A Heat of the Moment Thing Read online

  One last nibble at the hollow of my neck, one last pleasured sigh from me, and he sat up.

  I shivered at the loss of contact.

  He looked down at me, stroked my cheek. “Let’s go to my room.”

  I brought my hand up to his much larger one, entwining my fingers with his.

  “I’d love to say yes, but you’re rooming with Roland and if he walked in . . .” I paused, tried to find the words, failed. “Sorry. Guess I’m a prude.”

  He laughed. “Who would’ve thought, eh?”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Anyway, Doc says my ankle needs a good night’s sleep.”

  “He does indeed.” Matt pulled a blanket over me and I snuggled into it.

  He kissed my nose. “Sleep well, babe.”

  “Mmm. You too.”

  His lips grazed mine. “I doubt it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Apparently the theme for Day Two was Embarrassment.

  Embarrassment when I woke and had to face Amanda and her pearls before the day even began.

  Embarrassment when I went downstairs to breakfast and had to sit next to Matt, the air between us thick with undercurrents and Amanda watching my every move.

  More embarrassment when Hank, sitting directly opposite, caught my eye and threw me a slimy smile.

  Then Roland asked, innocently enough, where Matt and I had disappeared to during the party. I was so engulfed by embarrassment that words failed me and, for a moment, I thought I’d faint. No such luck. Matt, with a brief glance my way, said we’d both needed an early night. I almost fled the table in the loaded silence that followed.

  Matt caught up with me as I left the dining room. “What’s your first workshop?”

  I kept walking. “Can’t remember.”

  “I’m going to Tourism’s Impact on Tribal Culture in Asia. You should come with me.”

  “No.”

  It felt rude even as I said it. I walked a little faster.

  He kept pace with ease. “Becs, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?” He stopped, placed a restraining hand on my arm. “Are you avoiding me?”

  I stopped, lips compressed, arms folded. “Of course not.”

  His eyebrow didn’t believe me.

  I sighed. “Look, I’m feeling a bit . . . awkward.” I couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s just me. I’m not sure how I should act around you after . . .” I hid my face in my hand. “And Amanda walking in on us like that . . .”

  He grinned. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Then having to sit and eat breakfast with her like nothing’s happened . . .” I looked him in the eye at last. “That’s more than awkward. That’s mortifying.”

  His grin widened—clearly mortification wasn’t contagious.

  “So, right now, yes, I’m avoiding you—and everyone else. ’Cause it’s the only way I’ll get through today.”

  And, leaving him with his amusement, I took myself off to some mindless workshop on Conservation. Better that than Conversation.

  I slunk my way through morning tea, lunch and two workshops. Then, rather than face Amanda up in our room, I left the hotel and hid out in a café for an hour. When I thought the coast was clear I returned and whipped upstairs to change for pre-dinner drinks. No Amanda, thankfully.

  I went downstairs and, sure enough, the others were gathered in the bar and on their second round. Boring old soda water in hand, I waved at them all across the bar then made a show of talking into my mobile phone rather than joining them. I needed to find a bit of brazen in me first.

  I found an empty booth and this time really did use my phone. “Hi, Liz. How are you?”

  “Busy. Stressed.” She sighed. “Busy.”

  Liz was always busy and always stressed. That’s what being HR Manager for a major accountancy firm meant. But something in her voice had me worried.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I’d give my back teeth for a week in Ibiza.”

  I waited.

  Another sigh. “I’m fine, Becs, don’t worry. It’s just . . . we’ve just been told we’re restructuring, and everyone’s feeling nervous, and it’s on a tight timeline, and there’ll be redundancies, and Christmas is approaching, and . . . you know.”

  Yeah, I knew. Liz was no soft-sap—she wasn’t dubbed The Razor at work for nothing—but her heart wasn’t made of stone. That’s what I knew.

  “Are you the one issuing the redundancy notices?”

