A Heat of the Moment Thing Read online

  I self-consciously tucked a wayward strand of frizz behind my ear. “You’re still in travel, then?”

  “Yes.” She sighed dramatically. “Branch manager, now. Can you believe it?”

  Actually, no. What—whose—strings had she yanked to pull that off?

  “It’s phenomenally busy,” she continued. “But I like it that way. I feel . . .” She pirouetted her hand as she searched for the word. “. . . fulfilled.”

  “That’s great, Alyssa.” I tried to mean it. “Well done.”

  “Thank you, darling. Anyway, Conference Week is such a good opportunity to think outside the square. You know”—she smoothed her hands down over her hips—“seek out new opportunities.”

  I wasn’t sure quite what opportunities, or even what square, she had in mind but, judging by the dress she wore, they weren’t work-related. That neckline alone was a health and safety hazard, plunging so deep it almost reached her navel. What was she thinking, wearing that to a work dinner? And in Pretty Woman red? Didn’t she realise she stood out like blood in a shark enclosure?

  I sighed. Shoved the petty bitch inside me back in her cage. So what if Alyssa wanted to make a statement? So what if she obsessed about her image and took the airs and graces too far? Give the woman a break! She wasn’t a nasty person. And sure, that colour would be a big mistake on me, but on her it was a crowd-stopper. Admit it, Becs. She looked stunning.

  She put a hand on my arm. “Now. Before you tell me what you’ve been up to since you left Beacon Travel, do you know that gor-geous man over there?”

  I didn’t need to look. “With the blond hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s Matt. I work with him.”

  “Lucky you.” She flashed him a pouty smile. “What does he do?”

  “He’s a lecturer. Recreational Tourism.”

  Her eyes gleamed as she inspected him over her wine-glass. “Really? I wonder if he needs a guest speaker. I must ask him.”

  I did a double-take. Guest speaker? Her? In Rec. Tourism? “I—”

  “Recreational Tourism, you say? Let’s see. The great outdoors . . . leisure pursuits . . . small business opportunities . . .” She waved a hand. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

  I found my voice. “You might need to ditch the stilettos for a while.”

  She smiled. “I do have a life outside of work, Rebecca,” she purred.

  “Now.” Her finger tapped her lip. “What could I offer that he won’t be able to refuse?”

  Plenty, no doubt, given she was such a god-damn Man Magnet.

  Without further ado she made me introduce her to my colleagues, and before you could say ‘look at her tits’ all the men were falling over themselves to get a prime spot next to Alyssa and her cleavage. Within the minute she was at Matt’s side, giving him her undivided attention and a D-cup close-up that was every guy’s wet dream.

  I should have felt pleased. Alyssa was the perfect decoy. With her around he’d soon forget about me. Problem solved. Career saved. Excellent. I should have felt pleased, but all I felt was hurt.

  Amanda came alongside me. “You know that plane crash I told you about earlier?”

  Which one? I didn’t ask.

  “Well,” she said, looking around, “I’m guessing the number of people here is about the same as the fatalities in that crash.”

  “I need to go to the ladies’ room,” I said and bolted.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I bought another drink and wandered off into the throng, keeping an eye out for Amanda. No way could I spend another second with her.

  Every so often I doubled back for a glimpse of Matt—not because I was interested in him, of course, because I wasn’t. So what if he was a brilliant lecturer who spent weekends working with needy kids? So what if he leapt tall buildings and took claustrophobic women in his stride? So what if he made me feel alive every time he was near? None of that meant I was into him. I wasn’t. Not one bit.

  Still. Looking couldn’t hurt, right?

  I began to feel strangely removed. Although I smiled hellos to people I recognised, stopped to chat with a few, I didn’t connect with anyone. It was all a pretence. I was part of this gathering, but not part of it at all.

  Was that my mobile? I ducked into an alcove, set down my glass, and took the call.

  “Hello,” said Charlie. “Fancy a coffee?”

  “Charlie. Hi. I . . .”

  I should tell him. Thanks but no thanks. Once was enough. It’s me, not you. Whatever. Let him down nicely, hang up, and get on with my life.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I can’t. I’m out of London at the moment.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. I so needed to put on my big-girl panties.

