A Heat of the Moment Thing Read online

  “Hey.” He leaned up on one elbow. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  I knelt on the floor in front of him. “Nothing,” I whispered. “Absolutely nothing.”

  He traced my lips with a finger. “Good.”

  I kissed his finger. “Well . . . maybe one thing.”

  “Mm-hmm?” The finger trailed down my throat, past the hollow of my neck, and over my left breast. It stopped at my nipple.

  I sighed, moving against his hand.

  “A single bed,” I said, eyes twinkling, “is way too small for us both to sleep in.”

  He raised one eyebrow. Reached out to lift me bodily on top of him. “Then we’d better not sleep.”

  * * *

  We forced ourselves to turn up for breakfast, mostly to show people we hadn’t been kidnapped at gunpoint. We nearly didn’t make it, getting seriously waylaid in the shower, but eventually worked out we made faster progress if we kept a wall between us.

  Matt went and sat with the others. I stopped at the buffet table to pour myself a juice, hoping it might look as if we’d arrived separately. After dawdling over the food as long as I dared I took my juice back to the table and sat down. Fortunately, Hank wasn’t there.

  “Morning,” I said.

  I waited for someone to ask what was wrong—on three hours’ sleep I looked and felt ragged—but nobody mentioned it. Eventually I found the courage to glance Matt’s way. His clothes looked a bit crumpled, and—oh, cringe! His clothes. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Would someone notice? I needed to warn him. Invent a reason for him to go and get changed.

  He winked at me.

  No, Matt. Concentrate. I widened my eyes in warning, staring pointedly at his shirt. He followed my gaze down then looked back up at me, all raised eyebrow and cheeky grin, clearly misinterpreting.

  Typical male: sex on the brain. He didn’t get it at all. His mind was still in bed. Didn’t he care what anyone else thought?

  “I’d better get some food,” I said, and escaped over to the buffet cart while I settled my frayed nerves.

  Fine. If he didn’t care, I didn’t care. I returned to my seat and kept my eyes on my plate.

  Amanda’s voice rang out. “You mean Erebus?”

  I glanced down at her, looking so Little House On The Prairie as she chatted about other people’s deaths, and it suddenly seemed impossible that she might have been shagging herself silly with Roland—or anyone—only hours earlier. No mussed hair, no heaving cleavage, no shining eyes or sidelong glances or any other tell-tale signs.

  She may have been out last night, may even have been the woman we’d heard in Roland’s room, but I’d bet Gran’s ashes it had nothing to do with sex. At best it would’ve been a verbal orgy of plane-crash statistics.

  Amanda wouldn’t get romantically involved. Or indulge in happy-ever-after fantasies. Or sleep with a co-worker.

  Amanda wasn’t like that. At all.

  Why couldn’t I keep it simple, like her? Be more doomsday, less . . . Becky?

  I needed caffeine. Fast.

  As I reached the coffee dispenser Matt materialised behind me, so close I felt every inch of his body against me.

  Dammit, how could I think sensibly when he kept touching me? It turned my brain to mush every time.

  “I’ll have mine with sugar, thanks,” he said.

  Who cared what anyone thought? I couldn’t pretend with him. I giggled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “I don’t do this to all the girls.” He gently blew in my ear.

  I moved my head a fraction. “Matt!”

  He backed off a couple of millimetres, barely enough for me to turn around. I surreptitiously used my hip to push him back a bit further then turned and glinted at him meaningfully. Handed him his coffee.

  “Thanks.”

  “You are such a chancer!”

  He grinned and winked.

  “This is work, Matt. And we’re at breakfast. A little restraint, please.”

  “Sex for breakfast sounds perfect. It’ll set me up for the day.”

  “What will?” Roland asked, pouring himself a coffee.

  Matt raised his eyebrow at me and grinned. The question hung.

  “He said a good breakfast sets him up for the day.” I avoided Matt’s gaze. “Me? I prefer a light breakfast and a decent lunch.” Then, as if I hadn’t said enough already, “I can’t take too much at breakfast.”

  Matt’s grin broadened.