  “Yep.” She sounded grim. Clenched-teeth grim. Poor Liz. She would feel each and every one of those redundancies.

  “Book a holiday, Liz. Soon.”

  “Yeah. But not until it’s finished.”

  Much as I admired her for being so outrageously conscientious, I wanted to shake her for it, too. Sometimes your strength could be your weakness.

  “Liz, just promise me you’ll step back if the stress gets too much.”

  “You know me.”

  “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m saying it. Promise me, Liz.”

  She promised, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart was already back at work and there was no point talking further, so I finished the call and joined the others.

  As we moved through to dinner Alyssa materialised, greeting my workmates as if she’d known them forever and accepting Roland’s invitation to join us. She manoeuvred herself next to Matt, and before I knew what was happening she’d secured a table and organised everyone into seats, with Matt firmly by her side.

  “What about me?” I wanted to ask, but with Amanda’s radar already working overtime I couldn’t risk a scene. So I found myself at the other end of the table, sandwiched between Hank and the wall. Happy days.

  Across from me, Roland and Amanda were in deep discussion.

  “Did you know that, Becky?” Amanda asked.

  “What?”

  “It’s six years today since that awful Nigerian plane crash. Sosoliso Airlines. Flight 1145. Seems like yesterday,” she added dreamily.

  More freaking plane stats. Just kill me now.

  “Struck by lightning,” she expanded.

  “Lightning?” Roland repeated. “Aren’t planes meant to be safe from lightning? Like a—what’s it called?”

  “Faraday cage.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. The lightning hits the outside of the plane and everything on the inside is safe.”

  “Not this time,” she gloated.

  And if I had to listen to any more of this I’d be swimming home from Ireland.

  Which left Hank.

  “What workshops did you go to today?” I asked. Which got us through the entrée.

  Over the main he asked how I was finding T&T.

  “Busy,” I said. “But I’m really enjoying it. Everyone’s been so supportive.”

  “Well, just you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” He winked, and it gave me the creeps the way it always did. “I’m glad you came to Conference. We can get to know each other better.”

  I opted for a small smile, repressing my shudder. Which soon proved to be a mistake. By dessert his thigh was firmly wedged against mine and, short of burrowing a tunnel through the wall and escaping into the chilly Dublin night, there wasn’t much I could do to un-wedge it.

  Over coffee he rested a proprietary hand on my thigh and squeezed. I decided enough was enough.

  “Take a hint,” I suggested pleasantly, removing his sweaty mitt.

  He didn’t. He grabbed my hand and leaned in close. “Bad girl.” He licked his lips. “I bet you’d like a spanking, wouldn’t you?”

  What? I must’ve heard wrong.

  He gave my hand a playful smack.

  O-kay. I hadn’t heard wrong. I whipped my hand away, looking to Amanda and Roland for support. But they were so engrossed in their plane crash body-counts they didn’t notice my bondage-and-discipline predicament.

  With a forced smile and a murmured, “Punish yourself, asshole”, I pu
shed my chair back from the table and bolted.

  I skirted the tables and made my way to the opposite side of the dining hall, feeling dirtied and, somehow, invaded. My hands shook uncontrollably. I squashed them under my arms and turned towards the French doors. Yes. Fresh air, that’s what I needed. I headed outside.

  Potted plants transformed the balcony into a leafy sanctuary. If only this were the Mediterranean. I could do with balmy. Instead I had bracing—sub-Arctic, even—and out here on the balcony my top, sleeveless with a plunging cowl neckline, was nothing short of ridiculous. Five minutes and I’d be a prime candidate for hypothermia. Still, that was preferable to another five minutes with Hank.

  I shivered, hugging myself warm as I looked down on the hotel grounds. Uplights strategically highlighted a pond here, a gnarled old tree there. A petanque pitch! I must have a game before the week was out.

  And then he was there, standing close behind me. His arms snaked around my waist and he nuzzled my ear. I recognised the aftershave instantly. Stiffened, recoiled.