  “Pity,” he said. “Where are you? Somewhere exotic?”

  “Not particularly. Just a work conference in Dublin.”

  “Dublin, eh? I’ve got a wee place in Killiney. Want me to pop over and kidnap you for a while?”

  What—he’d just ‘pop over’? Like he had a chopper on standby or something?

  Mind you, if he had a house in Killiney he must be loaded. Maybe he really did have a helicopter.

  “No,” I said. “Kidnapping’s out. This conference programme’s too good to miss. Let’s catch up when I’m back.”

  I didn’t mean it, of course, but he knew that. This was just a game to him.

  He chuckled. “Chicken.”

  “Absolutely. You kidnapped me once before, and look where that got me.”

  “You loved it.”

  “I’ve got to go, Charlie.”

  He exhaled. “It’s hard to find a good kidnappee these days.”

  I loved his humour. Why couldn’t I fall in love with Charlie? Imagine! We’d move in together and, just like that, all my problems would be solved. No more pokey rented flat with second-hand furniture. No more dodging around Jim’s dirty dishes and smelly thrice-worn socks. No more desperate matchmaking by my grandchildren-hungry parents. And—the Grand Prize—no more fantasising about Matt; I’d be too busy fantasising about my gorgeous, rich Charlie.

  Shame my heart couldn’t do the decent thing and love him.

  Where was Matt, anyway?

  Not that I cared, because I didn’t. I couldn’t afford to care. Not if I wanted to keep my dream job, and self-respect.

  I looked down at my wine glass. Saw Jim’s face. Maybe you should come to a meeting.

  Did he really think I had a problem?

  Well, I didn’t. I’d show him. Right now, even.

  I re-joined the party without my glass. Best I didn’t drink any more tonight, anyway. I was feeling maudlin, and drinking in this mood would just make everything worse.

  Matt?

  Ah, there, found him again.

  . . . And there was Alyssa, glued to his side. Selfishly, I wished she would leave with a nasty gastro virus or something. Even though I couldn’t have Matt, I didn’t want her to have him, either.

  But she stayed right where she was. Flaunting her body with calculated sensuality. Standing so close she could probably feel his every breath. I wanted to run away, hide in my room, sulk for a week. But I couldn’t drag myself away. Unbearable as it was to watch her reel Matt in, I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving and missing it, either.

  I grabbed a glass of soda water, just so I had something to hold, something to sip while I tortured myself.

  Everyone else made the most of the subsidised booze, and the party gathered momentum. The noise level increased. Not to be outdone, the DJ pumped up the music. Everyone seemed to be losing their inhibitions and finding boogie shoes straight out of Saturday Night Fever.

  Not me, though. I drank soda water and spied on Matt. Alyssa must’ve said something witty. He laughed and she joined in, one delicate talon stroking his arm.

  Jealousy coiled inside me. I switched my focus abruptly away, then noticed Hank watching me. I blushed furiously, feeling as if I’d been caught in my underwear.
He shot me a smug smile.

  Crap. He knew.

  Of course he knew. How could I have let myself be so transparent? I bit my lip, looked away. Then, stupidly, back again. Blast. There he was, still watching me.

  Desperate to escape Hank’s knowing eyes, I melted back into the crowd, only to trip over a badly-placed chair. I pitched forward and my glass flew out of my hand. Fortunately a waiter with superhero reflexes was passing at that moment. He whipped out an arm to save me, all the while balancing a tray of breakables, then rescued my glass and refilled it for me, bless him. Gosh. Maybe I should marry him. He was helpful, resourceful, light-footed . . . I could do a lot worse.

  I groaned. Had it really come to this? Assessing random waiters for marriage? I cringed. Cringed harder at the thought of my klutz-of-the-year stumble.

  I glanced left and right. Was anyone staring? Pointing? Laughing?

  No, thank goodness. I surreptitiously rubbed my ankle. Ouch. Must’ve rolled it.

  I adjusted my top and sipped from my glass. Oops. The waiter had given me champagne. Hmm. Did I want it? I rotated my ankle and decided yes, in the absence of paracetamol, I did.