  “I like as much as I can get at both meals,” said Roland.

  “Well,” said Matt, “if I had the choice . . .”

  I rolled my eyes. “You men are all the same. Over-Indulgers Anonymous. See you later.” I met Matt’s eyes in an electric look. “I need to get organised.”

  He took the hint and joined me upstairs for a bit more over-indulging, then went back to his room for a change of clothes. I mooched about. What did it mean for the relationship if you slept with someone three times in one day?

  Probably nothing more than you both had a high sex drive.

  Rats! Look at the time! I pulled myself together, found pen and paper, and headed down to the first workshop. Matt had saved a seat for me.

  “This session sounds good,” he said as I sat down.

  I raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really? ‘Travel for the Over 60s’? I wouldn’t have thought it would interest a fit, outdoorsy guy like you.”

  He looked at the facilitator, moved his thigh against mine. “I’m thinking ahead.”

  The workshop began. I sat there, über-aware of Matt’s leg against mine. People laughed. What had the speaker said? I made an effort to concentrate. Matt’s hand strayed to my thigh. Slowly, seductively, he stroked up, down, up, up. I tried not to notice.

  His hand moved across to my inner thigh, hovered. My breath hitched. If he flexed his fingers just a fraction he’d be . . .

  I gasped. Licked my lips. Felt liquid heat pooling beneath his touch. I closed my eyes as he continued to stroke, up, down, up, up. My breath came short and shallow. He splayed his fingers, and gently parted my legs. My eyes flew open, and I stared wide-eyed at Matt, the heat in my face nothing compared to the fire he’d lit below.

  He steadily returned my gaze, his eyes lust-darkened, his knowing smile daring me to make a sound.

  I bit my lip. We really should stop, before—

  His fingers slipped inside my panties and my thoughts scrambled. The room disappeared. It was just me and Matt and his fingers and my . . .

  Hell, why was I even here? I wasn’t learning a damn thing from this workshop—except that, where Matt was concerned, one touch and I was wrecked.

  “What workshop are you going to now?” Matt asked as we finished morning tea.

  “I’m not telling. Find your own workshop.”

  “Grumpy girl.” He grinned. “Didn’t you get enough sleep last night?”

  I threw him a mock-glare. “No more stalking. Go to the workshop you signed up for. I’m here to work.”

  As the second workshop started, Matt slipped into the seat beside me.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered.

  * * *

  We had a couple of free hours before dinner, which was perfect. I desperately needed a nap if I had any hope of lasting the evening.

  “I’ll just lie there with you,” said Matt.

  “No way. You won’t just lie there and we both know it.”

  He grinned.

  “I’m going for a nap. Alone. Then I’m getting ready. A—”

  “Alone. I get it.”

  I smiled. “I’ll see you downstairs at dinner.”

  “You’re blowing me off, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” I pulled him into an alcove, kissed his nose, and left.

  Casino Night. Black-tie event and the highlight of Conference Week. I couldn’t wait. As we arrived for dinner we would collect our chips, and whoever banked the most at the end of the night would win a holiday package for two. A week in Santo
rini, no less.

  Imagine! If I won I could take Matt for a romantic getaway. I fell asleep, dreaming of sand and sex and glorious sunsets. Two hours later I woke with Matt still on my mind.

  I took a long, leisurely shower, letting the water run over my face and down my body. This evening would be amazing, I could feel it in my bones. Slowly, luxuriously, I soaped myself, thinking about Matt. I towelled myself off, thinking about Matt’s body on top of mine, then stood naked in front of the mirror, assessing my legs, hips, breasts. I lifted my hair, studying the line of my neck. Traced a hand down my body’s curves, feeling sensual and erotic. Marvelled that Matt saw anything desirable in me. Revelled in the knowledge that he did.

  With a heightened state of consciousness I opened the wardrobe and pulled my knock-’em-dead cocktail dress off its hanger. I carefully placed it on the bed. Looked at it and felt a bolt of excitement. This evening I wanted to stop Matt in his tracks, bowl him over, make him see me in a whole new light.