  “Mmm,” he said in a throaty undertone. “Finally.”

  “No!” I tried to prise his arms away. “Hank, let go.”

  His body pressed in on me from every direction. I felt nauseous.

  “Grrrrrr.” He purred in my ear, thrusting his erection against me as he slid his hands up my ribcage. “You know you want it.” And he pinched my nipples smartly.

  I yelped. Startled, he relaxed his hold sufficiently for me to turn. I shoved him off me. “Stop that.”

  His eyebrows spiked in surprise, and then he grinned.

  “Feisty.” He closed in again. “Playing hard to get, eh?”

  I watched the individual droplets of sweat gather on his upper lip. Maybe I should just vomit my meal all over him.

  “Fuck off, Hank.”

  He yanked me into his arms and kissed me, smearing those hideous beads of sweat all over my lips. I gagged. How dare he? I brought my knee into his groin. Hard.

  Hank stilled, mid-kiss, then doubled over, clutching at his groin. “You stupid bitch.”

  My rage receded and I stepped aside, wiping my mouth. “Keep your filthy mitts off me. Creep.”

  I wheeled away—and there was Matt, at the balcony entrance. He looked thunderous.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he ground out.

  I shrank from his gaze, groped behind me for the solid security of the balustrade. “I—”

  But Matt wasn’t talking to me. Hank eased himself upright, pain etched on his face, as Matt closed the distance between them.

  Matt drew himself up to his full height and towered over Hank. “You slimy piece of shit.”

  He grabbed Hank by the scruff of his neck, almost hauling him off his feet, and thrust his face close. “Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He released Hank abruptly. “If she doesn’t kill you first.”

  A giggle bubbled up in my throat.

  Hank shrugged his shirt back into place. “What’s it to you?”

  “Plenty.” Matt stabbed a finger at Hank’s chest, staring the shorter man down.

  “Becs,” he said, his eyes still trained on Hank, “come here.”

  His voice brooked no argument. I went.

  Hank straightened his toupee. “She’s a prick-tease. She wanted it.”

  Behind Matt, I drew an unsteady breath, shaking as my adrenalin rush subsided. “Like hell I did.”

  “Go on.” Matt gave Hank a shove. “Get the fuck inside or I’ll finish the job she started.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  They squared off against each other, eyeball to eyeball, fists clenched, anger rolling off them in clouds.

  Finally, Hank glanced at me. “She’s not worth it,” he muttered, then sloped off inside as instructed.

  I sagged against Matt’s back.

  “I’ll have his balls for this,” Matt muttered.

  Then he turned around, grabbed my shoulders, looked in my eyes, and gave me a little shake. “Christ, Becs.”

  Judging by his expression, I was lucky not to hear my bones rattle.

  “What? It’s not like I encouraged him.”

  “I know.”

  He exhaled, rubbed at his neck, then gave me a rueful grin. “Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.”

  “Only special people get that treatment.” I held out a trembling hand for inspection. “There’s only so much excitement a girl can take in one day.”

  He looked me over with concern. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, but my chin trembled.

  He drew me close, his body searingly hot against my chilled one. I felt safe.

  We stayed like that until my shakes had subsided. Then he ruffled my hair and released me. “You do get yourself into some scrapes, don’t you?”

  “Hey, I was just minding my own business. What’s your excuse?”

  “I saw you come outside. Thought I should join you.” He grinned. “I figured you’d avoided me for long enough.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “When Hank followed you, I decided I’d better make it a threesome.”

  “Some threesome.”

  “Yeah.” He relaxed against the balustrade. “I’m not into threesomes.”

  We smiled at each other.

  “Me neither.”

  “Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on. You’re shivering.” He wrapped it over my shoulders, stroked a finger down my cheek.

  Instant heat seeped through my body. “Thanks.” I huddled deeper into his jacket.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and the wind whipped at his shirt and tousled his hair and it all felt very movie-ish.

