?”

  He picked up speed.

  Fine. Whatever. It wasn’t like I had any bloody choice. So I let him drop me home, thanked him because my upbringing demanded it, and walked away before he could speak because suddenly my anger had dissipated and I was left with the nagging worry this was somehow my fault and I needed to apologise or be a better person or lose some weight or look more cool or . . .

  And I mustn’t go down that oh-too-familiar road yet again. Because I was better than that, right?

  Screw Matt for making me doubt myself.

  But screw me more, because really, the only person who could make me doubt myself was me.

  What had happened? Our day out, our friendship, our maybe-something-more . . . It had all been going so swimmingly well. What had that message said? Why had Matt looked so grim? And who was Steph? A work contact or a personal friend? A stalker? Some date he’d left in the lurch?

  One thing was sure: if Matt could disconnect from me so easily, I needed to get over him. Fast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I emerged from the underground into the early-morning chill and fast-walked toward T&T. With all the essays marked, today was my first day back in at work, and my nerves were as jittery as they’d been on my very first day. Probably because I’d now be seeing Matt around every corner.

  The more I thought about him the faster I walked. He was my boss so I couldn’t avoid working with him. He’d be constantly there, liaising with me, looking over my shoulder, coordinating my every move. Would I cope?

  Of course I would. I was a big girl now and I’d work with Matt the same I would anyone else. Grief, he wasn’t that good-looking. He had a crooked nose, for starters. And he might seem caring and fun and a brilliant guy all round, but I’d seen the other side of him. The side that didn’t hold with niceties or explanations or emotions. The side that had no problem dispensing with me when other, more pressing Somethings got in touch.

  That had hurt, but at least I’d found out now rather than later. Besides, it had been a timely reminder that getting involved with a workmate was a stupid idea. I’d lost sight of what was important: my job.

  I crossed the street and marched on. Dani was right—this was hormonal. A Friday night fling should fix it.

  And if it didn’t, I’d ask the doctor for drugs.

  “Morning, Becky.”

  I turned and drew up short. Charlie? My heart kdomped, then skittered into high gear. Emails, phone messages, and now this?

  “Charlie. H—Hello.”

  He looked a lot older than I reme
mbered—but, then, didn’t we all? He wore it well, though. Too well. Bastard.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, flashing that lopsided, heartbreaker smile I remembered so well.

  “Fancy.” This wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be coincidence. Even I knew that.

  He raked a tanned hand through his dark, Gerard Butler-ish hair. “You work around here, do you?”

  Like he didn’t know.

  I nodded, but my guard stayed firmly up. I knew he’d done his research. I knew he’d hunted me down. I didn’t know why, of course, but he’d never been the secretive type. He’d tell me if I asked.

  I thought back to our phone conversation; In particular, my out-and-out hostility. It had felt good at the time, but now he was standing in front of me it didn’t feel good. It felt childish.

  Why hadn’t I just asked him what he wanted? It would’ve been the mature thing to do. A damn sight more civil than accusing him of stalker tendencies and blowing him off.

  I’d been so busy obsessing about my schoolgirl humiliation I’d ignored the probability he might’ve grown up. I’d knee-jerked.

  The silence between us grew.

  Worse, he’d known I was knee-jerking. My toes curled with fresh embarrassment. He’d known I was knee-jerking and he’d known precisely why. He’d even offered me an apology; not that he should’ve needed to after seventeen years. Pretty decent of him, actually. And I’d thrown it back in his face.

  I owed him an apology.

  “Um,” I began, just as he said, “How . . .”

  We both stopped, not wanting to interrupt. Our eyes met, his crinkling with what appeared to be amusement and mine, thoroughly embarrassed, darting away. Now would be a good time for an elephant to round the corner and trample me underfoot.

  “You first,” he offered.

  Rats.

  “Okay.” I hesitated, awkward. “I was going to say sorry.”

  He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “I was really rude the other week.”

  “Hmm.”

  I laboured on. “I was upset, and angry, and I jumped to conclusions. Sorry.”

  He gave me a winning smile. “Apology accepted.”

  I allowed him a tight smile and walked on, not wanting to prolong the agony. But Charlie obviously had other ideas; as I moved, he moved, and my path remained blocked.