  I took my time getting ready—so much time, in fact, that Amanda came in, showered, changed and left again before I even finished my make-up. The gods must have been on my side, though, because for once my hair did precisely what I asked of it and stayed up in a loose clasp with only a few tendrils escaping around my face. Bathrobe off, little black dress on. A quick look in the mirror—no, the underwear had to go. There, better.

  I took the Miu Mius out of their box, lovingly stroked them, then slipped them on my feet. Back to the mirror so I could admire the length they added to my legs. A pair of black drop earrings and Sue-Ann’s clutch purse were my only extras.

  I went downstairs to dinner, collecting my chips at the entrance. Wow. Our bland conference room had been transformed into a glitzy casino hall. Over in our usual spot I spotted Alyssa, stunning in royal blue as she chatted to Matt.

  I refused to feel jealous. I didn’t need to feel jealous.

  Alyssa smiled as I approached, her fingers tinkling in a hello as her eyes flicked over me in rapid appraisal, like an athlete assessing the competition. I squared my shoulders and gave her a knowing smile—I looked good and she’d noticed—then allowed my gaze to move on to Matt.

  My breath caught. A heat wave whipped through me. Damn, he looked good in a suit. I’d never seen him in one before but, oh my giddy Aunt Annie, I could get used to it.

  For a few seconds he didn’t notice my approach, but it was worth it when he did. He did a double-take, stopping mid-sentence to watch me, his gaze intent, his lips pursing in a silent whistle of appreciation. With a murmured something to Alyssa he walked my way, his eyes locked on me. Judging by his expression, my dress had been a great investment. And as for his suit . . .

  Within inches of each other we stopped.

  Could he hear my heart pounding?

  I licked my lips. “Nice suit.”

  His back shielded us from the T&T group as he pulled me close, a proprietary hand on my waist.

  “You. Look. Stunning.” His voice, that deep rich baritone I remembered from the pool, seduced me all over again.

  “Thanks.” I smiled up at him from under my lashes.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Later.”

  His fingers found mine. “Promise?”

  “Absolutely. Trust me, I’m there.”

  He kissed my fingers, making no attempt at discretion.

  “Let’s be social for now,” I said. Released his hand and walked towards our table, feeling his eyes on me as he followed.

  People were taking their seats for the meal, now, and we did likewise, sitting side-by-side so we could touch under the table.

  As soon as dessert was over, waiters moved the tables aside in preparation for the games. Casino Night was about to begin. The room buzzed with excitement.

  I excused myself and made my way to the Ladies’.

  As I reached the restroom Alyssa materialised at my side. “You look fantastic,” she said. “You must tell me where you bought that dress.”

  I turned to the mirror. “Oh, some boutique,” I said vaguely. “Covent Garden, I think.”

  “I love Covent Garden.” She stood beside me and whipped out her lipstick. “Such reasonable prices, aren’t they?”

  Hardly.

  Two deft strokes over her lips, then she smiled at herself to check the effect. “Matt’s such a honey, isn’t he?”

  Ah. Her real objective. “Yes. He is.”

  “And such good company.”

  I smiled, fussing with my hair. “Mmm. Especially last night.”

  Stock still, I stared at myself, horrified. Stupid woman. Shut up!

  “Last night?” Her eyebrows shot up. “But he left early. With . . . you?” She frowned, pulling her head back, turkey-style, as she studied my face.

  My cheeks flamed. “Oh, he, ah . . . took me out for a drink.”

  “He did?” Her eyes were saucers. “Are you two—”

  “He helped me fend off Hank,” I interrupted. “Things got a bit out of hand.”

  “Oh.” Alyssa relaxed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. But I’m glad Matt was there.” And in my room . . . And in my bed . . .

  “That’s so Matt,” she said, as if she’d known him forever. “What a darling. He’s such a gentleman.” She headed for the door, interrogation over. “I’ll see you at the tables.”