  Then, as if he’d just remembered the temperature, he said, “Come on, let’s go.”

  But when we stepped back through the French doors he steered me away from the tables.

  I frowned. “Where are we—”

  “Sssh.” He touched a finger to my lips. “No arguments, please. I’ve got a plan.”

  “You have?” My pulse picked up as I imagined what his plan might be.

  He stopped at the lifts, ushered me in and pushed the seventh-floor button. Then surprised me with, “It’s cold out. We’ll need coats.”

  When we reached our rooms he stepped close and removed his jacket from my shoulders. I looked up at him, waiting, anticipating.

  He gently turned me away from him. “Coats,” he repeated.

  Disappointment wrestled with excitement. I unlocked my door, donned coat and scarf, then re-joined him in the hallway.

  “Let’s go.” He slung his black overcoat over one shoulder.

  “Where?”

  “The real world. You need time out to forget what happened back there.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The lift took us back down to the lobby.

  “And get away from your workmates for a bit, too.”

  “You excluded, of course.”

  “Of course.” He grinned.

  I laughed, heady with expectation—and probably a good dose of delayed shock, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dublin by night looked and felt exotic—or maybe it was just my mood.

  Matt and I followed our noses through the narrow cobbled streets, jostling against each other as the crowd ebbed and flowed around us.

  “I didn’t expect it to be this busy,” I said.

  Matt nodded. “Pre-Christmas mania. Late-night shopping.” Then, as we rounded a corner, he added, “Have you met Molly Malone?”

  “Sorry?”

  He indicated with his head and, following his gaze, I took in the bronze statue ahead. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”

  We stopped for a moment to admire her.

  “Prostitute or street hawker?” he asked as we continued on.

  I stared at him. “The poor woman has a decent cleavage so she must be a prostitute? Is that it?”

  “Hey!” He raised his hands i
n protest. “Unfair! It’s just the local legend. Hawker by day, prostitute by night.”

  I shot him a disbelieving look.

  He chuckled, then draped an arm across my shoulders. “I’m so misunderstood.”

  Every nerve-ending stood to attention. A fire started in my belly. Was I misunderstanding his arm? I didn’t think so. Determined not to frighten it away with any sudden moves, I matched my step to his, leaning into his arm.

  Warmth spread through me, and with it, wonder.

  How had this happened? Here I was, out for a night stroll with the most delicious man on the planet, and he seemed to want nothing more than to be here with me.

  I snuck a glance up at Matt. He looked down at me and smiled, one of those smiles that says far more than words can ever express, and my soul sang. I felt like a princess. A princess who, in spite of all her best efforts, still fancied this knight something rotten. And he fancied me.

  Which was either fantastic or a full-blown calamity, I wasn’t sure which.

  “How about we go somewhere warm and thaw out?” I suggested. Somewhere public. Somewhere I wouldn’t be so tempted to rip off his clothes.

  We turned back towards Temple Bar, Dublin’s bustling party district. Half of Dublin seemed to be here with us, sharing the festive cheer. Christmas screamed at us from every angle. Christmas colours, Christmas lights, Christmas scenes. My heart felt full. Christmas was such a special, special time.

  Would I be spending it with Matt?

  I hoped so.

  “Thanks for this,” I said with a smile.

  His arm briefly tightened around my shoulders. “I needed to get out, too. Pub or café?”

  “Café,” I said quickly.

  His lips twitched. “You’re sure?”

  I thought of Jim. “Very. Mrs Boring tonight, that’s me.”

  “You’re anything but that, Becs,” he said, and something in his tone had me thinking of the ship’s-bow scene in ‘Titanic’.

  We picked a café at random and Matt ordered coffees while I found us a window table. For a while we sat in companionable, but oh-so-aware, silence. We drank our coffees, watching the world go by and surreptitiously watching each other.

  Across the street, a busker serenaded passers-by with his Nirvana-esque Silent Night. I watched the coins drop in his hat. “He’s making a good living.”