  I headed towards some vacant seats and rearranged them so I could rest my ankle. Bliss.

  Except—what was that creepy feeling in the back of my neck? I glanced around. Nothing. Looked again, and froze. Bloody Hank. Again. Goddammit, that man and his toupee were everywhere.

  He stared at me with lizard-like intensity. I ignored him but it didn’t work; I could feel his eyes boring into my back. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, looked at him again. He responded with a wink. A full-on, lecherous wink.

  Eeeuw. Did he think that was a turn-on or something?

  He started towards me and I stood, my now-racing heart telling me what my brain hadn’t worked out. This felt wrong. Creepy-wrong.

  What did he want? Had he been following me all evening? Did he know my room number? Was he some kind of predator? A rapist? Knife-wielding madman?

  Oh, come on, Becs. Less of the dramatics.

  I took a deep, calming breath and a deep, calming slug of champers. This was Hank. Gauche, ugly, harmless Hank. He wasn’t stalking me. He wouldn’t know how.

  Still, I didn’t fancy hanging around, so I hobbled in the opposite direction. Ouch. Blasted ankle.

  A hand grazed my side, just above my waist, and I jumped. Calm down, Becs.

  I glanced back. Shite. How had he reached me so quickly? Panic flared. I jerked away. He grabbed my wrist. Breathless, I tried to break free. For a little guy he was surprisingly strong. I used the only weapon I had, and tossed my champagne in his face. He swore. His grip tightened.

  “Prick-teaser,” he said, his breath warm in my ear, his potent aftershave smothering me.

  “Let go.” I yanked my hand back with all my strength, letting the momentum wheel me round, and fled, only to come up short as he seized my upper arm. The wine-glass slipped from my fingers and splintered at my feet.

  “Get off me!” Panic transmuted into rage and I spun towards him, lashing out with my free arm.

  “Whoa.”

  Something about his voice gave me a milli-second’s hesitation, and he used it to grab my other arm.

  “Becky. Slow down.”

  The voice finally registered. Wrong guy. I stopped struggling. “It’s you.”

  Matt smiled down at me. “As opposed to . . .?”

  He glanced over my shoulder and his smile dissolved. “Ah.”

  “Hank,” he said, with an abrupt head-nod. Then returned his attention to me. “Where were you heading in such a hurry?”

  I threw Hank my best fuck-off look. “Anywhere he’s not. Let’s go.”

  Hank closed in. “I only wanted to buy you a drink.”

  I tensed.

  Matt turned me bodily away, his arm draped over my shoulder. “I’ve got this one. Off you go,” he added with the dismissive hand-wave a parent gives an irksome child.

  Hank started to argue then shrugged. “Whatever. Catch you later, Becky.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I muttered. Glared at his departing back. “Pig.”

  Matt laughed.

  I clapped a hand to my mouth. “Sorry. Not you. Him.”

  “I gathered that.” He guided me with his arm. “What happened?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  He threw me a sceptical look. “M-hmm. Then why are you limping?”

  I looked down at my ankle, then up at him. Gosh, had he always been that tall?

  “I rolled my ankle. Nothing to do with Hank,” I added hastily.

  “If it was I’d have his balls,” he growled, then moved his arm down to my waist, holding me close. It felt nice. Too nice. “You’d better get some ice on that.”

  Good point. My ankle pounded its agreement. I bit my lip, nodded.

  “Here, I’ll help you to your room. Pumpkin time for you, I think.”

  He led me to the lifts and his arm stayed right where it was as we glided up towards our floor.

  “A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain,” I said.

  “Tomorrow’s a busy day, so if you can’t walk I’ll have no option but to piggy-back you.”

  I giggled. Maybe I should call his bluff.

  The lift came to an abrupt stop and I staggered against him.

  His arm tightened around me. “All right?”

  I nodded. We made our way up the corridor. Luckily this was the last stretch; my ankle was really hurting now.

  “Where did you get to, anyway?” Matt asked. “You disappeared.”

  He’d noticed! I resisted the urge to do a happy-dance. “Just wandering.”

  “Having fun?”