  I took my time, double-checking my hair and reapplying lipstick before heading back. It was as I walked through the foyer that I noticed him. The casual confidence, the elegant cut of the suit, the shaggy roman crop of hair; all unmistakeably Charlie.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  “Becky,” he called, raising a floppy arm in my direction. The arm floated floorwards, seemingly of its own accord. He lurched towards me.

  Cripes. He’d had a skinful.

  I stopped, torn. Should I ignore him and speed-walk the hell out of here? Or deal with him now and try to minimise the fall-out?

  He let out a low wolf-whistle.

  “Buxom Becky!” he roared.

  Heads turned, first his way and then mine.

  Buxom? Me? My face grew hot. That’d teach me for wearing a push-up bra. And now he’d made me the focus of the whole foyer I no longer had a ‘run away’ option, dammit.

  Suddenly his knees buckled beneath him. By some miracle he managed to stay upright and continue across the foyer towards me. Brilliant. He’d definitely had a skinful. It might’ve been funny if he’d been someone else’s problem.

  I took a deep breath and faced the music. “Charlie. What brings you here?”

  He stopped in front of me, very rumpled-rich-boy and smelling like he’d bought the whole damn brewery.

  “You.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and planted a smacking great kiss on my lips. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

  Not quite up to his usual romantic standards. I stifled a nervous giggle. “Er . . . thanks.”

  He honed in on my lips again. I quickly pulled my head back, not wanting a second whiskey-laden encounter. He miscalculated and stumbled against me.

  My arms automatically came around him. “Oops. All right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” His hands found bare skin and roved over my back.

  I braced my own hands against his chest, trying to put an inch or two between us.

  “Actually, this is a work function so I should probably head back in.” I softened the words with a micro-smile.

  “Forget work.” One of his hands headed south. “Fancy a shag?”

  I ignored his wayward hand, focusing instead on his words. “Um, not just now. Tell you what, I’ll give you a call. Leave your number at reception for me.” I gently but firmly pushed at his chest.

  He leaned into my hands. “Aw, come on, Becky. Leas’ gimme a kiss.”

  Fine. Whatever. Anything if he’d just leave. “One kiss. Then I have to go.”

  I leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. His arms came around me in a vice-like grip and
he met my peck with a hungry, open-mouthed invasion. Bleughkk! I tried to extricate myself but he was like an oversized octopus, all tentacles and suction.

  If only I’d had a couple more minutes to haul him off me. If only I’d ignored Charlie from the outset and run the other way. If only, if only, if only . . .

  But suddenly it was too late for any of that.

  Dark eyes locked on mine. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his body rigid with potent anger. My stomach did a ten-storeys-a-second plunge.

  Matt.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  For infinitely long seconds Matt stood stock-still. His eyes bored into mine.

  I stiffened in Charlie’s arms and quietly peeled him off me. He reached for me again, slurring sweet somethings in my ear, but I paid scant attention. I felt ill. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do a single thing to remove the sting of stony stricture from Matt’s gaze.

  It was as if I’d been struck with paralysis. I felt, heard, saw nothing.

  Nothing but Matt. The only man I’d ever truly loved.

  And I guess that’s the way the gods work. Give a girl a good hair day, take away her man.

  Slowly, with great deliberation, he walked towards us, his eyes giving me not even a blink’s-worth of freedom. Crap, shit, fuck.

  The sheer intensity of his gaze overwhelmed me. I began to feel light-headed. Dread, an icy cube of numbness, settled in my chest. The foyer shimmered out of focus. Matt dominated my vision, every angry inch of him highlighted in razor-sharp detail. Razor-sharp detail that shrank into the distance until I was seeing him through a long, glaucomic tunnel. His approach decelerated into slow motion. Roaring static filled my ears.

  In the background Charlie launched into song. “You loss that lovin’ feelin’, whoa, that lovin’ feelin’ . . .”

  I pushed Charlie, hard, extracting myself from his embrace. The tunnel disappeared, the static cleared, and suddenly everything was happening way too fast.

  Matt hauled Charlie around by his shoulder. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The fury in his voice was a caged beast.

  “Whoa!” Charlie staggered, righted himself, then looked at Matt, perplexed. “Jus’ havin’ a bit of—”