  “Until Hank showed up.” I shuddered. “What a creep.”

  We stopped outside my door and I swiped my room-card. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I balanced on my good foot, bit my lip. Come on.

  Matt leaned against the wall, arms folded, and waited.

  I turned the card over and had another go.

  Oh, for goodness sake. I inspected it as if it had fallen from the sky. “Why aren’t you working?” Then, to Matt, “It’s not working.”

  “Here.” He took the card and opened the door with ease.

  “How’d you do that?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “With a gentle touch.”

  I looked at his hands. Remembered them on my body after my accident in the pool. Oh yeah. Those hands had a lot to answer for.

  But they’d also got us into my room. The door closed behind us and I sank to my bed with relief.

  Matt rang for an icepack then crouched in front of me and, with great care, removed my left shoe. “Let’s have a look at this ankle, then.”

  “Um, it’s the other one.”

  He removed my right shoe with equal care, cupping my foot in his hands as if I were Cinderella. I looked down at my delicate size eight and snorted. Ugly step-sister, more like.

  He shot me a questioning look.

  “Ticklish,” I improvised.

  “Ah.”

  With gentle hands he turned my ankle this way and that. “Does this hurt? No? How about this? No? Excellent. Nothing too critical, then. I think some ice, then a good night’s sleep, and things will look a whole lot better in the morning.”

  I looked down at Hot Doc and wondered how things could possibly look any better, ever.

  The ice was terrific. It calmed and soothed almost as well as his hands.

  “Thanks, Doc.” I handed him the icepack.

  “Any time, Ms Jordan.” He tossed the icepack aside and knelt in front of me, checking my ankle again. Gave the well-chilled toes a warming squeeze, then switched to the other foot and gently massaged.

  His thumbs expertly worked their way up towards my heel and I sighed with pleasure, a total sucker for a foot massage. His hands continued on up, starting on my leg. What—? Ooh, nice. Lucky I’d had that leg-wax last Saturday.

  “I could get used t
o this,” I murmured.

  “It’s better with massage oil.”

  I bet.

  Matt playing masseur? It reeked of my usual fantasies. I reached out an experimental finger, touched him. No, not a dream. Real. He was real. This was real. Hell-sexy real. I should jump him and be done with it.

  He looked up and read me like a front-page headline. His hands stilled. His eyes darkened.

  A pulse caught in my throat. I braced my hands against the bed, breathless.

  And then his hands were on mine, his thighs brushing my knees, his eyes seeing through to my soul.

  Slowly, slowly, our fingers laced themselves together in a perfect fit. My body flooded with heat.

  I leaned forward and his lips were a hair’s breadth from mine. My lips partly slightly in anticipation. For long, tormenting, exquisite seconds he held back, and then at last he kissed me; the merest of sensuous grazes. My lips felt swollen, needy. My heart pounded. My breath came ragged. Our lips met again, with urgency, and I opened my mouth to him, drinking him in, urging him on. He dragged me against him. Our tongues tangled. My head reeled with his heat, his taste, his smell . . .

  In one expert movement he lifted me bodily up the modest single bed and laid me back against the covers.

  I looked into the depths of his gorgeous brown eyes. Lost myself there.

  “Becky,” he murmured, and the spell broke.

  Screw the job. I wanted him. I wanted him now. We kissed fiercely, hungrily, clawing at clothes, frantic with lust, only to be brought abruptly to by a sharp intake of breath. “Oh. Er . . .”

  Our heads did a perfectly synchronised snap-around to see Amanda backing swiftly out of the room, eyes and mouth all capital o’s. The door clicked shut.

  Matt’s eyes found mine. I grimaced.

  He cleared his throat. “Maybe we should take a rain check.” He disentangled his hand from my hair, and somehow even that action was a caress.

  I moved my hips against his. “Do we have to?”

  He smiled and brought his lips back down on mine. His hand roamed down my back and over my hip, tracing an exploratory finger beneath my panties. I moaned against his lips as his finger trailed lower, and lower, almost there, oh yes . . .

  And then, Goddammit, he stopped.

  He carefully extracted his hand. “We have to,” he murmured.